Mistress Awakening-Kurzgeschichten & -Kurzromane

To save money for a house, I had been living a frugal life with my boyfriend, Desmond Wood. When Desmond received a twenty-thousand-dollar bonus, he bought me a branded bag. I was delighted, but I felt that he did not need to spend so much on me. Hence, I brought the receipt and the bag to the shop for a refund. The shopkeeper told me that my bag was fake. However, the receipt was real.

My mother-in-law and I were trapped during an earthquake overseas. The rescue team knew that my husband had a private plane nearby and asked me to contact him, but I could only shake my head in rejection of the idea. In my last life, I tried my hardest to call him and get him to come save us. My mother-in-law and I were saved, but my husband’s true love got angry and went out to let off some steam. The incident ended with her being tortured to death. In front of his mother, my husband said that his lover deserved it. Yet, on the anniversary of her death, he killed me the way she had died. “I’ve always known that it was your scheme. You have to die as Shevonne did!” This time round, when my husband took his lover on a private plane to admire the cityscape at night, he found out everything that had happened and went mad.

At the last stop on our trip, my fiancee, Giselle Huberman, drives off while I'm busy taking pictures. I immediately call her, but she doesn't answer. I wander around the attraction, trying to find my way out, but I can't. Just as I start to panic, my best friend, Steven Rudd, posts an update on social media. "Big thanks to my best bro for the free ride, free vacation, and amazing photos!" The post features photos of Steven from the trip, all taken by Giselle. When I zoom in on the landmarks in the background, I realize they're already in the neighboring city. Giselle and I have been together for seven years, yet every date somehow turns into a group outing with Steven. Even our pre-wedding trip is no exception. Just then, a message from Giselle pops up on my phone. "I went to buy some water, and you wandered off to take pictures again? Hurry up and get in the car." I stare at the message for a few seconds before bursting out laughing. She still hasn't realized that I've been gone for five hours.

In the seventh year of our relationship, my boyfriend, Hunter Jenkin, seemed to have lost interest in everything. Desperate to figure out what still excited him, I bought a wristband that measured romantic excitement and fastened it around his wrist myself. When we watched a movie together, the wristband registered just 1 point. When we climbed a snow-covered mountain and kissed at the summit, the score was only 5. On his birthday, when I slipped a ring onto his finger, it rose to a mere 8. No matter what I did, I could never spark any real excitement in him. I was almost ready to give up, and I even suspected that the wristband was nothing more than an overpriced gimmick. Then, on the first night of Hunter’s business trip, my phone suddenly began vibrating nonstop. [Your partner’s romantic excitement score: 90.] I stared at the screen, stunned. By 1 a.m., the score had hit 100 and stayed there all night. I opened the location tracker, only to find an address so familiar that it sent a chill through me. It was the home of my best friend, Candace Lindhurst. Hunter had not lost his capacity for love. He had simply directed it all to someone else.

After remarrying Odette Fairbanks, Ezra Whitlock turns into the perfect husband, one who no longer checks up on her or gets jealous. He no longer wakes up early to make her a balanced breakfast, and he no longer shows up at the hospital right on time with a home-cooked lunch for her. Even when he finds a box of ultra-thin condoms on her passenger seat, he quietly puts it away for her and pretends he hasn't seen it. Odette, however, begins to panic and starts volunteering the very explanations she's always been too proud to give.

After dinner, I did what I usually did and went to the front desk to pay. The poor signal held me up for a while, and by the time I finally sorted everything out, my girlfriend and my best friend were nowhere to be seen. I called them more than a dozen times before they finally picked up. "You took too long, so we left without you. We're at the LEGO-building studio on the first floor. Come over." It was during holiday, so the mall was even more crowded than usual. I waited through two rounds of the elevator, but both were packed, so I had no choice but to take the escalator. By the time I reached the studio, there was not a single seat left. Nicole and my best friend were sitting side by side, talking about going to Northbridge University together. They were already mapping out the next ten years of their lives together, from graduate school to their PhDs—a grand plan for the future I had never been able to insert myself into. They had both already been admitted through the early scholars program back in May. I, on the other hand, had failed to do well on my college entrance exam and was still considering retaking it so I could catch up with them. When Nicole saw me standing awkwardly at the entrance, she said with exasperation, "You're always so slow. Just wait outside for now." I stared at the two of them from behind. For some reason, I suddenly felt unbearably tired. I had spent far too long trying to keep up with Nicole. This time, I was done chasing her.

On Thanksgiving, my partner, Julian Spencer, and I plan to head to my parents' home to discuss our wedding date. But he calls me while I'm waiting for him at the airport. "Penelope needs to bring a date back to her parents' for Thanksgiving. I'm going to go with her and pretend to be her boyfriend," he says on the other end of the line. "Oh, come on, Jennifer. You two are already legally married," Penelope Holt, his female best friend, chimes in. "The wedding can wait. What's the rush?" I'm wearing an ivory-colored dress I bought especially for the occasion. My two suitcases sit beside me, and I've been waiting at the airport for three whole hours. I feel like a complete joke. For three years, Penelope has always found a reason to "borrow" Julian from me. When I was hospitalized with severe gastric pain, she took him away for a hiking trip. During our anniversary, she asked him to help her fix some furniture. She even came up with five different reasons to pull him away when we tried to register our marriage. Every time, Julian says the same thing. "Penelope needs me more. I'll go to her first." In the end, we only managed to register our marriage on the fifth try because I insisted that he stay. A brief silence fills the phone. Then, Julian tells me, "Penelope and I grew up together. The relationship is entirely platonic. Don't overthink it." I slowly unclench my fist. "Okay," I say softly. "Go ahead." A message from my mother pops up on my phone. "Hey, Jen. Julian said he can't make it home for Thanksgiving this year. Are we still having the wedding?" I type out my reply. "Yes—but the groom is going to be someone else."

The day Ruth Frost and I meet each other's parents for the first time, my mother, Gladys Carey, ends up in the hospital after suffering a severe allergic reaction. I rush to the hotel's front desk and demand, "I told you repeatedly that there couldn't be any seafood in the food! How could this happen?" After checking the reservations, the staff member looks at me cautiously. "Mr. Goodman, Ms. Frost booked two tables with us today. For one table, she requested less onion, extra garlic, no cilantro, and mild spice. There were no dietary restrictions listed for the other table. We never received any instructions to leave out seafood sauce." I freeze as I look at the food order record the staff member hands me. The special instructions are written out in meticulous detail. "Mr. Knapp doesn't eat onions. Mrs. Knapp likes garlic. Marvin doesn't eat cilantro. Please make the dishes mildly spicy." Marvin Knapp is Ruth's childhood friend. She carefully notes every detail of the table she reserves for his family, as though she's terrified of getting even the smallest thing wrong. But for Mom's table, the special instructions section is completely blank. Before today's meeting, I message Ruth at least ten times, reminding her that Mom has a seafood allergy so severe it could kill her. Every single time, she replies, "I know. Don't worry." But she doesn't remember at all. Ruth forgets something that could cost Mom her life, yet she remembers every last detail of the Knapp family's food preferences. Thinking about the light glowing above the ER doors, I suddenly realize that the woman I've loved all these years has never really cared about me at all.

My husband's childhood sweetheart was always trying to take what was mine. After being reborn, I realized that no matter how hard I fought, I'd never beat her. Hence, I decided to put a price tag on every single thing she intended to take from me. She claimed she got carsick and insisted on sitting in the front passenger seat beside my husband whenever we went out. I simply stuck a payment QR code on the dashboard. "20,000 dollars a year. Renew at a 20% discount," I said flatly. She took a liking to my project proposal. My husband had barely knocked on my office door when I spoke without even looking up. "100,000 dollars. Once the money hits my account, I'll put her name on it." On my son's birthday, I set aside my work and rushed to his preschool to pick him up. Unexpectedly, he looked up at his teacher and said, "She's not my mom. I'm not going with her." Just as we reached a stalemate, that woman arrived late with the gift I'd prepared for my son. My son immediately ran over and wrapped his arms around her leg. "Look. She's my real mom!" My husband was about to explain when I held out my hand to my son, my expression completely blank. "One million dollars. I'll sign over my parental rights to her today."

The battery on my front door smart lock died, so I called a locksmith to come over. While he was working on the lock, he made small talk. "Dude, this lock comes with six spare keys. Did you lock all of them inside the apartment?" I froze. I've lived in this apartment for three years. My wife and I each have one spare key. The other three were always kept in the hallway drawer. That makes five total. So where's the sixth key?

I'd spent six months saving every penny for prenatal care, but the money vanished overnight. Panicking, I called my fiancé, only to see him on another woman's social media. The man's busy silhouette radiated excitement, with a luxury handbag sitting at the edge of the photo. The caption read: "Mr. Wellington is such a gentleman! Today's happiness starts with snagging the last designer bag at the boutique~" When I came out of surgery, my furious fiancé finally showed up. His first words were an accusation. "Can you stop treating me like I'm on a leash?" "My friend was feeling down, so I bought her a bag and kept her company. What's wrong with that? Why are you so petty!"

It was near the end of May when I got off my night shift and got a call from my younger self, right before the SAT. "Eight years from now, am I happy? Am I living abroad, or working at Collins Corporation? "Charlotte said I don't need the SAT. She's taking me overseas." He sounded excited, already planning to spend the next few days doing whatever he wanted. I looked down at the grease on my uniform. Behind me was a cramped factory dorm, a cramped room packed with 12 beds. "Charlotte's getting married today," I said. "But you're not the groom." He sucked in a breath. "That's impossible. She said she'd marry me." Last night, Charlotte Collins texted me. [Don't come tomorrow. You work at a factory. You'll embarrass me.] His voice caught. "Who is it? Do I know him?" I said calmly, "Open the math worksheet in your bag. Finish it, and I'll tell you who she's marrying."

It all started because my daughter, Joy Harrell, threw a tantrum wanting to go to the amusement park. On the way there, we got into an accident that left my wealthy husband, Brian Harrell, paralyzed in both legs, unable to ever stand again. As punishment, he slashes our daily allowance to a mere ten cents, and Joy and I are forced to survive by scavenging through trash and even fighting wild dogs for food. One day, dizzy with hunger, Joy eats some cookie crumbs that the family doctor, Aurora Bradley, drops on the floor. She does so out of sheer hunger and desperation. However, Brian immediately berates her for "stealing" and forces her to kneel outside in the pouring rain for ten hours before being allowed back inside the villa. Furious, I go to confront him, but instead I see his crippled legs standing tall, holding hands with Aurora as they waltz to the music. Brian's friend looks out the window and feels sorry for us, saying, "Look, Brian, your daughter's tantrum might have caused you to miss your last chance to see your first love ever again, but don't you think that you've already punished her and your wife long enough for that? "You even hired a stand-in to pose as a doctor in the house. Surely your anger has cooled off by now, right?" Brian scoffs and replies coldly, "They were thoughtless enough to ruin the seven-year pact I had with Dorothy. This punishment is nothing—in fact, it's way too light for them. "Don't you ever bring this up again. Only two more years of their punishment remain. Once it's over, I'll make it up to them properly." However, Brian doesn't know that I've been saving all of the good food I can ever get for Joy, and thus, I've developed terminal stomach cancer. In other words, I will never live to see the future. But I will also never let Joy stay by his side to suffer any longer.

When I catch my wife, Megan Fisher, cheating with my best friend, my severe depression drives me to the rooftop. My best friend, Alan Smith, is so remorseful that he slashes his face with a knife and leaves the country. To put me at ease, Megan puts a tracking device on herself and hands over her phone whenever she comes home. Whenever she leaves the house, even if it's just for five minutes, she will video call me to tell me where she is. That goes on until Megan becomes pregnant for the second time. While I set up Megan's prenatal records at the hospital, I receive a video call from myself—ten years in the future. The man on the screen looks as gaunt as a ghost, making my heart tremble. "Is my illness still not cured yet?" His eyes turn red, and he flips the camera around. In the frame, Megan is standing behind Alan. She is looking at him with eyes that hold suppressed devotion. "You asked me to be a good wife, so I did. But I'll never have his child! That's his punishment for ruining your face." "Megan, have you lost your mind?" Alan yells at her, but tears are streaming down his face. My face turns pale, and my future self lets out an unhinged laugh. "Go ask the nurse and see for yourself just how big a fool you are." Just as he finishes, the nurse says in confusion, "Mr. Sullivan, the system shows that you're single. You said your wife's name is Megan Fisher. She registered here last year, and her husband is listed as Alan Smith."

My girlfriend used to answer every call I made. Then her first love came back to town. Since then, she’d begun ignoring my calls. The first time, she rolled out a red carpet at the airport to welcome that man home. With cameras flashing around her, she glanced at my name on her phone and let it ring. The second time, she was throwing him a birthday party while I sat alone at the restaurant where we'd agreed to meet. I waited until the staff locked up for the night. And then came the hundredth call. Acute appendicitis had left me in so much pain I could barely stay conscious, but I managed to dial her number one last time. All I heard was the same automated message: "The number you dailed is busy now..." I later learned she'd been celebrating a major contract win with him at a restaurant overlooking the city. He even posted a picture of them together. "Thanks for making me your top priority," his caption read. Someone commented, "You two are practically a couple already. When are you making it official?" He replied with a blushing emoji. By the time she reached the hospital, my surgery was over. She smelled of another man's tobacco smoke. "Sorry. I couldn't get away from the business dinner," she told me. "You know he just moved back. He needs my help getting established. I promise it won't happen again." The anesthesia hadn't fully worn off, but somehow I managed a polite smile. "Okay," I said. Don't worry. There won't be a next time. Not for us.

On the day of our fifth anniversary, I got into a fight with my boyfriend, Tyrus Aberg. My best friend, Claire Dawson, sent me a screenshot. [Proxy Girlfriend: Thirty Days] Below it was Tyrus' reply. [Approved.] Every time we fought, Tyrus would deliberately have Claire act as his proxy girlfriend. He said I only dared to pick fights with him because I felt too secure in the relationship. He figured that as long as Claire got close to him and made me feel threatened, I would get jealous and tearfully beg him to reconcile. Three years ago, after one argument, he and Claire changed to matching couple profile pictures. "You've got one day to think it over. She'll be my proxy girlfriend for now. I'll only reconcile with you when you apologize." One day turned into three days. What started as switching profile pictures escalated into dates, hand-holding, and hugging. The last time I refused to cave for a whole week, he moved in with Claire. Claire spent the night wearing his shirt and showed up to parties with him as his girlfriend. He said, "You'll only feel jealous when Claire becomes my proxy girlfriend. "She's your best friend. No matter how close she and I get, it doesn't count as cheating." After this fight, he extended Claire's stint as his proxy girlfriend to a full month. A video call came in right after. "Lay-lay, it's your fifth anniversary today. "If you don't apologize soon, I'll be the one going home with Tyrus to meet his parents this Thanksgiving." On the other end, friends started laughing and counting down. They were all waiting for me to get jealous, cry, and beg Tyrus to reconcile, just like always. But I just left the three-person "Proxy Girlfriend" group chat. [A month is too short.] [Make it permanent this time.]

Marissa Caldwell marries me to save the man she truly loves, Damian Davenhurst. For five years, she never once treats me like her husband. To her friends, I'm nothing more than a fool who comes running whenever she calls and disappears whenever she tells me to leave. "Cyrus Halden, you're basically her lapdog. She calls, you come running. She tells you to leave, and you leave." Whenever they laugh at me like that, Marissa simply smiles and says nothing. Once, when I'm burning up with a fever that won't break, she leaves the country with Damian just to escape her mother's constant nagging. Another time, I drink until I'm vomiting blood from a stomach ulcer during a business dinner while Marissa is upstairs in a presidential suite with him. I endure it all, convincing myself that if I love her enough, one day she'll finally see me as her husband. Then Damian and I are kidnapped on the same day. When she's forced to choose between us, she doesn't hesitate. She abandons me. That is when I finally wake up from my delusion. After five years of loving a woman who has never loved me back, I decide I'm done. I will leave her for good. But the moment she realizes I'm serious, Marissa regrets everything. She grabs my hand, her voice breaking as she begs, "Cyrus, please don't leave me. I'll go crazy without you." I slowly pull my hand from hers. "I can't do this anymore."

"Ryder, are you seriously leaving Mona behind and moving abroad?" In the quiet café, Ryder Kane set down his spoon and look at his best friend, Harry Crain, who's staring at him in disbelief. "Mona and I are already divorced." "Divorced?" Harry looks stunned. Then his expression turns angry. "And she actually agreed to it? You've treated her so well these past three years! Even a rock would've warmed up to you by now. Does she seriously have no feelings for you at all?" Ryder give Harry a faint smile, though the truth is, he's not even sure Mona Brent realizes what she's agreed to. Two weeks ago, Ryder handed Mona the divorce papers. She signed them while taking a phone call, barely listening to him before rushing off. She hasn't mentioned them since. In another two weeks, the divorce will be finalized, and he'll finally be free. Just as he's about to answer Harry, a woman's gentle voice comes from behind them.

Neil Waller had a strange way of handling every fight between us. He called it a reconciliation mystery box. Whenever we argued, he would block me for three days. Then, as if nothing had happened, a link would suddenly appear on my phone. His message usually went something like this: "Open it. If you get 'Better Luck Next Time,' leave me alone. If you get a reconciliation coupon, maybe I'll forgive you." For years, I played along. The punishments changed every time. Sometimes, I had to put up with another week of being ignored. Sometimes, Neil made me apologize in front of other people. Once, I opened the mystery box while he was having dinner with another woman, only for him to casually tell me we could talk after he was finished. The sixth time I finally drew a reconciliation coupon, Neil wrapped his arms around me and gave me that relaxed, self-assured smile I knew so well. "See, Gabriella? No matter how unlucky you are, you still come back to me in the end." At the time, I told myself his indifference was only an act. I believed that somewhere beneath his arrogance and careless attitude, Neil still loved me. Then I discovered the mystery box he had made for the new intern, Shelley Vaughn. Hers had only one outcome: Neil's unconditional favor, and her chance of getting it was one hundred percent. One day, Shelley accidentally knocked over my coffee. Before I could even react, Neil immediately went to comfort her. The coffee had spilled across the back of my hand, leaving my skin red and stinging, yet Neil frowned. "You're not a little girl anymore. Do you really need someone to comfort you over every small thing?" That night, another mystery box appeared on my phone. It was the seventh one. Neil had left a message underneath it. 'Open it. If you get the Reconciliation Coupon, come back.' I stared at those words for a long time. This time, I did something different. I never opened the box. I blocked Neil instead. On the seventh round, I finally stopped waiting for him to choose me. For once, I chose myself.

On Christmas Day, Dad shows up at my wife Sophia Walker's law firm, covered in snow. Clutching a crumpled land purchase contract, he stands awkwardly in front of her desk for a long time before finally gathering the courage to speak. "Sophia, I got scammed out of 30 thousand dollars in retirement savings when I bought a plot of land to be buried in. You're a lawyer. Could you take a look at the contract and see if there's any way I can get my money back?" Sophia specializes in contract disputes, but she doesn't even bother to glance at the document. Instead, she sweeps it off her desk and onto the floor. "You came to me over a 30-thousand-dollar scam involving a burial plot? I have actual clients waiting. I can't waste billable hours on this." Dad flinches at her words and hurriedly bends down to pick up the contract, apologizing over and over. "I'm sorry. I really didn't mean to bother you. I won't take up any more of your time. I'll figure something out myself." My heart aches at the sight. Then my gaze falls on the case files scattered across Sophia's desk. Right on top is a legal brief arguing for an acquittal in Ethan Cole's aggravated assault case. Ethan is her childhood sweetheart. He's gotten into a bar fight and broken three of a woman's ribs. Despite the overwhelming evidence against him, Sophia has spent the entire night poring over legal statutes and drafting more than 30 pages of arguments in an attempt to get him acquitted. Yet when it comes to her father-in-law, she can't even be bothered to look at his contract. I watch Dad shuffle toward the door, his back hunched and his shoulders slumped. Taking a deep breath, I slowly slide the wedding ring off my left ring finger and place it on the corner of Sophia's desk.