Contos sobre Melodramatic e Romances com Homewrecker e Family Emotions

My husband, Caleb Price, and I, Sienna Hart, have been married for many years. Our relationship is going strong, and our son, Tobey, is thoughtful and kind. I've always believed we would spend our whole lives together. What I don't expect is that Caleb would hurt me and Tobey three times because of the same woman. The first time, we agree to celebrate Tobey's birthday, but Caleb forgets his promise because he has to pick up his first love, Lila Monroe, from the airport. When I return home from a business trip, all I find is my heartbroken son. The second time, Caleb secretly takes our son and Lila to the amusement park. He doesn't know that Tobey is allergic to peanuts, and he ends up in the hospital. The third time, Caleb repeatedly promises to pick Tobey up from school alone, but when Caleb hears that Lila is ill, he tells Tobey to go home by himself. On the way home, Tobey is kidnapped. After he's rescued, he spends three days in the hospital in critical condition before pulling through. Each time, Caleb apologizes with utmost sincerity and swears that there won't be a next time. Maybe he's forgotten, but I once told him that I'd only forgive him three times. So, when he finishes apologizing and thinks life will return to the happy days it was before… It doesn't. Yes, I forgive him, but I'm also taking Tobey and leaving him—forever.

My father had always been against my marriage to Ryan Kane, a vampire of noble birth. He believed that as a human, I had no place in the vampire world. He warned me that if Ryan ever changed his mind, without his protection, my half-blood child and I would be nothing more than walking blood bags in the eyes of vampires. But I believed in Ryan—and in our love. My husband had always been gentle and attentive. He had even defied everyone to make me, a human, his vampire bride. That was before Ryan's human ex-fiancée had her engagement called off and returned to the country seeking his help. I went to the hospital alone. While I was learning that my pregnancy was high-risk, Ryan was there attending her prenatal checkup, even introducing her to the doctor as his wife. All he had for me was one cold line: "Keep pushing me and I'll file for divorce." I pressed my hand against my stomach and dialed a number I hadn't called in years. "Dad, you were right... I want a divorce." Two weeks. That was all it would take for me to disappear from his life completely. But later—that same vampire who had discarded me like I was nothing showed up at my wedding to another man, trembling all over, calling my name in a broken voice.

My blood-bonded vampire mate left me while I was pregnant to be with his "first love" in the human world. When danger struck, he abandoned our son to protect her human child, who was not in any danger. While our son was struggling with lethal UV burns and calling for his father through a high fever, he was celebrating under citywide fireworks with that human boy, who only had a common cold. He even took the life-saving serum I had prepared for our son, just to use it for the boy’s "pre-transformation conditioning." He coldly stated, "Vampires are resilient; he’ll endure it. Human children are too fragile." After four years of raising our son alone, I finally decided to leave. I officially cut our blood ties and moved away with our son. Only then did he find out that his "first love" had been lying to him all along. After learning the truth, the arrogant vampire prince wept and begged for us to come back.

All it took was a single exchange between my sister and Giselle’s lover, and my daughter accused her of stealing a gold bracelet. As a result, my sister was left to die in a warehouse for three whole days. With my sister’s life hanging by a thread, I got on my knees and pleaded before my wife and daughter. “Please, let Lucy go. She won’t speak to Theo again.” Faced with my pleas, my daughter simply let out a cruel smile. “I can release her, but only if she returns the bracelet.” Lucy never took the bracelet in the first place. There was no way she could return something that was never in her possession. Agony ripped through me as I crawled toward Giselle. “Please, Giselle. I’m begging you. Please let her go. She’s going to die at this rate!” Giselle took one cold, hard look at me before uttering, “So she’s been hung to dry for three days. She won’t die. If you really want her release, you should hand over your mother’s keepsake to Theo.”

On the day my daughter, Dakota Bradshaw, gets into a car accident, I rush over to save her, only to get crippled instead. Both my wife, Delilah Rowland, and Dakota don't mind the fact that I'm being a burden to them. Instead, they put in a lot of effort to take good care of me. But one day, a fire breaks out at home. Yet, Delilah personally closes my room door. Since I'm crippled, I end up falling to the floor in my state of panic. That's when I notice Dakota's shoes through the gap under the door. "Dakota, save me!" I call for help at the top of my lungs. But only the sounds of the crackling flames respond to me. I have no idea how much time has passed when I catch wisps of a conversation hazily. "Mom, the firefighters are here. What should we do?" Dakota's voice is very low. Delilah replies calmly, "Tell the police that your father started the fire when he was cooking. We just reached the corridor at that time, so the doorknob was already warped from the fire." Dakota simply says one word. "Okay."

On the night Wynnie Moore is done recovering from childbirth, she suddenly brings up the traumatic nightmare that I never wish to revisit. "Actually, the person who imprisoned and assaulted you five years ago was Margaret Silva." Margaret is Logan Jameson's wife, and Logan is the adopted younger brother she raised. My mind goes blank as I blurt, "What?" Wynnie continues as if she's discussing something insignificant. "Back then, Logan found out he was infertile. His mother-in-law never liked him to begin with. To help him secure his position in the Silva family, I agreed to his proposal that you would provide the sperm. "Meanwhile, Margaret had always harbored feelings for you. So..." It turns out the three of them have worked together to imprison and assault me over the course of a few days until Margaret becomes pregnant. I try hard to suppress the nauseous sensation rising in the back of my throat. My lips tremble as I ask shakily, "Why are you telling me this now?" Wynnie lets out a long sigh, as if a burden she's carried for years has finally been lifted. She says, "I've been keeping this a secret for five years. It's exhausting. Also, I've already made up for the child that I once owed you. They say a man takes on a much softer character after becoming a father. Well, that certainly seems to be the case. "You're not losing your temper like you used to. You've finally become calmer and more agreeable." I force a strained and ugly smile. She has no idea that I haven't mellowed down the slightest. It's just that I have a secret that I've never revealed to her too.

After coming back home for the family gravesite visit over the holiday weekend, I was busy loading all the luggage and supplies into the car. That's when my mom casually dropped, "There's no more room in the car — you'll have to call an Uber and meet us back." I just stood there for a second. It's a five-seater, and with my parents, my older brother, my younger sister, and me, that's exactly five people. My brother Derek and sister Chloe were already in the back, laughing and goofing around together. My mom shrugged and said, "The back seat's too small — three people would be cramped. You came back on short notice this time, and your brother and sister need to rest." At that point, I stopped overthinking it and just rolled with it.

"Jump. You love me to death, don't you? Didn't you say you'd do anything for me?" Ethan Hart wanted me to throw myself off the observation deck of the tallest tower downtown, live, in front of the millions of people watching the broadcast. I stood on the wrong side of the railing. Below me, traffic streamed through the streets and neon flickered in the distance. His friends clapped and cheered. Vivian Lane laughed softly and curled herself against his arm. Ethan's grin turned vicious. "Come on, don't waste everyone's time. Jump, and I'll marry you." He'd made me a promise once. Finish a hundred of his demands, and he would marry me. When his company was circling bankruptcy, he told me to hand over everything I owned, and I did. Then he moved Vivian into my house in the suburbs and left me to sleep in a motel. The night he was tangled up with Vivian at a private party, he sent me over with something for his hangover, and made a point of telling me to bring a box of condoms, the right size. I stood at the door holding the soup I'd made, and heard him laugh. "She's my ATM. I use her, then I throw her out." No matter how far it went, I'd done all ninety-nine. This was the last one: jump. He thought I'd hesitate, thought I'd cry and beg him to pick something else. I didn't. I let go and fell. The wind roared in my ears, and the whole lit-up city slid past me. I heard him shout, heard the crowd scream, and underneath all of it, the one voice I'd waited too long to hear. [Congratulations, host. Emotional conquest progress: one hundred percent. Reward delivered. Your mother's terminal illness is fully cured.]

My father-in-law, Arthur, was the rightful heir to the Mosby family fortune. When he insisted on marrying, Judith, my mother-in-law, who ran a small neighborhood restaurant, everyone said he had lost his mind. One morning over breakfast, Arthur suggested that we stop by Judith's restaurant. "Judith came home yesterday with a burn on her hand." Concern flashed in his eyes. "She refused to tell me what happened." The tenderness between them warmed my heart, so I immediately agreed to take him there. But while we were waiting in line, a broad-shouldered man suddenly shoved Arthur hard. "Move it, old man! You're blocking the way!" I caught Arthur before he fell and shook with anger. "What gives you the right to insult him or cut the line?" The man sneered and tossed a foul-smelling used napkin at our feet. "Because my wife owns this place! I can do whatever I want. Keep talking and I'll have her throw both of you out!" The air went still. All the color drained from Arthur's face, and the luxury bag he had just bought for Judith slipped from his hand. I froze. Could the woman Arthur had adored all his life really be having an affair?

On Christmas, my younger brother, Tyler Posner, and I were playing “Never Have I Ever” with our relatives. After the third round, everything got intense. An uncle said he had been out in the city at 4 a.m., a cousin said he could play three instruments, and I said I had been to three different countries for work. Then, it was Tyler’s turn. He looked up with his eyes shining. “I have a house that only I own.” He paused before adding, “Mom bought it for me. She said it’s so my in-laws don’t look down on me after I marry someone.” Everyone was quiet around the dining table. I looked over at Mom. She was straightening her apron and avoiding my gaze.

On New Year’s Eve, my kidnappers forced me to climb down the inside of a 650-foot industrial chimney with my bare hands. The kidnappers started a live stream on the dark web. They claimed that what I was doing could drive away bad luck and bring blessings for the country. I climbed for a full eight hours in darkness and pain. When my family caught me at the bottom of the chimney, my body was covered in sores, and I was so injured that they barely recognized me. Rachel immediately covered me with a shawl. When she helped me get into the car, she was shaking. My fiancee cried and dared not touch me. That night, she destroyed the whole criminal organization. On that ambulance ride home, I could barely think straight. I heard them whispering to each other. “Rachel, Jason just wanted an unforgettable night! You said it’s not “impressive” enough and insisted on making Yannick climb the chimney!” “Miss Jones, how could an ordinary present leave such a lasting impression on Jason?” “It doesn’t matter if Yannick suffers a little physical pain. Our family will more than make it up to him.” It turned out that the eight hours of agony I endured, which nearly killed me, were just to ensure that another man’s holiday would be “truly unforgettable.”

Everyone said I was the most generous man alive. When my CEO wife brought her brother-in-law and his son through the door, he stood there with bloodshot eyes. "Emmett's mother is gone. Could I borrow Colette for a few days to be his mom? He cries every night. It's breaking my heart." Without a word, I went to the bedroom and packed Colette Harmon's things for her. "We're family. You don't have to ask." At my son's birthday party, Emmett Pryce wanted to go to the amusement park and told everyone he did not want to share his new mom. My son immediately turned to the guests and apologized, saying, "Ms. Harmon has an urgent matter to attend to. We'll have to wrap up today's party here. Thank you all for coming." Everyone praised us, father and son, for being so gracious about it. Only I knew what had really happened. My son and I had been reborn. In our previous life, Colette had favored her widowed brother-in-law, Stefan Pryce, just the same. I had swallowed every last bit of it. When my patience finally ran out, I forced the divorce. Not long after, my son developed a heart condition and needed an artificial heart. The medical bills were staggering, so I had nowhere else to turn but Colette. However, she laughed in my face and threw me out into the blizzard. "You'll never be half the man Stefan is. Give it up." My son's heart stopped in my arms. Now that we had been reborn, I willingly let these things slide. All I wanted was for my son to live.

Everyone in college has gone home for winter break. A guy from the next class shares a photo in our group chat, bragging about his Christmas gift—ten thousand and one 100-dollar bills. The entire group chat goes wild. I jump on the bandwagon, sending a couple of envious memes before tapping on the photo to zoom in. Ten thousand and one consecutive bills. But my eyes lock onto the family portrait peeking out from the edge of the frame. The woman in the photo… is Mom? I dial her number immediately. "Hey Mom, what Christmas gift are you going to get me this year?" On the other end of the line, her laughter falters. Then she replies casually, "Same as always—200 dollars. It's just a formality anyway. Why do you ask?" I force a smile and tell her it's nothing. I hang up and immediately hail a cab to that guy's house.

My father's illegitimate son, Julian Boyle, bullied me throughout my adolescence. When Vivian Cross learned what he had done, she ignored years of cooperation between our families and handed Julian over to Roxanne Pierce, the most notorious older woman in Grayhaven's private social circle. At night, Vivian made me listen to Julian's screams while I bit into her arm to release the terror I had carried for years. "Do not be afraid. I will always stand behind you." Eight years later, Julian delivered our son to that same woman, leaving the boy critically injured. I went mad searching for Vivian, only to find her outside the office she had always forbidden me to enter, tangled with Julian. Julian knelt at her feet. "Vivian, my brother will come demanding answers. Are you going to send me away again?" Vivian tipped her head back, her breath unsteady. "Our son has only suffered a minor injury. If Adrian harms you by an inch, I will return it to him a hundredfold." I could not watch another second. My hands shook as I took out my phone. On our wedding day, she had sworn that if she ever betrayed me, she would spend the rest of her life paying for it. Then so be it, Vivian. From this moment forward, neither of us would know peace.

My wife, Evelyn Shaw, is a germaphobe. She makes us sleep in separate rooms, and even our laundry has to be done separately. She also throws out any dishes or utensils I use, claiming they're filthy. On our wedding anniversary, I find a man's tie and a half-smoked cigarette in her spotless car. When I confront her, she casually smooths her hair without even looking at me. "It belongs to a coworker I gave a ride to. He accidentally left it behind." I don't say a word. One call to Claire Bennett, her company's biggest rival, tells me everything I need to know. She recently hired a young male assistant, Adrian Holt. Claire laughs. "Your ice queen is in the break room feeding the guy cake right now. Last I heard, she couldn't keep her hands off him." I hang up and throw my anniversary gift into the trash. Evelyn Shaw, we're done.

When I receive a summons in the divorce proceedings from my wife, Cora Moore, for the seventh time, I'm having cheese fondue at a restaurant with our daughter, Giselle Moore. The summons appears in front of both of us at the exact same moment. I force a smile and reassure her. "Sweetheart, just hang in there a little longer. This time, I'll definitely win custody of you!" Giselle falls silent for a moment before asking, "Daddy, how much are you planning to sell me for before you'll finally be happy?" I'm taken aback. Before I can say a word, she pulls out a divorce agreement from her backpack and hands it to me. "I know you've been fighting Mommy for me just to extort more money from her. I wrote this agreement on Mommy's behalf. Can you please sign it? "Mommy has it so hard. I wish you'd stop making things difficult for her." The agreement is handwritten by her. It allocates one million dollars to me in the division of assets. At the bottom, a note is added in her childish handwriting. "After accepting the money, you're not allowed to disturb Mommy, Cal, and me from living happily ever after!" Callum Scott is the man Cora has been cheating on me with for the last five years. All of a sudden, I'm filled with the overwhelming urge to laugh. For five long years, I've held my ground against pressure from all sides, refusing to sign the divorce agreement because I want custody of Giselle. To that end, I'm even willing to leave with nothing to my name. However, the daughter I've raised for eight years has come here to help her mother divorce me.

My CEO mom has always believed that Dad and I are manipulative freeloaders trying to bleed her dry. Any expense over 50 dollars requires her approval. The day Dad is hit by a car, I ask her for 2,000 dollars to pay for his surgery. Instead, she calls me just to snap at me. "Did Nathan Sinclair put you up to this? Have you two really sunk so low just to squeeze money out of me?" With no other choice, I request that my scholarship be advanced. But when I try to pay the hospital, the money is gone. Mom calls again. "Who did you steal from? I never transferred any money. How could there be a deposit in your account? "I worked hard for my money—not so the two of you can leech off me! From now on, your allowance is cut in half!" The surgery never happens. Dad dies right in front of me. When I return home with his ashes, I see Ethan Carter's post of the 100-million-dollar mansion Mom bought for him and his son, with the caption, "Her love has belonged to me ever since we were young—and it still does." I leave a like. Then I comment, "You can have her future too."

I was the one who first spotted the pimple on my husband Ryan Bennett's back. It was plump, red, and swollen, topped with a whitehead that looked ready to burst at any moment. I rubbed my hands together in excitement and told him not to move. Once the extraction tool I'd ordered arrived, I was going to perform a little "operation" on it. He laughed and said sure, adding that he loved this weird little hobby of mine. Two days later, he came back from his business trip. I rushed over with my brand-new "surgical instruments," only to find that patch of skin smooth and clear, with nothing left but a faint red mark. My heart deflated just like that pimple. Someone had beaten me to it.

Two in the morning. I found over a hundred transfer records on my husband Derek's phone. Every single one was for five, ten, or fifteen dollars. I opened the recipient's Instagram profile and found a feed full of pink hair, smoky eye makeup, and skin-tight low-rise jeans. Underneath was a caption that stung: "Thanks for the hot dogs, Pops. Spoiled again today." And the first person to like the post was my own daughter, Crystal, a well-behaved high school senior.

My mate, Alex, had a childhood friend named Emily who was a healer. When she discovered that I was a highly sensitive person, she volunteered to put me through what she called 'desensitization therapy.' The first time, she told me I needed to learn to control my emotions, so she locked me in a noisy bar's storage room for an entire night. The second time, she said I needed to overcome my tactile sensitivity. She drenched me in ice-cold water and forced me to stand in the freezing wind for three hours. Alex was present every single time. Each time, he told her, "Thank you for all your hard work, Emily. I know how much you're doing for her." Then came the banquet, where she poured an entire vial of wolfsbane-laced potion into my champagne and announced that this would be my final desensitization therapy session. I clutched my swollen throat and collapsed to the floor. I couldn't speak or catch my breath. Alex merely frowned and said coldly, "Elena, this is for your own good. Just get through this one last session." Lying among the shattered glass, I closed my eyes and pressed the beacon badge I had never used before. When Dad finally burst through the doors, tears I'd held back for three years streamed down my face. It was time to end this.