Bias Love after Marriage Short Stories & Novels

"Hello, I want a divorce." In the third year of her marriage, Roxanne Levine decided to file for divorce. But she did so without telling her husband. Across the desk, the lawyer, Nathaniel Shepherd, responded in a formulaic tone after hearing her intent. "If you wish to proceed with a divorce, both parties need to sign the divorce agreement. After that, there will be a one-month cooling-off period before the divorce is finalized. Did your husband not come with you today?" Roxanne paused for a few seconds. "I'll make sure he signs it." "Very well. I'll draft a divorce agreement for you."

On the day of my ninth wedding attempt, my fiancé, Lucas Yearwood, leaves me jilted again. This time, I follow him. I see him holding his adoptive sister's hand as they walk into the obstetrics department. "Lucas, I dreamed that we're having a boy—he's definitely going to be as handsome as you." Watching the two of them laugh and chat like that, I feel my blood freeze. After I chased Lucas for seven years, I got a chance to use a debt of gratitude to force a marriage contract out of him. I backed him into a corner to make him marry me. Everyone thinks I can't survive without him. But this time, I hand the marriage contract back and leave him without looking back. On my wedding day, he calls me. "Viv! Where are you right now?" I'm in the shower. My new husband picks up the call for me. "Do you have business with my wife?" Later, I hear Lucas turned all of Riverville upside down, digging through every trash can to find our marriage contract.

In the five years of their marriage, Kimberly bore a son for Daniel, believing their life together would last. Then Siena returned to the country. Kimberly finally realized she was nothing but an outsider the whole time. Daniel repeatedly chose Siena over her, and even her son grew attached to Siena. Fortunately, their marriage was just a contract, and in seven days, she would be free to leave.

I dated my younger brother’s best friend, Dylan Lane, for three years. More than once, he told me how much he loathed arranged marriages and how he hated being chained by family interests. However, one night, after another bout of indulgence, he wrapped his arms around me and begged me sweetly to design a wedding ring for his fiancée—someone he had never even met. The smile froze on my face, yet he just said indifferently, “Aren’t people like us all destined to marry for our families' benefit?” Seeing the blood drain from my face, he even chuckled. “Vee, don’t you tell me you're still as naïve as a 20-year-old girl, thinking I would ever marry you? At most, we're just… pillow friends." Later, I agreed to the marriage my family had arranged for me. Dylan showed up on my wedding day, disheveled and red-eyed. He fell to his knees and begged me not to leave. I stood beside my new husband, hand in hand, and smiled faintly as I chuckled. “Didn’t you say people like us were born for arranged marriages? I’m simply doing what you always wanted me to do. Shouldn’t you be happy?”

It was only on our first wedding anniversary that I realized the rubbers I bought before our wedding had long expired. No one would believe that my mafia husband, Andre Garcia, and I had never consummated our marriage. That night, I gathered my courage and bought a suggestive nightgown. After downing three glasses of whisky, I hugged Andre tightly and whispered in his ear, "Darling, let's do it today. I want you..." However, Andre shook my hand off indifferently as if he were handling a gun. "Danielle Lawson, do you have no shame? You've done such shameless things time and time again. If you're really that lonely, I'll order you some toys so you can play with them to your heart's content." My face turned deathly pale as I stood there, stunned. I could not understand why a wife begging for her husband's affection was considered 'shameless' behavior. I curled up on the couch, unable to help but ask on social media. Danielle: [My husband has no dysfunction. Why won't he touch me after marriage?] Someone replied: [Perhaps your husband has someone else.] Like a dagger, that comment pierced me awake. I suddenly realized—maybe the problem was not that I was unattractive but rather that he was never mine. The moment I deleted my account, I also made the decision to leave. Who could have imagined that Andre, who would usually not even glance at me, would frantically search for me after I disappeared? "Danielle, I can't get a hard-on after you left!"

Hidden deep in the mountains outside our town was a sealed cave filled with ancient coffins. According to local legend, one of our ancestors had died hundreds of years ago before he could marry or leave behind an heir. People believed his spirit never moved on. The town elders claimed the only way to break the curse was to choose a bride for him—someone who would be bound to him and carry on his bloodline. And for reasons I still didn’t understand, they chose me.

I have dated my girlfriend, Brenda Townsend, for eight years. She finally agrees to marry me. Filled with excitement, I head to the city hall. But to my surprise, I discover that the person waiting for me at the entrance is her best friend, Megan Cunningham. It turns out Brenda is on her way to her childhood sweetheart's house to take care of him. So I go along with it and marry Megan instead. Brenda loses her mind and breaks down. She cries hysterically while telling me that she has her reasons.

My life was a living hell after my mother died. My father was the Don of the Rossi family, but you wouldn't know it from the way I lived. My stepsister and stepmother treated me like a maid. When the family faced a crisis, they didn't hesitate to sell me off to Caspian, the heir to the Valerius family, for their own gain. The word on the street was that Caspian was a monster—a butcher with a face torn apart by scars. I refused, but my father threatened me with my mother's keepsakes, forcing me to sign a three-year marriage contract. On our wedding day, Caspian didn't even look at me. He slid the ring on my finger, his touch like ice. "Remember," he said, "you're my wife in name only. Don't expect anything more." I wasn't hurt. That was what I wanted, too. I thought we'd spend three years as strangers, and then I'd be free. But I never expected the day he'd look at me with those possessive eyes, kiss me hard, and declare, "You're mine. My wife. Forever." And damn it, my heart actually skipped a beat.

On my wedding night, I saw another me from fifty years in the future through the bronze mirror on the dressing table. The old woman in the mirror was in the same manor I had just married into. Blushing, I touched my hair. "Fifty years from now, will I be surrounded by family, living peacefully together?" But the old woman only leaned against the dark bed in silence. Then, a yellowed painted portrait slipped from her sleeve and fell at her feet. I shyly said, "Is that the portrait Matthew promised me on our wedding night? He said we would grow old together, hand in hand." Only then did the old woman scoff and slowly move closer to the mirror. I looked carefully. The woman in the portrait on the floor was... Sabella, my closest friend. A chill went through me as my future self forced a bitter smile and stared straight at me. "The truth is that Sabella Lane was abducted and violated on your wedding night, and then she died. Because you stopped Matthew Cross, he became certain that you had sent people to do it. After that, he hated you and tortured you for fifty years. "Gwendolen Shaw, I have now revealed to you the truth ahead of time. Whether you still stop him from seeking out Sabella tonight or not is your choice."

I could see floating live-chat comments from the future. And that little trick saved me from dozens of cheating scumbags. But today, my adoptive parents gave me an ultimatum. I had to pick a fiancé, or else… The family’s real daughter, Wendy Wellington, who was recently found and welcomed back with open arms, clutched my hands. Tears welled in her eyes as she pointed to a man in a wheelchair. The man, Harry Peterson, wore a faded undershirt and a tattered blanket over his knees. Word on the street was that he had gone bankrupt, owing over a hundred million dollars. "Sister, my health is too fragile for a hard life," Wendy sniffled while trying to hide her smirk. "What would people say if the real heiress was seen riding a public bus? “You’re so much stronger than me. Do this one for the sake of the family." She glanced over at a guy leaning against a blood-red Ferrari nearby. "I’ll handle the billionaire’s son," she added quickly. "You shouldn't be blinded by money to make a mistake." I looked at Harry in the wheelchair. Floating right above his head was a wall of glowing comments. “LOL! She’s dumping the city’s richest hidden billionaire for a guy who’s going to prison next week?” “He’s only playing broke and disabled to catch his rivals off guard. Once he clears his name next month, his net worth is going to skyrocket!” I squeezed my sister’s hands tight and a sweet smile spread across my face. "Since you've put so much thought into my future, I would hate to disappoint you," I said. "I'll take the guy in the wheelchair.”