What if you were forced to grow up faster than you ever imagined? Would you be able to survive it? This is Life Pal follows 18-year-old Jordan as she faces life's hardest events-family secrets, heartbreak, and the weight of responsibility.
What if you were forced to grow up faster than you ever imagined? Would you be able to survive it? This is Life Pal follows 18-year-old Jordan as she faces life's hardest events-family secrets, heartbreak, and the weight of responsibility.
It had never been this quiet in the past few years. Well, not continuously quiet-just in moments. Let me remember: yes, it had been quiet when she finished elementary school, and again after her first four years of high school. Those were milestones, moments of calm before the next storm of life swept her forward. Now, after a long stretch of uncertainty, the quiet was back. But this time, it felt different. Heavier.
She sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the clock. The results of her final exams were due today. Those results would determine everything-whether she'd get into Evergreen University, whether she'd fulfill her parents' dreams for her, whether she'd finally step into the future she'd been working toward.
She hadn't slept well. How could she? All night, her thoughts had spiraled. What if I didn't do well enough? What if I let everyone down? What if I'm not ready for this? The questions looped endlessly, keeping her awake long after Beth and Benji had drifted off to sleep in their rooms down the hall. Even now, in the early morning light, the weight of those "what ifs" pressed down on her chest.
She glanced at her desk, where her laptop sat closed, waiting to deliver the news. Took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. Today was the day. The quiet wouldn't last much longer.
A knock on the door. Sharp and impatient.
"Jordan, will you stay there forever?" her mom called from the other side.
Jordan sighed, dragging herself off the bed. "Good morning, Mom."
"We need your student ID number, Jordan," her mom said, her voice clipped.
"My number? I thought you guys had it," Jordan replied, leaning against the door.
"Oh, yes, darling, we had it. You gave it to us, right? I must be crazy to ask for it now, right, darling?" Her mom's tone was laced with sarcasm.
Jordan rolled her eyes but stayed silent.
The doorknob rattled. "Open this door, Jordan. I don't have all day. I need your student ID number now," her mom said, her voice firm and no-nonsense.
"What if I lost it, Mom? I can't seem to find it anywhere," Jordan said, playing for time.
Her mom breathed sharply. "Jordan, you're testing my patience. Open this door now."
Jordan scratched her brow, hesitating. She didn't want to get on her mom's bad side, especially not that morning. Reluctantly, she unlocked the door.
"Mom," she flashed a smile-the kind you'd recognize instantly, sweet but slightly mischievous.
Her mom mirrored the smile, though hers was tighter, more strained. "You finally opened the door, darling. That's nice of you." She barged inside, her eyes scanning the room. "Now, where is it?"
Jordan kept the smile plastered on her face.
"Don't give me that smile, darling. I'm not liking it," her mom said, though the corners of her own lips twitched. Like mother like daughter.
"There's this wise saying, Mom," Jordan said, still smiling. "As thou wouldst that men should do to thee, do ye also to them likewise."
Her mom's smile faded, replaced by a stern expression. Jordan looked down, unable to meet her mom's gaze.
"Miss Jordan Carter," her mom said, stepping closer. "By the time I'm back, make sure you've put your act together. If not..."
She turned to leave, but Jordan couldn't resist. "If not?"
Her mom paused, glancing over her shoulder with a look that could freeze water.
"I understand, Mom," Jordan said quickly, her voice small.
"Good."
Jordan let out a huge sigh as her mom left the room. Mom can be scary sometimes. I wish she were more like Dad.
She walked to the window, watching as her mom climbed into a waiting taxi. The car pulled away, and Jordan finally felt like she could breathe again. She made her bed, fixed her hair, and changed into a pair of jeans.
Why haven't I heard these brats yet? she wondered, glancing toward the door. Guess they're-
The sound of shattering glass cut through the silence.
"Benji, I told you to get your own glass. Now look at what you've done!" Beth's voice rang out, sharp and accusatory.
Benji stood amidst the shards of glass, his arms crossed defiantly. "What have I done? It's all your doing! I saw the glass first."
Beth rolled her eyes. "Just so you know, I held it first, not you. Actions are better than observations."
"That's unfair! You're even saying it wrong," Benji protested, his face scrunching up in frustration.
Beth stepped closer, towering over him with a smirk. "Then tell me how it should be."
"Actions are better than words," Benji said, enunciating each word as if speaking to a toddler.
Beth laughed, ruffling his hair. "Little brother, I'm sorry, but I'm such a genius that now I'm making my own words."
"Genius? You call that genius? Genius, my foot, Beth!" Benji shouted, his voice cracking slightly.
Beth's smirk widened. "You mole, you'd better show some respect. I'm years older than you."
"Mole? How dare you call me-"
"A mole?" Beth interrupted, her tone dripping with mockery. "You look like one, that's why. Didn't Mom tell you?"
Oh, it had never even once crossed their Mom's mind.
Benji's face turned red, and he breathed heavily, trying to hold back tears. "Shut up, Beth! I look like Daddy!"
He really did look like his dad-dark brown eyes that always seemed full of curiosity, and messy, dark hair that never quite stayed in place. His face had the same strong jaw, even if it wasn't as sharp as his dad's yet, and sometimes when he looked in the mirror, he could see the grown-up version of himself. He was still too young to understand everything about his dad, but he could see little pieces of him in the way he smiled or the way he walked, like a preview of who he might grow up to be.
Beth burst into laughter. "A mole thinks he looks like Daddy."
Benji's lip quivered, and he wiped at his eyes. "Big sis..."
"Go on, mole. Call your big sis," Beth teased, clearly enjoying herself.
"Yes, I will! Big sis is always nice to me, unlike you," Benji said, his voice trembling as he wiped his tears. "And if I'm a mole, you are-"
"I'm what?" Beth challenged, leaning in closer.
"You are-"
"I'm what? Say it if you dare."
Benji hesitated, then muttered, "You are my sister."
"Bravo," Jordan said, stepping into the room with a slow clap. "You did great, Benji."
Benji's face lit up, and he ran to Jordan, wrapping his arms around her in a tight hug.
"It's always nice to treat others in a good way, even though they don't," she said. "For not calling your sister names, I award you a candy."
Benji's eyes sparkled. " Thanks Jordan."
Beth tried to storm away.
"Stop there Beth, we need to talk."
Beth froze mid-step, her shoulders tense. She turned slowly, her face a mix of defiance and guilt. "What's there to talk about? He's the one who started it," she muttered, crossing her arms.
Jordan raised an eyebrow, her tone calm but firm. "Beth, you know better than to call your brother names. It doesn't matter who started it. What matters is how you choose to respond."
Beth rolled her eyes but didn't argue further. She shuffled her feet, avoiding Jordan's gaze. Benji, still clutching his candy, peeked out from behind Jordan. "I'm sorry, Beth," he said softly. "I didn't mean to make you mad."
Beth's expression softened, though she tried to hide it. "Whatever," she mumbled, but her voice lacked its earlier edge. She glanced at Benji, then at Jordan, before sighing. "Fine. I'm sorry too, okay?"
"That's more like it," said Jordan. "How about we all go inside and share that candy? I think there's enough for everyone."
Benji's face lit up. "Really? Can we, Beth?"
Beth hesitated, then shrugged, a small smile tugging at her lips. "I guess. But only if I get the biggest piece."
"Hey, no fair!" Benji protested, but he was grinning now too.
These two were a handful, sure, but they were her handful. Her little siblings. The ones who broke her things, ate her snacks, and somehow always managed to drag her into their silly arguments. But they were also the ones who made her laugh when she was stressed, who hugged her tightly when she was sad, and who looked up to her like she hung the moon.
I watched my husband sign the papers that would end our marriage while he was busy texting the woman he actually loved. He didn't even glance at the header. He just scribbled the sharp, jagged signature that had signed death warrants for half of New York, tossed the file onto the passenger seat, and tapped his screen again. "Done," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. That was Dante Moretti. The Underboss. A man who could smell a lie from a mile away but couldn't see that his wife had just handed him an annulment decree disguised beneath a stack of mundane logistics reports. For three years, I scrubbed his blood out of his shirts. I saved his family's alliance when his ex, Sofia, ran off with a civilian. In return, he treated me like furniture. He left me in the rain to save Sofia from a broken nail. He left me alone on my birthday to drink champagne on a yacht with her. He even handed me a glass of whiskey—her favorite drink—forgetting that I despised the taste. I was merely a placeholder. A ghost in my own home. So, I stopped waiting. I burned our wedding portrait in the fireplace, left my platinum ring in the ashes, and boarded a one-way flight to San Francisco. I thought I was finally free. I thought I had escaped the cage. But I underestimated Dante. When he finally opened that file weeks later and realized he had signed away his wife without looking, the Reaper didn't accept defeat. He burned down the world to find me, obsessed with reclaiming the woman he had already thrown away.
For three years, Natalie gave everything to be the perfect wife and mother, believing her love and effort could finally earn her a place in their hearts. Yet her sacrifices were met with betrayal from her husband and cold rejection from her son. In their eyes, she was nothing but a manipulator, using vulnerability to get her way. Her husband turned his back, her son misunderstood her, and she never truly belonged. Heartbroken yet determined, Natalie left her old life behind. When her family finally begged for a second chance, she looked at them and said, "It's too late."
The sterile white of the operating room blurred, then sharpened, as Skye Sterling felt the cold clawing its way up her body. The heart monitor flatlined, a steady, high-pitched whine announcing her end. Her uterus had been removed, a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding, but the blood wouldn't clot. It just kept flowing, warm and sticky, pooling beneath her. Through heavy eyes, she saw a trembling nurse holding a phone on speaker. "Mr. Kensington," the nurse's voice cracked, "your wife... she's critical." A pause, then a sweet, poisonous giggle. Seraphina Miller. "Liam is in the shower," Seraphina's voice purred. "Stop calling, Skye. It's pathetic. Faking a medical emergency on our anniversary? Even for you, that's low." Then, Liam's bored voice: "If she dies, call the funeral home. I have a meeting in the morning." Click. The line went dead. A second later, so did Skye. The darkness that followed was absolute, suffocating, a black ocean crushing her lungs. She screamed into the void, a silent, agonizing wail of regret for loving a man who saw her as a nuisance, for dying without ever truly living. Until she died, she didn't understand. Why was her life so tragically wasted? Why did her husband, the man she loved, abandon her so cruelly? The injustice of it all burned hotter than the fever in her body. Then, the air rushed back in. Skye gasped, her body convulsing violently on the mattress. Her eyes flew open, wide and terrified, staring blindly into the darkness. Her trembling hand reached for her phone. May 12th. Five years ago. She was back.
Five years of devotion ended when Brynn was left at the altar, watching Richard rush to his true love. Knowing she could never thaw his cold heart, Brynn walked away, ready to start over. After a night of drinking, she woke beside the last man she should ever cross-Nolan, her brother's arch-enemy. As she tried to escape, he caught her, murmuring, "You kissed me all night. Leaving isn't an option." The world saw Nolan as cold and distant, but with Brynn, he indulged her every desire. He even bought her a whole village and held her close, his voice low, deep, and endlessly tempting, his robe falling open to reveal his toned abs. "Want to feel it?"
For ten years, Daniela showered her ex-husband with unwavering devotion, only to discover she was just his biggest joke. Feeling humiliated yet determined, she finally divorced him. Three months later, Daniela returned in grand style. She was now the hidden CEO of a leading brand, a sought-after designer, and a wealthy mining mogul-her success unveiled at her triumphant comeback. Her ex-husband's entire family rushed over, desperate to beg for forgiveness and plead for another chance. Yet Daniela, now cherished by the famed Mr. Phillips, regarded them with icy disdain. "I'm out of your league."
I gave him three years of silent devotion behind a mask I never wanted to wear. I made a wager for our bond-he paid me off like a mistress. "Chloe's back," Zane said coldly. "It's over." I laughed, poured wine on his face, and walked away from the only love I'd ever known. "What now?" my best friend asked. I smiled. "The real me returns." But fate wasn't finished yet. That same night, Caesar Conrad-the Alpha every wolf feared-opened his car door and whispered, "Get in." Our gazes collided. The bond awakened. No games. No pretending. Just raw, unstoppable power. "Don't regret this," he warned, lips brushing mine. But I didn't. Because the mate I'd been chasing never saw me. And the one who did? He's ready to burn the world for me.
© 2018-now CHANGDU (HK) TECHNOLOGY LIMITED
6/F MANULIFE PLACE 348 KWUN TONG ROAD KL
TOP
GOOGLE PLAY