Bias Melodramatic Short Stories & Novels

It is the last day of my overseas assignment. I suddenly see my girlfriend Stella Leach's Instagram story, which she deletes almost immediately. It shows a private room in a restaurant at the hotel, packed with familiar friends. Its caption says, "Waiting for tonight's guest of honor!" I figure she realizes I changed my flight to an earlier date and is planning a surprise for me. I follow the location tag and rush inside, but the moment I open the door, all the laughter in the private room cuts off. Michael Soden, my childhood friend, is the first to snap out of it. "Welcome back, Henry! We've been waiting so long for you!" Everyone ushers me to take a seat, taking turns proposing toasts to welcome me home. I feel lightheaded after a couple of drinks, so I lean back on the couch and close my eyes, pretending to be asleep. "Henry?" Stella, as usual, pinches my cheek gently to see if I'm really asleep. She covers me with her coat after seeing no reaction from me. I smile faintly. I'm just about to tease her when Michael suddenly asks, "What are we going to do about our wedding in two days, Stella?" Stella immediately lets go of me, turns to him, and takes his hand. "Don't worry. We're still having the wedding as planned." Our friends join in to reassure him. "Henry has no idea, Michael. We're all covering for you, after all. What's there to worry about?" I freeze completely, feeling my blood run cold. I slowly open my eyes to a sliver, my gaze landing on the banner that has been hastily hidden away under the couch. "Happy First Wedding Anniversary, Stella & Michael!"

I was once the cherished princess of the Silver Moon Pack, adored by all. Back then, I fell for Kael, one of the pack's rogues. But when I grew bored of our little fling, I cast him aside without a second thought. Years later, my pack was destroyed and my parents were killed. Kael, however, had risen to become the Alpha of a powerful new pack. He claimed me, forcing me to become his Luna. Everyone said I was lucky, but they didn't know the truth. They didn't know that he brought different she-wolves back to our territory every night. And through our mate bond, every moment of their intimacy seared my soul like a blazing fire. I never cried, never protested, simply enduring it all in silence. But my silence only made Kael more volatile. This time, he went a step further. He got his Beta, Chole, pregnant. Still, I remained calm. Enraged, Kael slammed me against a rough stone wall. "Elara, do you love me or not?" I had thought his outbursts were a twisted sign of his love, that he was waiting for me to break. But then, Chole and I went into labor at the same time. I begged him to take me to the pack hospital first, and wanted to tell him that I had no choice when I rejected him back then. He pulled me into a tight embrace, only to shove me away moments later. "See? I knew you would break." "Drop the act. Do you really think you're still that high and mighty princess?" He ignored my pleas, ignored the life of his own pup inside me. He swept Chole into his arms and left without a backward glance. His cold voice echoed through our mind-link. "Don't worry, I'm not abandoning you." "You deserve to feel a fraction of the pain I felt when you cast me aside. Savor it."

I plan on ordering some food using my husband's phone, yet I've noticed a remark that's been saved on the delivery app. "The food is for a pregnant lady. Please make sure to be hygienic and use less oil and salt when making the dishes." I can feel my heart sink. I turn my gaze toward the bathroom, where my husband is. I can't figure out why my husband, who's been firm about not wanting a child, has been ordering meals for pregnant women. After a moment of hesitation, I scroll through the delivery app's order history with shaky hands. Numerous orders have been placed with the same restaurant, one that specializes in making exquisite dishes designed for pregnant women. Each of these food orders costs more than ten thousand dollars. My husband's company address has been chosen as the delivery address, and he's also the recipient. … After exiting the delivery app, I sit on the couch and stare into space. As I look at my husband's well-defined muscles, I recall how he, who's about to hit 40, is suddenly quite invested in getting in shape over the past year. I blurt out asking, "Have you been ordering food to your office often lately?" My husband freezes for a split second. Then, he fixes me with a gentle gaze. "I do that once in a while. Why are you suddenly asking about that? By the way, I haven't had the sweet and sour meatballs you make in a long while. Can you make some for me so that I can bring them to the office for my lunch tomorrow?" I smile at him and agree to his request. Still, I toss and turn in bed as the remark about the pregnant lady in his phone keeps gnawing at me that night.

When my wife, Juniper Carlsen, confessed to cheating on me with Frederick Byron, the man who faked his wealth, I decided to get divorced and moved back to my adoptive mother’s place. I ignored all of her pleas to remarry me. Then, my adoptive mother suffered a sudden heart attack. When the ambulance arrived, Juniper stood in front of me to stop me. “Malik, I know you hate Frederick. I'll have him flown out of the country as long as you get back together with me. I’ll do anything you say! “Are you going to let your mother suffer longer because of you?” When I looked at my dying mother, I clenched my teeth and yielded. Upon returning home, Juniper did as she promised. She did everything I said and even transferred the company shares to me. Even my biological parents, who previously antagonized me because of Frederick, were beginning to come around and dote on me. I was convinced that things had finally taken a turn for the better. Just as I was about to hand over the patent to her for her efforts in salvaging the company out of crisis, something unexpected happened. I stumbled into Juniper celebrating Frederick’s birthday at a restaurant. A three-year-old was seated next to him. My parents were present as well. They were handing the documents to transfer the family shares to Frederick. “Frederick, I'm so sorry you have to go through this. When will you be able to come back to us?” Frederick pressed his hand over my mother’s and reminded her cautiously, “Be careful. We can’t have Malik overhearing us. Did you forget how your husband almost let slip last time?” I froze. Then, I smiled before walking into the restaurant with the gift in hand.

Six months after Ryan Holt returned to our marriage, he was still trying to quit Winnie Lowe. For his birthday, I made him a chocolate cake from scratch. The moment he saw it, he said without thinking, "Too bad she prefers matcha." I'd never been afraid of thunder. But one night, with lightning flashing and thunder crashing outside, he pulled me into his arms in his sleep and murmured, "Don't be afraid." On Winnie's birthday, I watched him enter a long string of numbers from memory. He tossed and turned all night, but somehow stopped himself from making the call. He even set our wedding photo as his lock screen. Across it, he'd written in red: "Remember, this is the woman you love." "You have a responsibility to this family." He had to constantly remind himself because although he'd come home physically, emotionally, he was still with Winnie. And suddenly, I realized there was no point in clinging to this marriage anymore. Maybe it was time to let go.

By the third year of Roxanne Duranov's affair, Fredrick Tatham had finally become the husband she had always wanted. He no longer barged into hotels in the middle of the night to catch her with another man. He no longer demanded to know where she had spent the night. Nor did he resort to desperate acts of self-harm in a frantic attempt to hold on to a woman whose heart had long since drifted away. He had become as inconspicuous as an ordinary piece of furniture in the villa, quiet and unobtrusive, never making his presence felt. Then, one day, the hospital called. An urgent voice came through the phone. "Hello, am I speaking to Ms. Duranov's husband? She's been in a serious car accident and needs emergency surgery. We need a family member to come to the hospital immediately to sign the consent forms." Fredrick held the phone to his ear, his gaze fixed on the television screen.

In this canal town, if a guy wants to woo his sweetheart, he needs to build a boat with his own hands and make it his wedding boat. On my seventh year dating anniversary, my boyfriend, Declan Johnson, hosts a launch ceremony for his new boat. Those who are present at the ceremony cheer loudly. I can feel my heart beating wildly in my chest. When I'm about to board the boat, I hear Declan's friend murmuring to him, "Are you seriously giving the boat to Paige? Aren't you worried that Raelynn might pick a fight with you?" "Precisely! Raelynn is a temperamental one! What if you crossed a line?" The next moment, Declan's voice rings out—casual yet confident. "No way. Raelynn is completely wrapped around my finger. After all, she's madly in love with me. Besides, in this town, the fact that a woman doesn't get married by the age of 28 makes her a hag. There's no way she has the guts to start anything. "At the end of the day, I'm giving Raelynn a marriage certificate and Paige a wedding boat. This is a fair decision. In a way, it… it helps me to put an old regret to rest." So, Declan still has regrets just by marrying me, huh? Apparently, I'm also wrapped around his finger, and I'll become a hag soon. Those words hurt my ears. My throat closes up slightly, but I don't cry at all. Instead, I pull out my phone and send a text. "I'll listen to you, Mom. Since I'm already 28 years old, I'm no longer waiting for him."

When Lilian, a company janitor, discovered an abandoned infant in the restroom, she took my daughter and me to court. In the courtroom, she had screamed in frustration and rage, “Gabrielle’s daughter is nothing but a cheap tramp! “She toyed with my son like a fallback guy. After that, she got pregnant, refused to take responsibility, and dumped that baby in a restroom like it was garbage. That was a living, breathing human being! “Those two women are cold, heartless monsters!” Lilian’s son, Raymond, looked like a pure-hearted lover who had been toyed with and said with teary eyes, “Trinity slept with anyone who gave her the time of day. I looked the other way while hoping she’d eventually be mature and settle down. “But who knew she’d be ruthless enough to kill her own baby?! She’s a monster!” The live broadcast of the trial immediately exploded with outrage. [These rich people are absolutely disgusting! How could they give birth and throw the baby in the trash like that?!] [That’s child abandonment! She belongs in prison!] There were plenty of harsh comments. However, everyone was completely stunned when I produced Trinity’s medical examination report.

In the seventh year of singing on the streets for a living, I finally save enough money for my boyfriend, Charlie Bond, to pay for our wedding and marry me. Late at night, a young woman suddenly walks up to me and requests a song just as I'm about to pack up. She says, "I'm in a bad mood. Just sing a couple of songs for me." When she notices my disabled leg, she transfers 5,000 dollars to me right away. She adds, "I'm sorry for bothering you when it's already so late. I'm just really upset. Please take pity on me and keep me company for a while." Looking at the payment notification, I nod. With this money, Charlie won't have to struggle so much when it comes to paying rent. He won't need to deliver food in the middle of rainstorms just to make ends meet. The young woman begins pouring her heart out to me. "My husband and I have been married for five years. Today, I found out that I'm pregnant. I wanted to share the good news with him, but then I found a diamond ring in his pocket! "No matter how much I question him, he refuses to say anything. I got so angry at him that I ran out of my home. Do you think he's cheating on me?" I hesitate and am just about to comfort her when her phone suddenly rings. A man's voice comes through the speaker. It sounds helpless yet affectionate. He says, "You're so silly. Tomorrow is Valentine's Day. The ring is a custom-made gift for you. I wanted it to be a surprise, but you found it before I could give it to you. Where are you? I'll come pick you up." The moment I hear that familiar voice, a chill runs down my spine. The name displayed on her phone is the exact same name as my boyfriend's—Charlie Bond.

Seven years ago, I was the city's youngest chief medical examiner, on the verge of solving the Scarlet Murders and bringing the killer to justice once and for all. But the night before I could expose the truth, my fiancé's first love, Isabelle Sinclair, joins forces with the real murderer and has me killed in cold blood. Using my own scalpel, Isabelle fakes all signs of a guilt-ridden suicide on my body and stages the crime scene to make it look as though I've attacked her before fleeing. She plants just enough fabricated evidence to make her story seem airtight, then waits for the police to arrive. When Sebastian Jacobson showed up, he found Isabelle covered in blood, sobbed as she claimed I've tried to kill her and destroy the evidence before escaping. The scene is meticulously arranged to support her story, right down to the blood trail leading to the exit, as if I've fled in a desperate panic. It looks like an open-and-shut case, so no one bothers to question her account or investigate further. Everyone believes Isabelle. Sebastian despises me for what he thinks I've done. He publicly denounces me as a disgrace to forensic science and the greatest shame of his life. The forensic center erases my name from its records, my own parents publish a newspaper announcement disowning me, and my alma mater revokes the honorary academic title it has awarded me. Even the mentor I've spent years admiring refuses to acknowledge that he's ever taught me. My case becomes a textbook example of professional misconduct, and my former colleagues curse my name for betraying the very principles of truth and justice I've sworn to uphold. Overnight, I go from being the brightest rising star in forensic science to a disgraced fraud in the eyes of the entire law enforcement community. Then, seven years later, an unidentified skeleton arrives in the autopsy room. As the medical examiners begin examining the remains, they uncover evidence that's been buried for seven years—evidence that could finally expose the truth behind a murder everyone thinks they understand. The skeleton is mine. And after seven years of lies, the truth about my death is finally about to come to light.

I died on the day I won the Global Medical Doctorate Award. Fresh from celebrating the sixteenth birthday of my younger sister, my parents, brother, and my fiancé finally returned home, but it was three hours after my death. My family photos were beaming with happiness on social media, while I laid in the suffocating basement drenched in blood. Before I died, I had struggled to slide my tongue across my phone screen in a desperate attempt to call for help. My parents and brother had blocked my number. Only my fiancé answered my call. The moment his voice came through, he snapped, "Winona, Winnie's sixteenth birthday is important. Stop trying to hijack attention with your pathetic excuses. Enough with the theatrics!" It murdered my last spark of survival. In that electronic death rattle, my heart flatlined. The 100th time they chose her. The 100th time they abandoned me for her. But it was also the last time. They thought I had ran way to get their attention again, and that if they taught me a harsh lesson, I would come crawling back pathetically. But not this time. Because I didn't leave home. I had been lying in the basement of my house.

I ignored my friends and family’s objections and insisted on pursuing my now-girlfriend, who was disfigured in a car crash when she tried to save her first love. Some laughed at me for being a back-up plan, but I didn’t care. I worked day and night, earning money for her plastic surgery, and stayed by her side as she walked out of depression. But on the eve of our wedding day, as I was doing her laundry, a marriage certificate dropped out of her pants pocket. The groom was her first love. I was about to make things clear with her when I overheard her conversation with her best friend. “I know Steve saved me, but if Yves doesn’t marry me, he’ll be forced into a marriage alliance. I don’t want to see him lose his freedom. “As for Steve, I’ll find someone to forge a certificate for me. Don’t blurt this out, okay…” I felt my blood then grow cold as I quietly changed the groom of our wedding three days later to her first love. By the time she found out about the surprise, I would have left for abroad, never to return.

My brother is the Alpha of the Moonlight Pack, and I should have been the happiest little wolf in the pack. But my brother's destined mate Selene accused me of bullying her. In a fit of rage, my brother, the only family I had left in this world, sent me to the Pack Rehabilitation Center —a place for underage criminals and delinquent wolves. For two years, I have been abused until I permanently lost my ability to shift, becoming the docile sister he wanted. But when he discovered I'd lost my wolf and become a true Omega, he went mad. "Skye, please, just call me brother one more time!"

My boyfriend pulled in two million a year. He told me that once he'd banked five hundred thousand, he'd invest in my gallery. Year one, he said the startup was bleeding money; he hadn't saved a cent. Year two, he needed a new car to keep up appearances; no funds for me. By year five, he was on his private yacht brokering a major deal and told me not to bother him. I stood outside the cabin door and listened to the laughter rolling out from inside. "If Celeste wanted to open a gallery, Eth would write her a million-dollar check without blinking." "Hell yeah. If Celeste hadn't gone abroad back then, that knockoff he's got now wouldn't even be in the picture." Ethan's voice drifted through the crack in the door, lazy, dismissive. "Enough. Emily's been with me five years. I'll still put something in for her." "She's a free drafting machine. She's not worth five hundred grand. One day's revenue at the firm, maybe. Call it round. Two thousand bucks." My eyes burned. I pulled out my phone and called the one man Ethan hated most in all of New York, Adrian Sterling. "Mr. Sterling. That partnership agreement you offered me? I'm signing it first thing tomorrow morning."

When my family fell into bankruptcy, I sold myself off for 500 million to pay off our debts and became the wife of Zack Landton—a man twelve years older than me. Everyone knew Zack as a lifelong celibate. They called him a pervert who could not get it up. I had already resigned myself to a sexless marriage, but he showed me a world beyond my wildest imagination. He went at it nearly ten times every night, and I cried and begged for him to spare me because it was too much. He spoiled me rotten but had two terms of his own. He forbade me from calling myself his wife, and he prohibited me from going to the monastery he visited every month. He explained, "I want to keep this a secret to protect you. The monastery is a boring place for a girl like you." I believed him, until I secretly followed him to the monastery this year. I wanted to write down the scriptures with my own hands and give them to him on his birthday. Instead, I saw him kneeling in front of another woman. She looked eerily similar to me. In his hand was the Diamond Star, the very same ring I had been wearing for years. "It's been five years, Eve, and my addiction is cured. I swear I'll never hurt you. You promised you'd marry me. Let's go to the city hall now." Eve. That was the same thing he called me. Tears spilled. Then again, five years had passed. And whatever promise had once held this ridiculous marriage together had clearly expired along with them. It was time for this mockery of a relationship to take its final bow.

Chris Shaw promised that we would finally get our marriage licence next month. He told me he had secured the first appointment slot in the coming month. It was the third time he had brought up marriage. The first was during Valentine's. Chris called to say that city hall had unexpectedly opened a few last-minute slots and told me to hurry over and wait in line. It was pouring with rain. I waited the whole day and only received a video from his best friend. Chris was playing snooker as he mocked, "Told you she'd do everything I told her to. Just like a dog." The second time was on Labor Day. Chris sent me an address for another city hall, dozens of miles away in the middle of nowhere. I spent two hours rushing over, but there was no one there. It was just a construction site. My best friend sent me snapshots of a bet they made, and she guffawed. "I bet she would actually go, and I won a thousand." And this time, everyone looked at me with mockery in their eyes. I dressed up for the occasion. "You actually showed up. How gullible are you?" I clenched my papers and said nothing. The car door opened, and out came Chris, his arm around Yvonne Gray, his true love. It had been a month since we met, yet he was still cavalier, and he casually waved the marriage application in his hand. "Yvonne's family is rushing her into a marriage, so we'll get a license to shut them up. Do as I say, and I'll consider getting one with you." I stared at him. Ten years of love, patience, and waiting. And suddenly, whatever I had once felt for him withered away like a plant that had gone too long without water. So I took out my phone and called someone else. "I got the slot. What's your ETA?"

For ten years, I stood by Natalie Prescott as she went from having nothing to her name to building a fortune worth hundreds of millions. Yet in all that time, she never once takes me to a restaurant where a meal costs more than 100 dollars per person. With our tenth anniversary approaching, I finally send her a link to a high-end steakhouse I've had bookmarked for ages, hoping we can celebrate somewhere special for once. But the moment she sees it, her expression darkens. "Gabriel, I know we're doing well now, but we can't afford to get complacent. We need to remember where we came from. Frugality is a virtue, and we can't lose sight of that." She has a point, I tell myself, so I drop the subject without another word. It isn't until I go to cancel our reservation that I spot Natalie sitting across from a young man in the very restaurant she refuses to take me to. She's cutting his steak into bite-sized pieces and placing them on his plate, then gently wiping a smear of sauce from the corner of his mouth. I recognize him immediately—Ryan Mitchell, the company's newest intern. He's only 21. "Ms. Prescott, I really can't eat another bite," Ryan says, glancing at the spread of food on the table. "But look at how much we've ordered. We're wasting so much food." "Don't worry about it. As long as you're enjoying yourself, it's not a waste." Natalie gazes at him with unmistakable affection. "I'll just take the leftovers home to Gabriel." "But… they're my leftovers." Natalie laughs softly. "It's fine. Gabriel is with me when times are tough. He's not picky." Ryan chuckles. "So let me get this straight. He sticks around for the hard times, and I get to enjoy the good life?" Natalie doesn't answer right away. For a long moment, she simply looks at him. Then she finally murmurs, "Yeah." I stand frozen, gripping the reservation slip so tightly that my nails dig into my palm. Yet somehow, I can't feel a thing. Ten years. I spend ten years standing by her side—helping her build the life she has now—only to discover that, in her eyes, I'm the man who has to settle for scraps while someone else gets to enjoy the rewards. The hostess approaches me with a polite smile. "Mr. Cole, reservations have been hard to come by lately. Are you sure you'd like to cancel yours?" I swallow the bitterness rising in my throat and glance at the couple across the room one more time. Then I turn back to the hostess. "No. Keep the reservation. And please bring me your most expensive tasting menu."

After my family went bankrupt, I begged my fiancé Ryan to pump cash into our business. He didn't just refuse. He turned around and got engaged to someone else. When I was at the end of my rope, Ethan Brooks stepped up, tossing all his savings into my family's mess. Sadly, we missed our shot, and our company crashed. My parents couldn't handle it. They jumped off a building. Even so, I was thankful to Ethan and married him to pay him back. Three years later, at Lily Carter's birthday party, I overheard her talking to him. "You tanked the Harper family so I could win that bid. Won't Kelly blame you?" "For you, I'd give up everything. I'll just make it up to her." My blood ran cold as I realized our marriage was all a lie. The one he loved was Lily all along. I turned and left. If he was that hooked, I'd set him free.

After seven years of running a noodle shop near her university so I could support my girlfriend through graduate school, she finally earned her doctorate. It was her birthday. I closed the shop early to prepare a proposal, only to see her walk into the restaurant next door with a group of friends. Then my phone buzzed. "I have research tonight. I'll be home late, so go to bed without me." Something made me follow her inside. She was seated at the center of the group while everyone laughed and celebrated her birthday. I smiled and started toward her. Then the man beside my girlfriend stood, dropped to one knee, and held out a diamond ring. It was much larger than mine. "Nat, today is also our third anniversary. You've done so much for me over these three years, and I'm truly grateful. "You knew I had no money, so you quietly sent me eight hundred dollars every month. You knew I was proud, so you found me a part-time job instead of calling it charity. "My laptop, tablet, and every other device I own came from you. "Nat, I love you. Will you marry me?" Every drop of blood in my body seemed to freeze. I gave my girlfriend eight hundred dollars every month for living expenses. I had bought every one of her electronic devices, too, but each one somehow disappeared soon afterward. I had only smiled, told her it was fine, and bought another. When I learned that her classmate was struggling financially, I hired him at my shop without hesitation and paid him another eight hundred dollars a month. So that was the truth. All these years, I had not been supporting one graduate student. I had been supporting my girlfriend and her boyfriend.

In the sixth year of my marriage with Zach Elroy, his workplace finally allocated us a small, two-room flat. I was overjoyed. I told our daughter she would finally have a bed of her own. But Zach said coldly, "This room is for Jennifer and her daughter. You and Kathy can keep sleeping on the floor." In my past life, we fought bitterly over it. He eventually gave in. But while I was away on a work trip, he went back on his word. He brought Jennifer Cross into our home and made our daughter, Kathy, sleep on the floor. That night, when Kathy came down with a high fever and cried out that she felt sick, he was reading Jennifer and her daughter a bedtime story. Our daughter passed away that night. Now, in this life, I calmly laid out the bedding on the floor and said, "Whatever."