Plot Twists の短編小説 & Male POV Marriage 小説

I was in the middle of an office meeting when I got a call from the ER at City General Hospital. “Are you Casey Caldwell’s family? She’s been admitted. You need to get here right away. Once at the hospital, Casey squeezed an awkward smile at me. “It’s nothing, really. The doctor says it’s acute gastritis. I’ll be fine once the IV is done.” The nurse tending to her couldn’t bite her tongue. With a disapproving look, she shoved the bill into my hands. “What kind of son are you, making your old mother work as a dishwasher in a diner? “The owner said she’s been skipping lunch just so she can hurry home and make dinner for your family. “No stomach can handle that kind of abuse day after day.” “You’ve been working?” My gaze fell on Casey’s raw and calloused hands. My voice trembled. “Mom, didn’t Melody give you a store gift card with a $20k balance? Why on earth would you work at the diner?” Casey nervously fumbled in her pocket and pulled out a card. “Maybe I’m too old to figure these things out. The cashier told me the card was no good when I tried to use it at the grocery store. “So I paid out of my own pocket. Eventually, I ran out of money I’d saved. I didn’t want to ask you for more because I didn’t want you and Melody to fight over money. “I thought I could pick up a few shifts at the diner next door. At least that way, I’d have enough money to buy groceries…” I took the so-called gift card, my mind going blank. This was no gift card. It was a souvenir card from some trendy escape room!

My mother and I pushed ourselves, slaving away to pay for my girlfriend’s debt. The work was too hard on her, and she was soon diagnosed with lung cancer. By the time I arrived at the hospital with money for her treatment, my mother had taken her own life and left behind a note. “I can’t go on, Gab. The money is best put toward settling the debts. Noelle is a good kid. She loves you. She’s just lost her way. That’s all. You two should settle down once the debts are cleared.” I held my mother’s ashes and gave Noelle the thirty thousand dollars she had left behind. Back in the office, I overheard Noelle talking to several creditors. “Ms. Strom, Mr. Lamb has passed your test. What’s next on the agenda for him?” Noelle’s childhood friend, Charles, jumped into the conversation. “Gabriel has proven that he’s willing to be there for you through thick and thin, but will he stick around in wealth? Noelle pursed her lips. “I need to know if he genuinely loves me. If he isn’t blinded by greed when learning about who I am, I’ll marry him.” I stared at my mother’s ashes, tears rolling down my face. “Noelle, my mother was wrong about you, and so was I. I don’t want to marry you anymore.” I thought to myself.

It was the seven year of our marriage. I found my wife's prenatal test report. She was three months pregnant. After seven childless years, I should have been overjoyed. Except I'd had a vasectomy. I confronted her with the report in hand. She barely reacted. "Is that all the grace you have? This child is innocent. If you choose me, you accept him too. Can't you even make room for one child? No wonder you'll never make anything of yourself." I saw the contempt in her eyes. And just like that, I gave up on her completely. Seven years of marriage, seven years of deferring to her in everything, and all I got in return was betrayal.

My girlfriend, Madison Carter, claims that men's hearts will rot when they start gaining wealth. Out of love toward her, I give her all of my money. But on my birthday, my severe illness has relapsed due to me not bearing to spend money on medication. So, I can only borrow money from Madison, who's also a CEO. But she begins berating me without asking me the reason why. "You really are an ingrate! I've been sustaining you for so long, and yet you never pledge your loyalty toward me! All you care about is money!" Naturally, Madison refuses to lend me even a single cent. But the next day, she doesn't hesitate to give her first love, Lucas Whitfield, a few million dollars just so he can start a business of his own. I feel my blood turn into ice as I stare at the woman I've loved for ten years. Only now do I realize that she has never loved me before.

Out of sheer boredom, I randomly clicked into a livestream titled "Taming an Innocent Housewife." In the stream, a woman in a silk chemise was lazily puttering around the kitchen. When the camera finally showed her face, I was completely stunned—it was me. Not only that, but on the public chat, the top donor was spamming gifts like crazy. [Make her drink that spiked milk.] Soon after, a man groveled in response: [Thanks for the gift, bro. She'll drink it right now. I promise you a hell of a show tonight.] I'd recognize that voice anywhere—it was my husband, Jake, who was supposedly on a business trip overseas. My own husband had turned our home into a hidden-camera setup, treating me like his personal reality show star. And now, he was trying to feed me illegal drugs just to rake in donations. Most people would've broken down or called the cops. But I'm what you'd call the ultimate pro at playing nice—everyone in our circle knows I'm the queen of manipulation. I picked up that glass of milk, looked straight into the camera, and gave a fragile, tantalizing smile. "Since my husband's not home, drinking this milk all alone feels so lonely... I wish some strong, capable guy would come take care of me." The chat exploded. Donations went through the roof. Later that night, Jake burst through the front door, ready to "discipline" me—but froze in his tracks. There I was, sitting in lingerie on the lap of the top donor, grinning at my husband. "Honey, you're back! I helped you hit your goals tonight!"

A viral post pops up on my feed. "Did you betray anyone?" One reply underneath catches my attention. "My best friend, I guess. But honestly, it's not my fault. His girlfriend is exactly my type. The moment he introduced me to her, I fell for her. "At our graduation party, I got them both wasted and made my move on her. That lucky bastard had no idea how good he had it. "Later, I lied and told him I wanted to go abroad. By then, they were already married, but the truth was, I was only a state away, staying with his wife while she was pregnant with my child. "His wife comes to see us all the time now. The three of us are so happy together. "Technically speaking, I'm not the other man. The marriage certificate between his wife and me is the real one. We just never had a wedding. "There's nothing wrong with fighting for love. Don't give up just because the person you like is already taken!" Attached to the comment is a photo of a man and woman holding hands, their fingers intertwined. The faint scar on her wrist gives her away. The woman in that photo is my wife, Clara Lowden.

On the anniversary of her passing, I drove back to my hometown to visit my wife Scarlett Parker’s grave. It had been three long years since she passed. I shattered right there by the headstone, choking on my own sobs. Beside me, her older brother, Silas Parker, stood in complete silence, exhaling thick clouds of cigarette smoke. Later that night, we were sharing a few drinks when he brought it up, acting like it was just a casual thought. "Hey, by the way... Didn't you and Scarlett have a friend back when you worked in federal security? A guy named Mark Miller?" My hand froze, the glass shaking in my grip. Mark Miller wasn't a real person. It was a code name Scarlett and I came up with years ago after watching a crime thriller. We made a pact back then. If either of us ever met a dark fate, we had to find a way to pass that name along to let the other know. It meant one thing: I was murdered. So why the hell did that name just come out of her own brother's mouth?

The day after our wedding, my wife claimed she didn’t know me. I’d spent years working myself to the bone and saving every penny before I could finally marry the woman I loved. Between the house, the car, and everything I’d paid toward the wedding, I’d spent three million dollars. But the very next day, my wife stared at me in terror and insisted she was single. Worse, the county clerk’s office had no record of us ever getting married. The house and car were both in her name. Half a lifetime of savings had vanished overnight. Furious, I tracked down her friends, certain they could prove the truth. Instead, every one of them claimed they’d never seen me before. I stormed into the county clerk’s office demanding answers. The staff thought I was delusional and called the police. “You’ve gone crazy from wanting a woman that badly, haven’t you? You probably got married in a dream. What bride refuses to recognize her husband the day after the wedding?” After trying to mediate, even the police decided there was something wrong with me. Desperate to recover my house and car, I fought to take back what was mine. Instead, my wife accused me of running a marriage scam and trying to steal her property. Whenever I showed up, the building’s security guards beat me and threw me out. My wife posted videos of my breakdowns online, and the entire internet mocked me. Everyone believed I was insane. In the end, exhausted and tormented beyond endurance, I wandered into traffic and was struck dead. But when I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day we were supposed to get our marriage certificate.

Victoria Cooper cheated on me with my student. I caught them in my office, locked in a kiss they couldn't seem to break away from. I took photos and posted them online, making sure the whole world knew. When I asked for a divorce, Victoria dropped to her knees in front of me, sobbing. "Alexander, I made a mistake. The lights were off in the office. I thought it was you. "Please, forgive me?" To prove it had been a case of mistaken identity, she put Tyler Ford on a plane and cut off all contact with him for good. After she came back to me, she was nothing but obedient. Out in the world, she was the sharp, no-nonsense CEO everyone knew as Ms. Cooper; at home, she poured her whole heart out to me. I thought the crack between us had actually healed. Then, five years later, I stumbled into the deleted-messages folder on her phone. One thousand three hundred and sixty unread texts, every single one from Tyler. [Victoria, I miss you so much. Can I come back and see you?] She'd never replied to a single one. But she'd saved every message, filed away by date, in that folder no one was ever supposed to find. My blood ran cold. I set the phone down in front of her. My voice didn't sound like my own anymore. "Do you need me to step aside? So you two star-crossed lovers can finally have your happy ending?"

Belle York, my wife, was pregnant, but on our way back from getting the diagnosis, she said, “I have something to tell you. The baby is Harry’s. I also got a notice saying that my health won’t let me have another baby after this one.” When she saw my smile freeze, she took out a paternity test. Harry Grant, my brother-in-law, was indeed listed as the father. Her voice was eerily calm. “On the day you fell asleep at the back of the jeep with fever, we did it in the passenger seat, right where I’m sitting.” In an instant, I felt like I had fallen into the abyss. I opened my mouth, but it was like something was blocking my throat. As she spoke, Belle cast her eyes on her swollen belly, and every word she spoke next was like needles stabbing into my heart. “If you can’t accept the baby, I’ll abort it, but my uterus will still be badly damaged, and I won’t get pregnant again. I’ve told you the truth now. You decide on whether I get to give birth or not.”

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.

Lucifer told me my time wasn't up yet and that I shouldn't have died here. The problem was, I'd already died three times. And every single time, it happened after I got married. My first wife was a powerful leather factory owner from out west. But she had a crippling gambling addiction. After blowing through all her assets and my entire life savings, she let the debt collectors cut off three of my fingers to cover her debts. I ended up bleeding to death. My second wife was a respectable, glasses-wearing university professor. She even beat me with class, leaving no bruises and never hitting me in the face. I died from ruptured internal organs. My third wife was a quiet, blue-collar welder. I thought things would finally be good between us after we married. However, she just stood by while her mother, who despised me for being poor, humiliated and controlled my life. When my liver condition flared up, they blocked me from getting medical help, and I died of acute liver failure. I begged Lucifer in tears to give me a few different options. But Lucifer just said firmly, "Your destined wife is one of these three women. It's up to you to make it work. Pick one. Now." I was at a loss for words.

The border crackdown finally comes to an end. The police finally capture the notorious Roxanne Thorne, who has made headlines across the country. In the interrogation room, Jordyn Croft sits across from her in a police uniform, repeatedly asking the same question. "Where is that traitor, Christopher Savile, hiding now?" Roxanne slowly raises her eyes, her slender fingertips gently rubbing the edge of her handcuffs. "That young cop? We tied him to a metal frame and took turns beating him. Then we injected him with highly concentrated drugs before using blunt weapons to smash his knees and ankles piece by piece. Finally, we chained him to the barbed-wire fence at the border." She licks her lips, as if savoring the memory. "By dawn, his body was already stiff." Jordyn stands up and slams the files onto the table. "You're lying! He was the one who leaked the information back then and got more than a dozen of our officers killed. He even covered your retreat through the back mountain. The surveillance footage captured everything clearly!" Roxanne suddenly bursts into laughter. Her handcuffs clang loudly against the table. She says, "Christopher never gave us a single useful piece of information until the end. Instead, it was a hostage he'd previously rescued from us who kept feeding us information. His only condition was that we take Christopher away and make everyone believe he was a traitor. "That way, he could conveniently take Christopher's wife for himself." The entire room falls silent. Just then, the interrogation room door flies open. Jordyn's newlywed husband, Milo Lumley, rushes in, his voice urgent. "Jordyn, did you catch the suspect? Did they tell you where Chris is?"

On the day I went to the city hall with my girlfriend to get married, her first love, Martin Lennox, suddenly appeared. “Teddy’s getting old, and his kidneys are failing. The vet said he only has a few days left. You should pay him a visit.” Teddy was the dog they got together. I knew about it, so I said kindly, “After Olivia and I get married, I’ll send both of you to the vet.” However, Martin suddenly started crying. “Olivia, you know dogs can’t speak, but he kept crying when he looked at your photo. He really wants to see you.” Olivia also started crying. She flung my hand away and apologized before she left with Martin. She disappeared for three days. On the fourth day, she returned home and apologized to me. Then, she dragged me to the city hall. Unexpectedly, Martin showed up with Teddy’s dead body. “Olivia, is your marriage really that important that you left Teddy alone at the vet? He’s dead now, and you didn’t manage to accompany him before he crossed the rainbow bridge!” Olivia cried as she looked at me. “I’ll come back to you after I bury Teddy, alright? Wait for me.” I gestured. “Just go, we can have our wedding ceremony first before we get our marriage certificate.” On the day of our wedding, Olivia was waiting happily for me at home in her wedding dress. However, she did not know that I was not planning on turning up.

Ever since I was a child, I could enter the dreams of the people closest to me. However, I could only do it three times in my entire life. I used my first chance when I was ten. In my father's dream, I saw him holding another woman and telling her he had fallen out of love with my mother long ago. Heartbroken, I ran to tell my mother everything. Three months later, they divorced, and I moved in with her. I used my second chance at sixteen. In the dream, a wealthy man held my mother's hand and promised to marry her. He had only one condition: she could not bring along her unwanted baggage. He was referring to me. The next day, my mother left me $30,000 and disappeared without a trace. Two dreams. Two losses. Both times, I had lost someone I loved the most. After that, I swore I would never use my final chance, not even if it killed me. Fortunately, I met Jade Smith in college. We had dated for ten years and been married for five. I thought we knew each other better than anyone else in the world. Recently, she had been sleeping poorly. She kept her phone glued to her hand and often looked at me as if she wanted to say something but could never bring herself to. I wondered if something had gone wrong at her company. I was also worried that she might be sick. On our wedding anniversary, I finally gave in and used my last chance to enter her dream. However, I saw no signs of bankruptcy or a terminal illness. Only one person appeared in her dream: the new intern at her company. When he worked late, she braved the rain to bring him an umbrella. When he had a stomachache, she searched half the city for medicine. When he casually mentioned wanting to see the ocean, she took him there countless times. In her dream, he asked her, "If you weren't married, do you think you could ever fall for me?" She remained silent for a long time before finally nodding, her voice thick with tears. I jolted awake, my eyes wet and cold. That was what my three chances had been for. Three dreams, three people I loved, and three times I was destined to lose them. Only this time, I would not wait for her to walk away from me. I would be the one to leave first.

On the day of my wedding anniversary, I receive a strange photo from a friend back home. "Why is your wife working at a nightclub?" his message reads. In the photo he sent, my wife, Gwendolyn Shaw, is wearing a tight-fitting skirt. She looks utterly miserable as a group of men forces alcohol down her throat. I am the richest man in Shenton City. So why on earth is my wife entertaining men for money at a nightclub? Before I can question her about it, she sends me a selfie from a hospital checkup. "It's been three whole years since you left the country, honey. I miss you so much…" I stare at the photo in disbelief. My beautiful wife has shaved her head. Her skin is dry and sallow, and she's draped in a filthy black trash bag. I rub my eyes again and again, unable to believe that this is what has become of my beautiful, elegant wife. I've always encouraged Gwen to be frugal, but surely she didn't need to go to such lengths to save money? Shocked, I immediately book the earliest flight back home. The moment I arrive at the airport, my father's adopted daughter, Peyton Young, comes to pick me up. She's all decked out in designer clothes and lavish jewelry. But the instant she opens her arms to hug me, I freeze. The limited-edition watch on her wrist is worth millions—and it's the exact watch I gave Gwen as a birthday present last year.

Right before bed, I stumbled across a post titled: [My wife has a second family on the side. What do I do?] Something made me click on it. According to the poster, his wife had grown busier over the past year, always traveling for work at the company's branch office. The money she handed over had grown too, and at first, it hadn't worried him. He'd just felt grateful that she was working so hard for their family. Then he saw a post about a man trying on a suit, and he recognized his wife's hand and the back of her figure in the photo at once. He was desperate, and he wanted to know what other people thought he should do. I scrolled further down, curious to see the true face of the woman he was calling a cheat. The next moment, my blood ran cold. Because even with the picture blurred out, I could tell it was the exact photo he'd used, the same one from my own post the week before.

My wife, Alayna Watson, is childish as ever even though we've been married for eight years. From time to time, she'll use her prank toys on me just to trick me. Oftentimes, I just toss the toys into the store without thinking much about them. A few days later, when I'm cleaning the house, I suddenly remember the box that Alayna has pranked me with, so I decide to throw it away. When I open the lid, I smell a foul odor wafting from within the box. A severed arm lies quietly there. I slump to the floor instantly out of alarm and shock. With trembling fingers, I manage to call 911. When the DNA results are out, the police officer shows a weird and conflicted expression. "Sir, the DNA we've extracted from this arm… belongs to Alayna Watson."”

Before our marriage, my wife was the kind of woman everyone envied. She was strikingly beautiful and had graduated from a top university. Young as she was, she had already made a name for herself in finance, with a brilliant career ahead of her. I hated women like her: independent, proud, sharp-edged, decisive, and strong-willed. She was the dazzling center of attention wherever she went. So I set about systematically grinding away every last edge she had. After the wedding, I used "taking care of the family" as an excuse to pressure her into leaving a key position in a fast-rising career. I took control of her bank accounts and tamed her into a docile cat that only knew how to say yes. Then I deliberately crushed her confidence, vetoing every decision she made, nitpicking even the smallest daily tasks. I belittled her abilities in front of others and dismissed everything she contributed. Over and over, I wore down her willpower and pride until she had given up every piece of herself. I even made her the CFO of my company and dumped documents on her to sign, ensuring she would be the one to take the fall. I thought I could never lose. Until federal agents knocked on my office door and slapped a stack of evidence on my desk. "Mr. Tyler Hayes, you'll need to come with us." I frowned, flipped through the evidence, and froze. No wonder she had become so obedient. Looking back, the signs had been there all along.

On the first day of New Year's, my good buddy, Vincent Wales, sent me a video. “Leon, take a look. Does this woman look like your wife? It’s all over.” In the video, a man and a woman were making out passionately. As the car rocked violently, the woman’s face came into view. It was unmistakably my wife. My blood rushed straight to my head. My hands shook as I dialed her number. “Hello, honey… What’s the matter?” Her breathing was uneven, like she had just been doing something intense. I was about to speak when she suddenly let out a few loud cries. “A-Ah… It’s nothing. I’ll hang up now. I’m just playing cards with friends." With that, all I heard was the dial tone. Playing cards? She had clearly told me she was working overtime!