Melodramatic Short Stories & Independence Regret Novels

On the day my sister fled her wedding, the mafia Don, Dominic Cross, slaughtered everyone at the harbor. Even the stray dogs passing by were torn to pieces. Terrified of his wrath, the Vance family forced me into the wedding dress and sent me straight into Dominic’s estate as his substitute bride. For seven years after marrying into the Cross family, I took bullets for him, laundered his dirty money, and even tasted his food for poison. The entire mafia family came to revere me as their Donna. But in the eighth year, my sister, Elena, suddenly returned. Clad in a scarlet dress, she strode right into the family banquet hall and tasted Dominic’s red wine for poison right in front of everyone. Dominic’s grip on my hand tightened. As she collapsed from the poison, she leaned into my ear and whispered, “Sienna, thank you for keeping my seat warm all these years. Now, it’s time to give it back.” I stood frozen in place, watching Dominic’s face. The horrors of that night eight years ago flashed before my eyes. I couldn’t help but wonder. Would this Don—this man who struck absolute terror into the hearts of the entire mafia underworld—lose his mind and burn the world down for her all over again?

I've been married for eight years, but my husband won't let our daughter call him "Dad" because his childhood sweetheart's son struggles with severe depression. After he missed our daughter's parent-teacher meeting again because he was with Susan Lawson and her son, I decided to leave. I prepare the divorce papers and decide to leave with my daughter. I go to her school and find her homeroom teacher, Laura Anderson. "Ms. Anderson, I'd like to apply for a school transfer." She looks surprised. "Why the sudden decision to transfer?" I reply calmly, "Her dad has been working out of town, but he's finally settled down and wants us to move there." Laura sighs. "Well, that's not bad. I always thought you were a single mom." I smile. I'm not, for now. But I'll be one very soon.

Three years into my marriage with Dominick, Gia, his stepsister, sent me a video clip out of nowhere. I tapped on the video, only to find Dominick tying his stepsister to the bedpost with the tie I had given him. His stepsister lay naked under him, addressing him intimately. After getting their freak on, they shared an embrace, and Gia cozied up against Dominick and uttered, “I don’t like the ring you bought me. Give it to Luna, and tell her it’s a birthday gift from me.” The next day, I sat in an upscale restaurant and stared at the vacant seat across the table. Suddenly, the Underboss wheeled a massive cake toward me. “Don Costa was called away on urgent business. He sent me to deliver your birthday gift.” The box contained his stepsister’s discarded reject. My phone buzzed with new pictures from Gia. Dominick was at the hospital with Gia for a check-up. Without a fuss, I signed the divorce papers and made preparations for a wedding. “Donna Costa, whose names should I put down as the bride and groom?” “Dominick and Gia.” A week from now, I would show the world the kind of filth the supposed solemn Don had been rolling in with his stepsister.

I spent ten years by Luca Romano’s side, helping him rebuild after the shooting and seize control of the Romano family. At his lowest, even soft footsteps in the hallway kept him awake all night. Night after night, I held his trembling hands and helped him fight his fears. When he recovered, the first thing he did was cook for me: simple tomato meat-sauce spaghetti. I finished every bite. He said he’d make it for me for the rest of my life, whenever I wanted. But once Luca reclaimed the family, work swallowed him. Coming home needed advance scheduling, and I hardly saw him. On the rare nights he joined dinner, I’d ask for that pasta again. He’d rub his brow and say, “I’ve worked all day. I just want to unwind at home. We have a chef. Tell them if you want food.” I knew how strained he was, so I never mentioned it again. Then Friday, Luca’s right-hand man Mark Rossi came to the house for painkillers. Afraid Luca’s old gunshot wound flared up, I went with him — and found Luca at Selina Bruni’s apartment. In the kitchen, he’d shed his jacket, rolled up sleeves to cook pasta. Selina sat at the counter; her brother, Luca’s former deputy, died saving him. A chef stood nearby, yet Luca plated the pasta himself. He wiped a smudge of sauce off the plate, handed it to her, and leaned down to ask if it was too hot. I thought of the week before: he’d promised dinner at home. I waited four hours, six till ten, only to get a message that he was worn out and going straight to bed. So tiredness wasn’t the issue. He simply no longer wanted to cook for me. I left the painkillers there and walked away. That night, I took a London magazine job offer and messaged my lawyer. As I slipped off my wedding ring, my phone lit up. Luca texted: “I’ll come home for dinner this weekend. I’ll make your favorite pasta.” I stared long and sent no reply. He’d already made that pasta for someone else. There was no reason left for me to wait at the table.

Emma Blanton twists her ankle, and my fiance, Matthew Harrison, insists on becoming her personal chauffeur. When I voice my disapproval, he makes an even more outrageous decision. He moves Emma into my apartment at Bellemont District—the apartment I bought with my own money. He argues like he's the victim, "You're being selfish. She's injured, and living alone is too dangerous for her right now. I'm just being a decent human being. "And that place is sitting empty anyway. Having someone there helps with security." On the morning we were supposed to get our marriage certificate, he doesn't show up. I call, expecting apologies. Instead, I hear, "Emma had a fever this morning—101 Fahrenheit. I had to take her to urgent care. We can postpone getting the marriage certificate. Her health can't wait." To hell with postponing! I grab my phone and call David Rockefeller. "Do you want to marry me? Then get to City Hall. I'm serious—right now."

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.

Seven days before our wedding, Danny Wagner—my childhood sweetheart—got down on one knee for Mia Kant, the broke girl he'd been sponsoring. Right in front of me and his buddies. I didn't cry. Didn't lose it. Just slapped a smile on my face and said, "Wishing you two a lifetime of happiness." His buddies? Oh, they had the nerve to tell me to be generous and let Danny help Mia finish her "wish list." Danny, unsatisfied and ticked off, said I was overreacting and demanded an apology. Dismissive, he sneered, "I said I'd marry you after Mia's wish list was done. Stop being so unreasonable." I knew this was the last item on her list. I opened my notes app, scrolled to my wish list, and deleted all thirty-three bullet points. Done. Then I made a call. "I'm willing to marry you."

Leon Vincent, the shark of Warren Street, is the one who raised me. Twelve years ago, a fire tore through the orphanage and took everything from me. He was the one who pulled me out of the flames and gave me a second chance at life. To repay him, we make a weird deal—a 99-debt contract. I have to either obey him or be abandoned 99 times. After that, the debt will be cleared. Every time he goes on a date with some high-society socialite, he'll toss another insanely expensive piece of jewelry into my safe. In just two short years after turning 18, I've accumulated 96 diamonds in my safe, each one marking the 96 times he's cast me aside. One day, his fiancee, Elena Harrington, sends me a provocative email. "Dearest Isabelle, Leon and I are finalizing the wedding invitations. Do you think velvet with gold foil or matte leather would be more elegant? The ceremony's early next month. Can't wait to see you there! Love, Elena." Right after that, Leon calls, asking me to pack his bags for the summit in Parienne tomorrow. I simply send the wedding gift I've prepared in advance—a seven-figure emerald necklace—straight to his darling Elena without any words. That night, Leon returns to the apartment and finds out what I've done. He praises me for being considerate. Late into the night, he pulls me into his arms with rare tenderness. Nothing is left between us; no clothes, no holding back. He whispers that he wants to give me a special kind of reward, one that only I can carry. Somehow, Elena discovers my pregnancy. She stands on the balcony of Vincent Estate, screaming like her life depends on it. "Leon, I'm begging you! Don't let her have that baby! If you do, I'll jump!" The cold and proud Leon begs me, for the first time, to get rid of the baby. Everyone at the party awaits my breakdown, but I just smile softly and nod. "Alright. I will." He whispers in my ear, "Our marriage is just a business arrangement. I don't even like her. Once we're divorced, I'll give you another baby." What he fails to realize is that it was never in my plans to keep this one. There are only three more times left before I pay off this life debt from when he pulled me out of that fire all those years ago. After the 99th time, I board a ship bound for Azara to join a medical research mission. From that moment on, my life will be mine alone to live for.

I had just gotten back from the hospital when Mom pulled me into the walk-in closet and held a pale pink couture gown against me. "Try it on. It's from the designer's new collection. We have a major event this weekend, and as the Wellman heiress, you need to look your best." Heat crept into my cheeks. The pregnancy test results were still tucked inside my bag. How could Mom already know? I smiled and nodded. "But Mom, wouldn't white be better?" I ducked my head, a shy smile playing on my lips. The news of my pregnancy was right on the tip of my tongue. "White does look prettier. Soren has such good taste, picking that white wedding gown for Daisy. You're the maid of honor, so pale pink is perfect." The smile froze on my face. Just then, Daisy called up from the living room. "Vivian, are you home? I brought my fiancé!" I picked up my phone and stared at the good-morning message Soren had sent me yesterday. "My dearest Vivian, you are the only bride I will ever have." I turned around and saw Soren and Daisy standing in my doorway, wrapped in each other's arms. Tears spilled down my cheeks. Soren, you lied to me.

I'm New York's top fashion designer. Everyone says the industry is a swamp, but nobody ever dared lay a hand on me. Nobody knew my secret bed partner was the most dangerous, ruthless Alpha in the city. He used his power to pave my path, and asked for nothing. As his fragile human mate, he hid me away in his downtown penthouse. Every night after we were intimate, he would kiss my palm over and over. He'd bury his face in my shoulder, whispering that hiding me was the only way to keep me safe. He claimed his pack was torn by civil war and he needed time. He told me to wait until he could make me his true Luna in broad daylight. For seven years, it never missed a beat. Every single night, he only left after I fell asleep. I honestly thought he was obsessed with me. Until I overheard his right-hand man trembling as he asked: "The Council approved the vote. When are you bringing our real Luna home?" The Alpha sneered, his voice dripping with disgust: "Those old bastards trying to run my life again? Ava is just a toy. Make a human food my mate? I'm not out of my mind." And now? When my heart turned to ash and I finally walked away to let him have her... why is he losing his mind?

My fiancé, Orlando, was a mafia captain. Three years ago, he got caught in a shootout, and someone tried to kill him. I took the bullet for him without thinking twice. The wound left me so weak that I spent most of my days stuck at home. Afraid I'd get hurt again, Orlando brought in a maid named Cecilia to look after me and act as my stand-in. Whatever was meant for me, she tried it first to make sure it was safe. Little by little, she got everything before I did. First to break in my heels. First to sleep in my wedding bed. Even the trip to Iceland I'd waited years for—she went with Orlando first, in my place. When the accident happened at the shopping center, Orlando still carried Cecilia into the emergency stairwell first. A falling stone column crushed my ankle. Lying in that hospital bed, I finally lost it. Orlando only frowned at me. "Nadia, stop making a scene. Cecilia is just your stand-in. She faces the danger first so you can stay safe." He sounded so sincere. He took my hand and pressed it to his lips. "Nadia, try to understand how hard this is for me. I can't let you get hurt again. I just can't." That devotion of his made me give in one more time. I never imagined that even at my own wedding—the day that mattered more to me than anything—Cecilia would wear my wedding dress before I did. I can make do with something secondhand. But I don't want a secondhand man.

Clarice and Kyle both followed the same travel vlogger. I didn’t think anything of the situation since the three of us had been friends since high school. The strange thing was that they had a private group chat that didn’t include me. I only found out because Kyle accidentally sent a message in our group chat. “I got us a table reservation at that restaurant for Sunday. Don’t be late.” It took less than a second before the text was deleted. I asked, “What restaurant? Let’s go together.” Kyle typed back, “Oops. Wrong chat. I’m having dinner with a colleague.” Clarice stayed silent throughout. It took some time, but I started connecting the dots. Whenever the three of us had something planned, one of them would cancel at the last minute. Previously, Clarice said she’d get the tickets for the music festival, but somehow, she could only secure two. Those went to her and Kyle. During our last camping trip, Kyle said that he only managed to borrow two sets of gear. When I offered to rent my own, Kyle brushed me off, saying that it was just too much of a hassle and that there was always a next time. That same weekend, Kyle and Clarice posted photos from that exact campsite, twenty minutes apart. For six months, I convinced myself that I was just unlucky. Looking back now, I realized that I had been singled out. So I left the group chat. No explanations. No accusations. I muted notifications from travel apps, ticketing apps, and restaurant bookings. Then, I booked a solo trip to Lake Tahoe, a ticket with no refund and no amendment allowed.

"Sir, the divorce agreement from the safe." On their fifth wedding anniversary, in a dimly-lit restaurant, Xavier Hampton's secretary placed the divorce papers in front of him. Five years ago, on the day Elizabeth Eaton and he registered their marriage— She had loved him deeply. So deeply that she had prepared the divorce agreement in advance, signed her name, and locked it away in the safe. If she ever betrayed him, all he had to do was sign. Xavier picked up the pen and swiftly signed his name. Across from him, the empty seat seemed heavier than any presence. His gaze dimmed. "Send the divorce papers to Attorney Harvey," he said, his voice calm, almost detached. "Then book a hotel and have the wedding venue set up in advance." The secretary hesitated for a moment before carefully asking, "Whose names should I write as the bride and groom?" "Elizabeth Eaton and Connor Walker."

My boyfriend, Julian Vance, always said that people in relationships shouldn't use their partners as emotional dumping grounds. So he set a rule. I got ten minutes a day to unload on him. He said his job wore him out and he hoped I'd understand. I agreed. I even thought he simply had strong boundaries. Then my grandmother died, the woman who had raised me on her own. I came back from the funeral home still gripping the reading glasses she never got to put on. All I wanted was for Julian to hold me for a while. He sighed instead. "It isn't that I won't stay with you. It's that you've used up your quota for today." I asked through tears, "Can't today be an exception?" He said, "Once there's a first exception, there's a second. I have a meeting in the morning, and you need to learn to process things on your own." But at two that morning, the woman he had never gotten over called him in tears, saying her boyfriend had dumped her. Julian threw on a coat and talked her through it on the balcony until dawn. I watched him through the glass for a long time. So the ten minutes weren't his boundary. They were only the ceiling he had set for me. In that case, I would stop taking up his time. I turned around, packed away my grandmother's things, and left my key on the table. Whoever he gave his time to from then on had nothing to do with me.

Everyone knew Andre Marino as the Don who kept business separate from his personal life. I couldn't call him unless it was business. If someone wronged me, I couldn't ask him to step in. We'd been together for five years. He'd taken a bullet for me. When we were trapped with no way out, he'd given up his chance at rescue so I could get out. He'd done everything a man could do for someone he trusted with his life. But I couldn't walk in and out of his study as I pleased. Every time I needed him, I had to wait outside the door for a long time. Andre said the study was his private space, and he had to keep things above board. I had to wait at the door for a full hour so everyone could see he wasn't playing favorites. Only then could I knock and go in. Then one day, I came back from picking up a shipment and stood outside his study, waiting to report in. The wind had turned my nose bright red. His second-in-command, Nora Russo, walked straight in, wearing his trench coat. She glanced back at me and said casually, "Annie, don't blame the Don for not letting you come and go as you please. He's big on rules. Business is business. Personal matters stay out of it." "Then why can you come and go?" I demanded. Nora twisted her family signet ring on her ring finger, a knowing look in her eyes. "Our families go way back. We've always been allies, always fought side by side. He's even got my last name tattooed on his chest." One of the men behind me gave a fake cough. She scoffed. "What? Am I wrong? She has no say in the business, and on the personal side, she can't even get through his door. Other than taking care of Andre's needs in bed, what good is she?" The door opened. It was obvious Nora had made herself at home. Pink, the color he hated most, now covered every wall. I stood frozen for a long time. Then, slowly, I let the question drop. If he couldn't give me the love I wanted, I knew what to do. I'd go to the man who was willing to make an exception for me.

Five years of marriage, and I was finally pregnant. I couldn't wait to tell Neil—until I heard his mom say: "When are you going to tell Angela? Cece's already showing. This family needs an heir." "Just give me a little more time. I'll handle it." I froze in the doorway, the ultrasound report burning in my pocket. Neil Schmidt, your promises mean nothing.

It was our seventh anniversary. Christopher Quinton proposed to me with nothing but a ring pull. He got his true love a house. When I said no, he rebuked me like I was some sort of gold digger. "I thought my love for you was worth more than anything money could buy. I only got Rachel that house to pay her back for all she did for me. I can't believe you thought I still loved her. You disappoint me." I broke up with him and tossed the ring pull into the bin. Then, I walked off. The next day, Christopher took away my position as VP and told everyone he was getting engaged to Rachel. … Five years later, we ran into each other at a charity horserace. He was a successful businessman, and the woman beside him was Rachel, all dressed in custom-made clothes. I was dressed in janitor attire and stuffing plastic bottles into my woven bag. He mocked, "Look at you, Queenie Dean. Scavenging for a living. Bet you didn't see this coming when you ditched me, did you?" I ignored him. My son had run off, and I had to look for him. The boy noticed the plastic bottles that were strewn across the ground, and he insisted that we stay back to finish his social practice activity here.

Max Siegel loved me deeply and promised me the grandest wedding anyone had ever seen. However, just three days before the big day, everything changed. The custom-made wedding dress he'd ordered for me was given to his stepsister, Fawn Lewis, and instead, he handed me a pill—one that could erase memories. “Kate,” he said, “I don’t want to hurt you, but Fawn has just been diagnosed with terminal cancer. She doesn’t have long. Her last wish is to marry me. I can’t have her leave this world with regrets. “This pill will make you forget everything about us for a few days. But don’t worry. After the wedding is over, I’ll give you the antidote, and you’ll remember everything again. Then, I’ll give you the wedding you deserve.” His tone left no room for negotiation. Without hesitation, I took the pill and swallowed it. However, what he didn’t know was that I developed that drug myself, and there was no antidote. Three days from now, I would forget the man I loved most—him. And once that happens, there’s no turning back and no chance to start over.

While accompanying my husband, Austin Lockhart, to his class reunion, we run into his true love, Leticia Gomez. After the gathering, Austin learns that Leticia's been having a tough time. He corners her against a wall and says, "How much do you still owe? Be with me, and I'll give you a hundred grand a month. Is that enough?" I stand quietly at the street corner, capturing their touching reunion on camera. Then, I send the photos to my lawyer. I also forward them to Austin with a simple message. "Since you two are so in love, why not go ahead and marry her?"

The day my daughter Aria was discharged from the hospital, my Alpha mate Marcus returned from his two-week business trip with his Omega secretary Vivian. My daughter was hospitalized due to nut allergy, but she gave Aria nut chocolate as a gift. I suppressed my anger and refused, but Marcus frowned and scolded me:"Serena, Vivian meant well. She didn't know about the allergy." After sending Vivian away, Marcus sent me and my daughter countless expensive gifts to compensate, which I silently accepted. Marcus breathed a sigh of relief, thinking I would continue to play the role of his obedient Luna. But when he learned that I, who was 3 months pregnant, had gone alone to the Alpha Council and submitted a mate bond dissolution application, the powerful Alpha broke down and begged me to come back.