Familial Bond Short Stories & Independence Regret Novels

For eight years, Damian Caruso kept me as his secret wife. I handled his family's lawsuits, protected his empire, and raised the son he refused to acknowledge in public. Ethan wasn't even allowed to call him Dad when anyone else was around. I told myself Damian had his reasons. Until our son's seventh birthday. Damian promised he would come home. Ethan waited beside an untouched birthday cake until nearly midnight. Damian never showed. Because Sofia Bellini—the childhood friend everyone already treated as Damian's real woman—had the same birthday. And Damian had chosen hers. That night, I stopped waiting. I signed the divorce papers. The next morning, Damian was in such a hurry to rescue Sofia that he signed the documents I placed in front of him without even reading them. He didn't realize he had just given me permission to take Ethan out of New York. Then he moved Sofia into our home—and asked his wife and son to leave so she wouldn't discover we existed. Ethan looked at the father he had spent seven years trying to love and called him "Mr. Caruso." Damian finally looked shaken. But it was already too late. On the day we left, he told me he had to fly abroad to handle a divorce case for a client. I said nothing. Because that divorce case was mine. He was flying across the ocean to finalize the end of our marriage—and he still thought I was just taking our son out of town for a few days.

According to the Moretti family's rules, my twin sister Chloe and I were supposed to inherit our grandmother's trust when we turned eighteen. But the night before the trust was unlocked, my mother came to us with red-rimmed eyes and told us the family was three million dollars in debt. We needed to pay it off immediately. My fiancé Damian held my hand and moved our wedding date up to the end of the year. He promised we'd face it together. That night, Chloe and I both signed the waiver. Three days later, I got my Harvard acceptance letter with a full scholarship. I rushed home early to share the news—and walked straight into the living room projector still running. On the screen was a group chat I'd never seen before. It was called "Protect Chloe." [Did she sign?] [She signed. She voluntarily gave up her inheritance. Everything belongs to Chloe now.] [That's what Chloe deserves. Vivian's the older sister. She should be the one to give in.] [She doesn't need that much money anyway. She'll have the Salvatorre Donna title soon enough.] Because I was born ten minutes before Chloe, my parents had always favored her. And now, even my fiancé had chosen her side. I didn't say a word. I confirmed my Harvard enrollment and booked a flight to Boston. They thought I'd do what I always did—get angry, cry, then come crawling back. But this time, I was really done with them.

My parents are music professors, and their university is always hosting these music salons and exchange events. But they never took me. After I graduated from college, I was desperate to see what it was like, so I begged my mother for a visitor's pass. She was busy helping my sister Ella fill out an application for one of those concerts, and she cut me off cold: "Everyone attending is a top-tier musician. You can't even read sheet music—walking in there, you'd just stick out like a sore thumb." A few days later, I stood in the freezing wind, listening to the applause rolling out from the auditorium. My sister stood at center stage, performing alongside a bunch of renowned musicians. That night, my mom posted a proud photo of Ella's performance on social media. Graceful. Composed. Radiant. The comments were all flattery—until one relative asked: [Why didn't you bring your Seraphina along to soak up some of the spotlight?] My mom replied: [She has zero musical talent. Too much of a philistine. Not her scene.] I stared at my phone, glancing at the six-figure offer from Wall Street, and let out a helpless laugh. My mom always favored the kid she thought was brilliant—never had a clue that I was shining somewhere else entirely. Three days left until I move out of Ohio for good. I'm taking everything she called "philistine" about me and walking out of her precious little music kingdom forever.

When I returned from a mission, I found my Alpha mate, Wyatt, had tattooed his Beta's sigil next to our sacred mating mark. I cut my mission short, stormed back to the pack, and publicly declared my intent to Reject him. The mating mark is sacred, a symbol of two souls eternally bound. Desecrating it is the gravest insult to the Moon Goddess. Wyatt tore the rejection papers to shreds, casting them to the ground. Fury blazed in his wolfish eyes. "Over a sigil? You're tearing us apart over a meaningless symbol. Are you insane?" "Do I look like I'm kidding?" I sneered. "Fine. Let the Moon Goddess be your judge." The color drained from his face. "Faye, if you dare go through with this, I'll strip Rory of his birthright. He'll never be Alpha." "How could I be cursed with a mother like you? You're ruining my future as Alpha! I hate you!"My son, Rory, snarled from the side, his eyes burning with hatred. I looked at this father and son, who was now both strangers to me, and my heart turned to ash. My fingers tightened on my herb pouch. "The moment your father desecrated our mark," I said, my voice eerily calm, "I was already done with you."

Before the awakening ceremony, our pack reserved two family seats for every teenager taking part. I handed Mom and Dad their invitations and reminded them three times when it started. Every time, Mom said, “We know. We’ll be there.” But that day, I waited outside for three hours. Neither of them showed up. Other dads had brought cameras, ready to capture the moment their children awakened. Other moms had packed their kids’ favorite fruit to help them regain their strength afterward. Mom finally picked up just as the ceremony was about to start. “Mom, why aren’t you here yet?” “Huh? Here for what?” “My awakening ceremony. You promised you’d come.” She went quiet for a few seconds. “Your sister has a dance competition today. Your dad’s there with her.” “And your brother has a toothache. I’m at the healer’s with him.” “The ceremony will go ahead whether we’re there or not. You’ll be fine on your own.” Then she hung up. I walked in alone. Some of the other teenagers gave me pitying looks. Others smirked. That day, I awakened the strongest wolf in my group. It wasn’t until dark that the family group chat lit up. Mom sent a picture of my brother eating ice cream. Dad said my sister had won a prize, and he was taking her out to celebrate. Only when tears blurred my vision did I open Silverfrost Pack’s offer to train as a warrior and accept it. If there was no place for me in this family, I wouldn’t stay.

On the day of the family's "Legacy Day," Dad announced he was giving us necklaces blessed by our ancestors. Everyone got one. Everyone except me. My older brother Leon received an obsidian necklace. Even the old butler who'd served our household for twenty years got a protective charm to calm his mind. The most beautiful one—a moonstone wrapped in rare runes, glowing with soft holy light—was gently placed around Mia's neck by our father. Mia is my little sister. She's been a rare white wolf since birth, but she's always been frail. She accepted it with delight. I stood at the very edge, running on no sleep after just returning from border patrol. I stepped forward and instinctively reached out my hand. But my Dad didn't even look at me. Click. The velvet box snapped shut in front of everyone. That sharp sound of the lid closing jolted me fully awake. Father dusted off his hands. "Yours isn't urgent. We'll talk about it later." My eyes stung. I walked over to Mother, who stood to the side. "Mom, what about me? Why does even the butler get one, but not me?" Mother just told me to wait a little longer. Just then, Mia coughed from the cold wind. My future mate, Garrett Whitfield, immediately took off his coat and wrapped it around her, escorting her all the way into the warm room. I stood alone in the biting wind, pulled out my phone, and replied to a warrior invitation message from the Silver Creek pack next door—one that had been sitting there for a week.

For as long as I could remember, I knew my mother, Isabella, hated me. She once threw me into the basement, leaving me to rot in the dark or crawl out on my own. But I was hard to kill. Even after nine days of starvation, I still clawed at the bottom of the door until all ten of my fingers were bloody. At seven, I taught myself how to fight back against her. When she locked me out, I shattered the champagne tower at a family dinner. If I couldn't be happy, no one could. When she had her guards pin me to the ground to teach me a lesson, I secretly locked her precious son, Leo, in the attic. I listened to him cry until his voice went hoarse. I stubbornly fought against her like this until I was twelve. Until they brought my newborn sister, Rosie, home. I stood by the crib, clumsily changing the soiled cashmere blanket for the tiny pink bundle. Isabella barged in and slammed me hard against the wall. Behind the disgust in her eyes was fear. "What are you trying to do to my daughter?" "I knew it! You're the spawn of that Barone bastard. You're up to no good!" "Why don't you just die and do this family a favor!" In that moment, I finally understood. Clutching the back of my bleeding head, for the first time, I didn't fight back. It was also the first time I actually agreed with her. My birth, from start to finish, was a dirty mistake. I really did deserve to die.

The night I died, my whole family was busy celebrating my twin sister Elena's eighteenth birthday. Everyone thought Elena was going to die the next day. We're elves. My father worked as a clan guardian, and after Mom gave birth to Elena and me as twins, she stopped working altogether. We should have been a happy family. But from the moment we were born, Elena and I were bound by a witch's curse. Because Elena came into the world one minute before me, she took the full weight of it onto herself. She was never supposed to live past eighteen. From the day we were born, Elena was the family's treasure. Mom and Dad treated me like I owed her something. New toys went to her first. New dresses were always her pick. Every night, Mom would sit in Elena's room for at least an hour before she'd turn off the light. I always fell asleep alone. One night I had a nightmare and ran barefoot to find Mom. She was holding Elena and didn't even look up. "Go back to bed. Stop making a fuss." I kept telling myself: she's dying, of course they're kind to her. But every time I let something go, that splinter in my chest pushed a little deeper. Then the day the curse was supposed to take effect finally came, and naturally, that was the day my stomach cramped so badly I could barely stand. Mom and Dad didn't hesitate. They shoved me into the cellar and locked it from outside. I crouched on the stone floor with the smell of mildew everywhere and knocked on the door over and over. "Mom... Dad... my stomach really hurts, I can't even stand up... let me out, please..." One sentence came back through the door. "Your sister is dying tonight! Can you just give us one day? One day!" "But... Mom... I'm scared..." Nobody answered after that. The cellar went quiet. My eyelids grew heavy. My last thought was: if I were the one dying of a curse, would they come hold me too.

When my sister, Vesper Rowe, begged us for help, my mate, Alpha Sterling Blackwood, and I traveled for three days and nights to reach the neighboring Cloudwolf Pack. Vesper's in-laws made her life as hard as they could. I out-argued every wolf in the room, and Sterling backed me up with brute strength. Once her mate bond was finally severed, a smile finally appeared on Vesper's haggard face. "Moon Goddess bless you both. Don't ever split up, okay? Otherwise, I won't know whose house to go to anymore." Sterling ruffled her hair, then looked at me with open affection. "Don't worry about us. The Moon Goddess chose Livia and me as the most compatible mates in the entire werewolf world. Everyone else could split up, but we'd still be together. "What matters now is figuring out what kind of life you want for yourself." After we brought Vesper home with us, I took even better care of her than before and made sure she got out and met new people. Whenever Sterling saw me preparing a plate of fruit for Vesper, he'd pull me into his arms, acting jealous. "Livia, your sister is a grown woman. I'm your mate, and I'm the one who needs more of your attention right now." I laughed and popped a slice of apple into his mouth, my heart brimming with happiness. When I returned from a month-long training retreat, they were both there to pick me up. Sterling opened his arms to hug me as usual, but I spotted a lipstick stain on his collar. When I confronted him about it, Sterling, who'd always answered every question I asked, remained silent. My heart sank, and I decided I'd break the bond the very next day. But when I reached for Vesper to take her with me, my hand closed on empty air. She gave me one reluctant look, then turned and walked to Sterling.

The Moretti family had always prided itself on "absolute fairness." Because my older brother and sister—both candidates for Don—would go at each other's throats the second Father tilted even a little more power toward one of them. So Father split everything evenly in two. Every territory, every servant, every last racket. One half for my brother. One half for my sister. When I was little, I once asked: "What about mine?" His face went dark. He snapped at me: "Isn't it enough that your brother and sister are already bleeding each other dry over power? Can you stop adding to the damn mess?" Years later, it was the annual family council. The ceremony where the heirs present themselves and get evaluated by Father. With every member of the family watching, Father placed identical tokens into my brother's and sister's hands. Two custom rings set with emeralds, each engraved with their names on the inner band. And me? I was shoved into a corner, standing awkwardly under the light. Father's gaze swept the room. It never once landed on me. Some family members noticed me. Their quiet snickers reached my brother's ears. He turned to look at me, his eyes dripping with disgust. My sister rolled her eyes and said with a cold smirk: "We agreed on absolute fairness, didn't we? So this token of power cannot be touched by any third party." Father glanced irritably at me, my face crumpled with hurt. "What. Do you have something to say?" I swallowed the pain, forced a small smile, and said: "No, Father. I'll take my leave." Once outside, I dialed Ella's number. She was my best friend from childhood—and now the most sought-after young director in all of Europe. "Ella, it's been a while. That thing you mentioned last time—about coming to work with you—is it still on the table?" "Of course, Lily. You're always welcome here." If the fairness that's been missing for twenty years isn't coming, then I don't need to stay in this family any longer.

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.

I used to be the beloved little princess of the Colobo family. Then, on my eighteenth birthday, my father brought home Sophia. She was the daughter of the old friend who had once saved his life. Out of guilt, he gave her a place in our home. Then he gave her my place too. My brother began protecting her and hating me. My childhood friend, Luca Rizzo, fell for her and left me behind. Even my father said Sophia deserved the Colobo name more than I did, though I was his biological daughter. On the day I graduated from college, they broke their promise to me for the ninety-ninth time because of her. I finally lost control. “Am I not your own daughter?” My father pulled Sophia behind him as if I were the danger, then slapped me across the face. “You jealous little thing. I should have given everything to her instead.” My brother looked at me like I was something dirty. “You don’t deserve a place in the Colobo family. Get out.” So I left. They thought I was only throwing another tantrum. They took Sophia to Switzerland to see the snow-covered mountains, certain that silence would teach me to behave. They thought I would calm down, come home, and beg for my place again. But this time, I called the research institute in Australia whose offer I had once turned down for them. “I accept,” I said. By the time the Colobo family realized I was truly gone, my phone number no longer existed. And so did Isabella Colobo.

My little sister was murdered by her kidnappers. I watched it all happen and never said a word about who did it. My mother got on her knees and begged me. I didn't flinch. When my father threatened me with his authority as the Don, I walked away from my place as the Family heir. I moved to a small town down south. Eight years later, I was dying of a terminal illness, and my older sister, Beth Turner, had taken over the Family. Under her, the Turners had become the most powerful mafia family on the East Coast. The first thing she did when she found me was have me dragged back to the Family's tribunal. "Selena Turner, you ungrateful snake. Mia called you her sister for all those years, and you still won't name the kidnapper. "Mia's been dead for years. Don't you feel any guilt at all?!" I was on my knees in the great hall. I couldn't speak. "After all these years, I can finally extract your memories. Today, I'm going to see exactly who you've been protecting. I will avenge Mia." She ordered her men to restrain me and hook up the extractor. On the screen above the banquet hall, a face suddenly appeared. The room erupted into chaos, and Beth's face went deathly pale.

After completing my mission in conquering Audrey Hayes, I choose to stay behind in this other world for her. Before the system checks out, it warns me that I have burned through every single point to keep her alive. If I ever find myself in danger again, I won't have the points to bail me out. I don't care, mostly because Audrey has held my hand and given me her word. "I'm a doctor. No matter what happens to you down the road, I'll be the one to save you." But ten years later, my twin brother and I are caught in a car accident. When Audrey rushes onto the scene, she walks right past me as I lie bleeding out on the pavement, choosing instead to load my brother onto the ambulance for nothing more than a few superficial scrapes. "I know all about those weird abilities of yours!" she snaps. "You aren't going to die, but Owen might." Watching her leave, I close my eyes in absolute despair, only to hear the system's mechanical voice echo in my mind. "Host, your vital signs are dropping rapidly. In light of your exceptional past performance, a new option has been unlocked. If you can collect enough regret from your family, you'll be granted a chance to return to the real world. Do you accept this mission?"

It's my seventh year of being homeless when Mom and I meet again in a five-star restaurant. To celebrate a certain fake heir's birthday, Mom generously picked up everyone's tab at the restaurant, spending a million dollars. Meanwhile, I'm wearing an ill-fitting clown costume and performing various funny stunts for the guests. After the performance, Mom eyes my winded state and scowls as she snaps, "This is the best you could do after you left without leaving a note all those years ago? You're an embarrassment to the Jacobson family!" I flash her a professional, disingenuous smile. "I'm afraid you've got the wrong person, ma'am. A tip is welcome, though, if you liked my performance." I wish I had the sense to leave my family all those years ago. If I had, I might not have been pushed off a cliff by Darren Jacobson and nearly fallen to my death. Now, I've stopped holding out for what little kinship was left between my family and me. Mom throws the 200-dollar tip meant for me on the floor, then storms off. I pick up the bank notes and run my hand along my cold prosthetic, secretly relieved. Finally, I have enough money for a new prosthetic. Thank goodness.

My house suddenly catches fire. The nanny is burned across nearly 80% of her body while saving my son, and the doctors spend three days fighting to keep her alive. But I fire her because of a single glass of water she gives him. Then I hire a lawyer and demand that she pay me back for every expensive supplement she took while working for us. My son looks at me as if he can't believe what I've become. "Mom, when did you become so heartless? Amy almost died saving me, and you won't even cover her medical bills. Now you're firing her too? "You're the one who taught me never to forget what someone has done for me. If you won't help her, I will!" I hold his gaze without flinching. "Then go ahead! Samuel, I've frozen all your cards, so you won't be using a cent of my money. If you want to help Amy, you'll have to find a way to pay her bills yourself." Because of what I've done, everyone in my family thinks the worst of me. But I don't explain myself to any of them. After all, I've already died once. In this second life, I'll do whatever it takes to protect my family, even if it means being misunderstood by everyone.

The day my college acceptance letter arrived, I found a post on Mom's phone asking strangers for advice. [I promised my older daughter I'd pay for her college, but now my younger daughter wants to apply too. How can I give the tuition I saved for my older daughter to my younger one without the older one holding it against me?] Every reply said the same thing. [You already promised your older daughter. Why would you betray her? Can't you find some other way?] Dazed, I accidentally hit refresh, and a familiar profile picture popped up. It belonged to my brother. [That's not really betrayal. It's your money, and you can spend it on whoever you want!] [I'm family, so I'll be honest. The older daughter is an Omega, the lowest rank there is. She's been slow since she was little, her grades are average at best, and whatever school she gets into is bound to be terrible.] [But the younger daughter is different. She's a noble Beta, just like the rest of us, and she's always had excellent grades. Plenty of colleges will want her, and our whole family is happy to spend the money on her.] My mate chimed in under my brother's comment. [He's right. Once the younger one gets in, we can all go stay with her and take care of her so she can focus on her studies.] I gripped my phone, my heart aching. My family and my future mate had always favored my Beta sister. They bought my sister expensive makeup and told me I was plain, not a tenth as pretty as her, so makeup would be wasted on me. They took my sister to all kinds of parties and told me I was too awkward, not bubbly and outgoing like her, and I'd just kill the mood. Even now, when it came to college, they thought I wasn't as good as my sister. I looked at the acceptance letter on my computer. Then I chose the university more than 600 miles from home because it had offered me a full tuition waiver. I was done with this home where I'd never been anyone's favorite.

In the Ferro family, every daughter received a black onyx ring before getting married. The stone was jet-black, with the Ferro family's signature F engraved in the center. My father said it wasn't jewelry. It was a Ferro family vow. As long as you wore it, the whole Ferro family would have your back, wherever marriage took you. My twin sister, Lucia Ferro, and I were getting married on the same day. But in the days leading up to the wedding, my father brought out only one velvet ring box. Lucia held out her hand in delight as our relatives raised their glasses. I stared at my bare ring finger, then turned to my mother. "Where's mine?" My mother, Margaret Ferro, avoided my eyes and pretended to study the oil painting on the wall. My brother, Victor Ferro, kept cutting his steak and didn't even look up. "Lucia's marrying into the Cassano family. She needs to walk in with some real weight behind her. We melted your ring down and added the gold to her band." My father, Robert Ferro, sipped his red wine, his tone perfectly flat. "The Cassano family has strict rules. She needs them to know the Ferro family is behind her all the way. Your fiancé, Aiden Brooks, is just an ordinary doctor who has nothing to do with the family business. You'll never need a ring like that." I stared at the harsh gleam of gold around Lucia's finger. I remembered the year I turned 18, when my father let me touch his ring for the first time. He'd looked at me and sworn that as long as my last name was Ferro, I'd always have someone in my corner. Only now did I understand that he hadn't been lying. I simply wasn't the Ferro he meant to protect.

Growing up, I knew my father hated it when we lost our composure in public. Before Thanksgiving dinner, my sister, Elena, suddenly offered to put my long hair up for me. I didn't say no. I'd barely sat down when I heard the scissors snip behind me. Blond hair I'd spent seven years growing fell to the floor. Elena held up a lock of my hair and doubled over laughing. "Olivia, you look like a clown." I looked at my mother. She looked me over, wineglass in hand, and laughed too. "Don't cry. The guests will be here any minute. Don't let anyone see you fall apart over a few locks of hair." My father frowned and rapped on the table. "Go wash your face. I don't want the guests seeing you like this tonight." Eyes red, I finally looked at my fiancé, Vincent Ashford. He was sliding $2,000 across the table to Elena. "You win." When he saw me looking, he glanced at my hair and chuckled. "She bet you'd cry in one minute. I bet three. You really let me down." Everyone around us burst out laughing. When I was 16, Elena wrote "IDIOT" on the back of my evening gown, and everyone at the party laughed at me. When I was 21, she tore up my recommendation letter, costing me my one chance to leave home and study abroad. Every time, they told me the same thing: It was just a joke. This time, I didn't argue. I looked down at the blond hair all over the floor. Suddenly, it felt like she'd cut off more than my hair. She'd severed the last thread tying me to this family.

After my parents died, the family went bankrupt, leaving my brother and me with a large sum of debt. To pay it off, he became a haunted-house test sleeper, while I acted as a corpse on film sets. For five years, we worked tirelessly, not daring to rest a single day—and still, the debt wasn't cleared. By the end of the year, only 13 thousand dollars remained. Gritting my teeth, I signed up as a clinical trial volunteer. When it was over, I dragged 13 thousand dollars in cash, brimming with joy, to show my brother. But I found him frowning, on the phone. "Dad, Mom, Lily's doing well. Have fun abroad," he said. "She's stopped spending recklessly. The punishment ends next year." What? Our parents weren't dead? Our family wasn't bankrupt? The five years of hardship, every ounce of struggle—I'd endured it all as punishment for my love of spending. My smile froze on my face. My stomach churned violently. A mouthful of fresh blood spilled out.