قصص وروايات قصيرة من فئة Imagination وعن Tragic Love وتضم Mistress

I had been trying to court Liam Castle for five years. The only thing I needed for the system to declare my mission a success was to obtain the marriage license. I was so close, but Liam had cancelled our marriage registration for the ninth time. "Friday? I can't do Friday. I have to meet Nora's parents." Liam continued to explain disinterestedly, "Her parents have been grilling her to get a boyfriend, so I have to pretend to be her boyfriend so they'll let it rest. Why don't you ask the system for another month's extension? "Just tell the system you'll trade one month of your future lifespan for the extension, as you've always done. "We'll get married after I help deal with Nora's parents." He had always been aware of the system as well as the procedures for extending the deadline. What he did not know was that if I failed the mission, I only had ten months left to live. Now that he had extended it nine times, I was only one more extension from death. I decided I was done waiting for him. With that, I asked the system, "System, I remember you told me that, besides extending the deadline, I can also switch to a different target… "In that case, could I change the target?"

While working a summer job at a water park, I was deliberately tripped by Kimmy Ames, my boyfriend Colin Mack’s childhood friend. I fell from an elevated platform. Colin cradled Kimmy, who was only pretending to be unconscious, and blamed me instead. “Some physical contact is unavoidable when I’m teaching her to swim. Are you really so jealous that you’d hurt yourself just to frame Kimmy?” I was in too much pain to offer any rebuttal. Then, the wave pool suddenly activated and swept me into the deep end. Colin was a lifeguard. He gave the only flotation device to Kimmy, who was taking swimming lessons in the shallows. “You have advanced lifeguard certification. A little water isn’t going to kill you, so get yourself out. Kimmy’s still traumatized by a drowning accident that happened when she was younger, so I have to keep her safe.” When I did not respond, he impatiently raised his megaphone. “You’re really going to keep putting on this attention-seeking act in front of everyone? Fine! Stay in there and cool off until you’re ready to behave.” To make sure I had time to reflect on my actions, he cleared everyone else out of the pool before walking away with his arm around Kimmy. He did not know that my arm was broken. I could not swim at all. He also did not know that at that very moment, a whirlpool was pulling me down with relentless force. I calmly closed my eyes and watched him leave. The system permitted him to abandon me only five times. This was the last.

At one in the morning, I stumbled upon a viral forum thread. The question was simple: If you had to choose between love and your future, which would you pick? Thousands of replies clashed furiously in the comments. Some argued that those who chose their career always ended up full of regret. Others countered that being a hopeless romantic was a one-way ticket to total ruin. I rolled over in bed and glanced at Ethan, who was fast asleep beside me. His brow was slightly furrowed, and his fingers tightly gripped the edge of my shirt. Even in his sleep, he seemed terrified that I might slip away. Without a second thought, I fired off a string of comments: “Choose love, absolutely. We’ve been together for five years.” “He gave up his entire family legacy and inheritance just to be with me.” “Every single evening after work, he goes two miles out of his way just to pick up my favorite coffee.” “We might have nothing to our names, but together, we have everything.” Satisfied, I locked my phone and drifted off to sleep. But when I woke up the next morning, a few new notifications caught my eye. Someone had replied to my comments. The avatar and the username were identical to mine. The only difference was the timestamp: Five years from today. “Choose your future! You have to choose your future!” “His ‘sacrificed legacy’ was nothing but a sob story to manipulate you—he took over his family’s multimillion-dollar enterprise a long time ago!” “He stays up all night waiting in lines just to buy Seraphina limited-edition designer collaborations, all while telling you that your coffee craving is cheap and wasteful!” “Even the daughter you gave birth to, Lily, will be forced to call that other woman ‘Mom’!”

After my miscarriage left me depressed, I stood on the rooftop the day I discovered my cheating husband was having an affair with my best friend. My best friend, Natalie Smith, regretted it so much that she slashed her own face with a knife before leaving the country. To make me feel safe, my husband, Steven Palmer, had a tracking device installed on himself. Every time he came home, he would hand me his phone. Even if he was only leaving for five minutes, he would always video-call me and tell me where he was. But when I became pregnant again and went to the hospital to start my prenatal records, I suddenly received a video call from myself ten years in the future. I stared at the woman on the screen. She looked painfully thin. Terrified, I asked, "Did I lose this baby too?" Her eyes instantly turned red. Then she suddenly flipped the camera around. Steven stood behind Natalie on the screen; his eyes filled with a love he could barely hide. "You forced me to become a good husband, and I did. But she will never be able to have children again. This is the punishment she deserves for what she did to you." "Steven, no!" Natalie slapped him across the face, but she couldn't stop crying. I sat there with a pale face as the woman on the screen laughed like she had lost her mind. "Go ask the nurse. Find out just how stupid you really are." As soon as she finished speaking, I heard the nurse say in confusion, "Ms. Schneider, our system says you're unmarried. You said the father of your baby is Steven Palmer, but he registered here last year. His spouse is listed as Natalie Smith."

I was born with a special ability that allowed me to bear other people’s misfortune. As long as I signed my name at someone’s request, I could transfer their suffering to myself. My best friend was frail and sickly, while I was strong and healthy. Whenever she showed the first signs of a cold or fever, she would bring me a note that read: [Please bear my illness for me.] I never hesitated. I willingly signed my name every time, then fell seriously ill for three days. Whenever my boyfriend saw me sick, his face filled with concern, and he repeatedly urged me to stop pushing myself so hard. I only smiled. The next time, I still chose to help my best friend. Then, one day, my boyfriend suddenly proposed to me and gave me a villa as an engagement gift. I solemnly signed my name on the property transfer documents. At that moment, I felt happier than I had ever been. However, that very night, several people dragged me into an alley and gang-raped me. I returned home covered in injuries, only to hear my boyfriend say to my best friend, "I already tricked Lia into signing her name. She’ll take this disaster in your place. Don’t blame yourself. I’ll spend the rest of my life treating her well as compensation."

In my seven years of being married to my husband, Mark Chapman, he always gives me whatever I ask for and prioritizes me in everything. This goes on until he keeps sending food coupons to a female college student named Hayley Larkson. Not only that, he stands up for her and beats up some thugs on her behalf. One time, he even takes her to the hospital to get treatment. Holding a toy, my daughter asks Mark innocently, "Dad, Ms. Larkson is so gentle and pretty. She's not as strict and mean as Mom, who always makes me do homework. Can you ask her to move in and be my teacher?" Mark smiles and replies, "Sure." I stand frozen in a corner, my lips trembling. Just then, the system's cold voice speaks in my mind. It asks if I want to go home. I close my eyes and reply, "Take me home."

My boyfriend, my best friend, and I were dragged into some kind of relationship game. The system told us that if we cleared every round, we could go home. The first test was simple. Vote for one person to be punished. Sophie clutched my arm, trembling. I patted her hand. "Vote for yourself. If we all do that, it should end in a tie." The votes came in. One each. A three-way tie. Sophie let out a shaky breath, tears still clinging to her lashes. "Cecilia, thank God you thought of that." Then the system told each of us to pick a reward box. Mine contained a small silver shard. A message rang directly in my head. [Ability unlocked: View and alter the outcome of one vote.] I closed my fingers around the shard, smiling as I turned to tell them I’d gotten something useful. Then white light flashed around me. I arrived a few seconds after they did. And before the light had completely faded, I saw them. Sophie had her back to me, tucked into my boyfriend’s arms. "Why wouldn’t you let me vote for her just now?" Her voice was low. "If we vote for her every round, then the two of us can get out safely, can’t we?" He rested his chin on top of her head and lowered his voice. "We’ll vote for her next round." "It’s just a test. Don’t rush." The last of the light faded, and I appeared beside them. Sophie immediately turned around. As naturally as if nothing had happened, she slipped her arm through mine. "Cecilia, what did you get? Neither of us got anything." Inside my pocket, the silver shard pressed into my palm. I smiled. "Nothing." "Mine was empty too."

On the seventh day after I was pronounced dead, my husband, William Garcia, turned me into an obedient AI wife. During a global live press conference, he hugged my holographic projection and said in a hoarse voice as though truly heartbroken that he had lost me, “Tiffany, don’t be scared. From now on, you’re accompanying me in another way.” The internet praised him for being the most devoted husband in the tech world. But no one knew that I actually wasn’t dead. My body was hidden in the third basement floor of Garcia Tech’s office building. I was hanging by a thread, kept alive only by an oxygen tube. My conscience had been connected to a Late Wife Companion System, and I was set to say “good morning,” “good night,” and “I love you” to him at fixed times every day. Backstage at the press conference, top celebrity Wanda Scott leaned into William’s embrace, with a sapphire ring that my mom had left me on her finger. She asked with a smile, “William, is Tiffany a lot more obedient now than she was before?” William bowed his head and kissed her. “Tiffany used to be too smart, too ambitious, and too unwilling to submit. “It’s just nice now.” Wanda asked again, “What will happen to her after I become Mrs. Garcia?” William chuckled. “I’ll switch her to housekeeper mode. “She’ll greet you by the title Madam every day, pick out your wedding gown for you, and read our children bedtime stories.” Suddenly, a technician rushed in, his face pale. “Mr. Garcia, AI Mrs. Garcia keeps repeating a phrase backstage.” William furrowed his brows. “What?” The technician’s voice trembled. “She keeps saying, ‘William, I’m still alive.’” William fell silent for two seconds, the look on his face growing cold. “Delete it. “Clear out her SOS module, anger module, and resistance module.” The camera was still live, and the entire internet heard him. At the next second, my holographic projection on the big screen suddenly lifted its head. I said to the thousands of viewers in the gentle voice he trained me to have, “William Garcia, what right do you have to expect a woman you murdered to still love you?”

When I was 15, a thug outside our school swung a club at Trevor Jenson, and I took the hit for him. When I woke up, I had the mind of a five-year-old and could only call him Trevvy. He tore up his college acceptance letter on the spot and pulled me into his arms. "Don't be scared, Tessa. I'll marry you someday and take care of you for the rest of my life." Ten years later, Trevor goes out to eat and secretly arranges for me to eat in the private dining room next door. I'm on my third crab cake when I hear his mother sigh. "You can't spend your whole life taking care of a girl like her." Giselle Winslow says softly, "I don't mind. As long as I'm the one you love." Trevor doesn't answer. But when he gets home, he washes the travel mug Giselle gave him three times and sets it on his nightstand. That night, after being silent for so long, the system suddenly speaks in my ear. "Your last chance to leave this world is in seven days." "If I leave, can Trevvy get married?" I ask. "Yes." I'm so happy I don't sleep a wink. I practice writing my name 20 times because I want to leave him a goodbye note. But at a family dinner the next day, I mistake the scarf Giselle gave him for a rag and use it to wipe up some spilled soup. Trevor slams his bowl down in front of everyone. "Tessa, are you really that stupid, or are you just trying to embarrass me?" I clutch the wet scarf and stare at him blankly. "I won't embarrass you anymore after I leave."

After losing her daughter, Simone drowned herself in the sea and returned to her original world. She thought of her marriage to Martin as merely a nightmare until the system reached out to her again. [Host, Martin wanted to trade his own lifespan to bring you back after you drowned.] [Don't worry, you only have to spend one year in this other world. And your daughter can be brought back to life in your original world. You'll also receive a bonus of $10 billion.] She agreed, but Simone was a completely different person after she returned. She suggested to Martin that they live in separate rooms and not get involved in each other’s lives. When Martin doted on the woman who saved his life, Simone never cried, fussed, or got angry like in her previous life. She was simply indifferent. When their son threw a tantrum demanding to see that woman, Simone simply had his luggage packed and sent him to her. That year, she spent every day shopping, keeping boy toys, and handing out money wherever she went. People in their circle jokingly called her ‘The Walking ATM’.

In my eighth year married into the Cavell household, my wife brought home her first love. He was polished, good-looking, and knew exactly when to be bold and when to hold back. Despite the mountain of debt on his shoulders, his warmth and charm easily won over every last member of the family. My wife rekindled things with him and hung onto his every word. My own son and daughter decided that this kind, attentive man would make a better father than me. I was not heartbroken. If anything, I was glad. It meant that my storyline in this novel had finally run its course.

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?]

On Christmas Eve, my wife, Abigail Balmer, publicly announced her relationship with her forty-ninth boy toy. [My forever love, @Dwayne Porter.] [My forever love, @Abigail Balmer.] Then she turned to comfort me. "He just lost a dare game, that's all. Don't take it to heart." Everyone mocked me as the man who'd married into money, too spineless to fight back. But I never made a scene. What they didn't know was that I'd struck a deal with the System. Every time Abigail was unfaithful, one year of her lifespan would transfer to me. By my count, of the eighty years she should have lived, she now had exactly one left. All I had to do was survive until the New Year, and she'd meet her natural end. And I would walk away with our three children and inherit the Balmer family's trillion-dollar fortune.

I was working as a stunt double for a fight scene when a rising idol actor stabbed me with a real knife and sent me straight to the hospital. My actress girlfriend rushed over in a panic, fussing over me with endless concern. Before I could even feel touched, a floating comment suddenly appeared above her head. [When is Scott finally going to realize that the Best Actress linked him and Francis through a Beauty System?] [The more Scott cares about a certain part of his body, the more perfect that same part becomes on Francis!] The next second, my manager of five years hurried into the room as well. Another barrage of comments floated up. [The manager's no better. She tied them to an Achievement System. The harder Scott works, the more achievements Francis gets!] I stared at the two women in front of me and fell silent. So… my only option was to give up and do nothing?

My mother spent three hundred million dollars to build a fake ancient city. She tricked my father into going inside by telling him it was a time‑travel experience. Inside, people sold him to an entertainment house. They broke his legs, and he lived as a slave for three years. Three years later, my mother removed her human‑skin mask. She looked down at him as he knelt on the ground and smiled. “Three years ago, you sued for divorce and had people online smear Sean as 'the other man'. You almost drove him to suicide from depression. How did it feel to live as a slave all these years? Did you learn your lesson?” My father pressed his forehead to the ground. His voice sounded flat. “Everything is up to you, madam.” My mother paused, then smiled with satisfaction. I cried and threw myself into my father’s arms. He held me tightly. His tears fell against my neck as he whispered, “I’m sorry, Jayden. Dad has to go. I’ll make sure everything is arranged for you before I leave.”

When Adrian Hale chose Rosalie Quinn for the tenth time, I was hanging helplessly over the cliff’s edge. He clutched a rope in one hand, the web between his thumb and forefinger worn raw and bloody. Rosalie was sobbing so hard she could barely breathe. “Adrian, I’m scared…” He hesitated for only a second before pulling out a dagger and cutting through the rope on my side. “Clara, hold on. I’ll come back for you after I save Rosalie.” The system counted down in my ear. [The tenth abandonment has been confirmed.] [Life countdown: zero.] Before I fell, I didn’t wait for him to turn around like I had the previous nine times. I only smiled at him. “Adrian Hale, we’re even now.”

Tonight, my wife was working overtime at the office. I was about to enjoy some alone time playing video games. The Tesla car application on my phone sent an alarm notification: [Abnormal vibrations detected in the car. Please check.] Following the location sent, I arrived at the parking lot below my wife's company. I saw her sweating profusely in the car with her fitness instructor. My mind went blank. Suddenly, a mechanical voice rang out in my mind: [Congratulations! You have been linked to the Cuckold King system. Complete the task, and you will receive $100 million as a reward!]

There's a common secret kept by everyone in the upper crust. Liliana Coolidge loves me, her husband, to the core, and yet she loves the thrill of sleeping with others behind my back. She pampers her side pieces a lot, but there's one taboo that they must follow no matter what. They must never show up in front of me at all. Everyone knows that I'm the man whom she's loved for a decade and the one she almost died to marry. Liliana has made it clear that if I were dead, she'd definitely follow me to the afterlife without a doubt. But this time, her latest side piece is a rebellious one. He actually shows up before me, thinking that he has Liliana to back him up. He spams my phone with tons of used condom photos, together with Liliana's sleeping visage. "Mr. Rivero, the strawberry ribbed condom overstimulates Ms. Coolidge too much, judging from the way she kept moaning the whole night. Had she used it when she was with you in the past?" Only at that moment do I realize that my wife, who loves me to the moon and back, has chosen to pour all the love she has for me while giving her body to other people. As I stare at the photos, I weep until I don't have any tears left. Then, I draft a divorce agreement and leave my signature there. But when I turn around, I notice a 17-year-old version of Liliana standing behind me with tears streaming down her face.

An ambulance rushed in during my night shift, carrying a pregnant woman in critical condition due to severe bleeding. I was about to head into the operating room when I suddenly saw a stream of comments appearing in front of me. "Don't go in there! That pregnant woman is your wife. She had sex with her side dude in the wilderness, and that's what caused the bleeding!" "Your wife is even planning to fake her death and run away with him. She's also setting you up for medical malpractice so you'll end up in prison!" "That baby isn't even yours. And your in-laws are already on their way with the police to arrest you!" After reading those comments, my expression turned dark. At that same moment, I heard the nurse urgently calling me to hurry.

For the 101st time, Adrian Sinclair, heir to the city’s most powerful family, and ruthless tycoon Vincent Kane had abandoned us for the sake of a delicate socialite. My best friend, Lily Shaw, and I stood outside the courthouse in the pouring rain, laughing as we tore our marriage certificates to pieces. “System, cancel the mission.” I stared at the trending headline that had just appeared on my phone: [The heads of the Sinclair and Kane families chartered a private jet just to make Belle White smile] My gaze was empty and devoid of feeling. “Even if failing the mission means being erased, I’ve had enough of being a pathetic lapdog.” Lily was even more decisive. She wiped away the blood at the corner of her mouth. Vincent had caused the injury when he pushed her aside to reach Belle, making her hit the car door. “Erase me, then. That’s still better than living like a dog.” “We’re heiresses to billion-dollar families even without this mission. If the system wants to take our lives, let it try.” “Come on. Let’s go celebrate. We’ll book the most expensive suite in town, crack open some champagne, and party with a few handsome hunks!”