Melodramatic Short Stories & Bias Regret Novels

At a mafia family banquet, my boyfriend of five years, Emilio Gimondi, gives away the ring that symbolizes the family's Donna to his childhood friend, Carlotta Lecce. Someone asks in astonishment, "You gave the ring to Carlotta? Isn't Ms. Rinaldi going to be angry?" Emilio looks completely unconcerned. "A proposal is just a formality. Zita is going to be the Donna eventually. She doesn't need to throw a tantrum over a ring." Carlotta makes a point of flashing the ring in front of me. "Zita, isn't it pretty?" Emilio thinks I'll react the way I always have—in anger and jealousy. Instead, I simply watch them quietly and say that it does indeed look nice. He relaxes, thinking that I've finally learned my place. He promises that once we marry, he'll make it up to me with something much better than that ring. But what he doesn't know is that I've already been accepted into medical school. Very soon, I'll be gone.

In seven years together, the words Theo said to me most weren't "I love you." They were "Be reasonable." In our first year of dating, his neighbor Sophia took a liking to my wolf fang necklace and wanted to borrow it for a few days. Theo said, "Joey, be reasonable. She's young, let her wear it." In the third year, Sophia borrowed my brand-new car. Theo said, "She'll get over the novelty in a few days. Cut her some slack." In the seventh year, the day he finally became Alpha, Theo gave me a moonstone ring blessed by the Moon Goddess. Sophia clung to his arm, her voice sweet and wheedling. "Theo, that's a moonstone ring. I've never gotten to wear one before." Then she glared at me, her smile dripping with malice. "Joey, I want the ring." Theo leaned in and murmured, "Joey, be reasonable. It's just a ring." I took it off without hesitation and handed it to Sophia. Just then, a text came through on my phone. "The position is yours whenever you're ready. Just tell me when you're coming to London, and I'll pick you up."

On the day of our wedding, all the guests take their seats, and the photographers and lighting crew are ready to go. The emcee announces, "Please welcome the bride, Lana Bowen!" Even though he has repeated himself three times, Lana is still nowhere to be seen. I call Lana, and she only picks up on my fifth try. I can hear the noisy bustle of a mall in the background. "Mark, Nick says he wants to be your groomsman. He's picking out a suit right now. Give me an hour. Once Nick gets changed and gets his hair done, we'll head over." My palms are getting clammy as I softly say, "Lana, this is our wedding day, not some casual get-together." She clicks her tongue. "Mark Waters, it's not like I said I wasn't going. Nick's going to be your groomsman. I can't exactly have him showing up in a T-shirt and shorts, can I?" My good friend Robert Decker is so mad that he's ready to give her a piece of his mind, but she hangs up the moment Nicholas Sampson calls her name. The emcee comes over and asks if we should postpone the ceremony. I turn to my parents, who are waiting expectantly, then to my future in-laws, who have looks of disdain on their faces. "Start on schedule, but change the bride's name." I tap Robert on the shoulder. "Get your sister to help me out and go through the wedding with me instead."

At a friends' gathering, we're all playing Truth or Dare. Since Austin Ramos has lost the round, he chooses the "Truth" option. "Elsa and I have a child together." I whip around to stare at him in disbelief, my body already frozen from the news. Everyone knows that Elsa is my dearest sister, whereas Austin is my newly-married husband. His tone is casual and calm. It's also coated in a slight hint of nonchalance. "I had too much to drink three years ago. Elsa looked super sexy in her skimpy clothes, and I couldn't hold myself back. I didn't think she'd get pregnant right away." He dips his head while chuckling softly. Soon, his words take on a different meaning. "Elsa is definitely sexier than a certain someone here, and she's definitely interesting in bed. On top of that, she's capable of making me a father, unlike a certain infertile woman here." I can only look at Elsa, whose cheeks are heavily flushed. She lowers her head and dares not look at me the whole time. Yesterday, Elsa had wished me happiness with red-rimmed eyes. She told me that she'd plan the grandest wedding for me. Austin puts down his glass before adding lightly, "There. I've said my piece." Almost immediately, everyone falls silent and turns to look at me.

Connor Lockwood abandons me at the hospital's entrance even though I'm bleeding in the middle of my pregnancy. He insists on sending his client, a divorcée, home. The blood flows down my legs, but he hurries off without another look back. He should've been at the hospital and by my side, but instead, I see him in his client's social media update. It's captioned, "Thank goodness for my wonderful lawyer. Do you know who gets to have hangover soup when they're drunk? Me!" I spend the rest of the night wide awake. The following morning, I calmly dial a number. "Dad, I've made up my mind. I'll return home in three days to take over the company."

At a family dinner celebrating Allison Bullock, my stepdaughter's acceptance into one of the city's top high schools, I stood in the kitchen slicing sea bass while listening to the conversation outside. One relative laughed and asked, "She's such a smart girl. I wonder which side of the family she takes after?" My husband, Tobias Bullock, took a sip of his liquor and smiled. "I have to thank my ex-wife, Alyvia Livingston, for that. Her family is full of top scholars." My knife slipped, burying itself silently into the cutting board. Seven years. I was his current wife. I was the one who had spent every day supporting his gifted daughter. Yet in his story, I wasn't even worth mentioning. It was as though every sacrifice I'd made over the past seven years had been thrown away on people who never appreciated it. I rinsed the fishy smell from my hands and slowly dried them. From today on, I was done serving this family.

To help my husband, Julian Parker, pay off the debt from his stock-market losses, I agreed to sell one of my kidneys. But on the day of the surgery, our six-year-old daughter, Ella Parker, ran to the clinic all by herself and frantically called Julian for help. Julian sounded conflicted. "Mom's only having one kidney removed. It'll get Dad out of this mess for good. But if she doesn't do it, Dad's whole future is ruined." Ella kept begging him to stop the surgery, but Julian simply hung up. Then he hurried toward a private hospital suite nearby, his face filled with worry. Inside lay Claire Morgan, the woman he'd never gotten over. Her face was deathly pale. "Don't worry. We've got a kidney for you. You're going to be fine." He lowered his voice. "And don't feel guilty. I'm the one who chose to lie to her. She's still young. She can live just fine with one kidney." Claire's transplant was a success. Julian was in such a good mood afterward that, for once, he even suggested taking Ella and me on a trip, calling it a belated honeymoon. But he had no idea I was already dead. After my kidney was removed, I couldn't even afford $9.90 for the antibiotics I needed. The wound became infected, and I died. And Ella finally gave up on her father, too.

The first night I married into the Decker family in Markusson City, Rachael Decker had me sign an agreement. It required every expense after the wedding to go through her approval. "The gap between our families is too wide," she'd said. "This is to protect you from gossip." I'd accepted it without a second thought. Then came her pregnancy, and the mood swings that went with it. I stayed up with her every night until dawn, and the lack of sleep gave me splitting headaches. So I sent her a payment request on ClickCart for a head massager. It cost twelve dollars. She rejected it in seconds. "That's a waste of money. I'm the one who's pregnant, and I don't even have a headache. You need to learn to manage your emotions." A deep helplessness settled over me. That was when the family fund account was suddenly charged one hundred and ten thousand dollars for a round-the-world trip. The people who'd gone along were her secretary, Sean Wellbrock, and his family. I clenched my fists and laughed at myself, bitter. So the transparency she always talked about only ever applied to me. I logged out of the account and accepted the job offer from the overseas research institute on the spot.

My world is simple. Everything has a price. A goodnight hug from Mom costs one dollar. Three minutes of Dad spinning me around in his arms costs five dollars. I keep track of it all in my head, then count out the coins from my bear purse to pay them. Dad calls it "splitting bills". He says it teaches me to be independent and never leech off others. I don't have any friends because I have no idea how to pay for friendship. I'm not scared of monsters in the dark. I'm scared of Dad looking over the bill and saying, "Kevin, you overspent on love today." So, I save every penny I can, hoping to buy more and more love. Then comes the day a stranger offers me a candy wrapped in shiny paper. Out of habit, I ask him how much it is. He says it's free, and I just need to walk with him for a while.

I had been married to Adrian Foster for six years when I finally conceived his child. However, the doctor’s reaction upon hearing Adrian’s name left me frozen. "I clearly recall that Mrs. Foster already gave birth to a son here two years ago. She’s a famous actress, and she and Mr. Foster made the perfect couple." I stared at her in disbelief. "What are you talking about? We’re legally married. We have a certificate!" "There’s no mistake. Mr. Foster is someone notable, and he doted on his wife. He was always by her side." I stormed out of the hospital in anger, but my hope was shattered when the lawyer confirmed that my marriage certificate was a forgery. The world tilted into darkness. My ears rang, my surroundings blurred, and I could no longer hear a thing. At last, I understood. He had never been my husband. He had never once looked forward to the child growing within me. With shaking hands, I dialed my family’s number, and in my heart, I swore that this merciless liar would burn in hell.

After my family went bankrupt, my fiancé, Thaddeus Blackwood, firmly broke off our engagement and chose Vivienne Winters instead. It was Sterling Knight who helped me clear my debts and arranged my father's funeral, rescuing me from financial ruin. For the next three years, he remained steadfastly by my side. Just when I believed I had found my salvation, I overheard a conversation between Sterling and his friend the day before our wedding. "Do you really plan to marry Arabella Frost? Aren't you afraid she'll eventually discover that you orchestrated her father's death and her family's bankruptcy?" "Vivienne has already married Thaddeus," Sterling replied. "I might as well marry her. And if she finds out, so what? I paid off her debts and gave her father a proper burial. I've done right by her." Only then did I realize that Sterling had deceived me too. From beginning to end, I was the only one truly invested in this relationship.

The day I remarried Caitlyn Sullivan, the fake heir set my adoptive mother on fire and left her face burned beyond recognition. The moment I called the police, I was knocked unconscious. When I opened my eyes again, Caitlyn had personally replaced my face and made me take the blame for the fake heir. Three years later, on the day I was released from prison, Caitlyn's legal team was on standby around the clock. If there was even the slightest sign of revenge from me, they were ready to send me to a psychiatric hospital for another three years. My daughter even used money I had given her to build a 99-story safe house to hide the fake heir on the top floor. She named it Mason Tower. The fake heir was Mason Sheppard. They were terrified that I would hurt Mason in the slightest. But I disappeared from their lives as if I had never existed. The next time we met was in front of my food cart where I sold gourmet burgers. I lit the gas stove, casually wiped my oily hands on my apron, and skillfully sliced open buns. In a calm voice, I said, "A dollar for an extra egg, and two dollars for a spicy patty." Caitlyn's fingers trembled slightly. Her voice turned hoarse. "I'm allergic to eggs. Our daughter can't eat spicy food." She paused. "Did you forget?" I didn't need to remember. I only needed to remember that after selling 33 more burgers, I would have enough money to pay off the remaining balance for the grave next to my adoptive mother's.

After I landed in the hospital—again—from working myself into the ground, Jacob swore he was done playing house stockbroker. "Starting tomorrow, I'll do anything. Haul bricks, deliver pizza, whatever. I'm not letting you carry this alone." His eyes were glassy as he stormed out of the exam room like he was about to save the day or something. Then the doctor walked in and handed me a report. I was pregnant. Again. Heart racing, I chased after Jacob... and froze. He was standing outside some super VIP room. The same guys who used to bang on our door for money were suddenly all respectful. "Mr. Klein, should we block her door again tomorrow?" Jacob twirled our engagement ring around his finger. "No need. She already lost one baby paying off those debts. The test's over. Time she knew who I really am." Then my best friend—Lillian Morvain—strolled out and wrapped her arms around his waist like she belonged there. "Jacob, don't go soft. Your tests usually last at least five years. What if she's just another gold digger? Plus... I'd miss you." He hesitated. Smirked. "Fine. We'll do it your way. She's not going anywhere anyway." I stood there, clutching my stomach, sliding down the wall like the air had been punched out of me. Later, I pushed open the office door. "Dr. Spencer, I need a termination. Three days from now."

I was eight months pregnant when I slipped in the bathroom. I lay bleeding on the floor, unable to move. My Apple Watch sent a fall alert to my husband, Gabriel, the mafia don. I waited on the cold tiles for forty minutes. He never came. A maid bringing my dinner heard me calling for help. She called the guards, who broke down the door and rushed me to the hospital. When Gabriel arrived, he held my hand. “I’m sorry, Nora. I won’t let this happen to you or our baby again. I promise.” After I came home, he replaced the tiles in every bathroom so I wouldn’t slip again. Everyone said he loved me more than anything. But we both knew where he’d been during those forty minutes. He was at his late brother’s wife Celeste’s house, taking care of her son, Aaron. Before I fell, he’d sent me a text. “Aaron fell. I need to go check on him.” When my alert came through, he tapped to confirm he’d seen it. Then he went back to cleaning his nephew’s scraped knee. He thought I’d forgive him like I always did. A month later, he was about to name Aaron his heir until our son was old enough to take over. He sent the butler to bring us down for the announcement. The butler returned with divorce papers. “Don, I’m afraid Donna has already left for Zurich.”

On their wedding day, right as Elena Emerton and Kyle Fenton were about to exchange rings, a woman rushed Kyle with a knife. Elena moved on instinct, throwing herself in front of Kyle. The blade sank into her chest, and she crumpled into Kyle's arms. As the woman was dragged away, she screamed, "Kyle Fenton, we're not done! How dare you get married?" That was when Elena recognized her. Allison Smyth. Kyle's sworn enemy for the past six years. Before anyone could react, Allison broke free and held the knife to her throat. "Kyle, I'm tired. Let's end this." Kyle's eyes went wide. He dropped Elena and rushed to Allison, catching the blade with his bare hand. Elena hit the floor hard. Blood spread across her white wedding dress. Kyle held Allison tight, terrified she'd hurt herself. When Allison passed out, he scooped her up and rushed right past Elena. Not once did he look back.

My family has always seen me as a lunatic. The day I catch Tiffany Egan cheating on me, I jump from the fifth floor with her in my arms. She survives, while I become a coma patient. From then on, that man makes a point of getting intimate with her right beside me every night, all to get back at me. In the first year, whenever Tiffany mentions me, her voice will catch with resentment. She says dying together would've been letting me off too easily. In the second year, she bites down on him in the heat of the moment and says she wants to set the three of us on fire and let us all burn to death. By the third year, they barely talk about me anymore. They spend most of their time calculating her ovulation cycle and picking a date for their wedding. The day they finally get married, I wake up. Under the harsh sunlight, Tiffany, visibly pregnant, rises onto her toes to accept a kiss from my best friend, Dominic Green. I lift my thin, frail hands and clap along with my old friends. The applause is so out of place that it startles everyone. My older sister, Sophia Young, is the first to rush over and block my way. She warns me coldly, "Don't start going crazy again, Zachary. Tiffany and Dominic registered their marriage years ago. If it weren't for you, they wouldn't have had to wait until today for their wedding." Dominic is Mom's prized student. She has always favored him. "Zachary, just think of Tiffany as having died three years ago when you jumped with her. Please, let them be happy." My eyes pass over Tiffany's anguished face, and I slowly nod. But the moment Dominic speaks, my empty stomach clenches on instinct. I grab the knife from the cake beside me. Three years of suffering is more than enough. I want something sweet for a change. I'm ready to let them go this time, but unfortunately, they don't believe I'm sane.

Bertrand Callum was a well-known lawyer in our circle and my fiancé. We had agreed to go on our honeymoon right after registering our marriage. But he broke that promise again and again. He took his secretary to every place I had dreamed of visiting. On my birthday, he brought her to Saltorlini, the place we had planned to go together. Later, he gave up our marriage registration just because she had sprained her ankle. Even when I was in a car accident and on the verge of death, he hung up on my call for help because of something she said. After I recovered, I went alone to Acreatic, a place I had always longed to see, and moved out of the home we once shared. A week after I left, Bertrand called to scold me. "Annie, you need to stop overreacting. Are you really going to divorce me over something so trivial?" I wanted to remind him that we had never actually registered our marriage. But ultimately, I shut up and said nothing. After all, there was nothing between us anymore.

On my twenty-third birthday, my brother, Zackary Dixon, became the wealthiest man in the country. He threw a grand birthday party for the nanny's daughter, saying that she would be the Dixon family's favorite. At the same time, something went wrong with my artificial heart. I couldn't find a suitable one, only one month left in my life. Due to the torture of illness and great pressure, I had no choice but to call him. Hearing my cough, he coldly said, "At that time, you were afraid to get involved, and now you regret it?" My throat was sore. I stared at his expressionless face through the phone and laughed bitterly. "Zackary, three hundred thousand dollars is no big deal to you. Help me, OK?" Zackary sneered. I could hear his warm voice comforting Lillianna, "Voice phishing. It's fine." Of course, he was fine, because his sound beating heart was mine.

Clara Cooper, my girlfriend of nine years, suddenly changes her WhatsApp display name to "Mozzarella Lover". I ask her about it, but she refuses to tell me the reason behind the change. I finally realize what's happening when Thomas Zimmerman, her assistant, sends me intimate photos of the two of them, using "Mozerella Stick" as his WhatsApp display name. I calmly save the photos, open my chat window with Dad, and send him a message. "I'll go through with the arranged marriage, Dad." Dad sees my message and immediately video calls me. "Your wedding is scheduled for the end of this month then, Hunter!" It means I only have 15 days left with Clara.

In the seventh year of my long-distance relationship with my girlfriend Quinn Summers, I quit my job without telling her and traveled more than six-hundred miles to Oceanton. I only wanted to surprise her and ask her to marry me. When the receptionist heard I was looking for Quinn, her expression slightly shifted. "Our CEO Ms. Summers is still in a meeting. Please wait a moment." I was surprised. Quinn had never told me she had been promoted. During our video call last week, she had even complained about how stressful work was and how far away a promotion felt. When I turned around, I heard the receptionist whispering to her coworker. "So… This is the guy Ms. Summers is keeping on the side? Seriously, he has some nerve, coming all the way to the company." "If Mr. Gomez finds out Ms. Summers is cheating during their marriage, this is going to be very bad." I was about to turn back and tell them they had the wrong person. Quinn was not married, and I was her real boyfriend of ten years. But before I could speak, a man in a black suit walked in from the revolving door. The receptionists immediately fell silent and greeted him with deep respect. "Mr. Gomez." The man was on the phone, his voice low and gentle. "Honey, I'm downstairs. You must come with me to your prenatal checkup today!" A clear female voice came through the phone, agonizingly sweet. "I know, honey. The meeting's almost over. Wait for me at the guest lounge." I had listened to that voice for seven years. I knew it far too well. It was my girlfriend, Quinn.