Hypocrisy Marriage 단편 소설 & 소설

On New Year's Eve, I returned home. At the welcome party, my boyfriend, Grayson Caldwell, suddenly appeared, holding a bouquet of red roses and a diamond ring, dropping to one knee. "Although this proposal comes a full three years late, our love will never be late," he said. "Alexa, marry me!" Friends cheered from the sidelines, all expecting me to nod through tears and say yes. But they had forgotten that three years ago, on New Year's Eve, he had promised to propose. That night, I dressed to the nines and waited until dawn—but he never showed up. Instead, there was only a cold phone call. "Tanya is sick. I'm busy taking care of her. You'll have to wait a little longer for the proposal." And so, on New Year's Day, I left the country alone, bound by a family-arranged marriage. I had already married someone else three years ago.

Late at night on a business trip, my phone chimes with an alert from our family health app. "New weight logged: 176.8 pounds." I stare at the digits, oblivious to the hot ash falling onto the back of my hand. My wife, Jayda Cohen, is notoriously strict with herself. Her weight is locked at a steady 132 pounds. None of her friends push past 150 pounds, either. So who on earth is standing on that scale right now?

The night we fought for the port, I took a ricin-laced bullet for my husband, Don Nick Valenti. As I lay dying, Dr. Bruno Esposito, the Valenti family's doctor, brought out the last dose of antiserum. He said a shot right away would save me. But Nick injected the lifesaving serum into Mia Conti instead. Mia suddenly developed stomach cramps, so Nick ordered Bruno to give her the antiserum slowly through an IV. He ignored the fact that I could barely breathe and my skin was turning blue. Isabella Valenti, Nick's mother and the former Donna, clutched her crucifix. “Your wife is the one who was poisoned, Nick! Why are you saving Mia?” Nick pressed a cotton ball to Mia's arm to stop the bleeding. “Mia's been sheltered her whole life. She's never had so much as a scratch. Julia's survived more gunshot wounds than I can count. She'll pull through this one too.” Isabella's face went cold and hard. “Julia has pulled you out of gunfire at least ten times. Her father and brother both died helping you seize power! And you won't even give her the antiserum that could save her life?” Nick's voice was cold. “Mother, I never forced them to do any of it! When Julia married me, she made her vows before God. She loves me. She chose all of this.” He came over to my bed and touched my face. “Julia, I know you're stronger than this. I'll have Bruno do everything he can. You're my wife and the Donna of the Valenti family.” He looked as tender as he had the night before, when he had held me in his arms. I looked at the empty syringe in his hand, and suddenly, none of it felt worth it anymore. “Nick Valenti! You had better pray I don't survive. “Because if I do, you'll answer to God for everything you've done!”

My girlfriend found out that my water bottle cost $30,000. She then demanded I buy her father an $8 million luxury apartment in the city center. I politely refused. She said furiously, “Don’t be so stingy! He’ll be your father-in-law someday. What’s wrong with getting a head start on being a good son-in-law?” She even compiled all of our expenses during our relationship into a PowerPoint presentation and demanded we split everything. “If splitting everything equally is too much trouble for you, then just cover it all. You can afford it! “My family and I have already discussed it. I’ll give you a one-dollar gift. It means you're my only one. How perfect is that?” When she noticed I was silent, she played her final card. “If you can’t agree, then let’s forget about getting married. “You’ll never see me, your darling baby, ever again!” I looked at the detailed list of expenses on the screen. It even included $2 she had spent on a bus ride to see me. I smiled and said, “Sure. I’ll give you a $143-million gift, with more romantic meaning. And I’ll buy that apartment for your father right now.”

On the day I caught my fiancé, Henry Smith, in our bed with my adopted sister, Stacy Ellis, I slipped into severe depression and took 30 sleeping pills. After I was saved, my parents, Harold and Karen Ellis, told me calmly that Stacy had been diagnosed with a terminal illness and only had three months to live. It was up to me if I wanted to forgive them. Henry teared up as he begged me, "It doesn't matter if you're willing to forgive. I'll keep my promise to give you a wedding in a month." When I saw how much he regretted what he did, I gave in to him. That ended when I came across a private conversation on my brother's phone. His name was Toby Ellis, and he was a doctor. Stacy had sent him a voice note, and she could be heard laughing daintily. "You're so smart, forging that medical report to trick that crazy woman, Toby." My hands were trembling when I confronted my family with the conversation. However, Toby remained silent and smoked his cigarette while my parents looked tired as they blamed me instead. "You're too emotionally fragile. We wouldn't have gone so far as to lie to you if we hadn't been afraid that you'd try to kill yourself again." Henry's eyes were filled with hate as he shielded Stacy behind him. "Can't you just be a little more accepting? Are you really determined to see your family all apart?" I watched the man I loved and my family make demands for me to give in to Stacy. I swallowed hard, tasting blood. In the end, I smiled calmly. They were willing to go as far as to claim that Stacy was suffering from a terminal illness just to protect her. All the while, they were unaware that my severe depression was real. It was also true that somatization was causing many of my organs to fail. I no longer wanted this family, especially when I would not be surviving past this winter.

I begged my husband for weeks before he finally agreed to come with me to my prenatal appointment. The whole time, he just stood there with his hands buried in his pockets, watching me coldly as I handled everything on my own—paying the bills, checking in at the front desk, running around like crazy until I was completely overwhelmed. The second I walked into the exam room, he vanished into thin air. And to top it off, he took off in my car, leaving me to take the bus home by myself. As soon as I got on the bus, my phone buzzed. He'd sent me a screenshot of a receipt: [Companionship fee: 50 dollars] [Round-trip gas: 7 dollars] [Total: 57 dollars] There was also a voice message attached. "Our marriage is strictly fifty-fifty. What does your pregnancy checkup have to do with me? Why should I give up my day off to go to the hospital with you?" Listening to that icy message, I suddenly remembered the way he once got down on his knees in front of me, begging me to help pay for his education. I was so angry, I just started laughing. Fine then. If this was a fifty-fifty marriage, it was time to settle the score!

When I'm eight months pregnant, my parents, who sold me off when I was a child, beg for my forgiveness and ask me to come home to await the birth of my baby. Suddenly, a gas explosion occurs. Without a moment's hesitation, Mom and Dad shove me aside and rush through the inferno. They are quick to carry my younger sister, Avril Holden, who suffers from leukemia, to safety. Only my husband, Zack Burton, charges into the flames like a madman to rescue me. He even brings in a top-tier medical team for my treatment after I'm rescued from the fire. In the end, I lose my baby, and a falling roof beam leaves me with a broken leg. As I hobble along to catch one last glimpse of my child, I see Zack outside the morgue, pulling Avril into an excited embrace. "Thank God, Avril! We can now harvest Ashley's bone marrow while she's unconscious, and you'll be cured! You'll be back to your old self in no time." I once believed Zack was my warm, reliable refuge, but it turns out it was nothing more than an illusion all along. The marriage I once took such pride in has become a bitter, freezing winter. If that's how it is, then I shall simply let go.

In our third year of trying for a baby, Gideon Tarrant insisted that I go to the snowy peaks of the Kestrel Range to pray for a child. "The old folks say that if a wife climbs Hallow Peak and kneels to pray every three steps, heaven will send her a baby." Because of that, I faced the blizzard in the bitter subzero cold and knelt my way up from the foot of the mountain. When I was nearly at the summit, the smartwatch on my wrist suddenly buzzed. The health app showed that Gideon's heart rate was spiking. Right after that, a video synced automatically to our family cloud album. In a delivery room, Gideon was cutting the umbilical cord with red-rimmed eyes. The woman in the bed was my best friend, Amanda Crowley. Six months earlier, she had come to me in tears and told me she was pregnant and unmarried. My heart went out to her, so I sent her 80,000 dollars. She did not accept it. She only sent back one line: [Hazel, thank you for giving me the best of everything.] I thought she meant all the ways I had looked after her over the years. At this moment, as I watched the video, I saw that the people gathered around her bed were my own family. My father was holding the baby, tears of joy running down his weathered face. My mother sat at the bedside, her eyes full of tenderness. "Just focus on getting your strength back. We'll make sure Hazel doesn't find out." My brother went even further and pressed a thick envelope of cash into Gideon's hand. "Gideon, once Hazel's prayed that blessing down for Mandy, we'll have her clear out and make room for our big boy!" My husband, Gideon, held Amanda's hand tightly and pressed a tender kiss to her forehead. "This time, I'm never going to let you or the baby get hurt again." I lifted my head stiffly and looked up at the prayer ribbon tied to the branch above me. Gideon had written the wish on it himself. It read: [May my beloved be kept safe.] It turned out I was never a part of the beloved he had been praying for.

I suffer from severe depression, while Jayden Sherwell's best friend, Mindy Quest, is always quick to call people out for being dramatic. When my condition flares up, Mindy poisons the emotional support dog that has been by my side for five years. When I learn about Teddy's death, I break down and try to kill myself. Mindy locks me alone in the bedroom. "Suicide is just stupid. She's trying to kill herself over a dog? Just leave her alone to think things through," Mindy says. I pound on the door. My hands tremble as I grip a knife and hover it over my wrist. I keep telling myself over and over that I can't kill myself. I crawl to the drawer and search for my antidepressants, but it's empty. Mindy's smug laughter rings out from outside the door. "I just flushed them down the toilet. Just hang in there. Taking medication for years has made you stupid. "Now you try to kill yourself over every little thing." My physical symptoms become severe. I lie on the floor, struggling to breathe as I fight to call out to Jayden for help. Unable to bear watching me suffer, Jayden opens the door, but the moment he touches me, he takes two steps back. "Mindy is right. You aren't depressed. You're just being dramatic," he says. "You can't expect us to cater to you forever. Just hang in there. You'll be better soon." I collapse over Teddy's cold body, and whatever warmth remains in my heart disappears. At that moment, I feel as if I completely lose the will to go on living.

When Clara Jones learns that her son has leukemia, her world crumbles. After several failed donor matches, she still can't reach her husband, who's away on a business trip. In the end, her best friend, Monica Spencer, rushes to the hospital and turns out to be a compatible match. Carrying a basket of nourishing supplements, Clara visits Monica. When she arrives at her hospital room, she sees Monica wrapped tightly in a man's arms. That man is none other than Clara's husband, Luther Tanner, whom she had remarried three years ago. "Why would you offer to donate your bone marrow without telling me? That needle was so long. Do you have any idea how worried I was? You've been avoiding me for the past three years. Have you forgotten how to look after yourself?" Monica reciprocates the hug affectionately and chokes out, "I'm Sean's biological mother, after all. Now that he's sick, I had to come back." Frozen outside the door, Clara feels as though she's been thrown into a frigid pool. Those words root her to the spot. How can Sean Tanner not be her biological son? How's that even possible? Back then, she endured three days and nights of obstructed labor just to bring him into the world. She suffered massive blood loss after giving birth, and nearly all the blood in her body had to be replaced. But the second Sean lay in her arms, she felt she had no regrets left in this lifetime. So, how on earth can he be Monica's?

I've been married to Federico Moretti for four years, and the entire time, we've lived in a run-down basement. He works three jobs, all to save up money to buy me a house filled with morning sunlight and make it our home. So when the doctor gives me my diagnosis, all I can think about is how I'm about to become a burden to him. When I get home, Federico is crouched in front of a leaking pipe, wrapping tape around it. He looks up and spots the hospital envelope in my hand, his expression darkening. "Sera, how many times have I told you? Those white coats are all crooks. Look at Alfredo's mom. She had a whole bunch of tests done and spent all that money, only to get better after drinking some mulled wine." I glance down at the diagnosis report and suddenly smile. "What if I really am dying?" He frowns. "Don't talk like that. We still owe each other a real wedding. And if you're really sick, I'll make sure you get treated, even if I have to sell my own organs." That night, I swallow all my painkillers at once, determined not to be a burden to him anymore. When I open my eyes again, I'm floating in midair, watching Federico sit on a leather couch inside a private manor. Julia Rossi leans against one of the pillars in the living room, a glass of wine in hand and smiling. "Mr. Moretti, it must have been rough on you, living in that pigeonhole day after day, pretending to be poor for her." Federico takes off his cheap digital watch and tosses it into the fireplace. "You know I love her. But the Black Crown values loyalty above all else, and in my position as Underboss, everyone around me has an angle. Without a setup like this, how could I ever be sure she loves me for who I am and not for my power and money?" Only now do I understand. All those years of scraping by are nothing but a test he carefully staged. However, it has cost me my life.

Peter Crowley finds out that it's been three days since I last lodged a purchase request from him. Thinking that I've finally learned how to become a good wife, he decides to text me as a form of reward. "I've already restored your adoptive mother's treatment privileges. You should be more docile from now on. Don't keep lying just to ask for more money from me. "I know that it's tough, being from the bottom rung of the society and all, but I'm not a gullible idiot, you know." What Peter doesn't know is that I've already finished drafting a divorce agreement by the time I receive his text. Before leaving the manor, the only thing I can take with me is the white T-shirt and the jeans I wore when I first married into this family. No one will ever believe that I, the glamorous and radiant Mrs. Crowley, don't have enough decent clothes to take up an entire closet. Every cent meant for any private expenses needs to go through a corporate approval system. All of the fancy clothes and jewelry are locked up in a safe, too. If I ever need money, I'll have to submit a request to Peter's secretary, Cara Harden. This is all because Peter looks down on my background. He thinks that I'll somehow develop a bad habit of spending money excessively just because I've married rich. But three days ago, my adoptive mother was in critical condition. I quickly put in a request for 200 thousand dollars for her surgical bills, only for Cara to drag out the approval system's procession. In the end, my adoptive mother died in the hospital. Peter has no idea that the only reason why I can tolerate his behavior for so many years is for the sake of the medical resources that can cure my adoptive mother. Now that my adoptive mother is dead, there's no need for me to continue staying in this marriage.

During summer break, I returned home unannounced, hoping to surprise my family. But the moment I stepped through the door, my elder brother, Ronan, called the police. "Hello. I'd like to report a burglary at my house." Only when the police officer handcuffed me did I snap out of my trance and scream, "Dad, Mom, Julian, don't you recognize me? I'm Alba!" My parents shook their heads in unison. "We don't know her." Even Julian Murphy, the man I had dated for five years, averted his gaze. "I guess she's a stalker who thinks I'm her boyfriend." I spent fifteen days drowning in despair. Finally, my best friend, Samantha Lynch, showed up and bailed me out. I couldn't help but complain bitterly about the absurdity of the situation. "Sammy, how could Ronan do this to me? If it was a prank, it wasn't funny…" But Samantha offered no comfort. Instead, she took me to a five-star hotel. Before I could ask why we were there, I looked out the window—and froze. Outside in the courtyard, Julian and my twin sister were kissing passionately among the rose bushes. My parents stood nearby, smiling proudly as they raised their glasses to the guests. Samantha sighed. "There's one thing I need to tell you. Julian has always been in love with Bianca. It was their engagement ceremony the other day. However, your unannounced return triggered her, and she almost committed suicide. Your untimely return almost ruined the wedding. You already had Julian to yourself for five years. Why don't you let him go now and give them the happiness they deserve?" As confetti poured down like rain, two trails of hot tears marked my cheeks. Everyone I knew had worked together to protect Bianca, as though she were made of glass. But they treated me like an outsider. And from beginning to end, I had been the only one left in the dark.

My older sister, Marissa Lipton, found out that I had been dating someone online. She immediately exposed the matter to our parents. Little did they realize that the person I'd been dating was actually Xander Lorne, the heir to one of the most prestigious families in Belhorn. Since then, my parents treated me a lot better than before. I successfully married into the Lorne family, too. As for Marissa, she was forced to marry the man my parents had originally picked out for me, who was infamous for being a domestic abuser. Her life had been filled with pain and beatings since then. I, on the other hand, lived a lavish and extremely comfortable life. As a high-society wife, I was also admired and envied by all. So, Marissa decided to run me over with her car. When I wake up again, I see Marissa secretly jotting down my online partner's contact number. That's how I find out she has gotten reborn as well. Haughtily, Marissa declares that she will rise to the ranks of the elite and crush me under her heel in this life. What she doesn't know is that the "elite heir" from the previous life is a gift I've painstakingly prepared for her.

Damian Graves and I had been together for ten years, and he was perfect in every way. He was handsome, successful, and driven, except for one thing. He never missed a chance to cut me down. I placed second in the competition instead of first, and he said I "wasn't smart enough." I finally earned my first paycheck from writing, and he dismissed it as "completely worthless." Later, standing in the bridal shop, Damian looked me up and down in my wedding dress and told me my figure was not good enough, that I did not look anything like a bride should. Something in me snapped. For the first time in ten years, I screamed at him. "If I'm not good enough for you, why are you even marrying me?"

It's been three years since I got married, and life's just been getting better and better. My company is flourishing, and my wife is a successful career woman. However, I have a friend from my college days who has already sabotaged a few families among our friend group. He can't bear to see others doing better than him. One day, during a gathering with friends, he slung his arm over my shoulder and said earnestly, "Alan, look at you. After you got married, you lost all freedom. You now live like a simp. Can you still call yourself a man? I've booked a private room somewhere fun tonight, and no one's allowed to leave! Let's have a blast and party all night!" I swallowed my discomfort and went along with them, only to find out what he meant by "having a blast" was hiring some professional ladies. And he even dragged me along to try my luck at gambling.

Not long after Josh Stewart proposed to me, the Stewart family went bankrupt. He took on three jobs, pouring everything he had into taking care of me. Every morning, he handed me the first cup of coffee, and the only fresh bagel on the table was always mine. He would pull me into his arms and promise, softly but firmly, that once he had saved his first 100,000 dollars, he would marry me. I believed every word. Until the day I stepped into an exclusive private club and saw him with his childhood sweetheart, their fingers intertwined, as he ordered a bottle of Lafite without a second thought. "If Yvette still hasn't realized in three days that Donald's been pretending to be you, then you win," she said with a smile. "Her eyesight isn't great," Josh replied, a hint of amusement in his voice. "And Donald avoids women. She won't notice. If I win, you're coming abroad with me for the wedding." I stood there, just out of sight, listening. A small smile tugged at my lips. Perhaps… it was time to find myself a different groom.

Seconds before the crash, my best friend, Nora Sinclair, threw herself over me to protect me. When she woke up, she'd lost her memory and mistook my fiancé, Julian Pierce, for her boyfriend. There were five of us in our friend group, and for the sake of her recovery, we decided it would be best to play along with the mistake. The first month, the trip Julian and I had planned before our wedding became hers instead. Nora held his hand and kissed him while everyone cheered them on, leaving me trailing behind with all four of their bags. The second month, Nora moved into the home Julian and I had bought for after the wedding. My name was taken off the deed and replaced with hers. My sister, Yvette Lane, tried to reassure me. "Nora lost her memory saving your life. We're only playing along with this to help her recover." I believed her. I forced myself to smile and played my part through one ridiculous charade after another. Then came the ninth month. I had just finished having my bridal makeup done and hurried to the wedding venue, only to find Nora already wearing my wedding dress, smiling as she stood beside Julian and greeted the guests with her arm linked through his. Yvette patted me on the shoulder. "Nora accidentally found your wedding dress last night. We couldn't bring ourselves to tell her the truth, so just let her have the wedding this time." One of Julian's friends, Yale Lawson, grinned and chimed in, "Exactly. You've already given in eight times. What's one more?" A bitter ache spread through my chest, and suddenly the wedding ring on my finger felt painfully tight. Then I looked up and saw Nora wearing my spare wedding band. It fit her perfectly. Only then did I notice that the wedding dress had always been one size too small on me, yet it fit her perfectly too. Every guest there knew exactly what was going on, but they still laughed and cheered, calling her Mrs. Pierce. That was when I finally understood. From the very beginning, I was the only one who hadn't wanted this "mistake" to become real. With a bitter smile, I slipped off the ring that had been cutting into my finger. Fine. If this was what they wanted, they could have their ninth farce. I was done after this.

On the morning of the day my fiance, Anton Solomon, and I are scheduled to start our destination wedding trip, he finally rushes to the airport straight from the office. Just seconds before boarding, he receives an urgent message from his female secretary, Callie Lawrence. "I'm sorry, honey. A major project just came in, and I need to be there to approve it. "Could you go ahead and start the trip on your own? I'll join you as soon as I wrap things up in a few days." Despite feeling a twinge of regret, I understand that work comes first, so I offer him my full support. After he leaves, I tear up my boarding pass and turn around. I decide to return to the office and see for myself. I want to see which blind, brainless company is negotiating a major project with a company I acquired hours earlier at dawn, and how it has the nerve to bypass me, the current CEO. They have chosen to approach a man who is nothing but a CEO in name only.

For Founders' Day, Julian Whitmore said he was finally taking me home to meet his family. I spent three months preparing. Then I waited an hour outside his front door. By the time I made it inside, his mother was already holding the hand of a girl in a fitted red dress. "This is Camille," she announced to the room, beaming. "Julian's fiancée. The wedding's set for Thanksgiving." I looked at Julian. He kept his head down. He didn't deny it. All through dinner, he and Camille Sinclair accepted toast after toast of congratulations, while the butler led me in through the side door and sat me at a table in the corner — without so much as a place setting. Three rounds of drinks in, he texted me: [Wait for me. I'll fix this.] I sent back three words: [Congratulations to you.]