Mga Maiikling Kwento tungkol sa Tragic Love at mga Nobela ng Independence na may Regret

On the night of senior prom, I stayed beside Ethan Cole as I always had. Someone teased us again. “Why don’t we give the dance floor to our favorite childhood sweethearts?” I had heard that joke countless times, but the secret I had kept for years still made my cheeks burn. Ethan said nothing. He did not ask me to dance. He walked out of the ballroom and into the night. I waited before following him. I had barely reached the doorway when I heard his voice, low and flat with impatience. “It’s suffocating. Does she have to follow me everywhere?” He was the one who said it. He was also the one who had promised I could depend on him until I fully recovered. I spent the rest of that night alone in the empty ballroom. The following Monday morning, I passed the college wish wall outside our classroom and removed the note bearing the name Westbridge University. It was the school we had promised to attend together. I still wanted him beside me. But I would no longer choose my future just to stay beside him.

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.

The Cecil family has a century-old rule: on the day a daughter marries, her father gives her a list. It lists the names of twelve bodyguards her father has trained for her since she was a child. They will serve the bride for life as her last line of defense in her husband's household. My twin sister Valentina and I married on the same day. At the ceremony, she held the contract, which was covered in red handprints. Our father patted her shoulder. "I chose every one of them for you. If anyone mistreats my darling girl, these men will make them pay." Our mother beamed. "Valentina will always be the treasure of our family." All I received was a single flimsy, worthless sheet of paper. It didn't even bear a seal. "Father, where is my list?" His gaze darted away for a moment. Then he looked back at me, his expression brazen and self-righteous. "Your sister is marrying Don Moretti's oldest son. The Moretti family is one of Sicily's most powerful Mafia families. Of course she needs more men. "I added your twelve men to her list. She needs twenty-four guards to make sure no one looks down on the Cecil family." Our mother backed him up. "The outsider you're marrying can't even fire a gun. Why would you need bodyguards? Stop thinking only of yourself." I looked at the worthless sheet of paper and smiled bitterly. In their eyes, I was nothing more than a disposable pawn.

On the day of our wedding anniversary, my husband, Xavier Marshall, gave me a bangle. I tried it on and found it a size too big, with the bangle almost dropping off my wrist when my arm was down. I asked casually, “Why is it so big?” My husband stood in a daze for a second before wrapping an arm around my shoulders and saying with a smile, “I found this bangle beautiful, but it didn’t come in your size. You can still wear it even if it’s a little big, right?” I thought nothing much of it and happily put it back on. During a family gathering, I saw my husband’s best friend, Melissa Shanks, wearing a glass-grade jadeite bangle on her wrist. She smiled as she answered someone’s question, “This? It’s a birthday gift from Xavier. There were two of them, but I didn’t fancy the other ice-grade one, so I just kept this. “It’s hard to find a bangle in my size. I didn’t expect him to find two at one go.” I quietly hid my wrist under the table as my face flushed with embarrassment. The gift I had so treasured turned out to be a leftover from Melissa. Melissa, and not me, turned out to be Xavier’s priority. In that case, I no longer wanted the man or the bangle.

My husband Dante, Don of the Moretti family, was killed in a gang crossfire. I was devastated, because the same day, I’d also found out that my IVF injection had worked. I was pregnant. The Moretti didn’t want me to spiral. So they called in Dante’s twin brother, Ash Moretti, to help around. I felt both guilty and grateful until I overheard them talking in the study. “It was Ash who died. Why would you make us tell Harper it was you?” His father asked. Dante’s voice. “I only married her because you promised me the Don’s seat.” Then Gianna’s voice. “Dante had given her a child. That alone should’ve been enough.” So. It wasn’t my husband who died. It was his brother. And my husband and his sister in law thought this was his clean exit. As he wished, I gave it to him. When the doctor told me the fetus had less than a ten percent chance of survival, I agreed to terminate. And along with reclaiming everything else I had once given the Moretti, I walked away from his life—for good.

I was a mermaid fostered within the Silverwood Pack. By the laws of my kin, on the day I came of age, I had to swallow a Tide Pearl fed to me by a male. Only then could I fully shed my tail and truly join the wolf pack, remaining on land. And whoever fed me the pearl would become my mate. Miss that window, and my legs would turn back into a tail, forcing me to return to the deep sea. Before my mother died, she left behind three Tide Pearls, entrusting them to the three wolf boys I grew up with—each desperate to become my mate. But just as I was about to come of age, a lone wolf mother named Chloe arrived at the pack with her young pup, Leo. Alpha Lucas, Beta Kane, and Gamma Aiden became convinced that Chloe was the widow of the wolf who had saved their lives, and they showered mother and son with care. They knew full well what the Tide Pearls meant to me—yet choice after choice, they handed those pearls over to Chloe and her child, one by one. Their protection of Chloe was built on my sacrifice. With every pearl gone, I had no reason left to stay in the pack. At midnight on my coming-of-age day, the tide surged over the cliffs. I returned to the sea.

My mate, Silas, is the Alpha of the Blackwood Pack, and he has one unbreakable rule: After nine at night, if he's out handling pack night-frequency business, he doesn't take calls. I understood his loyalty to the pack, so for five years, I never disturbed him. Until last night, when I was driving alone past the riverbank and ran into a group of Rogues. In my panic, I activated the mindlink and begged him to save me. What answered me was silence. For a long, long time. When he finally picked up, he sounded a little exasperated: "Ivy, you know the rule." Then he cut the link. That night, I got out. I spent the night in the woods. It was his unbreakable rule, so I swallowed my hurt. Later, while I was using his computer, I accidentally saw his call history. There was one contact who called him almost every night, always after nine. For five whole years. I remembered that number. It was Leah's. Our pack's Beta. Over the years, everyone in the pack had said she was the one who truly deserved to stand beside Silas. In that moment, all the hurt I'd been holding down surged up. I pressed a hand to my pregnant belly. Then I picked up my phone and found an invitation I'd received a few days ago—an invitation from the Westmoor Pack. I tapped "Accept." In three days, I would vanish from his world completely.

The year my dad went broke, I was sent to live with billionaire heir Jace Blackwell. We grew up together. When he had a fever, he clung to me, face buried in my arms. When he got yelled at, he sprawled across my lap and sulked. And when another boy wrote me a love letter, Jace pinned me down and kissed me—shaking, jealous, possessive. Everyone thought we were the perfect couple. Then, on the day we were filling out our early college applications, a sharply dressed man burst into the classroom and shoved me to the floor. He grabbed eighteen-year-old Jace, his eyes bloodshot. "Jace! Look at me! I'm you ten years from now! Don't go to the same college as Nadia. She's not the one you love. It's Faye!" Faye Whitmore. The broke new girl. Eighteen-year-old Jace stared at that identical face, stunned. Then his expression went dark. "What the hell are you talking about? The only person I love is Nadia! I don't care who you are. Touch her again, and I'll kill you!" He rushed over and pulled me into his arms. He was shaking. I gave a bitter smile. No one knew. I was from ten years in the future, too. And twenty-eight-year-old Jace wasn't lying. By then, I wasn't the girl he loved anymore.

Vincenzo Moretti was Stonehaven’s youngest financial titan— a tech mogul commanding a multibillion-dollar empire, gracing the covers of business magazines as a modern legend. But only a select few knew the truth: he was also the ruthless Don controlling the East Coast mafia. To him, wealth and power were mere chips in a game. And I? I was just another pawn used to stabilize a fragile family alliance. In our ten-year marriage, he slept with my friends, my coworkers… every single person I once trusted. Then one morning, as I took our one-month-old baby for a routine checkup, Sienna Newton, his latest mistress, ran me down with her car. The baby screamed endlessly. I begged her to take us to the hospital, and when Vincenzo arrived, he looked at me with cold disdain. “Isabella,” he sneered, “when did you learn to stage accidents? “Even if you died here, I wouldn’t bat an eye.” Then he took Sienna’s hand and walked away without a backward glance. By the time I was rushed to the hospital, the child in my arms had suffocated. Upon hearing the news, my mother suffered a heart attack. She didn’t survive. I slipped into a coma for two days. When I finally woke up, I found out that Vincenzo never visited. Instead, his father, Renato Moretti, the true king of the Moretti empire, stood by my bedside. I looked at him calmly and said, “Let me go. Whatever I owed your family, I’ve repaid in full with two lives.” Later, that same Don who had once looked down on me knelt before me, begging me to come home. But I was no longer the woman who waited, silent and broken, for his change of heart. I was the Don’s wife who turned away and never looked back.

My husband, a regiment commander, once promised me he'd only accompany his depressed first love ninety-nine times. But when I finally reached that ninety-ninth tally, I saw the two of them locked in a tight embrace. After that, I stopped crying and begging him not to go to her. I only asked him for a safety locket—a small blessing for our soon-to-be-born child. At the mention of the baby, his expression softened. "When I get back," he said gently, "I'll go with you to the hospital for the checkup." I nodded obediently. I didn't tell him that ten days earlier, I had already filed for divorce. Now, our divorce was final.

Tom Howard had spoiled Jane Lawson for more than 20 years. She had thought that they would naturally end up together, get married, have children, and live a happy life. Until one day, Tom brought a girl back and told her. "Jane, she's your sister-in-law."

Three years into our long-distance relationship, my daily conversations with Evan Crawford turned into a three-person group chat. He said the company was busy preparing for its IPO and that he didn't have time to check his phone. If I needed anything, I should tell his "buddy," Nicole Pearce, and she'd pass it along. From then on, everything came through Nicole: what time he left the office, when he traveled for work, what he took for his stomach pain. She knew every moment of his day. Every message I sent him just sat there on "unread." On my birthday, I asked in the group chat if he could spare ten minutes for a video call. Nicole replied, "The launch event is right around the corner. Don't distract him." And yet somehow he had time to like her latest Instagram post. The night the company went public, I took an overnight bus to the celebration dinner and arrived in time to hear him raise a toast. "I owe these past six months to Nicole. She took care of all the little things for me." When he spotted me, he frowned. "Why didn't you check in through the group chat first?" Nicole took the gift from my hands. "He's exhausted. Whatever you need to say, I'll pass it along." A wave of helplessness hit me. I pulled my hand back and left the group chat. If even missing him had to go through her, I had no reason to report my life to him anymore.

By the time Kenneth Ford finally showed up, I was already soaked through. He wasn't alone. There was a girl under his umbrella, and at well over six feet tall, Kenneth had enough height to shield her almost completely from the rain. He'd tilted the umbrella so far toward her that one side of his shirt was getting drenched, but he didn't seem to care. He just smiled and let her stay tucked safely beside him. Then he saw me, and the smile on his face disappeared. "Sorry, I'm late," he muttered. The girl beside him immediately turned to me. "Hannah, it's my fault. I've gotten so used to sharing Kenneth's umbrella that I asked him to walk me home. And honestly, being tucked up against him makes me feel so safe." "How many times have you done that it has become a habit?" I held back my question. Instead, I smiled, stepped under the umbrella behind them, and hurried to keep up. Rainwater dripped from my hair down the back of my neck, while Kenneth kept the umbrella tilted toward her the entire way. I had dinner with them, shared a drink, and spent the whole night listening to their laughter. After midnight, when Kenneth was finally fast asleep, I took the umbrella, opened it, snapped a picture, and sent it to Berta Neal. [Since you like it so much, stay tucked against him for the rest of your life.]

When Matteo Morandi divided up the territories, he let my cousin, Chloe Serra, choose first. As always. One was the deep-water port, a gold mine and our safest territory. The other was a stretch of abandoned, crumbling docks in the slums, where rival crews often traded gunfire. For the first time, I stepped forward before Chloe could choose. I pointed to the deep-water port on the map. "I want this one." Matteo rested a warm hand on my shoulder. His voice was gentle, but his words were cruel. "Chloe can't handle the slums. She needs to be in the safest place we've got. "Celia, the slums are more your speed." I was so angry I laughed out loud, but I didn't argue. Instead, my clenched fists slowly loosened. My uncle, Enzo Serra, liked to say Chloe was the Serra family's precious white dove, while I was the vicious dog born to fight in the mud. In his eyes, it was the perfect arrangement. The marriage alliance worked the same way. Matteo needed a respectable woman at his side to clean up his brutal reputation, so Chloe was the obvious choice. But Chloe cried and refused. She dreamed of an artist and a life in the sunshine. She would never marry a Sicilian butcher. So Uncle Enzo picked me. I'd taken a bullet for Matteo and known him for 12 years, yet I was still only ever his second choice. "Then give it all to Chloe. I'm done."

Eight years with Marcello Cartel. I took three bullets for him, suffered two miscarriages, and finally, our wedding day was here. But the day before, Marcello said we had to postpone. "Gia’s pregnant." "The kid isn't mine. But we grew up together, and she’s like a sister to me." "I need to marry her first. Otherwise, people will talk, and she’s too fragile to handle the whispers." "We’re pushing our wedding back three years. Don't contact me until then." "You'll explain it to the Commission. Tell them you weren't ready to be the Don's wife." I sent back one word: "Okay." Then I booked a one-way ticket to Paris for three days later. I'm not showing up to his wedding tomorrow. And I'm sure as hell not waiting another three years. Because I am done with him. For good.

My stepsister, Chloe, wanted to test the loyalty of my childhood sweetheart. So she drugged him with a lust potion. Then she threw him in my room. I couldn't watch him suffer. He was spiraling into a bloodlust. For a vampire, that's a death sentence. So I gave him the only cure. Myself. When Chloe found us, she fled in a jealous rage. She married a cursed, brutal king—the Lord of Eternal Night. And he killed her. Julian and I were blood-bound, but he began to hate me. He ignored me for a century. Then a rival clan ambushed us. He shielded me with his body. He burned to ash to save my life. Before he faded, he gave me one last look. "If I could do it all over again, Elena," he whispered, "I never would have needed saving." My world shattered. Darkness took me. I opened my eyes. I was back in Julian's room. On the night it all went wrong.

Throughout our four years of college, Derek would always book train tickets for me and my best friend, Giselle, whenever we traveled home for semester breaks. He always claimed he was too late in getting the tickets, so we never ended up sitting together. Every time the tickets were issued, Giselle would tear him apart in our group chat. "Seriously, Derek? You booked three tickets and somehow managed to put us in three different cars. "Next time, you’d better at least make sure you’re sitting next to Iris, or I’ll be coming after you." Derek fired right back. "Who the hell do you think you are? I’d sit at her feet if she asked me to. It’s none of your business." I bought their story. Even when I spent hours sitting alone, or when I came down with a fever during the night ride and tried Derek’s number more than a dozen times without success, I told myself he was probably asleep in another part of the train. Then came our graduation trip. Someone asked if I would switch seats with them. I grabbed my suitcase and made my way down the aisle, only to find Giselle, my jacket propped over her shoulders, and her head resting on Derek’s shoulder. The two of them were sharing a pair of earbuds. Spotting me, Derek pulled out his earbud and straightened his back. "Just so we’re clear, we’ve been careful about boundaries. "I was worried you’d feel uncomfortable knowing we were sitting next to each other, so I kept it from you." Giselle patted the seat next to her. "I’m your best friend. Wouldn’t you rather have me sitting next to your boyfriend, making sure he behaves, than some random girl?" Before I could say a word, a conductor came over carrying two matching luggage tags with a smile. "According to our records, you always booked two seats together on all of your sixteen trips in the last four years. Here is a little something to commemorate your journeys with us." The conductor noticed me and reviewed the booking information again. "You must be the friend who always travels with them. "That’s strange. Why do you always book a seat separate from them?" The entire car went silent. The truth dawned on me when I saw the discoloration on Derek’s face. They had never once been apart during the train trips. For four years, the single seat left apart from theirs had always been mine.

At my wedding rehearsal, the officiant asked for the third time for us to exchange rings. My best friend, Stacy Campbell, stood beside me as the maid of honor, looking impish. "The treasure hunt game's started. Guess where the ring's hidden?" My fiance, Jeremy Dean, let out a helpless laugh and started guessing hiding spots. I was the only one staring at the empty box, sweat breaking out across my forehead. It was starting again. This so-called treasure hunt game. When we were kids, Stacy hid my scarf in the boiler room while Jeremy kept watch for her. I searched for four hours and finally dug the scorched corner of it out of a pile of ash. Right before the SATs, my admission ticket got hidden in a doghouse. I got down on my knees to dig through it while Stacy filmed the whole thing and posted it to our class group chat, laughing at how frantic and pathetic I looked. I used to think if I just endured it, I'd eventually grow numb to it. But looking at it now, they only ever got worse. My voice shook. "Can we not do this anymore?" Jeremy frowned. "Connie, it's just a game." Stacy pouted. "Exactly. You always do this. You're such a killjoy." The two of them laughed like no one else was in the room, chatting about what to eat for dinner without a single word about where the ring actually was. Watching the two of them, so at ease with each other, I took off my veil. I didn't want to find the ring anymore. And I didn't need to get married anymore, either.

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.

I was born with broken blood and fragile senses. At twenty, I was revealed as the fated mate of Gavin Silverthorne, Seattle's top pureblood Alpha. The entire pack mocked him behind his back. Still, I celebrated in secret. We grew up together. I had loved him in the dark for years. Every Spring Hunt, every full moon, whenever danger struck, he was the first to put himself between me and the threat. Without the Moon Goddess's blessing, I would never have felt worthy of him. I thought he felt it too. Every time he stepped closer, my heart raced with joy. Yet he never truly touched me. Whenever I leaned in, his muscles locked up, like my presence was pure torture. I was a fool. I mistook it for restraint. Then came the annual pack summit. Under the blinding lights of the group photo, I gathered my courage and stepped to his side. "Stay away from me," he muttered under his breath. The shutter clicked. He did not stay for a single second. He walked away, leaving me stranded under the stage lights. That was the moment I finally understood. To him, I was nothing but an embarrassment. Ten years of quiet, desperate love died right there. That night, I tore up my Seattle pack contract. I booked a one-way ticket to Manhattan. Any life tied to Gavin Silverthorne was a life I no longer wanted.