เรื่องสั้นแนว Familial Bond และนิยาย Homewrecker Regret

I've been married to my Mafia Boss husband for 15 years. When we first got married, he couldn't even afford a ring, but I didn't care; I loved him. I hid my identity. I secretly used my family's influence to help him build his empire from scratch, and I even bore him two children. His adopted sister always mocked me, calling me an old-fashioned housewife and saying I wasn't good enough for him. To avoid embarrassing him, I always endured it. Until our 15th anniversary, because both me and his adopted sister wore red dresses, he told me to stay in the kitchen: "Sofia's right. That red doesn't suit you. Don't come out until the banquet actually ends. Stay in the kitchen. I don't need the Dons from New York seeing you and getting the wrong impression." I was completely heartbroken and didn't argue anymore. I dialed a number I hadn't made in 15 years: "Principessa?" "It's me," I said, my voice steady. "Tell those old fossils on the Council... Isabella Corleone is coming home."

On the day my twin sister, Alexia Cavanaugh, and I turn 22, I collapse and find out that I have late-stage cancer. Ignoring the doctor's advice to be admitted, I walk out of the hospital. All I want is to spend one final birthday with my family without a single worry. But when I arrive at the party, a server stops me at the door and tells me the venue has been reserved exclusively for Alexia. Outsiders aren't allowed in. Through the glass, I watch as my brother holds a cake and my father places a birthday hat on Alexia's head. Even my boyfriend is there, smiling as Alexia makes a wish. I stand there for half an hour, gripping my phone, before my boyfriend finally answers my call. "I was just at the hospital. I—" He cuts me off. "Ophelia, you've always been healthy. It's Lexi's birthday today. We should talk later." Isn't today my birthday too? My mother died giving birth to me. The doctor later explained that I deprived Alexia of nutrients before birth, which left her frail from the start. And just like that, everyone decided I should always step aside for my twin, who was born five minutes before me. I ball up the report with my cancer diagnosis and toss it in the trash. I'm done letting their favoritism hurt me. I've never received their love anyway, so I choose to leave for good.

On my birthday, my adopted sister, Sophia Norris, frames me for soiling her dress and causing her to not be able to attend the banquet. My older brothers, Gerald and Gary Moore, immediately demand that I give my gown to Sophia. Otherwise, they will cancel the birthday banquet. Furious, I point at them while screaming, "I didn't ruin her dress at all! She was the one who splashed red wine onto it! "Also, I will never give my gown to her! My best friend designed it for me!" As soon as my words fall, Gerald commands the bodyguards to tear the gown from my body. At the same time, Gary picks up a wine glass and dumps red wine onto my face. "It's bad enough that you constantly bully Sophia! Today, her crush, Zachary Green, will be attending the banquet too! Do you have any idea how long she has prepared for this day to come?" Gerald adds, "A vile woman like you doesn't have the right to be born, let alone celebrate your birthday!" After that, a few bodyguards drag me into the basement. Immediately, pitch-black darkness swallows me. I have severe asthma. Breathing becomes insanely difficult for me as seconds tick by. I keep screaming loudly and calling for help, but all I hear is laughter coming from the banquet upstairs. It isn't until the banquet is well underway that Gerald and Gary remember that I exist. But I've already died in the cramped basement.

Before I realized it, I’d become the invisible wife standing beside my mafia Don husband, Adrian Kane. A stay-at-home mom buried in chores while my husband paraded around with his secretary, Viola, ten years younger than me. “She’s smart,” Adrian said once. “She knows how to help me.” Tonight marked our tenth anniversary. I saw an elegant designer dress and a necklace presenting in the living room. For a second, I was happy. Looks like Adrian finally decided to take me to this year’s annual mafia gathering and introduce me as his Donna. Turns out the dress and the jewelry was for Viola. Later that night, I caught Adrian sneaking in with Viola—both drunk, hands all over each other like I didn’t exist. I just made one phone call. “I will join the Doctors Without Borders program. Send me away.” Before I married Adrian, I had a future in medicine. But I gave it all up for him. Now? It was time to choose myself and leave behind everything that was never really mine.

My daughter Mia's congenital heart condition had worsened. She desperately needed the one-of-a-kind miniature artificial heart I'd spent five years developing. The night before surgery, my wife Victoria stole it from the cold storage unit. I rushed to the hospital like a madman, only to find her at the bedside of her first love Dominic Forsythe's son, prepping him for surgery. "Mia can hold on for another six months. Dominic's son can't wait." "What kind of father are you, being this selfish?" Victoria stood there, righteous indignation written all over her face. I looked at my daughter lying in her hospital bed, barely clinging to life, and dialed the overseas number I'd refused a dozen times before. "Professor Ellsworth, this is Nathan Hartley." "I'll accept your offer. But I need you to arrange a medical transport—immediately—to bring my daughter to your facility. Her heart needs emergency intervention." I spent five years developing a life-saving heart for my daughter. Victoria stole it overnight and gave it to Dominic Forsythe’s son. “Mia can hold on for another six months. Dominic's son can't wait.” She had no idea I held all the core patents for that heart. That same night, I took my daughter aboard a medical jet and fled the country. The next time we met, you would be on your knees begging me.

As Dad lies on his death bed, he rasps to me that his only wish is to watch me get married. I keep crying to the point that my sobs come out silent. My entire family turns to look at Whitney Pearson, who stands behind me. She lets out a small sigh before wiping my tears away for me gently. Then, she leads me out of the ward. But as soon as the door is closed behind us, Whitney's expression turns icy. "Joseph, we've been dating for seven years. You of all people should know very well that I hate getting coerced into doing something the most. "Love is all about going with the flow. We shouldn't let others determine how our relationship should progress." Then, she caresses my cheek reassuringly. "Let's not rush our marriage. We'll talk more about this once things settle down after my company goes public. What do you think? "Anyway, I still have a meeting to get to tonight. You should deal with your family as you see fit. I'll bring a gift for you when I come home later." Before I can say anything, Whitney spins on her heel and leaves with her secretary, Kaiden Xavier. The moment both of them disappear into the elevator, I witness Kaiden bending over slightly to brush Whitney's hair from her face for her. She makes no move to stop him at all. After drying my tears, I return to the ward and take Dad's hand with a smile. "Don't worry, Dad. I'll get married in three days. In fact, I'm still waiting for you to do my tie for me before the start of the ceremony."

For six years I was locked in the pack's lightless dungeon, bled day after day to keep the Alpha alive. The day they finally dragged me out, I was barely breathing. But the Alpha just looked at me and said, "My poison was actually cured within the first six months. It's just that the moonflower in Selene's garden needs she-wolf blood to bloom — it helps her conceive. Your blood wasn't wasted." My brother Damien spoke like he was doing me a favor. "We've known all along. You bullied Selene for years. Call this a small punishment." My parents stood off to the side, looking at me with open impatience. "We were going to keep you locked up longer. But Selene miscarried because of you. She can't have children anymore. So we're letting you out — to carry an heir for her." Six years of bleeding for the Alpha had hollowed me out. I had less than a month left to live. What the Alpha would never know was why I'd been willing to bleed myself dry for him. Because I was the one the Moon Goddess had chosen as his mate.

After my dad's first love moved into our house and became my tutor, my mom never raised her voice at her again. She just coughed worse and worse, until one day I found the lab report she'd thrown out. Stage IV lung cancer. That afternoon, Dad came home with his arm around her, and walked right into Mom sitting on the couch. There was a flicker of guilt on his face. "Helena, if you've got something to say, just say it. Don't make a scene in front of the kid." Mom was eerily calm. She pointed at the woman and said, "She gets on her knees and apologizes to me three times. And you sign over half the company. Then we're done." Dad thought she'd lost it. But in the end he signed the share transfer. After that, Mom's pills kept multiplying and her appetite kept shrinking. But she hired the best lawyer in town, and over and over she taught me how to manage those shares once I was old enough. Dad never figured out the one thing that mattered. Mom was already on her way out.

After my son was abducted, my husband took me to an adoption center to bring home a baby boy born the same year as the child we'd lost. I poured every ounce of love I had into raising him. He had a sensitive stomach, so I pushed through my chronic back pain to cook him special meals every single day. When he spiked a fever in the middle of the night, I carried him twenty miles through the rain to the nearest hospital. When he couldn't focus in school, I was constantly at his classroom door, flattering his teachers and bringing them gifts, just to get them to pay a little extra attention to him. Fifteen years of grinding sacrifice, and it all came down to one moment at his college acceptance party. "I couldn't have gotten into Harvard without my mother's love and hard work," he said into the microphone. He raised his glass, eyes drifting toward where I was sitting. The cameras flashed as I started to rise from my seat, matching his silent lip movements. And then I heard a name I didn't expect. "She is Rachel Lynch." I froze. That was my best friend's name.

My daughter, Ruby Pratt, has leukemia. She needs a bone marrow transplant—and fast. Out of everyone in the family, my husband, Dan Pratt, was the only match. I begged him for an entire month before he finally agreed to go through with the donation. But on the morning of the surgery, he went completely off the grid. I stood outside the hospital all day, waiting. No calls. No texts. Not even a shadow. That night, his childhood friend, Valerie Kinder, posted on Instagram. In the photo, Dan was holding Valerie's hand with one arm and carrying her young son with the other—on a beach in Lulabo City. The caption read: [Soaking up the sun! Dan cleared his whole schedule to join us on a month-long trek and we finally made it to the coast! My little boy said Uncle Dan made his ocean dream come true. Pure joy!] My heart splintered. While I was drowning in worry over my daughter, he was off playing happy family with them. I wiped my tears and typed a comment beneath her post: [Not 'Uncle.' From now on, he's your son's father.] That night, I finally got a call from him. "Babe, don't be like this," Dan said. "You're not being fair. "Valerie's son has been bullied at school for not having a dad. I couldn't stand seeing him hurt, so I took them on this trip. It was supposed to help him heal. "I'll catch the first flight back tomorrow and head straight to the hospital to donate the marrow. I promise." I hung up with a bitter smile. The next morning, Dan rushed into the hospital room. But all he found on the bed was a death certificate.

Just after I finish a meeting, the parents' group chat for my daughter's kindergarten suddenly buzzes with activity. Someone shares a viral post. The poster writes, "A daughter is always her daddy's sweetheart. She's already using her allowance to buy her dad a birthday present! I wonder who my gentle, wealthy little princess will marry someday." The one who shares the post adds excitedly in the comments, "She's the one and only successor to the Webb family in Jemton! She's a true heiress!" The parents in the group chat eagerly offer their sycophantic compliments. They can hardly wait to offer their own sons as potential suitors for the little girl. But I'm puzzled. Other than my wife, Lucy Webb, I don't think there is any other family with the surname Webb in Jemton. Then, I open the photo attached to the post and instantly freeze. The sweet little girl smiling as she holds the gift is unmistakably my daughter, Emilia Webb, whom I personally drive to and from kindergarten every single day.

"Mommy, can I stop being a Lawson?" My daughter has a peanut allergy. We always kept an EpiPen at home. But on her birthday, my husband took the only one and gave it to his first love's son. He said, "Tommy's school has a field trip. Serena's worried something might happen. What's the big deal about lending it?" Later, my daughter accidentally ate peanut butter. Her face turned blue and she couldn't breathe. I rushed her to the hospital and called my husband seventeen times. He didn't answer. His first love's son had just won first place in a speech contest. He was in the audience, taking photos of the two of them. When my daughter woke up, her first words weren't "Where's Daddy?" She just clutched the hem of my shirt and whispered, "Mommy, can I stop being a Lawson?" I looked at the needle marks on the back of her hand and nodded. "Yes." "From now on, you'll have Mommy's last name."

When I turned eighteen, I awakened my wolf. That was also when a strange System appeared in my mind. It told me that if I won over Matthew Reed and survived his betrayal-and-groveling arc, I would receive $32 billion. That was the only reason I agreed to keep our marriage secret. But the night Matthew won Best Actor, he posted a photo on Instagram of himself feeding Hellfire Wings to his childhood sweetheart, Layla Bennett. The caption read: [After all this time, this is still the flavor I crave most.] Immediately afterward, he exposed our secret marriage and posted evidence that I had paid him to mark me against his will. The trending page crashed on the spot. My hands shook as I reached for him through our mind-link, but Matthew didn't sound sorry at all. "Layla's been diagnosed with terminal stomach cancer. This is her last wish. "She can't be labeled a homewrecker. You've had me for three years. Can't you show a little compassion for a dying woman?" The entire internet called me a homewrecker who was destroying their true love. Some of his fans even made black-and-white memorial photos of me and plastered them across my front door. They demanded that I, the "vicious mate," break our bond and step aside for his true love. I sat there in silence, tears running down my face, when the System suddenly roared inside my head: [Hostile betrayal by target detected. Host bears no responsibility. Groveling Protocol disabled.] [Mind-link backlash blocked. Switching to: Maximum Savage Comeback Mode!] The moment the System fell silent, my head snapped up, every trace of tears gone. I went live to the entire internet, grabbed a megaphone, and planted myself right outside Layla's VIP hospital room. "Terminal stomach cancer, and she's still stuffing her face with Hellfire Wings? Is she trying to die even faster?"

In the sixth year of my relationship with Niklas Berg, he spent three hundred days a year in Inari, in northern Finland, doing fieldwork on Sámi culture and traditional crafts. I stayed behind in London, looking after his mother, Helena Berg, who had been bedridden since her stroke. The day I miscarried from sheer exhaustion, I was shaking all over with pain. I called him. Before I could say a word, he cut me off. "Signal's bad up here. The project's at a critical stage. Stop bothering me with every little thing at home." Then he hung up. I had always believed he was simply too consumed by his research to understand the needs of an ordinary relationship. That belief lasted until late one night, when I came across a promotional video for a Nordic traditional crafts exhibition on social media. In the video, Niklas, always so reserved and composed, was leaning down, fastening an heirloom silver brooch at the collar of a radiant young Sámi woman. The silver caught the light against her red-and-blue shawl, and his hands moved with such solemnity it looked like a ritual only the two of them understood. Someone off-camera teased him, asking if he planned to stay in the north forever. He looked at the girl, his voice low and tender. "Aila says this brooch is only given to the person she wants to share her life with. I'd gladly stay here for her." I closed the video. I didn't cry, and I didn't confront him. I simply signed the Helsinki transfer confirmation I should have signed long ago, then left my flat key and engagement ring behind in our home. His beliefs had never left room for me. So I would go and find a world of my own.

My father disappeared for seventeen years. The first time he surfaced, it was to offer me fifty thousand dollars for my bone marrow to save the daughter he'd had with his lover. My mother slapped me twice right there, demanding I refuse his dirty money. But I got into the car the Alpha had sent, handprints still burning on my face, and walked into his multimillion-dollar estate. They all thought I was so desperate I'd sell my own blood for cash. That changed when I pointed at the most expensive car in his garage and told my father, "Either restore my name to the Blackwood family registry or give me the car's value in cash: three hundred thousand dollars." "Your daughter needs my bone marrow to survive. My mother needs three hundred thousand dollars to stay alive." "If you can't part with the money, then watch her die." After that, everyone thought all I cared about was money. Only I knew the truth: I was selling my own blood to buy my mother a chance at life.

The day of my mating ceremony with Alpha Kian, I arrived at the lake house villa—the venue we had chosen for our sacred ritual. My heart was pounding with anticipation. But when I pushed the doors open, the place was completely empty. I quickly mind-linked my parents. "Where is everyone? I'm at the villa, but it's empty. And my gown is gone." There was a heavy silence before my mother finally answered. "Freya... we temporarily changed the location." "Without telling me? Why?" "Isolde's wolf is fading," my father chimed in. "She is dying. Her last wish is to wear the Luna crown for just one day. So, we are holding the ceremony for her instead." "Freya, you're her only sister. Be the bigger person. Just let her have this." Even Kian, my Alpha, tried to soothe me over the link. "Don't worry, Freya. It's just a ceremony for her. A trick for the Moon Goddess. It'll just block our mate bond for a little while. We can have our real ceremony anytime after she's stable." I refused. It was insane. "You're being unreasonable, Freya," Kian sighed impatiently. "Just stay at the lake house and calm down." Then, they cut the mind-link completely. I was left all alone in the abandoned villa. Then the Rogues attacked. Wolfsbane burned the air. It choked my wolf. I couldn't scream. I couldn't fight. In desperation, I used our mate bond. I reached out to Kian with everything I had left. He just sighed through the bond. He thought I was throwing a tantrum over the ceremony. Then he severed the bond completely. When their fake ceremony was over, they finally remembered me. But all they found on the villa floor… was my body. Torn to shreds by Rogues.

A typhoon warning had been issued. I drove out to pick up my mother, who lived by the coast. My car broke down halfway there. I called my boyfriend fifty-eight times, and every single one was declined. The rain kept getting heavier. No rescue services were available, and the water was rising. My hands were shaking so badly that all I could do was get Mom to a nearby bus shelter. That was when I scrolled past a Facebook post from my boyfriend's assistant, Megan. "Derek is such a sweetheart. Spent two hours searching, and the little stray finally has a home." In the photo, Derek was at Megan's place, giving a stray cat a bath. I looked at my mother, soaked to the bone, and a wave of hurt washed over me. By the time evening fell, my boyfriend finally called back, but the wind was so strong that the signal kept cutting in and out. I was about to ask him to come get us when his voice crackled through the receiver, broken up by static. "Don't let your mom... the seafood... mess up the car." Before I could say a word, he hung up. The rescue team arrived. As we climbed in, Mom was still shivering, fretting over the seafood that had spoiled during the delay. I picked up the bag and tossed it into the trash. If it's spoiled, there's no point keeping it. Same goes for people.

The year my sister turned fifteen, my father, Grant Davis, became obsessed with holding auctions at home. Everything in the house, from a plate of meat to a turn with the washing machine, from school lunch money to after-school activity fees, had to be won by bidding with family credits. I worked odd jobs until I dropped, sleeping only three hours a night, and finally saved up a thick stack of family credits, the paper soft and warped from my sweat. All Melody had to do was sit on the couch and shed a few tears, and my father would stuff fistfuls of credits into her arms. "Girls deserve to be spoiled. Can't have Melody feeling left out." That day, the item up for auction was an old necklace that had belonged to my grandmother, Ruth Bennett. Eyes burning, I pushed everything I had onto the table. "Eight thousand." Melody tossed out ten thousand without a second thought, her voice sweet and wheedling. "This necklace would go perfectly with my new dress." I begged my father through tears. "This is the only thing Grandma ever left me. Please." My father slapped me so hard my ears rang and my vision blurred. "Highest bidder wins. That's the rule! You're too poor to win, so don't blame anyone else!" Melody snatched the necklace, gave it a look of disgust, and casually tossed it into the roaring fireplace. "Oops, the fire's getting low. This'll make good kindling." I threw myself at the fireplace. The back of my hand split open instantly from the heat, the skin blistering and peeling away. They left, slamming the door behind them, complaining that my screaming was bad luck in the house. Later, I couldn't stop thinking. If I put my own life on the auction block, how many credits would you bid?

Three years ago, on a full moon night, my mother jolted awake at midnight, claiming the Moon Goddess had delivered a prophecy: On the day of my twentieth birthday, the feral gene inside me would spiral out of control. I would shift into a wolf and kill my sister. At first, my parents were skeptical. But after I awakened my wolf at eighteen, my sister would seize up whenever she was near me, clutching her chest and collapsing to the ground in violent fits of gasping. To protect her and force my wolf into dormancy, my parents resorted to every harsh measure they could devise. They poured suppression potions down my throat that ate away at my organs, and clamped a restraining collar around my neck so my sister could keep me on a leash. Eventually, my wolf vanished completely. And somehow, I survived to my twentieth birthday. A flash of joy hit me, and I reached for the cake on the table. My father backhanded me so hard I went flying. "That feral gene in your blood really is impossible to tame! "If anyone eats first, it's your sister. What makes you think you can touch it?" Clara stepped forward as if to soothe things over, but my mother pulled her behind her back, eyes full of wariness as she edged away from me. Then my father dragged me up to the attic and bolted the door shut. Through the door, they said, "Stay put and get through tonight. The prophecy will be broken. "After this, we'll give you half the love we've shown your sister." I sank my teeth into my lip, not daring to make a sound. Years of the suppression potion had already hollowed out my body. My consciousness was fading, piece by piece. Mom, Dad, in that dream the Moon Goddess sent you, did she happen to mention this part? That the one dying today might be me?

After surviving a kidnapping and being diagnosed with severe PTSD, I became the family's top priority. Every sharp object and glass item in the house was removed. The furniture was wrapped in thick foam padding, until not a single hard edge remained. My parents canceled all business trips. News broadcasts and violent movies were banned from the house. To help me feel safe, they even forced my younger brother, who had just earned a full scholarship to a top university, to stay home and keep me company around the clock. Everything changed on the night of my brother's lavish eighteenth-birthday celebration. When fireworks erupted across the sky without warning, I hallucinated instantly and grabbed my father's arm on instinct. "Dad, I've got a terrible headache. Can you take me back to the quiet room, please?" My father, who always told the world he treasured me like a jewel, suddenly grabbed me by the collar and dragged me to the edge of the rooftop terrace. "If you've got such a terrible headache, jump from here and end it all! "We've spent five years living like prisoners because of you, you worthless waste. "Today is your brother's coming-of-age, and you're pulling this again? "Jump! "Stop putting on that dying act every single day just to torture this family!" He squeezed my neck and shoved me impatiently. Then he straightened his expensive bow tie and walked toward the cheering crowd, as composed as ever. So he didn't see me stumble backward and crash through the half-broken railing. The wind screamed in my ears. I spread my arms like a kite cut loose from its string and plummeted.