Bias Tragic Love 단편 소설 & 소설

After our son suffered severe burns in a fire, I gave up everything to care for him and my wife, who was on the verge of a breakdown. However, all she ever told me was to get out. Then, one night, I woke to the sharp smell of gasoline. My wife stood at the foot of the bed, with a lighter clenched in her hand. “Now we’ll be even.”

Three years after my release from prison, I ran into my ex-wife in the presidential suite of the most exclusive hotel in Bayshore. It had been years since I last saw her. She was draped in a silk robe, radiating wealth. When she recognized me, something unreadable passed through Cecily Monroe's eyes. "On the day you got out, why didn't you wait for me to come pick you up?" I said nothing and handed over the takeout. Her gaze dropped to the scar on my wrist, and her breath caught. "I went too far with that. But you've always been tougher than Adrian. You can always get back on your feet." She was talking about what happened six years ago, when Adrian Burke was involved in a catastrophic medical malpractice incident. She fabricated evidence to pin the blame on me and sent me to prison. I stepped away from Cecily. Over 1,000 days and nights of hard labor behind bars had ground away every last trace of whatever I once felt for her.

My husband, Nathan Sidney, is the top doctor in the municipal hospital. However, he refuses to treat my stepsister, Jessica Jepson. He tells me that it's because Jessica's mother, Janice Ferguson, is Dad's mistress, which makes Jessica a mistress' daughter. They don't deserve to be treated by him because they're the ones responsible for tearing my family apart. During a family get-together, we play the "Have You or Haven't You" game. When it's my turn, I confidently say, "I've been treated by Nathan. You haven't." Jessica smiles and pulls out a medical report from her pocket. "Sorry, Cassie. You've lost." Nathan's signature is penned on the report. As I clutch the medical report, I ask hoarsely, "When did this happen?" "Last Wednesday," Nathan replies. "She cut her hand. I can't just ignore her when she's bleeding right in front of me." He smiles and ruffles my hair, saying, "I'm a doctor. I can't ignore a patient. You're so kind, Cassandra. You understand why I had to treat her, right?" In the past, when Jessica secretly tried on my wedding dress, Nathan said that she just liked feeling pretty. When she pawned off the gold bracelet Mom left me, he said she was just greedy, while wiring me money as compensation. I was hospitalized for two weeks after accidentally drinking white wine instead of water because the doctors were trying to protect the pregnancy. When I tell Nathan that Jessica's the one who mixed up the drinks, he says, "She's just a little stupid. You're so kind, Cassandra. You understand that she just made an honest mistake, right?" Today, Nathan has not only broken his promise, but he's also trying to emotionally blackmail me. I simply smile and softly say, "I don't want to understand. I'm done being understanding, Nathan Sidney."

At the reunion, the wives got rowdy and dared each other to take part in a "best husband" challenge. Each woman had to call her husband and ask for 6,000 dollars to buy a bag. Whoever got a yes first would win. As expected, Matthew Whitebrook picked up almost instantly, his voice gentle. "Buy it, baby. You remember the card password, right?" Everyone groaned with envy and said I'd hit the jackpot by landing the better of the twin brothers. I laughed and hung up, then glanced at my sister, who sat curled up in the corner. She clutched her phone but refused to make the call. "I won't bother," she said quietly. "He's on another business trip. He won't pick up anyway." My sister had been dating Matthew's older twin brother for three years, but he was constantly away on business. Almost no one had ever seen him in person. I felt bad for her, so I snatched the phone from her hand and dialed the number myself. It rang twice before someone answered. "Baby, why the sudden call?" The room fell silent. That voice was identical to the one that had told me, "Buy it, baby," just ten seconds earlier. For a moment, I thought I had misheard. But when I turned to my sister, her face had already gone white. She snatched the phone back, her smile strained. "Bad signal. You must have misheard." However, I had heard it clearly. From the other end of the call came the unmistakable sound of the record player in my own living room, the one I had forgotten to turn off before I left the house that afternoon.

Damian Cross was my father's most promising lieutenant. To earn the right to marry me, he swore he would take over the Golden Triangle. Before he left, he kissed my forehead. "Wait for me. The whole Golden Triangle will be your wedding gift." I waited for him for three years. Three years later, he returned covered in scars, with a fragile-looking girl following behind him. By then, he had become the "Mad Dog," a man whose name struck fear into everyone in the underworld. He went down on one knee in front of my father. "She took a bullet for me. I owe her my life, and I owe her my name." My father put the black-and-gold whip in my hand. Everyone in the room was waiting for me to make him bleed. But I only pulled off the ring he had given me and tossed it back to him. "Congratulations." Then I turned around and called Adrian Blackwood, his worst enemy. "Your proposal. I accept." On my wedding day, Damian blew up the chapel. His eyes bloodred, he pinned me against the wall and demanded: "Who gave you permission to marry someone else?"

For six months I renovated the condo where my fiancé and I were supposed to begin our married life. Grant said he was buried in a project. My brother said he was always traveling. My best friend said something had come up at home. Not one of them had time to lend a hand. The night before I moved in, they covered my eyes and told me someone I would never guess had come back to warm the place for me. The door opened, and there was Serena Cole, a childhood friend I hadn’t seen in years, wearing my slippers and rushing at me with a smile. “Surprised?” I was. Until she said, offhand, “These past few days I couldn’t have managed without Grant helping me pick a mattress, Owen carrying my bags, and Tessa helping me choose curtains.” The smile faded off my face. They hadn’t been busy. They had all been busy with her. I pushed open the door to the primary bedroom. The bedding I had bought was a different color. The vanity was covered with her things. Half the closet had been emptied out. I asked, “If she’s living here, where do I sleep?” Grant frowned. “Serena’s engagement just ended, and she’s in a bad place. Stay at your brother’s for a couple of weeks.” My brother tried to reason with me too. “We all grew up together. Don’t treat her like a stranger.” My best friend laughed and smoothed it over. “She’s had terrible luck lately. Staying in your new place might let a little of your good luck rub off on her.” I looked at the three of them for a few seconds, and then I smiled too. Then I walked to the entryway and reset the lock code. Grant’s face changed. “What are you doing?” “Nothing much. “I just remembered that I’m the only name on the deed.”

Five years after our divorce, I saw my ex-husband, Noah Whitmore, beneath a magnolia tree. He had grown much thinner, but clothes looked more than twice as expensive as they used to be. "It's been a long time. How have you been?" [I've been fine, just a little bored. What about you?] "My company went public. Things have gone fairly smoothly, though I've been a little busy." [Oh, that's good.] After a long silence, he let out a sigh. "Belle, the magnolias in our hometown have bloomed again. Where did you go?" I looked down at my transparent body and answered his words once more. [I'm right here.] Unfortunately, he could no longer hear me.

Wendy Fisher loves me with all her heart. Ten years ago, she was willing to trade her life to save mine. I give up my money, power, and identity without hesitation to elope with her. But when I go into shock from blood loss after a car accident, I can't get through to her on the phone. At that moment, her assistant posts a picture on Instagram with the caption, "Reunited as a family of three, safely and happily." In the photo, I see Wendy holding the baby's hand. She's so happy that she's even forgotten to take off her wedding ring. It turns out even a love forged in life and death amounts to nothing more than this. I smile bitterly and dial my stepmother's number. "I want to restore my identity as Xander Lynch. I'll be back the day after tomorrow."

It took me three years to thaw the frozen heart of Theo, the Mafia's top surgeon, just to marry him. To be his wife, I shut down my documentary studio and locked my Best Director trophy from the independent film festival inside a drawer. I was willing to put away my camera and stay in the shadows as the woman behind the Family's chief surgeon. After he said having a kid in this business was a death sentence, I went to a clinic the very next day and got an IUD. Everyone in our circle was absolutely certain that we would be the perfect power couple. But today, on our fifth wedding anniversary, I decided to get a divorce. My lawyer was my best friend, Jade. She twirled her pen before stopping. "Are you out of your mind? You threw away the title of North America's best independent director for him back then, and now you are telling me you want a divorce?" I swallowed the bitter ache in my chest. "Just draft the divorce papers for me. As soon as possible." She frowned. "But why, Harper?" I looked at the black velvet gift box on the dining table. Inside lay a carefully preserved peony. After a long hesitation, I gave her my answer. "Because of a flower."

My boyfriend had a border collie named Milo that he treated like his own child. No matter how broke we were, Milo never went without. We waited outside the warehouse club for its 10 p.m. bread markdowns, then bought Milo fresh seafood flown in that morning. We worked until conjunctivitis left our eyes bloodshot and still didn't dare take a day off, all so we could send Milo to a summer camp that cost more than three thousand dollars. I always thought Lucian simply loved animals too much, that people could tough it out but Milo shouldn't have to suffer. Until the Calloway heir threw a lavish banquet in the north end of town for his beloved pet's birthday. I snuck in hoping to take home some food for Milo, only to discover that the host was my boyfriend, Lucian Calloway, and the birthday pet was Milo. A single napkin at their table was worth more than my entire year's salary. A guest tossing off a casual compliment about how silky the coat looked walked away with a generous reward. That was when it hit me: with a snap of his fingers, Lucian could have paid to treat the stomach and eye problems I'd developed from overwork. And there I was, the fool who'd hidden my medical reports to save money, gutting it out year after year. Maybe in his mind, spending money on strangers and the dog was a better investment than spending it on me. So it was time for me to leave. I pulled out my phone and dialed a number I hadn't called in a long time. "The marriage alliance with the Bennetts. I accept."

At the party the night before our wedding, I came across a couples' challenge post online: [If I weren't an option, who would you most want to marry?] I smiled as I asked my fiance, Julian Hayes. He didn't hesitate. "Vivian." Vivian Bennett was my younger sister. My best friend chimed in. "Honestly, Vivian does understand him best. Every time you two fight, she's the one who stays up talking to Julian until dawn." Vivian reached over and gave him a playful punch on the chest. "Better keep your fiance in line, sis. Can't have him pining after me all the time." The whole table erupted in laughter. My mother, Margaret Bennett, gave an amused tsk. "It's just a joke. Besides, Vivian never complains the way you do. It's only natural that Julian likes her." Julian glanced at me. "It was just a joke. What, you can't take one again?" I didn't respond. I looked down at the confirmation form the wedding planner had just sent over. The gown, the bouquet, the music, the menu. All chosen to Vivian's taste. So this wedding, from start to finish, had only one thing that was mine: my name in the bride's place. If it didn't matter who the bride was, then there was no point in having this wedding at all.

During my wedding, someone suggests that we play the game "one dollar and 50 cents". The host will call out an amount that the players will have to match by forming groups. I draw the 50-cent straw, and so does my best friend, Rebecca Cross, who is also the group favorite. My fiance, Ian Chilton, his childhood friend, Richard Price, his older sister, Anne Chilton, and my stepsister, Chelsea Whitmore, all draw one-dollar straws. For the first round, we need to make up a total of 1.50 dollars. I make a beeline toward Ian, but he gazes distractedly at Rebecca. It isn't until he is assured that she won't be eliminated that he finally loosens his painfully tight grip on my hand. Before I can truly feel my disappointment, the second round begins. This time, we need to make up a total of five dollars. Everyone instinctively surges toward Rebecca. I don't pester Ian this time, and he naturally fails to notice that I've been left out. It isn't until the host reminds them that they're 50 cents short that they reluctantly let me into their group. For the third round, we need to make up 2.50 dollars. It's clear that the six of us can conveniently form two groups of said amount, yet they debate heatedly over who gets to be in the group with Rebecca. As time is running out, Richard and Chelsea finally walk reluctantly toward me, having lost in a game of rock-paper-scissors. In the final round, we need to make up 4.50 dollars. As soon as the whistle is blown, they crowd together merrily. Ian even considerately wraps his arm around Rebecca's shoulders out of fear that she'll be jostled. Meanwhile, I'm knocked to the floor by the crowd, my palms digging deeply into splinters sticking out of the wooden floor paneling. From start to finish, nobody spares me a glance. In that instant, everything feels pointless to me. When we played hide-and-seek as children, they only realized I hadn't been "found" after nightfall. When we visited the amusement park as adults, they would always forget to buy my ticket. All things considered, it simply isn't polite to keep trying to fit into a small group that doesn't have room for me.

It's our fifth year together, and I accompany my fiance, Theo Montague, to see the aurora he has always yearned to see. Fortune favors us that night as vivid green lights stretch across the snow-covered plain. He wraps his arms around me from behind and suddenly murmurs, "It's beautiful. Too bad we're still one step short of perfect." I freeze for a moment and ask him what we're missing. He doesn't answer, and I don't press him, either. After all, I've heard this phrase far too many times. When I go to great lengths to get him the out-of-print book he has his sights on for ages, he sighs. "We're still one step short of perfect." When we move into our beautifully furnished house and finally have a place of our own in Northshire, he laments, "We're still a step short." Even when he becomes a professor, our wedding's set, and everyone envies us for having it all, he still tells me, "This is wonderful, but it's still one step short of perfect." I've heard it so often that I assume he's simply harder to please than most people. The "one step short" he always speaks of seems nothing more than the small imperfection a perfectionist can never let go of. Everything changes when his most prized former student returns from abroad. For the first time ever, the man who rarely posts on social media shares a photo of himself picking her up at the airport. The woman standing next to him looks eerily like me, sharing at least 70% of my features. The caption reads, "My life's complete now that I've reunited with an old friend." That's when it hits me—the one thing he's missing is a person. I'm merely someone he settles for because I happen to look 70% like her. Since I'm only 70% similar to the woman he truly wants, how can I possibly give him the perfect life he longs for?

I didn't come from money, so everyone around my rich girlfriend decided I had to be a gold digger. Nobody more than Tristan Reed, her male best friend. He told them he'd been kept by rich women himself, so he understood men like me better than anyone. To prove I wasn't that kind of man, I never accepted a single expensive gift from Vivian Ford during the three years I spent with her. Tristan had an explanation for that too. "He says no out loud, but he's waiting for her to offer something better on her own. It's called playing hard-to-get." Then came Vivian's birthday. I'd saved six months of my salary and bought her a necklace. I was almost at the door of the private room when I heard Tristan laughing. "See? I told you he'd buy something expensive. "That's the oldest trick a gold digger has. Pretend you're not after the money, then trade a little of it for a lot." Vivian sat beside him filing her nails. She didn't contradict him. Someone egged him on. "Vivian, your boyfriend's not just a gold digger, he's a professional." Then somebody spotted me and made a hushing gesture. "Quiet, he's here." Tristan just scoffed. "Some men ought to be honest like me. That's what rich women actually want. Am I wrong?" Vivian was quiet for a long moment. Then she looked up at me. "After all this time pretending in front of me, were you really just waiting for one big payout?" I stood in the doorway, and the necklace in my hand suddenly felt too heavy to hold. I didn't answer. I just turned around and left. A heart that's doubted every single time is one I'm taking back for good.

As I was rummaging through the trash for leftovers, my wife, who had died three years ago, suddenly showed up. She stepped out of the Voyce and looked down at me from above. “Honey, you really did pass my test.” I was holding some moldy stale bread. I stared at her in bewilderment. It turned out that three years ago, at a class reunion, the school heartthrob she had once dated had suggested it. “I wanted to see if your love is real.”

The day my daughter was fighting for her life, my wife, Shirley Hartley, was busy helping her childhood friend Oliver Burke get married. I called seventeen times. On my eighteenth try, she finally picked up. "Shirley, Nyssa's getting worse. The doctor says she needs life support now. They want twenty grand upfront. Where's the money?" Her voice turned ice-cold. "I used it. Oliver's wedding is coming up, and that stuff costs money. I'm not letting his fiancée's family look down on him. "Nyssa just has asthma, right? She coughs a little and suddenly they want twenty grand? Sounds like a scam." Nyssa lay in the hospital bed, her tiny face ghost-pale. Her eyes slowly opened. "Daddy, I want Mommy." I turned away, biting my lip hard so she wouldn't see me cry. "Mommy'll be here soon." But over the phone, Shirley snapped, "Oliver still hasn't picked out his wedding suit. I don't have time for you freaking out over this." Then she hung up. By the time I scraped together the twenty grand, forty minutes were gone. Half an hour later, the doctor came out of the ER. He pulled off his mask and shook his head. "If we'd started treatment thirty minutes earlier, she might've had a chance." Then my phone buzzed. A transaction alert. Shirley had taken the money that could've saved Nyssa and bought Oliver a $220,000 Maybach. I looked at Nyssa's blue-tinged face and called my lawyer. "Draw up the divorce papers. "And pull the records for every expense Shirley ever covered for Oliver. "I want every cent of our money back."

Sandra's ex-boyfriend had cancer, yet he still found the energy to keep pestering her. So I anonymously sent him a sum of money to make him leave her alone. But when Sandra found what I'd done, she threw the bank card in my face and shouted, "Why would you humiliate a dying man with money? He's already pitiful enough!" I looked at her calmly. "You're my wife. You shouldn't be worrying about another man."

It's Valentine's Day, and I'm at my desk at the county courthouse when my fiancee, Shelby Smith, walks in to get a marriage license with her male best friend, Liam Pearson. She slides her ID across the counter and offers a casual excuse. "Rowen, don't be mad. I lost a game of Truth or Dare. The penalty is being married to Liam for just one day. I'm bringing him back tomorrow for a divorce." Liam, who has a woman's jacket draped on his shoulders, pipes up with a snide grin. "I don't think Rowen is going to process this for us. After all, he's always had a problem with me. I just don't get men—" Before he can finish, I slam the official stamp down on their application form. "Why wouldn't I? I get it. You two are best friends, nothing more. You just lost a dare, that's all. Take this form over there to pay the marriage license fee. Congratulations." Shelby's face instantly falls when she sees how completely unbothered I am. She hooks her arm through Liam's and storms out. The next day, she shows up at the courthouse with Liam again. I take one look at the vivid hickey on her neck, smile, and hand her a waiting-period notice instead. "Sorry, but a new policy has just been communicated to us. Couples rushing into a quickie divorce like you two need to go home and really think things through. If you still want to call it quits, come back in six months."

My best friend, Lena, and I were dragged into an ancient werewolf kingdom. The Moon Goddess gave us one chance to return home, back to our pack and fated mate: Earn the trust of the ruthless Lycan Prince and the savage Rogue King. But the mission became a nightmare. The Lycan Prince shattered my ribs and threw me into a rogue prison. The Rogue King bound Lena’s legs with silver chains and burned away her voice. For two years, we lived like stray. Then, when the Moon Goddess finally announced our failure, the Lycan prince standing before me removed his mask. It was my fated mate all along, Jace. The Rogue King revealed himself as Rowan—Lena’s fated mate as well. “It was only a punishment,” Jace said. “You two hurt Selene and caused her to lose her pup. Now we’re even.” The kingdom was fake. The cruelty was an act. But they didn’t knew, the Moon Goddess had truly appeared in our minds. And when Lena and I were on the brink of death, we made a REAL bargain with her. Our wolf souls…in exchange for our loved one’s happiness. When the sun rises, Lena and I will disappear forever.

When the fire trapped me, my Alpha mate, Graeme Blackwood, was throwing a birthday party for my little sister, Ayana. I was locked in the basement, trembling so violently my bones clattered against each other. When the flames first caught, I called him. Begged him. His voice was ice. "Evelyn, stop the act. It's Ayana's birthday. I'm not letting you out just so you can ruin it. Let her have her night. Once she's happy, I'll let you out." I tried to explain. With the last shred of strength I had, I called him again. He hung up on me. So I just watched. Watched the flames swallow everything.