Mga Maiikling Kuwento at Nobelang Melodramatic Countdown

I was the treaty bride carefully chosen by Silvermoon pack and sent to Shadowridge pack. My presence there guaranteed ten years of peace between the two packs. All because I looked a little like the woman who had saved Theron, the Alpha of Shadowridge. For 1007 nights, Theron left bite marks all over my body, but the one mark reserved for a Luna never appeared. I begged him to let me go. He gripped my chin and laughed. "You're a stand-in. What makes you think you have the right to beg me?" After that, I was trapped in Shadowridge. Not his Luna, not his mate, just a shadow he could forget whenever he pleased. Three years later, the woman who had supposedly saved him returned from the dead: Celine. He announced to the pack that he would take her as his mate. Whatever hope I had left died. That same night, I found the man whose life I had once saved. "Help me fake my death. On the night of the eclipse, I want to die in front of Theron."

On our fourth anniversary as a couple, my boyfriend, Xavier Hillard, takes me and my best friend, Jessica Nielsen, to a barbecue restaurant. The waiter recognizes them and asks with a smile, "Still the usual for you two?" Xavier nods. We're led to a two-seater by the window, and Jessica takes the inner seat. Xavier gives the first piece of meat—a crispy piece of pork belly with no extra condiments—to Jessica. The last piece of meat goes to her too. Meanwhile, I'm placed in an extra seat by the aisle. There isn't even a condiment tray in front of me. When paying the bill, the waiter flips through the membership records, smiles, and says, "Mr. Hillard, Ms. Nielsen, this is your 100th visit tonight. Here's a commemorative grill pan exclusive for you." Engraved on the back of the grill pan is a line of text—"Xavier and Jessica, May We Never Part". I then think back to this date, three years ago. I recall that day. Xavier had been at the hospital keeping me company for my birthday. It turns out that when he disappeared for two hours in the middle of the celebration, it wasn't to go to a company meeting. Jessica traces the engraving with her fingers and smiles, asking, "After you and Wen get married, will our monthly get-togethers continue?" Xavier fastens her scarf for her, then turns to look at me. "Of course it will. Wendy isn't that unreasonable. "Besides, we've known each other for ten years. Even if she has an issue with it, she should be the one to adapt to us." On the way back, I get into the back seat of the car. As Jessica is adjusting the passenger seat to the angle she's used to, the car's GPS suddenly announces, "Now navigating to Jessica's home." I look at my own reflection in the car window, feeling suddenly drained. So, I lower my head and buy a one-way ticket to Londwick that's set to depart in a week. Their ten-year friendship will still stretch on, but my four-year relationship ends here.

When I was three years old, during a car accident, I was struck in the head by a car while trying to protect Mom. After that, the doctors said something inside my head had broken, and I'd never be quite right. Everyone back home called me the slow one. Late at night, I'd see her crying alone. On my seventh birthday, Mom took me to Manhattan, and that was when I discovered that she had a second home and another daughter, Charlotte. In front of strangers, she wouldn't claim me. She only let me call her Miss Eleanor. On the third night, She sat down at her vanity. On the table was a small black box. I thought it was a present. She opened the box and took out a black silicone bracelet, with a little light embedded in the clasp—small, dark, switched off. "This is called a TruthBand. It's something a company in California makes. The light turns green when you tell the truth, and red when you lie. If you wear this, Mommy will always know." She fastened it around my wrist. Tight. The little light blinked green. I thought that if I was good enough, she would love me the way she loved my sister. But then she made me do ski practice with Charlotte. Charlotte was a junior champion. "You're both my daughters. I don't play favorites. Whoever falls, gets punished." Charlotte never fell. I couldn't even keep my skis straight. Every single run, I was the one Mama dragged off the mountain and locked in the cellar. On Thanksgiving Day, Mama spent the whole afternoon cooking. I wanted to help. I dropped a bowl. She closed her eyes. When she opened them, they were red. She grabbed a little pill bottle off the counter, tipped my chin up, and forced something between my teeth. "Dumb as a rat. Are you happy now? Did you finally embarrass me enough? " I lay on the kitchen floor, gasping. While she wasn't looking, I scraped up three little pink pellets that had spilled and tucked them into my fist. Mommy, I told myself, I'll be good now, and then you'll be happy. Right?

My son, Jasper Cole, won the gold prize in an art competition. When I took off my apron and rushed to the award ceremony, I found that the painting titled 'Mother' was not of me but Maeve Leighton, my husband's secretary. Maeve pretended to be troubled as she told my son, "Your mom will be sad when she sees this painting." However, Jasper was unperturbed. "What does her sadness have to do with me? She's an ordinary-looking and incompetent housewife, always nagging me about what I can and can’t do. She's too strict with me. It's annoying! Maeve, I wish you were my mother. My dad doesn't like my mom at all. He's only happy when he's with you. He's only with my mom because he feels obligated." My heart broke at that moment. Since he no longer wanted me as his mother, it was pointless for me to stay. I called my dad. "Dad, I want to go home. Can you pick me up?" My dad could not believe it. He answered after a long pause, "Of course. I'll come pick up my brilliant daughter in three days."

Victoria Graham told me we'd have to postpone getting our marriage license again just as I was picking up my fork. Victoria set down her cutlery, her tone as casual as if she were commenting on the weather. "Next time." I took a bite, chewed, and swallowed. "Okay." She glanced at me, then lowered her head and reached for another bite. Before taking it, she looked up at me again. "You're not angry?" I took another bite and answered calmly, "I'm not." We'd been engaged for six months, and this was the 17th time she'd postponed getting our marriage license. She was used to it. So was I. I ate slowly and finished my meal, one mouthful at a time. She didn't touch her food again. After taking my last bite, I got up to clear the dishes. As I passed her, she grabbed my wrist. "Lucas, next Monday. I'll definitely be free next week. We've already had the engagement party anyway. A few more days won't make a difference. Don't worry. I definitely won't stand you up this time." I lowered my gaze to the hand wrapped around my wrist, then looked back at her and smiled. "Okay." Over the past six months, she'd said "next week" 9 times, "definitely" 13 times, and "don't worry" 16 times. Even so, we had still never gotten our marriage license. And next week wouldn't be any different. Because this time, I was the one who was going to stand her up.

My husband, Dante, is the most untouchable Don of the Vance family in New York. He has one unbreakable rule: After 9 p.m., if he's out on family business, he does not take calls. I understood his devotion to the family, so for five years, I did my best never to disturb him. Until last night, when I was driving alone past the docks and walked straight into an ambush by a rival family's armed men. In a panic, I called Dante, begging him to save me. The phone rang for what felt like forever. When he finally picked up, his voice was ice-cold: "Nora, we've been married a long time. As the Donna of the Vance family, you should know the rules." Then he hung up. That night, I barely escaped the hail of bullets by the skin of my teeth. I spent the night in the hospital. But when I came home the next morning, all I got was a reproachful look. He accused me of interrupting a critical family shipment deal—and of sending a fake distress signal. I knew how hard he worked, so I swallowed my hurt. But later, when I used his computer, I accidentally saw his call log. One contact had been calling him almost every single night—always after nine. For five full years. I knew that number. It belonged to Alexa, the Vance family's Capo. The woman everyone in the family had agreed, for all these years, was the one truly fit to stand beside Dante. In that moment, every ounce of suppressed hurt came flooding back. After I calmed myself, I picked up my phone and found an invitation I'd received a few days ago—to an international art exhibition. And I clicked "Accept." In three days, I would disappear from his world completely.

At our final dinner before my graduation, my brother, Ethan Sawyer, suddenly gets a rainstorm alert on his phone. It isn't for our city. It's for Lindale, two hundred miles away. The next second, my childhood friend, Yohan Harrison, and my boyfriend, Connor Langley, receive the same alert. All three of them look down at their screens at the exact same time. Ethan is the first to text Willow Quinn. "Bring your umbrella." Yohan immediately checks whether the high-speed train is delayed. Connor has already opened his ride-hailing app. He plans to go pick Willow up because she's getting off work late. That's when I notice something. Lindale is the second city saved in all three of their weather apps—the same city where Willow has been doing her internship for the past six months. Whenever the temperature drops, someone reminds her to wear something warmer. When it rains, someone reminds her to bring an umbrella. When a hurricane is coming, someone makes sure to book her train ticket in advance. Meanwhile, I've mentioned three times in our group chat that I received a job offer from a studio in Fordham. No one has ever asked if it's cold there. Before Connor leaves, he even reminds me, "Make sure to ping me tomorrow morning so I can check Lindale's weather forecast." I nod silently, keeping quiet about the fact that I only have a few days left to accept the offer. Once I sign my name, I'll soon be flying five thousand miles away. After that, none of them will ever need to know what kind of weather awaits me in my new city.

On our fifth anniversary, my fiance, Antonio Miller, the head of a powerful mafia syndicate, takes me to see the northern lights. Before we set out, our guide warns everyone to bundle up against the cold. Antonio immediately wraps his childhood friend, Simona Weaver, in his own winter gear, terrified that she'll freeze. When a blizzard hits, he piles every piece of warm clothing he can find around her. He never notices me standing nearby until I lose consciousness from the cold. When I finally open my eyes, Antonio's furious face fills my vision. "Camilla, why didn't you tell me you weren't feeling well?" We've been together for five years, yet when I wake up after collapsing, his first reaction isn't concern. It's anger. After the trip, I cancel our engagement party and book a flight to Westmere. I've heard the mountains there are another perfect place to see the northern lights. When Antonio finds out, he sends me a single message. "Camilla, don't test our love like this. Simona's father died saving my life. I promised him I'd take care of her." But there's one thing Antonio doesn't know. I only have ten days left to live.

Married seven years, and after my husband Nathaniel broke another promise to me over his new assistant, I set a glass jar on my nightstand. Every time he broke a promise, I dropped a coin inside. Ten disappointments. That was the final line I drew for myself. The first coin was for the anniversary he forgot entirely, all for her birthday. The third coin was for the date night he promised me, then turned around and took his men to clear out a whole venue for her birthday party. The sixth coin was for the time I got shot by accident, and he just told me to bandage it myself while he carried her into the hospital in his arms. By the ninth coin, Nathaniel finally noticed the jar. He picked it up, gave it a shake, and joked: "Audrey, this is dangerous. The last one, you have to remind me. I can't lose you." So when the tenth time came around, I made a point of reminding him before I left. Our seventh wedding anniversary. Nathaniel promised he'd be home before eleven. At eleven-thirty, Victoria sent me a photo. Nathaniel, sitting in the pet ER with her ragdoll cat in his arms, still wearing the shirt I'd ironed for him that morning. Then she sent a voice message. "It's your anniversary today, Don. If you don't head back soon, that coin jar on Donna's nightstand is going to be completely full." On the other end, Nathaniel laughed. "So what if it's full? She's not going anywhere." "I gave her power, status, gave her everything. She's crazy about me. You think she'd dare leave?" A two-second pause in the recording. Victoria let out a dry laugh. "Really?" I laughed too. I loved him too much, so I was willing to put up with anything. But in the end, that just became something he took for granted. I slid the diamond ring off my ring finger and placed it in an envelope, along with ten cold coins. Nathaniel, there really was no "us" anymore.

For seven years, I stood by Reese Moretti as he fought his way up from a mafia nobody until he stood as an equal among the Three Families. Then I got pregnant with Reese's child. He promised me the wedding of the century. I was overjoyed and couldn't wait for our future together. Until his childhood sweetheart, Layla, came back, and everything changed. Layla was frail, and she'd once done Reese a great favor. Without even realizing it, he began to favor her over me—his fiancée. One week before the wedding, Layla shoved me to the floor. She leaned in close to my ear. "Ivy, if Reese walks in and sees us both on the floor, who do you think he'll worry about?" Before I could react, Layla suddenly screamed and collapsed. When Reese rushed in, Layla was clutching her chest, whispering weakly that her old heart condition had flared up. "Reese, I can't breathe. I don't think I can hold on much longer." Before I could say a word, Reese scooped Layla up in his arms and rushed her to the private medical wing. Blood spread beneath me. In that moment, the pain in my body was nothing compared to the agony of my heart tearing apart. Seven years of love and the child not yet fully formed inside me vanished in that single instant. Heartbroken and numb, I decided to leave and let them be together. But Reese refused to let me go.

Day three of the silent treatment. My husband Adrian Veta, the Don, once again went behind my back and approved Mirena Ricci's deeply flawed port logistics plan. He thought I would argue my case as I used to do at family meetings, but I merely responded faintly. When he saw that, he handed Mirena the docks I had spent years managing and dismissed several men who had openly supported me to establish her authority. Still, I did not fight back. Mirena smugly leaned against him. "I told you that she'll learn her place once you neglect her. She can't bear to leave you." Adrian agreed wholeheartedly. That evening, he made a rare visit to the estate, promising to give me management of the West District winery if I obediently stayed by his side. However, he had overlooked one thing. Just a few days earlier, while he was busy cleaning up a mess for Mirena, he had signed the stack of documents I handed him without even a glance. Tucked among the pages was a divorce agreement. Another was a declaration that I was voluntarily withdrawing from the Veta family. After that night, I was no longer his wife and certainly no longer his Donna.

In my seven years of my marriage with the Regent, I had risked my life bearing him five children. Every single one had died. My husband grieved so deeply that he collapsed. He knelt for three days and nights before the chapel in the bitter cold, praying for my well-being. He even spent a fortune to build a memorial tower in my honor. Everyone said the Regent loved his wife more than life itself. But the System's childbearing progress remained stuck at 90%. Then came All Hallows' Eve. I walked to the river alone to float a memorial candle for my fifth child, who had only just passed. What I found instead were four children carrying turnip lanterns, gathered around my half-sister, tugging at her skirts. "Mommy! Daddy said he's lighting a bonfire tonight!" Alaric Montague stood behind her, arms looped around her waist. His expression carried the same tenderness I knew so well. Even my father, as stern as he had always been, was chuckling beside them, more relaxed than I had ever seen him. My mother held a swaddled infant nearby, wiping the corner of the smallest child's mouth. "Odette is too frail to carry children. Thank goodness Alaric came up with a way to swap them." "Watch your words, Mrs. Devereaux," Alaric cut in at once, his gaze turning cold. "Laurel owed this to Odette. The debt is paid. I'll let her keep the next one." I bit down on my lip hard enough to taste blood. In my mind, an electronic tone stirred to life after years of silence. [Laurel, five registered offspring detected alive. Childbearing mission for the heirless Regent is complete.] [Portal activation imminent. Confirm departure?]

I feel unwell, so I head to the hospital alone to get myself checked. There, I find my wife, Luna Ackerman, accompanying the poor student I support financially, Levi Baker, for a health checkup. Just last night, the very same woman held me intimately in bed and said we would be together forever in every lifetime. I smile dejectedly and summon the system in my mind. "I choose to go back to my original world." What Luna doesn't know is that I'm a transmigrator. I have accomplished my mission the moment I married her. But now, I don't want her anymore.

There's a whiteboard in my house, with the countdown to my death written across it. "Estimated days until Harold's heart fails: 47 days". Every morning, Mom carefully wipes away yesterday's number and writes in a new one. It's just like a countdown for a big sale at the supermarket—precise, cold, and dripping with anticipation. My name is Harold Irwin, and I'm 12 years old. I was born with a congenital heart disease. The doctors say I won't be able to survive past another six months without surgery. The surgery costs 450,000 dollars. Yet, my father, Shaun Irwin, who is worth 300 million dollars, says, "450,000 dollars? That's not worth it." Because there's another healthy child in our family—my little sister, Magdalene Irwin. She's eight years old, brilliant, pretty, plays the piano, and knows how to charm the adults. She's the only child in the family who's "worth it".

The Godfather, Matteo Cross, loved me like I was his whole world. However, he had once cheated on me with a college student. To make it up to me, Matteo pushed aside all family business affairs and stayed by my side for eight straight months, the kind where we were together twenty-four hours a day, never apart for even a second. I thought he had finally changed until last night, when I woke from a nightmare and went looking for my medication. As I passed the study, I heard Matteo speaking softly and affectionately into his phone. “Baby, you’re so tempting… Just hang in there a little longer. Once you give birth to the child, I’ll stay with you.” It took me only three seconds to accept the truth: the man who once swore he loved me was completely gone. With that, I decided then and there to immigrate to Atlantica with my grandfather.

At twenty, Riley Nolan married Yale Sullivan, a close friend of her father's, despite the considerable age difference between them. Eight years her senior, Yale was notorious in their social circle for his cold, ruthless nature. He was merciless in business and had never shown the slightest interest in women. Yet with Riley, he was almost impossibly gentle. All she had to do was casually mention that a necklace was pretty, and he'd have the million-dollar piece delivered to her the next day. When menstrual cramps left her curled up in bed, he'd put aside business projects worth tens of millions of dollars to make her ginger tea with brown sugar, patiently coaxing her to drink it one spoonful at a time. In moments of passion, he'd grip her waist and call her "baby" in a low, husky voice, telling her how good she was and how he couldn't get enough of her. He even used "For Elise" as his display name across all his social media accounts. Riley had always assumed it was a tribute to the piano piece she'd played the day they first met. Then one day, she came across an old photo album in his study. Every picture featured the same girl, who bore a striking resemblance to Riley, smiling in front of a piano. On the back of one photograph, someone had written: "For Elise. My beloved Selise."

Two years into my marriage with Luca Mancini, I'd gotten used to waiting. Wait until the accounts were settled—then he'd take me on our honeymoon. Wait until the family meeting was over—then he'd celebrate our anniversary with me. Wait until his men were taken care of—then he'd call the private doctor to see me. I knew how hard it was to sit in the Don's seat, so I never cried or made a scene about it. I even took half the work off his shoulders without being asked. Because of my patience and all the times I stepped back, things between us finally softened. When he was exhausted, he'd lean his head on my shoulder, kiss my forehead, and say: "My Donna, once this busy season is over, I promise I'll make it all up to you." Today was my birthday. He'd promised me half a month ago that he'd spend it with me. I'd booked out an entire restaurant. The cake was cut. I was waiting. But from six to ten, he never showed. Then a photo popped up in my inbox: In the pouring rain, Luca was holding an umbrella, shielding his childhood sweetheart, Anna, tight against his side. The timestamp on the photo read 9:40. Twenty minutes ago. He'd tilted the umbrella over Anna's head, letting the rain soak him through. Then his text came through: "I've got an important meeting. I'll be home late." Looking at that message, I didn't reply "Got it" like the good, understanding wife I always was. I thought I'd gotten used to waiting. I thought if I just cleared every obstacle out of his way, I'd finally get the man who kept his promises. But staring at that photo, my heart sank all the way to the bottom. It was never the waiting I was afraid of. It's just—last month, I was diagnosed with terminal leukemia. This was the last birthday I'd ever have. I stood up, hollow, and walked home alone through the endless sound of rain. The man I'd been waiting for—I couldn't wait for him anymore.

For six years, my stepbrother Draven, the heir to a mafia family, and I have been in a secret relationship. Every night, his hands would trace every curve of my body with desperate hunger. The way he would look at me in those intimate moments made me believe I was the only woman who could ignite such passion in him. Until a month ago, when I found out I was pregnant. The day before Valentine's Day, I snuck into his study, planning to surprise him. Through the crack in the door, I heard him talking to Nico, the family's consigliere. "Aren't you tired of your little stepsister, Jasmine? The engagement is right around the corner. You haven't actually fallen for her, have you?" A cruel smirk played on his lips. "Fall for her? She was an easy target who fell right into my lap. It would've been a waste not to take a bite." "Her mother drove mine to an early grave. These six years have been her penance. And she's deserved every moment of it." "Besides, I've said it before. My wife will be Bianca Tyler, and no one else." "Marrying her secures the Tyler family's port smuggling routes. That's all that matters." So, what I thought was love was nothing more than an elaborate act of revenge. Every one of his embraces was a calculated lie. Fine. It was time for me and our unborn baby to disappear from his world completely.

For the five years I was married to my mafia husband, Dante, I never once showed my face to the Moretti family. I thought it was Dante’s way of protecting me. Until a family meeting record landed in my hands by mistake. It said Dante Moretti had formally married Gianna Romano. The date was five years ago. When I saw that name, I froze. She was Dante’s most trusted capo. She’d saved his life. She was also in love with him. Five years ago, she’d been against Dante marrying me. While I was performing on stage, she deliberately sent a spotlight crashing down and destroyed my career as a pianist. Afterward, she cried and said she hadn’t meant to. Dante believed her. He couldn’t send her to prison, but he swore that from then on, he’d never let Gianna appear in front of me again. I didn’t trust Gianna, but I trusted Dante. Now I’d found out that on the very day my husband made that promise to me, he married her. I clutched that thin sheet of paper as the warmth slowly drained from my body. I didn’t go into hysterics or demand answers. Instead, I took out my phone and opened an email I’d received three days earlier—an invitation from the Aurellian Ministry of Culture to apply for citizenship through its exceptional talent program. I tapped “Accept.” Seven days from now, my name would vanish from this country without a trace.

I was a mermaid fostered within the Silverwood Pack. By the laws of my kin, on the day I came of age, I had to swallow a Tide Pearl fed to me by a male. Only then could I fully shed my tail and truly join the wolf pack, remaining on land. And whoever fed me the pearl would become my mate. Miss that window, and my legs would turn back into a tail, forcing me to return to the deep sea. Before my mother died, she left behind three Tide Pearls, entrusting them to the three wolf boys I grew up with—each desperate to become my mate. But just as I was about to come of age, a lone wolf mother named Chloe arrived at the pack with her young pup, Leo. Alpha Lucas, Beta Kane, and Gamma Aiden became convinced that Chloe was the widow of the wolf who had saved their lives, and they showered mother and son with care. They knew full well what the Tide Pearls meant to me—yet choice after choice, they handed those pearls over to Chloe and her child, one by one. Their protection of Chloe was built on my sacrifice. With every pearl gone, I had no reason left to stay in the pack. At midnight on my coming-of-age day, the tide surged over the cliffs. I returned to the sea.