Cerita Pendek Feel-Good Story & Novel Male POV Marriage

I went to the bank to report a lost debit card. The teller casually asked, "Sir, there's a recurring patent royalty payment under your name. Would you like to link it to your new card?" Stunned, I froze. "What patent royalties?" The screen revealed that one of the accounts showed a quarterly deposit of $300 thousand in patent royalties. My mind went blank for a full three seconds. Then I remembered that, five years ago, my wife, Danica Pearson, had handed me a stack of documents, saying it was part of the company registration process. She said I "only understood technology, not business", effectively turning me into a figurehead consultant. I took a deep breath and told the teller, "Link it to the new card. From now on, transfer every payment directly to my personal account." That night, while Danica was overseas on a business trip, she booked the earliest flight home. At 2 a.m., she pounded on my bedroom door.

My wife and I had kept our marriage secret for three years. Then she became a fraud-busting influencer with ten million followers, and I was the first person she exposed. On her livestream, she sobbed that I was a freeloader who beat her, bled her dry, and even forced her to entertain men over drinks for money. The internet buried me in abuse. Delivery orders I never placed and funeral wreaths piled up outside my door. Her top donor announced he was going to break my legs to get justice for her. On camera, my wife was a fragile victim. Off camera, she was texting me threats. If I did not sign the thirty-million-dollar penthouse downtown over to her, she would burn my name to the ground. She thought that owning public opinion meant owning me. What she did not know was that her top donor, the man showering her with gifts every night, was one of my security guards. And when she brought New York's richest man onto her stream, intending to expose my supposed crimes, something else happened. The richest man in New York turned toward where I was standing and called me boss.

Gerald Dawson, my brother-in-law, is losing a lot of blood and urgently needs a transfusion. He has a rare blood type, Rh-negative, and Brian Johnson, my wife's first love, happens to be the closest person with the matching blood type. In my past life, I beg Brian to save Gerald. He gets lightheaded after donating his blood, misses a step, and tumbles down the stairs, breaking his neck and dying instantly. Gemma Dawson, my wife, pins his death entirely on me. She takes me bungee jumping on my birthday and directly pushes me off the platform. "Brian suffered so much when he died! You're going to pay it back a hundredfold, Simon!" I have been reborn, and Gemma chooses her first love over me. I respect her decision and wish her the best, but she eventually comes to regret her choice.

Yvonne Foster, my wife from an arranged marriage, is a control freak who loves me to her core. From business operations to the smallest details of daily life, she takes charge of everything herself. If someone dares to target me in business, their company is shut down for investigation the very next day. Women who set their sights on me always disappear without a trace. Yvonne always acts as if she can't stand me, but I know she is the kind of person who acts tough on the outside but cares deeply on the inside. This goes on until my parents find their true biological son, and I turn out to be the fake heir. The real heir, Fabian Madden, has spent his whole life in the countryside. I hear that he has an honest, simple personality. But when every bone in my body is shattered, and I'm thrown into an abandoned factory with my mouth stuffed full of blood-soaked dirt, he stares down at me haughtily. "You darn parasite living off a woman! You stole more than 20 years of wealth and privilege that should have been mine. Die! Just die already!" He buries my body in the garden and uses it to nourish a vast bed of roses as a birthday gift for Yvonne. Pointing at the sea of roses, he says ingratiatingly, "Yvonne, do you like this field of roses?"

I'm watching TV with my family at my parents' house after having our Thanksgiving dinner when I get a call from a delivery rider. "Sir, the brand of men's disposable underwear in size M you ordered is out of stock. Would it be okay if I replaced it with one of the same size from another brand?" I'm stunned. I haven't ordered anything from the store, and all my underwear is right where it should be in my wardrobe. More importantly, the delivery is supposed to go to the apartment my girlfriend, Leah Suthers, and I rent downtown. But I returned to my parents' house two days ago, and Leah flew to Brockdale on a business trip yesterday. There shouldn't be a soul in our apartment right now. I'm just about to tell the rider he's got the wrong address when a message from Leah pops up on my phone. It's a selfie with the caption, "Just finished dinner with a client and got back to the hotel. It's so unbearably hot here in Brockdale. I miss you, honey." In the photo, she's wearing a white blouse and leaning against a white hotel wall. I stare at the picture for a couple of seconds before replying to the rider, "Sure. Just leave it at the door. Thanks." After hanging up, I grab my car keys, tell my mom that something urgent has come up at work, then drive straight back to our apartment downtown in the middle of the night.

At Opaline Corp, the lowest-performing employee had to eat a plate of pasta mixed with live worms. This time, Tristan Crocker lost three clients and landed dead last. To keep Tristan from feeling singled out, my wife, Wendy Kline, hit me with a nine-million-dollar performance penalty because I showed up one minute late while sick—even though I'd brought in three million in revenue. Just like that, I became the first employee in company history with negative earnings. Grinning, Tristan shoved the plate toward me. "Wendy updated the company rules last night to keep everyone in line. Anyone who's late gets penalized three times their performance. You always said mistakes deserve punishment. Now that it's your turn, you're not backing out, right?" Every eye in the room locked on me, waiting for me to lose it. Wendy quickly sent me a message: [The nine million is only on paper. It's not a real fine. With your talent, you'll earn it back in three months. Tristan's allergic to worms. If he ends up in the hospital over a punishment, it'll damage the company's reputation. And if people hear we punished an outsider, that'll look even worse.] [You're my husband. You're one of us. I love you, which is why I'm giving you the chance to show some leadership.] [Once this blows over, I'll give you an extra twenty dollars a month, okay?] When I didn't reply, she finally snapped. "Company rules apply to everyone, even the top performer. If you don't like it, you're free to leave." I nodded, unclipped my badge, and set it on the table. "Fine. I quit." I looked at her. "And while we're at it, let's get divorced."

When I was in a car accident, my fiancee, Celeste Quinn, was celebrating her first love's birthday. I was barely alive when I called her. All I got was her impatient voice. "Ryan Sheridan, what kind of stunt is this now? Are you ever going to stop? "Good. Die, then. Stop bothering me." I didn't die though. I decided to give her and her first love what they wanted. I stopped bothering her. Later, when she finally remembered me, she begged me to come back. I handed her a marriage certificate instead. "Sorry. I'm already married."

Before my mother died, she arranged a marriage for me. My bride-to-be was Rosalind Young, Kingsford's most formidable financial tycoon. Before I married her, I added three clauses to the prenuptial agreement. First, no feelings. Our marriage was purely business. Second, she could live her life however she pleased, while I'd live mine. Third, I would step aside immediately if her true love ever came along. Nevertheless, I would be getting double the alimony. Rosalind was quite pleased that I knew my place. Our marriage was a peaceful one until the day a teenage girl who bore a striking resemblance to her knocked on the door of our mansion and calmly said, "Sir, I'm Rosalind's daughter. She raised me elsewhere. I'm 17."

My wife was eight months pregnant when she indulged her first love for the ninety-eighth time and let him run our child down with his car. My lawyer wife had promised me she'd bring him to justice, but in court, she suddenly changed her statement. "Mr. Quinn has a serious history of mental illness. His family will discipline him verbally, but he shouldn't be held criminally responsible." After the hearing, she shielded Caleb Quinn as he sobbed in public, then leaned close to my ear and said softly, "I promised you I'd only indulge him one hundred times. Let's just use up one chance. I can't watch him go to prison, can I?" I looked at my wife's flat stomach and felt calmer than I'd ever felt before. Then I nodded. She'd relied on that bet for six years, certain she could do anything. She'd forgotten there was only one chance left.

Everyone in Doverton's elite social circle knows that the heiress of the Salt family, Katrina Salt, always puts her lovers first, while her husband comes second. On New Year's Eve, she spends hundreds of millions of dollars buying a private island just to make her new lover, Eason Cooper, smile. When gossip reporters catch up with her, they ask what extravagant New Year's gift she has prepared for me, her faithful husband who is waiting at home. Her lips still swollen and red, she grins callously and says, "I'll reward him by sleeping with my lover. It's not like this is the first time." The remark causes an uproar, but no one is surprised. That night, the scions secretly start a betting pool. They bet on how many tens of millions I'll spend this time to suppress the trending topics of her infidelity and keep up appearances. But no one sees it coming when I purposely spend money to push two topics to trend at the top. One is a message wishing Katrina and her new lover a wonderful time on their private island. The other is a series of carefree photos of me partying at a nightclub, surrounded by beautiful women.

My uncle, Jackson Yates, was a born pervert. While studying abroad, he was arrested for harassing female classmates and making lewd comments toward a female teacher. He was expelled and sent back home. After returning to the country, under the protection of my billionaire grandfather, he lived like an emperor, keeping hundreds of lovers in a villa. All of them vied for his attention. One day, he set his sights on my gentle, well-mannered wife—the rumored piano prodigy, Janelle Sanders. “My dear nephew, all because you grabbed your grandpa’s hand during your first birthday party game, the entire family chose you as the future heir. But as long as I don’t agree, you’ll never succeed.” He constantly harassed her, both verbally and physically. Janelle never tolerated it. She reported him to the police several times, resulting in him getting detained. She even scolded him sternly, “Cyril and I grew up together. Uncle Jackson, please remember your place!” Out of respect for his seniority, Janelle usually just reprimanded him coldly and walked away. Two years later, Jackson seemed to change. He took the initiative to manage a subsidiary and handled everything with impressive efficiency. Grandfather was pleased and handed the entire branch over to him. Just when I thought everything had returned to normal… At our son’s one-month celebration banquet, I saw Janelle in the kitchen. She was dressed provocatively as she desperately pressed herself against Jackson. Jackson lifted his head from her chest and gave me a smug smile.

After being away from home for three months, my wife, Victoria Sterling, and our daughter, Sophie Sterling, came looking for me, crying as they begged me to come home. Once I was back, they treated me better than ever. They brought breakfast to my bedside, gave me free rein with their black cards, and when I casually mentioned wanting a new car, three brand-new sports cars showed up the very next day. But when Ethan White, Victoria’s childhood sweetheart and first love, accused me of stealing his design drafts, Victoria didn’t bother asking for an explanation. She smashed her phone against my face and snapped, “What do you have to say for yourself?” Sophie yelled at me too. “Get on your knees and apologize to Ethan! Otherwise, get out of the Sterling family!” I looked up at their furious faces. Then I suddenly laughed. Why should I apologize? I’m not even Victoria’s real husband.

Charlotte Crowe's childhood sweetheart started acting up again, which meant she was ready to divorce me again. By then, I had gone numb. I looked at her calmly and said, "This will be the eighth time." Guilt crossed her face as she looked at me, her eyes full of helplessness and pleading. "Gregory, I don't have a choice. You know Victor talks about killing himself every day. I can't just ignore him. But don't worry. As soon as I calm Victor down, we'll get married again." I said nothing. She had said the same thing to me more times than I could count. We got married eight times and got divorced eight times. Even the courthouse staff knew me by now. Behind my back, they said we practically kept the divorce court in business. With the freshly issued divorce papers in my hand, a staff member behind me asked curiously, "So when are you coming back for your next remarriage?" I gave a faint shake of my head. "There won't be a next time."

I'm a nationally certified animal trainer running the Lion King, Caesar's final assessment. I've barely stepped into the enclosure corridor when the steel guillotine door slams down behind me. My wife's laughter crackles over the loudspeaker. "Everyone, we're doing the ultimate challenge today! We're locking the so-called number-one animal trainer in the Lion King's enclosure and taking bets on whether he wets himself in ten minutes!" Caesar crouches low and rumbles a warning. I reach for my tranquilizer gun but stop cold. The liquid isn't the right color. In a phony sing-song voice, the veterinarian, Hugh Archer, says, "Lucian, I forgot to mention, I swapped your tranquilizer darts for pepper spray so you won't hurt Caesar by mistake. "You two are so close. Just win him over with love!" I look at Caesar, his eyes bloodshot from the stimulant, and it clicks. Hugh still resents that I stopped him from touching a tiger with his bare hands a few days ago. I tune out the trash blaring over the loudspeaker, pull a remote from my pocket, and hit the button. It's the master switch for the electric fence gates around every predator enclosure in the zoo. If I don't make it out, no one does.

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?]

A friend of mine sets me up on a blind date. He says she has a lot going for her, but she's a hardcore believer in rating people based on what they have to offer, so she has pretty high standards. We're supposed to meet at a cafe—but when I arrive, another man is waiting for her, too. Madison Stuart, the hardcore believer in judging people based on their merits, produces two profiles. "Sorry about this, but my time is precious. That's why I decided to meet the two of you at the same time." She points at me. "Levi Hopewell, right? You did graduate from one of the top universities in the country, but you didn't even serve on the student council. I guess that's just about enough for two points. But you didn't list who your employer is, so it sounds like you're just self-employed. That's minus three points. "There's no information about your parents' jobs, either. Either they run a hole-in-the-wall business somewhere or work some kind of blue-collar job. Whichever it is, that's minus four points." After a ruthless evaluation of every bit of information she can dig up on me, she finally awards me with negative 18 points. "Just how did you get so deludedly confident that you think you're good enough to go on a blind date with me?" Madison snorts. Before I can even speak, she sneers and turns toward the other man. "As for you, Huxley Lockwood, your situation is way different. You're a senior engineer at a major tech company with an annual salary of 250 thousand dollars. Your parents also work for the government and are entitled to a healthy pension. They can even help take care of the kids in the future. "Your score is practically perfect. Congratulations, you've passed the test. We can start dating today!" she declares. I glance between Madison and Huxley, who have clearly taken a liking to each other, and awkwardly set down the coffee I just got for her. She was half-right, I guess. I'm actually the founder of a rising unicorn company, but the information about me has not been revealed to the public yet. As for my parents… well, they do run a business. The two of them own a mine in Frenesia and spend most of their time traveling the world, too busy having fun to check on me. I was going to introduce myself properly to Madison, but from the looks of it, that won't be necessary now.

I spend the New Year at my girlfriend Lucy Greenwood's house. During a game of poker, her whole family keeps helping me win. The more I win, the bigger the smile on her mom Eva Lane's face. I excitedly reveal my hand. "A royal flush! I win!" Eva immediately hands me a stack of cash, beaming. "Wow, Milo, you're really lucky." I assume they like me, which is why they let me win 13 hands in a row. Just then, a quiet voice speaks up. "You still want to keep winning? This game takes lives in exchange for luck… Once you've won enough money, it's time to pay with your life. If you play that card, you'll have to live the rest of your life as Lucy's comatose older brother."

I was the last tiger left on Rocky Mountain. For love, I ignored everyone's objections and married the sweetest, most simple-minded doe in the forest. After ten grueling months of pregnancy that nearly cost her her life, my wife finally gave birth… To a chubby orange tabby kitten. Evelyn, my adorably clueless wife, was completely smitten. Cradling the little orange fluffball inside her coat, she flashed me her usual innocent smile. "Honey, what should we name our son?" I stared at the plump orange kitten, peacefully purring in her arms, and remained silent for a long time, until… "Divorce." Evelyn's ears shot upright and twitched three times. "H-Honey... what did you just say?" I roared so loudly that dust rained down from the rafters. "I said this marriage is over! I want a divorce!"

I'm the pilot of an international flight. During the return flight, the aircraft gets caught up in a terrible storm. The plane's body is struck and penetrated by hail, and the right engine bursts into flames. 327 passengers are left stranded tens of thousands of feet in the air. I contact ground control and request permission to make an emergency landing, only to hear the chief controller of the air traffic control tower—also my ex-wife, Lara Kingsley—say, "Easthawk 791, request denied." I look at the plane's rapidly decreasing fuel volume and snap at Lara, "You're out of your mind! This plane won't last more than 20 minutes in the air!" A contemptuous snort escapes her. "Oh, scared now, are we? I bet you didn't think this day would come when you left me at the altar for another woman five years ago! I want you to know what it feels like to be abandoned!" Leashing my anger, I grit my teeth and ask other air traffic controllers for permission to divert the plane, only to learn Lara has denied me permission to use any nearby diversion routes. It isn't until the engine is about to flame out that she slowly names her price. "Turn on the plane's PA, tell everyone you betrayed and cheated on me years ago, then slap yourself a hundred times. I'll clear a runway for you after that."

After Helena Ashbourne cheated on me with her male assistant again, my mind came apart. At the lowest point of it, I picked up the fruit knife on the table and meant to end things myself. "Why are you hurting yourself again? Doesn't she like you anymore?" I looked up, and sixteen-year-old Helena was walking toward me with pain all over her face. She spoke gently. "Tell me who she is. I'll make her pay for you." I looked into the bright eyes of the girl in front of me. I didn't say anything. Quietly, I pointed at her face. Later, Helena put me in a psychiatric hospital herself. In the gaps between doses of sedative, the girl sat down beside my bed again. She stared out at the woman with a face so much like her own, and the light in her eyes went out inch by inch. Then she forced the words out, and every one of them came with blood. "I don't care who she is. I'm going to kill her." Sixteen-year-old Helena never lied to me. She meant every word.