เรื่องสั้นแนว Tragic Love และนิยาย Male POV Face Slapping

To give my wife a sense of security, I stepped back once the company was on track and took over things at home. In ten years, Adeline Hemsley had never brought me to a single company gala. When the tenth anniversary celebration was announced at a five-star hotel, I finally asked if I could come with her. She was slipping into a pair of heels, not even looking in my direction. "You're my husband. If you show up, people won't feel comfortable." Before leaving, she leaned down and gave me a quick kiss. "Be good. Once this busy stretch is over, we'll take Cole to Silver Coast." The door clicked shut. I stood there for a long moment, staring at the Legos and picture books scattered across the floor. A familiar heaviness settled in my chest. Our three-year-old came running over, holding up a black phone. "Dad! Mom forgot her phone!" I hesitated. This wasn't the one she normally used. The moment my fingers brushed the screen, a message preview popped up. [Babe, I picked out a suit for the gala. It's only 6,000. You’ll get it for me, right?]

I had already bought the house we were supposed to build our future in, and over the years, I had carefully set aside a substantial wedding fund. I could not wait to spend the rest of my life with my girlfriend, Jeannie Cooperd. Jeannie had always seemed delicate and timid. Even a simple remark would leave her eyes red with tears. For two years, I spoiled her shamelessly, giving in to her every whim. Every plan I made, every dollar I saved, and every dream I held revolved around our wedding and the life we would share together. Then, I received the kidney compatibility report. The moment I saw the results, my heart turned icy. The woman who normally shrank from pain was now gripping my shoulders with surprising strength, determined to push me toward the operating room. "You're healthy! What's the big deal about living with one kidney?" she cried. "Elliot is dying!" Elliot. The name alone was enough. He was the first love she had never truly let go of, the one she had kept hidden in the deepest corner of her heart. Just yesterday, he was diagnosed with complete kidney failure. To pay for his treatment and cover the debts he had accumulated, Jeannie secretly canceled our wedding, drained every cent from the wedding fund and savings we had built together, and poured it all into Elliot's medical bills and endless financial problems. That was not enough. With sweet words and carefully crafted lies, she coaxed me into coming to the hospital and persuaded me to undergo compatibility testing.

When Julian, the true heir by blood, was finally brought back to the Family, my cold-blooded adoptive parents cast me aside. They sent me to "The Abyss"—a clandestine hellhole where billionaires and mafia bosses paid to hunt, rape, and slaughter human prey. No matter how humiliatingly I begged for mercy, I remained locked in an iron cage, passed around as prey for those bloodthirsty beasts. Days later, a photo of me—covered in whip marks, kneeling like a dog with a chain around my neck—made its way to my beloved fiancée, Vivienne. Standing before the press, the untouchable Mafia Princess sneered, her voice dripping with disgust. "He’s pathetic and utterly filthy. The Valenti family would never align with such trash. I'll be marrying Julian instead." On cue, the Russo family officially disowned me, permanently stripping me of their name. After I was tortured to death, the wedding of the century commenced, broadcast live worldwide to celebrate the alliance between two major mafia families. But right then, my "wedding gift" was delivered. When the box was opened, the entire room went dead silent.

My best friend, Dominic Vale, and his girlfriend have created a couple's channel. Lately, their channel has gone viral on the Internet. I subscribe to their channel instantly. Every time they upload a new reel, I'll always watch it. But I keep having a feeling that Dominic's girlfriend, whose looks are censored in the videos, acts just like my wife, Cara Hartley. When I bring it up in front of Dominic, he punches me in the chest. "Oliver Beckett, you lovesick bastard! You see your darling wife in everyone! At this point, I'm going to get really jealous!" I just chuckle stupidly while rubbing my chest. Then, I quickly change the topic. When Cara's company goes on a field trip, I decide to drag Dominic along. Unexpectedly, something occurs during our flight back to the city. An air stewardess distributes notes to all the passengers so that we can write down our wills. With a trembling hand, I finish scribbling my note. When I glance at Dominic and Cara, I realize that they've written each other's names on their notes. Then, Cara turns on her camera, which shows both her and Dominic in the same frame. "Dominic, I'm very happy that I get to be with you during my final moments in life. Everyone, we won't be updating this channel anymore. Goodbye." But she fails to notice the way my face has gone pale outside the frame. Thankfully, the plane lands safely on the tarmac. All of us are still alive. Instead of kicking up a ruckus, I tear the note in my hands before opening the car door. "What are you still standing around for? Get in."

During college, Cindy Crammer brought over two sets of breakfasts every day. One was for me, and the other was for my roommate and best friend, Mark Jefferson. The breakfast she brought me never changed. It was always just sandwiches and oatmeal. Mark's breakfast, on the other hand, always had a perfect balance of meat and vegetables, and she never repeated the same meal twice. Even for my birthday, the gifts she prepared came in two sets. My birthday gift was always four simple greeting cards. Mark got concert tickets, a handmade rhinestone photo mosaic, a custom-made suit, and a pinky ring. When it came time for our graduation trip, the three of us arrived at the train station together. Mark and Cindy scanned their documents and passed through without any trouble, but I was stopped outside. Cindy slapped her forehead in frustration and smiled at me apologetically. "I only remembered to book Mark's ticket. I forgot yours. "We've already made it through. I don't want to waste the money. I'll take you on a trip for two next time." Mark patted his chest and made a promise to me. "Don't worry, Jason. I'll take good care of Cindy for you." I watched their backs as they walked away side by side, laughing and chatting. I let out a bitter chuckle. I didn't want to keep lying to myself anymore. I turned around and bought a ticket home. "Dad, you said I had to get married right after graduation. I agree! "Remember the referral I made for an intern named Cindy? Cancel it!"

On our third wedding anniversary, my wife's first love came back to town. Right in front of everyone, he pulled out a piece of lingerie and handed it to her. "I always thought you looked your best in this," he said. As the crowd laughed, my wife didn't get upset—instead, she looked almost coy. "Well, that depends on who I'm wearing it for," she replied. Then she turned to me, her eyes dripping with contempt. "Why would I bother trying to impress a man with no romance in his bones?" Her first love shot me a smug look. I just smiled, raised my glass to him, and walked off. But suddenly, my wife didn't look so sure of herself anymore.

It's Grandpa's birthday banquet, and yet my fiancee is working late again, missing her one chance to meet the family. My brother and his wife, still bitter about me taking the project from them, don't waste the opening. "What good is all his money when his fiancee can't even show up on a day this important? She clearly doesn't take him seriously." "That's why Archer's the smart one. He landed himself Claire Donovan, of all people. Even her throwaway gifts start at seven figures." I'm about to fire back when the familiar name stops me cold. My eyes lock onto the bracelet of dark wooden beads the butler carries in. It's identical to the one my fiancee just spent a fortune on a few days ago. My gaze turns to ice as I snatch the bracelet from his hands. "Return this. Tell them it's a fake, and Grandpa's furious. And didn't you want to meet my fiancee? She's walking through that door right now."

My girlfriend, Selena Jenkins, and I are committed to a strict 50-50 relationship. We are three years into our relationship, and we split everything down to a single bottle of water. Then, out of nowhere, I get a call from a kidnapper. "We have your girlfriend. Have 150 thousand dollars ready, or she dies!" I calmly launch our app, SplitMate. According to the algorithm, this unexpected incident falls under "shared risk", meaning she is responsible for 50% of the cost. However, after factoring in the personal insurance policy I took out on her behalf, she only needs to pay 35,550 dollars. I send the calculation results to the kidnapper. "This is her share. Please contact her family for the payment. I'm only responsible for my own portion." The line goes silent. A few minutes later, I receive a livestream link. The livestream shows Selena tied to a chair, smiling at her phone. The live chat in front of her is blowing up. "Holy shit! This guy's a monster. This is the craziest livestream I've seen all year!" Later on, she follows the 50-50 rule to a T, but I'm no longer on board with it.

I broke up with Nicole Hayes, my girlfriend of ten years. It was not her or I who initiated it, but her male nurse at the hospital. Nicole suffered from severe congenital anemia. For ten years, I donated blood to her for nothing in return. During our eleventh year together, just when we were about to get married, I overheard the male nurse in charge of her transfusions say, “Wow, Miss Hayes! Don’t tell me you decided to marry this guy just because he’s been donating blood to you. “You probably don’t know this, but the hospital has a donor compensation policy. Each donation comes with a thousand-dollar stipend. “Over the last ten years, this guy must have made at least $200,000 off you, yet he still has the nerve to guilt-trip you into marrying him? How shameless!” Under Nicole’s shifting expression, he added with a smile, “Maybe I should be the one donating blood to you instead. I also have a rare blood type, but I don’t want money, and I’m not asking to marry you. I’m just kind-hearted and can’t stand people who emotionally manipulate patients.” Seeing the obvious change in her expression, I let out a soft laugh and said, “In that case, let’s do that.” Over the past ten years, I had donated blood to Nicole twice every month. To recover, I forced myself to eat pork liver until I felt like vomiting, and at one point, I became so thin that I was nothing but skin and bones. I thought Nicole understood everything I had done for her. I never expected that a few words from a stranger would make her truly believe I had been profiting from my suffering. Even more unexpectedly, she also came to think that marrying me was nothing more than emotional coercion. If that was how she saw it, fine! I would give her what she wanted. Still, she had better pray that nurse would keep his promise of donating blood to her.

After getting a second chance at life, I immediately cut all ties with Natalie Duvall and Cody Hudson. In my previous life, Natalie blindsides me with a divorce eight years into our marriage after falling for a race car driver. She looks down on me, complaining that I'm just a boring homebody who does nothing but cook and clean. Even Cody piles on, telling me, "Mr. Maddox is going to be a world champion one day, Dad. Stop being so pathetic and petty!" The two of them pack their bags and walk out on me. I can't let them go, but my desperate search for them that night ends in a fatal car crash. As my life bleeds out on the asphalt, regret consumes me. Natalie forgets that I used to be a world-class driver myself, only to give up my career and step out of the spotlight to focus on our marriage and raise our kid. So, with a clean slate in this life, I sign the divorce papers without a moment's hesitation and vanish without a trace. Five years later, at the Elandorian Championship, Natalie and Cody push their way through the crowd like madmen, cutting off my path. With bloodshot eyes, Natalie corners me and demands, "We spent five years looking for you. Did you seriously ditch your family just to go back to racing?" Her audacity takes me aback. Before I can even muster a response, my daughter, Daphne Hudson, grabs my hand. "Daddy, Mommy and the others are waiting to celebrate your big win. Who are these people?"

When my wife's student, Damon Herman, tries to kill himself again, I don't rush to save him. Instead, I calmly step back. Down below, my wife, Sophie Barrett, turns pale. She yells up at me in a panic, "Don't back away! What are you doing? Pull him down!" In my last life, at the exact same critical moment, I lunged forward to grab Damon, but he shoved me off the ledge. In that final second, there was no fear on his face. Instead, there was only a satisfied smirk. "You have to die for me to get what I want. Don't worry. I'll take good care of Professor Barrett. You can rest in peace now." After my fall, Sophie locked herself away for three days, refusing to eat or drink. I thought she would help me get revenge, but instead, she used mental instability as an excuse to help Damon escape. A year later, they got married. Mom killed herself over the grief, leaving Dad all alone to fight for justice. When I open my eyes, I'm back on the very day Damon pretends to jump.

On my very first night working the overnight shift at the new hospital I've been transferred to, I run into my wife, Willow Jensen, who claimed she needed to be away on a year-long business trip. Now, she's lying on a gurney outside the delivery room, heavily pregnant, with blood pouring from beneath her. The man kneeling beside her grabs my hand tightly, his desperate pleas ringing in my ears. "Doctor, please! You have to save her!"

The night before I officially registered my marriage, my friends convinced everyone to play a "mystery box game." The female guests each placed a gift into a box, and the gifts were randomly given to the men at the party. Everyone said it was the fairest way. When I opened my box, there was only a thin card inside. It said, "Thanks for participating." The entire room instantly went silent. Some people couldn't hold back their laughter. My fiancée, Charlotte Kilbourn, reached over and straightened my collar. "Your luck is still terrible." Lyra Sharpe, my childhood friend who grew up with me, whispered, "Just smile. Don't make people think you're a sore loser." Meanwhile, Connor Winfield got the hidden prize in the same round. Inside were a limited-edition mechanical watch personally chosen by Charlotte, a couples' island vacation package I had dreamed about for three years, and a handwritten note from Lyra that said, "We'll always protect you." I forced myself to laugh along, then placed the card back into the empty box. I thought winning a game was just about luck. But when I went to the restroom, I overheard the host checking the prize list in the lounge. "Ms. Kilbourn, you didn't give out the prizes wrong, did you? The hidden prize went to Mr. Winfield, and the participation prize went to Mr. Rayner." Charlotte answered calmly. Lyra laughed and added, "That's right. He won't take it seriously." Standing outside the door, I suddenly remembered the night I turned 18, when I stood in the rain waiting for the midnight fireworks at my debut party. Charlotte and Lyra had given the only umbrella to Connor. Then they turned back and told me, "George, you're closer. Just run a few steps and you'll be fine." That night, after I walked home soaked in the rain, I still believed I was just unlucky. But tonight, I finally understood the truth. They had never planned to give me that umbrella from the beginning. So this time, I tore the card into pieces and canceled my marriage registration appointment. I didn't want to play a "lucky game" they had already planned for me anymore.

While cleaning the house, I noticed my box of new razor blades had been opened. Without hesitation, I had my lawyer draft a divorce agreement and send it to my wife, Rachel Jackman. She called me right away. "Are you kicking up a fuss again? What is it this time?" I fought to keep my emotions under control and said, "One of the razor blades in the drawer is missing."

After my wife was promoted to chief conductor, her work kept her so busy that I saw her only twice in three years. Each time, she came home in the middle of the night and left before dawn with her bag in hand. When my father‑in‑law fell seriously ill and urgently needed money, I wrote to her several times but never received a reply. I had no other choice, so I went to the train station to find her. I handed over our marriage certificate. The ticket clerk frowned and read the document three times before handing it back. "Sir, you are not listed as Chief Conductor Lewis' spouse in our system. Please do not cause any trouble." My heart skipped a beat. I thought something terrible had happened to Olivia. I bought a standing‑room ticket without hesitation and boarded the train, heading straight for the driver's cabin. Before I knocked, I heard her subordinates cheering inside. "Olivia, you really had it made! Hiring a caregiver for your father‑in‑law for three whole years must have cost a fortune!" My hand froze on the door. Shock covered my face. My parents had been dead for nearly ten years. Where did Olivia get a father‑in‑law? As I stood there in disbelief, a man in a ticket inspector's uniform brushed past me, pushed open the door, and pulled Olivia into his arms. Everyone in the cabin stood and joked, "Julian, you were late today!"

I see a post on Facebook Marketplace that someone is offering a used baby stroller for free, but it's pick-up only. The villa address listed is in Oak Springs, a wealthy area across the city. I strap my son, Timmy Powell, securely into his baby carrier. Then, we travel two hours by bus and another half-hour on foot under the scorching sun before finally reaching the villa. I'm soaked in sweat by the time I arrive, and Timmy also starts crying loudly from the heat. I'm surprised to find out that the seller is also a stay-at-home dad, just like me, but he exudes a relaxed and wealthy air instead. He glances at my disheveled appearance and speaks in a tone laced with disdain and pity. "Did you come from East Bay? And you're planning to walk home like this? "My driver's about to send my wife to her company. They can give you a ride back. I'll just take it as doing charity for the poor." I thank him for the pleasant surprise and pull open the car door. However, the woman in the back seat gets out with a look of disgust on her face. "I'll sit in the front passenger seat instead," she says. I feel embarrassed at her statement. However, the moment our eyes meet, I freeze on the spot and stare at her. As it turns out, the woman is my wife, Janice Hyde, who works extremely long hours at the office every day. She also hasn't come home for Christmas for three consecutive years, claiming it's for triple pay.

While waiting for my next ride request, I pick up a father and his son. As they get into my car, rainwater drips onto the seats. The man, Cory Quick, hands me five 20-dollar bills. "This should cover the car wash." Before I can refuse, Cory has already stuffed the money into the crack between the seats. "You drivers have it tough these days. My wife gives me so much allowance every month, and I can't even spend it all. "She's swamped with work today. Otherwise, she would've picked me up earlier. Isn't that right, Joel?" Cory holds his son, Joel Quick, in his arms, like he's showing off a little. I force a polite smile as I watch them through the rearview mirror. "Your wife treats you really well." Cory shrugs. "She's alright, I guess. Actually, she has a boyfriend, but she's worried he's after her money. That's why she's pretending to be broke. I married her overseas. Oh, right. Her boyfriend is a rideshare driver too." I freeze for a moment. After all, I also have a girlfriend who's drowning in debt after going bankrupt. Before I can even respond, the man holds up his phone and shows it to me. "Look at that. She knows I'm still not home, and she's sent me money again." Beneath the string of zeroes is a voice message. Cory taps on it, and Hannah Judd's voice comes through the phone. "Honey, are you in the car yet? I bought us supper, and I'll be home soon." A chill runs through me, and my hands start trembling on the steering wheel. Just a moment ago, I got a message from Hannah too. "I have a business dinner, so I don't think I'll make it home tonight."

Ten years of marriage, and my wife always insisted she was asexual. She never once let me touch her. Then, during a visit to her parents—who had been pressing us about having a child—she suddenly started throwing up. She announced to everyone that the baby was mine, and told me flatly, "This child will be born as your son, whether you like it or not." So I smiled, encouraged her to keep the baby, and quietly signed the divorce papers.

It’s been three years since my union ceremony with Cassia, the goddess of war. But she has refused to complete our final Soul-Binding before the Moirai eighteen times. Eighteen. The first time, it was for a mortal servant she’d taken in, a boy named Lycus. His fragile mortal blood needed purifying. I waited for her all day in a freezing hailstorm, right in front of Hestia’s eternal flame. The second time, she heard the mortal’s cry for help through a communication stone. She wheeled her chariot around and left me standing on the temple steps. After that, every time we were supposed to take our vows, something would happen. Some new problem with that fragile mortal. My heart turned to ash. I was done. But when I stepped onto the ferry to the Isle of Oblivion—the gods' forbidden land—she chased me. Like a madwoman. Begging me to forgive her.

I can see how much time people have left to live, so I warn my wife, Kayla Jebb, that her first love, Sebastian Miller, is about to die. She calls me a jinx and knocks my teeth out herself, making sure I'll never speak again. With my mouth full of rotting flesh, I beg her to help me, but she walks away, satisfied with the outcome. Instead, she heads to the hospital to take care of a sickly Sebastian. A month later, Kayla returns to the villa with a fully recovered Sebastian, as if to prove how foolish I was. When I see that Kayla has only one day left to live, I say nothing and simply smile.