Plot Twists の短編小説 & Male POV Regret 小説

My Alpha Female, my mate, had been gone a week surveying her territory. The moment she got back, I rejected our bond. "Just because I forgot your little trinket?" She laughed, blue eyes careless as ever. "Yes." I stared at her, face a mask. Seven days ago, Rowan, Alpha Female of the Silvermoon Ridge Pack, took her core warriors to inspect a newly acquired mining territory. When she returned, she had gifts for everyone. Even the border patrol got aged liquor. She forgot the only thing that mattered. The pure Moonstone I needed to soothe my burning Alpha blood. I'd waited two months. Then her new Omega scribe, Finn, posted a selfie on the pack network—showing off a wolf-fang necklace carved from raw Moonstone. [Thank you to the most powerful Alpha Female in the world! My loyalty will never fade!] Rowan's comment sat right below: [You deserve it.] I stared a long time. Then I deleted the message I'd been typing to her: "Waiting for you to come home, my Alpha." Rowan and I grew up together. Twenty years intertwined. When we came of age, she became the Alpha Female, I became her Beta. Once, I was the only one by her throne. Then, slowly, the entire pack got in line ahead of me. Just like now. We were breaking our bond—the most serious thing imaginable. But her phone lit up with Finn's message. "Need your guidance on the territory resource files." She didn't even look up. "Stop making a scene, Caleb. It's just a rock. I'll get you one before next month's ceremony. Finn has something urgent. Drive yourself back." She hurried away. I didn't stop her. I pulled out my phone and replied to the Alpha of the Blackpeak Pack. He'd invited me seven times. "I'm in. Flight's tomorrow night. See you in Blackpeak." I pulled the moonstone bracelet from my wrist and left it in the drawer of her office desk. Rowan. From now on, you have your throne. I'll get mine.

On the day Serena's company went public, she announced her engagement to her assistant, Hugo Snow. Meanwhile, I, her husband who had quietly stayed by her side for four years, watched as Hugo walked up to the press conference stage. "None of this would have been possible without Hugo's support," Serena stated. "I thank you all for trusting Serena. From now on, the two of us will be completing this project together, hand in hand," Hugo added. As I listened to the crowd shower them with congratulations, my clenched fist slowly loosened. It was finally time for me to let go of this four-year marriage.

My brother-in-law, Calum Russell, throws away the expensive New Year's gift that I buy. Putting a hand on my sister's pregnant belly, he tries to drive me out of the house. He says, "I pretended that I didn't know you were adopted because you used to help support the family's finances. But now that the house is about to be demolished, we will get a huge compensation for it. I have to kick you out, or you'll be taking my son's share!" I look at my parents and my sister in confusion, but none of them take my side. They just look at me with disgust and tell me to be grateful that they raised me for so many years. They demand that I sign the adoption termination agreement quickly and get out. I let out a sigh. Suppressing my anger, I sign it and leave. What a pity! If they had waited just a few more minutes, I would have told them that the demolition is fake. But what's real is that I have just won a lottery of 200 million dollars.

After I announced my exit from the music industry, the public response was overwhelmingly positive. The only person who voiced his objection was my girlfriend's rumored lover, the up-and-coming songwriter Lucas Zacker. He put on a show of sincerity in front of a crowd of reporters. "It's all a misunderstanding. Matthew is an irreplaceable talent in the music industry. I sincerely hope he returns to the stage." I shut off my phone and turned a blind eye to his public plea. In my past life, one of my songs had been identical to his supposedly original single. As such, netizens accused me of plagiarism, cursing me and wishing death upon my family. Frustrated, I posted the entire creation process online, but it couldn't stand up to the timeline. His new song had been released ten minutes ahead of mine. Just because of the ten-minute difference, netizens sent me photoshopped mourning portraits of myself and even went so far as to come to my house and vandalize it with paint. The relentless cyberbullying went on for years, and it drove me into a deep depression. My parents exhausted their life savings trying to clear my name, only for crazed fans to set our house on fire, causing my parents to burn to death. In the end, when his song won an award, I jumped off a building. But who would have guessed that when I opened my eyes again, I was reborn on the very day the new song was set to release.

Everyone in Aurelium says Stella Budzyn is a rose with thorns, ruthless toward everyone except her husband. What they don't know is that being Stella's husband means putting up with an endless parade of other men. I watch numbly as she brings home one lover after another. Then she becomes infatuated with Gatlin Hewton, her prized new house manager, and gives him free rein to set the rules for the entire Budzyn household. Gatlin freezes my cards, throws out my clothes and car keys, limits me to just ten dollars a day, and forbids me from leaving the house after 8:00 pm. So when I receive an emergency call from the hospital at 8:01 pm, the bodyguards refuse to let me leave. "My mother is having a heart attack. I need to get to the hospital. Now." Gatlin doesn't budge. "Those are the rules, Mr. Hawke. No one leaves after eight—not even if your mother is dying." Shaking with fury, I turn to Stella and beg her to let me go. Stella barely looks at me. "As long as you're my husband, you follow Gatlin's rules." I stare at the woman I've loved for a decade and realize I hardly recognize her anymore. Fine. If this is what being her husband means, then I don't want to be her husband anymore.

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.

Ten minutes before my childhood friend, Scott Burdett, got married, I personally handed him a bouquet of condoms. He laughed and asked, "Aren't you worried I'll be tapped out by morning?" Caitlyn Harp stood off to one side, her expression hard to read. After Scott left, she adjusted her earrings and studied my reflection in the mirror. "Actually, I'm the one marrying him today. I'm going to use up every last one of those condoms you bought tonight." I froze. She laughed. "Just kidding. I'll explain everything after the ceremony." After that, time seemed to blur. I stood in the best man's spot and watched the two people I loved most walk down the aisle and exchange rings before the officiant.

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.”

On Christmas Eve, our three-year-old daughter, Noelle Gilder, who has cancer, takes a turn for the worse. All she wants is for her mother, Ivana Lance, to dress as Santarina and bring her a gift. I frantically call Ivana, but she impatiently yells into the phone, saying, "Why are you calling me nonstop? I am helping Charles look for Bubbles! Do you really have to make a scene over this? If Bubbles is gone, Charles will be so heartbroken that he will not be able to sleep for days!" Bubbles? So she was looking for the dog of her first love, Charles Larsson! Suppressing my anger, I tell her that Noelle might not survive the night. She laughs disbelievingly, "Mr. Gilder, do not think for a second that I'm not aware that you've spoiled Noelle rotten! If she had not suddenly kicked Bubbles, he would not have run away. Make Noelle apologize to Charles tomorrow." After hanging up, I accompany Noelle as she spends her final Christmas Eve with tears in my eyes. The next day, Ivana publishes a post on Instagram, still looking for the dog. Meanwhile, my post is Noelle's obituary. Ten years of marriage melt away into nothingness like snow.

My girlfriend, Jade Swanson, was very respectful toward her teachers. Every time we went out on a date, she even invited my single male teacher, Oliver Graham, along. Three for dinner. Three at the movies. Even when we traveled, it was three people sharing a room. I got jealous and lost my temper, but she only said, "Oliver is your mentor. Making him happy is equivalent to helping you build a good relationship. You're not very capable. Since we were little, haven't I always helped you smooth things out? You're a man, so don't be so petty!" On Valentine's Day, I finally passed my housemanship. Jade hired an outdoor band half a month in advance to celebrate for me. She said, "From now on, the three of us will no longer go out together. It's just going to be two." I waited for a full six hours until early morning, soaked under the rainstorm, yet the venue remained empty. Shivering, I made my way back to the hospital break room, where a warm, cozy light spilled from inside. Jade was carefully drying Oliver’s wet hair, her tone tinged with playful reproach. "You insisted on going out even though it was raining. What if you caught a cold?" Oliver smiled with a gentlemanly charm. "I was just going to get some candles. Jade, thank you for spending my birthday with me." Subconsciously, I opened my chat with Jade again. There were still no new messages from her. I gave a self-deprecating smile. It turned out they were "the two" she mentioned: she and Oliver. Fine then. In that case, I would stop being the invisible third wheel in their story.

After the socialite heiress gets dumped by a poor student named Andrew Stephens, she goes completely mute. Her mother, Nora Booker, announces that whoever gets her daughter to speak again will be given a million dollars. I make my way through all the men trying to get through to her and say, "Wasn't it just last night that you were calling me 'Daddy' in bed?" "That didn't happen!" Alicia Ellison blurts out. Nora wires me a million dollars on the spot. Over the moon, I follow Alicia around every day, teasing her while making a killing. She can't talk back and can't hit me, so out of frustration, she shuts me up with her own mouth. Overnight, I go from the heiress' personal companion to the heiress' official boyfriend. Every time I crack a dirty joke, she makes sure to get back at me until I don't have the nerve to say it again. Right before our wedding, her first love comes back after life gives him a serious beating. That night, Alicia doesn't come home. Grabbing the remaining half box of condoms and the savings I've accumulated over the past ten years, I walk out of our home. After delivering the condoms to them, I use my savings to buy myself a plane ticket back home.

On our seventh wedding anniversary, my wife, Faith Richmond, slapped me in front of everyone. "It's Bridger's birthday. Who do you think you are, showing up here and ruining the mood?" The mockery in her eyes told me she had deliberately invited me here just to humiliate me. Inside the lively karaoke room, I was treated like a servant, ordered around to queue up songs and open bottles while I watched my own wife make out passionately with Bridger right in front of me. After everyone left, a drunk Faith waited for me downstairs. "Who gave you permission to disappear for seven days? This is your punishment. If you ever do it again, get the hell out of the Richmond family! Be careful. After serving me for seven years, you might not get a single penny for it!" The farewell I'd been about to say caught in my throat. I clenched the critical-condition notice in my hand. After a moment's thought, I decided not to take it out after all.

When my wife's lover changed the locks on our house for the ninth time and locked us out again, there was finally a hint of irritation on her face. I, on the other hand, calmly reassured her. "He's young. He doesn't know any better. Don't get worked up over it." Yvonne Fisher, who was about to break the lock open, froze mid-swing and turned to stare at me. "Aren't you angry?" I was at a loss for words. Throughout our five years of marriage, things like this had happened so often that if I'd kept getting angry, I would've died from it by now. Besides, my own lover was just as much of a handful. All I felt for Yvonne was sympathy.

It's the third year of our secret marriage, and there are still only three pairs of indoor slippers in the shoe cabinet—a pair for my wife, Renee Hickman, a pair for her friend, Penny Falcon, and a pair for her student, Aspen Frost. However, mine's not there. I look at the disposable indoor slippers Renee hands me and ask flatly, "Where are the cotton slippers that I bought?" She doesn't even look at me as she replies, "I threw them away before they came here." I reply with a grunt. Suppressing the bitterness rising in my chest, I ask casually, "Did Aspen come along this time too?" "No." She's lying. I know that because Aspen just sent me a taunting text message earlier. "I actually feel pity for you. You always have to pretend like you're just the garbage disposal guy every time we're here. Have you ever wondered whether she can't make your marriage public, or simply doesn't want to?" I turn off my phone and enter the bathroom. The smudged intertwined handprints on the mirror stare back at me like some declaration of war. As I walk past Renee, I don't bother asking her why she's lying to me. I don't even question why her pinned contact is someone with an aspen tree as their profile photo instead of mine. After watching a movie with her while she applies a facial beauty mask, I pull out the slippers she hid inside the safe and slide them toward her, smiling. "If you cherish him so much, then you shouldn't keep him hidden in the shadows anymore."

I post a WhatsApp Status with the caption, "Vacation's coming soon. Countdown starts now." I make sure to hide it from everyone at work. But the very next second, my boss, Thomas Burton, shoves a screenshot of my Status in my face. "So you've got plenty of free time, huh?" he bellows. "Go scrub the toilets! And you're getting a 30% pay cut!" I freeze, a chill running down my spine. I had blocked everyone at work from seeing my Status. So how the hell did Mr. Burton get a screenshot of it? When I return to my desk, my colleague, Caleb Knowles, comes over with a cup of coffee. "Don't worry about it, man," he says, comforting me. "I'll put in a good word for you." I thank him, but my eyes remain fixed on his phone. He's looking at the exact Status I posted earlier.

I discover a helicopter in the estate three years after I'm transmigrated. My wife, Diana Snow, decides to drop the act after noticing my crippled legs. "Three years ago, you couldn't accept being my lover after I married Andrew," she says. "So, we trapped you here, tricking you into thinking that you had transmigrated. It seems that you've learned how to behave yourself after working as one of the household staff for three years." I have a hard time believing her words. The housekeeper of the estate tears her mask off and reveals her true identity—my sister, Beverly Graham. "Andrew's son is all grown up, so you can finally go home now, Connor," she says. "Your plan was absolutely flawless, Elise!" I slowly turn my head. The estate's doctor is smiling at me. "You were right the first time. I'm actually your childhood sweetheart, Elise Jefferson. I came up with this plan because I was worried that you would harass Andrew." I believe that I have been transmigrated for the past three years. I am beaten, trafficked, and tormented by countless people before Diana buys me and forces me to slave away in her estate. My legs are crippled, and I'm blind in one eye. In the beginning, I cry all day and all night about wanting to go home. Eventually, I become numb to my terrible life. It turns out that I didn't actually transmigrate. I suffer a complete mental breakdown. Seconds before I take my own life, strange words suddenly appear in my vision. "Congratulations to the male lead of this AI-written tragedy. Remaining time before you turn into a real person: Two days. "48:00:00. "47:59:59."

My parents, Dennis and Sandra Ford, always said the wiring in our old house was too outdated to power more than three air conditioners. My sister, Beth Ford, practiced her violin in her room all day, so she needed one. My brother, Monty Ford, had been sickly since he was little and couldn't stand even a little heat, so he needed one too. The last unit went to the master bedroom. I didn't say anything. I stuck to my old, creaking fan and got through twenty-two stifling summers in Battisata City. I thought that if I stayed quiet enough, obedient enough, my family would eventually notice me. Then came the day I borrowed Monty's air-conditioned room for the final online interview at a major company. Right in the middle of it, the door kept swinging open. Beth's singing drifted in from the living room, and my dad poked his head in for the fourth time. "Still not done? Don't forget to make your brother his honey-glazed fish tonight." The interviewer on the screen frowned. "Sorry, we don't need employees with an attitude problem." The second the screen went dark, I sat frozen in my chair, cold sweat soaking the hair at my forehead. "Hurry to the market once you're finished. The fish won't be fresh if you wait too long." Their nagging kept going, and that was the moment it hit me. What I'd lost over the years wasn't just a working air conditioner or a hard-won job. It was my entire family.

On New Year's Eve, I went to court for the last time. The judge asked if I still wanted to file for custody of my daughter. I shook my head and said, "I'm here to withdraw my case. I'm going to stop fighting for custody anymore. I agree with the divorce." Vivian and I had been married for nine years, and the divorce had dragged through six hearings. I spent six New Year's Eve in court. There had been no joy, only hysterical accusations. I was tired. My daughter was tired, too. So, I finally stopped holding on. I had already booked my flight home for the year.

An accident gives me the ability to hear people's thoughts. My wife, Keira Walker, is a chief cardiac surgeon, and my best friend, Gabriel Pearce, is her intern. Afraid I'll lose hope, they take turns caring for me, staying by my side even through rehabilitation. Touched by their devotion, I throw myself into recovery. Then one day, Keira peels an apple for me while Gabriel massages my withered legs. Inside my head, two voices ring out loud and clear. [How did that crash not kill him? I drained the brake fluid, but this bastard survived.] [Guess we need a new plan. Good thing I already swapped his meds. His body will give out on its own.] As I stare at the apple Keira offers, a knot tightens in my throat. The crash is no accident. Clenching my fists, I look up and smile at them. "Did I take my meds today?" They exchange a glance, and Keira nods tenderly. "Not yet. Let me feed you."

It was the holiday season and I was on my way home when the traffic on the highway came to a standstill. Suddenly, a Maybach came speeding down the emergency lane and slammed right into my car. The driver jumped out and started yelling, jabbing his finger in my face. “Are you blind?! Don’t you know cars turning should yield to those going straight?” I frowned. “My car broke down and this is where I’m supposed to be. You’re the one who broke the traffic laws, yet you’re blaming me for this?” “Traffic laws?” he scoffed, full of arrogance. “I’m the law in Jacksboro City. That Volkswagen piece of junk you’re driving is not even worth one of my Maybach’s tires!” Then he pulled out a baseball bat and smashed it down on my car. He even threatened to break my legs and demanded compensation. I sneered. “Sure, this may be a Volkswagen… but why don’t you take a closer look at the special clearance permit on the windshield?”