Glanced Novels & Stories

"Here are the leftovers for you, hurry up and finish them!" Marcel glanced at the plates filled with scattered rice, chicken bones with a little meat still attached, and vegetable soup with only the soup left. "Eat on the floor, as usual." Marcel looked down and looked at his wife, Shirley. "You have the nerve to tell me to finish your brothers' leftovers?" asked Marcel in a protesting tone, as he frowned reluctantly at the plates. The oppression Marcel experienced made him want to end his life by downing his parents' formula. However, instead of dying, he was transformed into a powerful being! Will his wife's family apologize?

The house was on fire. My husband–a firefighter–rescued our son first. And the kitten his first love had left behind. Then, to comfort the frightened woman, he rushed off without a second thought. When his colleagues asked my son if anyone else was still inside, he glanced in my direction… and shook his head. "There's no one else." I was later found screaming for help, barely alive. Outside my hospital room, my son looked at me with disappointment. "Why didn't you just burn to death in there? "If you were gone, Aunt Maya could be my mom."

A week after my engagement, I was delivered an unusual engagement gift. My phone chimed. I glanced down and saw a push notification from a social app. [Fell in love with a female livestreamer right before my engagement. I feel guilty toward my older girlfriend who's about to become my fiancée—how should I deal with this?] The user ID was "SimonLovesClaire." The profile picture showed a melancholy side view of a man wrapped in a gray scarf. I recognized him instantly. It was my fiancé, Simon Aldrich. That limited-edition scarf was the birthday gift I had given him last year.

"I'll accept the hospital's offer. I leave for Italvia in two weeks." Vanessa Jahn stood by the window, pregnancy report in hand. On the other end of the call, Rob Lambert, the hospital director, sounded thrown. "Wait—what? After all this time? I've been trying to get you on board for years." She let out a humorless laugh. "Guess it finally felt like time for a change. Anyway, I've got a lot to wrap up before I go. We'll catch up later." She hung up. The ache in her heart lingered as she glanced back down at the report.

Late at night, my husband came home with a young model. "So, you are the washed-up wife that Mr. Dawson keeps at home?" The girl looked at me with a mocking smile and said. Jay Dawson, my husband, reeking of alcohol, glanced between us with interest. He then hugged the young girl and led her into the bedroom. I sat alone on the living room couch, wrapped in a blanket, and listened to their shameless noises all night. I endured it for two years. Our agreement had finally ended this year, and so had my love for Ethan. I walked away. But Ethan chased after me like a madman.

To get me to agree to a divorce, my husband lied and told me he had stomach cancer. I glanced at the medical report in my bag and said nothing. Instead, I broke down right then and there, sobbing like my heart was being ripped apart, absolutely refusing to divorce him. Because what he didn't know… was that he actually had cancer. Just not stomach cancer—liver cancer. And with his funeral coming up soon, if we divorced now, who would inherit all his assets? No way. I couldn't let this divorce happen!

"Ms. Jones, the service to fake your death that you requested has been arranged. Here's the agreement. Please sign here." Isabella Jones glanced at the contract that the person placed before her. Client: Isabella Jones Cause of death: Falling from a mountain, eaten by wild animals. Unable to retrieve the remains of the body Time of death: One week from now One week from now would mark the fifth anniversary of her marriage to Samuel Grant. It was also the day she had planned to fake her death and leave him. Since that was the date it all began, it might as well be when it ended.

[This month’s property management fee is $1,500. Please make the payment on time.] My wife, Grace Anderson’s phone screen lit up. I glanced at it and then took the phone. “Did the management office miscalculate this? Our management fee should only total up to $28 a month.” Grace stood up abruptly and tried to snatch her phone back. “He must’ve miscalculated! Let me talk to him.” However, I had already clicked on the link and read the page. [Cloud Mansion, property owner: Ken Smith.] The young male nanny cooking in our kitchen had the same name. Something snapped in my brain. The three of us were living in a very small house, but Grace had bought a mansion for our manny!

"Sign it." Rachel picked it up and glanced at it. It was a divorce paper. It stated that she had to vacate the house without any belongings and return everything she had taken from the Brown family. This included shares, businesses, properties gifted by the Brown family, and any cash received from them. Rachel's face drained of color. "Why?" She asked, her voice shaking. Lucas replied indifferently, "If you don’t sign, in five days, I’ll make your family wish they were never born. You have these five days for your family to move out." Her body shook with fear. Is he really serious?

My wife—Nancy Valente—had been "missing" for three months after some fake skiing accident. I spotted her at a bar. She was draped over Finley Bennett's shoulder, laughing like she hadn't wrecked my life. "Good thing you came up with this plan. I almost forgot what freedom felt like." Her crew kept clinking glasses, asking when she planned to pop back up. She glanced down. "Maybe in a week. I'll show up once he's lost his mind." I stayed in the shadows, watching her bask in her little escape act. Then I grabbed my phone and called a buddy at the Vital Records Office.