Male POV Regret の短編小説 & 小説

My car broke down on the road, so I took off my jacket, popped the hood, and started checking the problem right there at the curb. A brand new convertible swung in and stopped in front of me, close enough to make a point. My ex-wife Sarah got out on the arm of a man in a tailored suit, one hand clamped over her nose in disgust. "Leo, all these years since the divorce and you're still a bottom-rung mechanic who reeks of motor oil." I wiped the grease off my hands. I could not be bothered to explain that this limited-edition supercar was one I had picked up brand new. When I stayed quiet, Sarah shoved a screenshot of her trading profits in my face. "See that? David got me into a tech stock. One day of gains beats everything you'll make fixing cars in a lifetime!" David Ashford looked down at me, his voice thick with contempt. "Sarah, what's the point of talking investing with a mechanic? He can't even read a price chart. "A mystery fund is buying this stock in batches. I'm already in at four-to-one leverage. I'm about to be set for life." Sarah laughed and threw a few bills onto my open hood. "Here's a tip. Buy yourself a decent coffee and stop cluttering up the view." I looked at the scattered bills, then at the ticker symbol on the screenshot. I knew that one well, and I smiled. That tech company's rally was nothing but a bull trap staged by a fund looking for cover while it unloaded its shares. Anyone still in it would be wiped out. I took out my phone and calmly sent a message to my trader. "We're up thirty percent. Sell it all."

In the third year I've decided to support my girlfriend, Iris Fulton, by opening a flower shop, she has gone into bankruptcy once again. The first time she went bankrupt, I sold the house my grandma had left for me so that I could clear the debt of 700 thousand dollars. The second time she went bankrupt, I was able to locate the bank passbook Mom had left for me as a wedding gift. That was how I paid back one million and six hundred thousand dollars. The third time Iris has gone bankrupt, however, I can only grip the note with my filthy rich dad's phone number while staring at her lost and dazed expression. At that time, I'm debating whether or not I should call him. But that night, I accidentally notice the chat history on Iris' group chat that's displayed on her tablet. "Hey Iris, how many figures are you going to fill into the sum of the bankruptcy contract that's supposed to be cleared this time?" "Let's put ten million dollars. Otherwise, that flower-selling plaything will be able to clear the debt in one go. It'll make things very boring." "As expected of you, Iris! I heard that the plaything waters flowers in the morning and waters your 'flower garden' at night. You're never tired of him, are you?" I put down Iris' tablet before calling my dad right away. "You want me to take over the family business and marry your student, right? Fine, I'll do it. Get your men to pick me up in three days."

My wife had just returned from a business trip to a high-risk dengue fever zone and was required to undergo a mandatory seven-day quarantine. I spent the entire night packing her clothes and personal belongings, rushing to deliver them to her designated quarantine hotel. The front desk staff checked the registration list three times before looking up at me. “Sir, your wife, Stella, isn’t on this list. She never registered for quarantine.” I froze. Just as I was about to dial her number, out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of a black Maybach pulling up in front of a hotel across the street. Stella stepped out, walked around to the passenger side, took a young man’s hand, and leaned in to kiss him the moment he got out. The young man pushed her away with a laugh, but she pulled him closer, deepening the kiss. That boy was Finn, the boy Stella had raised. He was also the very person she had sent abroad three years ago, swearing she would never see him again. I stood rooted to the spot, my blood running cold. Suddenly, my phone vibrated in my hand. It was a text from Stella, with a photo of a plush hotel bed attached. [Wait for me to come home, baby.] Home? What home would we have now?

As the year’s end approached, the city of Portlas’ high society joked that there was no need to worship Lady Fortuna. They only had to worship me instead. That was because, after our remarriage, I became the most materialistic husband in all of Portlas. I no longer cared how much Lana Gable doted on that man. Even when my daughter called him “Daddy,” I turned a blind eye. There was just one new rule in the house. Every time they mentioned Eliot Speke’s name, they had to give me one hundred thousand dollars. Thanks to that, I saved up thirty million dollars in less than two weeks. On our wedding anniversary, Lana and my daughter mentioned Eliot once again. The two of them looked stiff, while I simply held out my hand with practiced ease. “One hundred thousand dollars. Transfer it to my account.” My daughter finally could not hold back any longer and looked at me with utter contempt. “Daddy, you’re so vulgar. Is money the only thing on your mind? You’d even demand money for such a trivial matter. You can’t even compare to a speck of dust on Uncle Speke’s shoes.” I did not argue. I simply held out my hand to my daughter as well. “One hundred thousand dollars. Since you brought it up first, you have to pay too.”

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.

After being out of contact for a month, my wife finally remembered me. 'Mason's still one song short. Bring me that score of yours.' But this time, she never received a reply from me again. Mason tried to persuade her carefully. "Vega, forget it. Maybe I'm just not meant for this award. Don't fall out with Blaine because of me." Vega reassured him that I was only sulking. Then she went home, found my score, and handed it to Mason, thinking she could explain everything to me once I came back. But she never got the chance. I had been by her side the whole time—she just could not see me anymore.

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?”

Because of her first love's piano competition, my fiancee, Ashley Blake, postpones our wedding for the 17th time seven years into our relationship. On the eve of the competition, she chops off my ring finger just because Marc Tyson claims I injured his hand and ruined his ability to compete. The pain of losing my finger leaves me crying in agony, but she simply holds him in her arms and stares me down with indifferent eyes. She says, "Stop pretending, Troy Clinton. You're a grown man. What's all this fuss over losing a finger? Besides, you merely lost one finger. Marc has lost the dream he spent his whole life chasing! This is what you owe him." Her cruel words shatter my heart into tiny pieces. She has forgotten that my fingers are also meant to dance across piano keys. "The wedding next week is postponed," she says dismissively while covering Marc's reddened fingers. She adds, "This has nothing to do with Marc. It's simply because you can't wear a wedding ring with a missing finger anyway." Clutching my bleeding hand, I finally wake up to reality. From this moment onwards, we owe each other nothing.

My dad is a rich scion who has been kidnapped to a compound. He keeps telling me that he'll escape with me since I was a little kid. When I was six years old, Dad made all the preparations to escape. He planned on leaving the compound with me. But I didn't hesitate to expose Dad's plans to my grandma just for a piece of bread. While I munched on the bread happily, Dad got strung up on a tree and whipped mercilessly by others. He glared at me resentfully while screaming at me for being a bastard. Hearing his cursing made me sad. I couldn't understand why Dad wanted to leave this home. Three days later, Dad killed himself by smashing his head against a boulder. After Mom got drunk, she accidentally beat me to death. As I felt my life slipping away, I finally understood what Dad meant. When I open my eyes again, I've returned to the day Dad wants to escape. But I choose to expose his plans to Grandma once again.

I poured my heart and soul into securing a big deal for my wife's law firm. But when I stepped out for a quick coffee break, she fired me on the spot, claiming I'd gone AWOL for too long. "New company rule: ten minutes away from your desk, and you're out. You were gone for ten minutes and five seconds. Now grab your stuff and leave." I sneered and flipped the script, turning over proof of her siphoning funds to buy her intern boy a Maybach to the police. She thought she could burn bridges with me, but this bridge didn't crumble so easily.

On the day of the court hearing, the judge went through the routine questioning: “You’ve only been married for three years. Has the marriage truly broken down irretrievably?” I bit my lip with a bitter smile, slipped off my wedding ring, and placed it on the table. “In our three years of marriage, we’ve lived apart for every single day. “Your Honor, do you really think there’s any love left between us?” Throughout our five years of dating, I was the one pinned at the top of her chat list. I was her emergency contact. I was even the sole beneficiary of her insurance policy. I thought I had found the right person—the love of my life. But on our wedding day, she took a phone call, and her face turned deathly pale. When I asked what was wrong, she claimed her mother was gravely ill. Dropping everything, she bought a ticket and flew back to her hometown that very day. For the next three years, she sent me daily photos of her meals, yet her mother was never in a single picture. My heart ached for her, so I offered to quit my job and move there to help care for her mother. But she declined gently, saying she couldn’t bear to let me suffer. It wasn’t until a month ago that I stumbled upon a viral vlog channel of a cancer patient. There she was—Amelia Rose Whitmore—appearing right in Austin Carter’s videos, accompanied by a heartwarming caption: “She’s there when I wake up. “She’s there for every meal. “She’s the one whose hand I hold so tightly.” What about me then? For 1,095 days and nights, I had no one but myself. She lied to me. The judge struck the gavel and asked one final question: “Have you truly made up your mind?” I gave a firm, heavy nod. When the official divorce decree was handed down, I stared at the paper as tears finally came streaming down my face. Goodbye, Amelia. I’m setting you free. And I’m setting myself free, too.

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."

"Sir, the divorce agreement from the safe." On their fifth wedding anniversary, in a dimly-lit restaurant, Xavier Hampton's secretary placed the divorce papers in front of him. Five years ago, on the day Elizabeth Eaton and he registered their marriage— She had loved him deeply. So deeply that she had prepared the divorce agreement in advance, signed her name, and locked it away in the safe. If she ever betrayed him, all he had to do was sign. Xavier picked up the pen and swiftly signed his name. Across from him, the empty seat seemed heavier than any presence. His gaze dimmed. "Send the divorce papers to Attorney Harvey," he said, his voice calm, almost detached. "Then book a hotel and have the wedding venue set up in advance." The secretary hesitated for a moment before carefully asking, "Whose names should I write as the bride and groom?" "Elizabeth Eaton and Connor Walker."

After getting trapped in a malfunctioning elevator with two classmates, my classmate Sheldon couldn't resist running his mouth. He pressed the emergency call button and said, "Sir, you fell for it! We were just pressing it for fun!" "Brats!" The security guard cursed and slammed the phone down. Harvey and I wanted to beat Sheldon up on the spot. Sheldon, however, looked completely unconcerned. "Just press it again." When the call connected again, Sheldon grabbed the chance to speak first. "Hahaha! Sir, it's us again! Why do you keep falling for it?" The security guard lost his temper. "You bunch of kids–" I quickly cut him off. "Sir, don't hang up! The elevator really is malfunctioning! We're trapped inside!" Sheldon, however, clicked his tongue and sighed. "Jason, you're even better at acting than I am." The call disconnected again. Harvey and I were so furious our jaws were clenched tight. Meanwhile, the temperature inside the enclosed elevator kept rising. Harvey's asthma suddenly flared up, but he had left his inhaler behind. I could only dial the number again like a madman before desperately trying to explain. "Sir, my classmate is having an asthma attack! He's barely breathing! Please, you have to believe me this time!" The security guard replied coldly, "Are you kids ever going to stop? I've encountered plenty of pranks like this. Don't abuse public resources and interfere with me doing my job!" The call was hung up again. I watched as Harvey's face turned blue, and his breathing grew weaker and weaker. I completely panicked.

After being released from my three-year sentence, Zoe Sanders finally found me in an underground fight club. The moment she saw me, she grabbed me by the collar and punched me across the face, her eyes burning red with fury. "Henry Goldman, who gave you the nerve to disappear like this? "And what the hell have you done to yourself?" I wiped the blood from the corner of my mouth and laughed carelessly. "One punch, one hundred thousand. "If you’re still angry, feel free to keep going. I could use the money for this year’s rent." Her fists trembled uncontrollably, but her voice softened. "Come home with me... apologize to Ronald Green. "He’s always been kind-hearted. He already forgave you for framing him." Her gaze swept over the scars covering my body, something unreadable flickering in her eyes. "Look at yourself. Covered in blood like this... what’s the difference between you and a stray dog digging through garbage?" My body stiffened. Then I turned and walked away. What she did not know was this: In prison, blood and violence were the only ways I learned to survive. "Don’t forget," she shouted after me, "I’m still your fiancée!" My footsteps stopped. How could I forget? Three years ago, on the night of our engagement, Ronald drugged me and sent me to a black-market auction. I was stripped of all dignity and sold like merchandise. That night, I became the laughingstock of the entire city. And the person who signed the papers that sold me… was my fiancée herself.

At the Halloween Carnival, my younger brother and I got separated. Not long after, the headless body of a teenage boy was found in an alley. My father was consumed with rage—he blamed me entirely. He locked me in the chapel and forced me to chant prayers and light candles for my brother's soul for eighty-one days and nights. After that, he had me sold to a brothel in the city's red-light district, so I could spend the rest of my life atoning for my brother. He instructed the brothel manager there to give me only the most depraved clients—and to make sure I was left barely breathing. The brothel manager, paid to follow orders, assigned me to women with twisted tastes. Night after night, I was tormented. When I came down with consumption, I was denied any care. The hands I'd once used to turn pages—the hands of a scholar—were deliberately broken, crushing whatever hope I had left for the future. Eventually, one client went too far, and I died on the bed. The brothel manager had my body rolled up in a straw mat and dumped in a mass grave outside town. A year later, on New Year's Eve, my brother came back.

All I did is ask my dad why not send the fake heir, Ryland Jones, back to his actual home. In return, Dad forcibly sends me to an institution, where I go through the AI Obedience Conditioning program. Since then, I become the most obedient son Dad ever has. I will carry out all orders that he gives me. One day, I secretly stalk Dad and Ryland to a banquet. That's where I hear Dad chatting with his friends. "I was left without a choice. The moment Callum got home, he began targeting Ryland simply because Ryland isn't related to us by blood. "That's why I can only send him to the program and condition him into an obedient son. I'm doing this for his own good." At that moment, Dad's controller begins vibrating. It signifies that I'm not home right now. His expression changes drastically. Then, he punches in the order with his fingers. "Go home right now and get down on your knees!" I lose total control of my body and begin bolting for the streets. On the way home, I get hit by a speeding car, but I still scramble up to my feet and continue running. At the same time, I keep muttering, "I'm sorry, Dad. I'm going home right now to carry out my punishment." By the time Dad reaches home, he sees me kneeling in a corner with my head bowed. His lips curl into a satisfied smirk. What he doesn't know is that my heart has already stopped beating. Even my body is ice-cold to the touch.

No one knows that Ingrid Steele, the CEO who's currently talking about how her company bans office romances on the podium, has begged me to do it with her eight times in a row last night. Her secretary leans in and murmurs into my ear, "I heard that our cold and aloof CEO has plans to reveal her husband's identity recently. Rumors say that she even plans on throwing him an extremely grand wedding just to make it up to him." Warmth floods my heart at that moment. It's then I decide to make the great news of me winning a billion dollars in the lottery a wedding gift for Ingrid. Our daughter, Gaby Newman, no longer has to hide anymore in life. The three of us can publicly spend time together as a family now! The next day, I put on the suit that Ingrid has given me eight years ago. Then, I enter the wedding venue. As soon as I open the door, I see Ingrid leading her first love, Hank Conley, up the stage. After they exchange rings with each other, they share a sweet kiss in front of everyone in a tight embrace. In the end, Ingrid tosses her wedding bouquet at the guests. Coincidentally, it lands right in my hands. Someone next to me gives me a light shove. "What are you waiting for? Give them your blessings already!" I just clap for the newlyweds while walking toward them. "Congratulations, you two! I hope that you can live happily ever after and that you'll have a bundle of joy soon! No, make it 108 babies, how about that?" As soon as my words fall, I turn on my heel and stride away. As expected, Ingrid doesn't chase after me. She doesn't even bother calling me nor explaining everything to me.

My wife, a doctor, treated our daughter like a walking blood bank. When our daughter passed away, she took it even further. She transplanted her corneas into her old flame’s son. Before our daughter’s body was even cold, she was out having dinner with her ex and his son. They were celebrating that the boy could see again. She even went so far as to secretly burn our daughter’s body to get rid of any evidence. By the time I got there, all I saw was my daughter's ashes being swallowed up by the flames. I told her I wanted a divorce. She just sneered, “It’s only a daughter. Are you really going to divorce me over this?” But later, she was down on her knees, begging me not to leave her.

I ignored my friends and family’s objections and insisted on pursuing my now-girlfriend, who was disfigured in a car crash when she tried to save her first love. Some laughed at me for being a back-up plan, but I didn’t care. I worked day and night, earning money for her plastic surgery, and stayed by her side as she walked out of depression. But on the eve of our wedding day, as I was doing her laundry, a marriage certificate dropped out of her pants pocket. The groom was her first love. I was about to make things clear with her when I overheard her conversation with her best friend. “I know Steve saved me, but if Yves doesn’t marry me, he’ll be forced into a marriage alliance. I don’t want to see him lose his freedom. “As for Steve, I’ll find someone to forge a certificate for me. Don’t blurt this out, okay…” I felt my blood then grow cold as I quietly changed the groom of our wedding three days later to her first love. By the time she found out about the surprise, I would have left for abroad, never to return.