Cerita Pendek & Novel Mistress Feel-Good Story

Thanks to the paparazzi sneakily taking a photo of Caitlin Randall in her swimwear, she's been rated as the most perfect woman in Lunbury for seven years in a row. Countless men who wish to bed her can line up to the moon and back. The thing is, everyone knows that Caitlin only favors me, the deaf man who stays by her side all the time. When I was 18, I blew out my eardrums when I was saving Caitlin from danger. Since then, I can no longer hear the sounds and voices coming from the external world. Whenever we're passionately entangled with each other in bed, Caitlin will always kiss my ears with red-rimmed eyes. But I can never hear what she tells me every time. That is, until the night of Caitlin's birthday, when she blindfolds me and tells me that she wants to play a game. That's when I can finally hear her voice. "Let's play something spicy, Terry." Caitlin ties me up and convinces me to drink some alcohol. When the lashing heat pooling in my gut threatens to break me down, I'm so close to telling the truth to Caitlin—that my hearing is restored. "Ms. Randall, the people and the tools are ready. Are you sure you want to do this to Mr. Boyer?" When I hear the robotic voice coming from Caitlin's earpiece, I freeze up immediately. But at that moment, she has already injected me with a dose of sedatives. "Be a good boy, Terry. Everything will still be fine when you're asleep."

My son just had surgery. I'm sitting by his bedside in the hospital when I come across a post online. "What's the worst thing you've ever done?" One anonymous comment stands out. "I used the upperclassman who funded me as a stepping stone. My sponsor was rich but clueless. After she paid for my entire college, I slept with her husband and got pregnant. "The craziest part? My son and her son were born on the same day, but my husband swapped the babies. Now, she treats my son like he's her whole world, working day and night to give him a better life. "But her own son lives with me, wearing hand-me-downs and eating leftovers. Today, my son had surgery. I was worried sick, so I slapped her son hard a few times. "Oh, and her family just got a three-million-dollar payout for relocation. My husband is going to the hospital later. He's going to use the excuse of buying a house near the schools to get the money. "Once we have the money, I'm buying a villa. Then I'll get my son back and kick her out!" The post includes a blurry photo of a boy begging on his knees. My breath catches because the charm on his wrist is the same lucky charm I gave my son the day he was born. Just then, my husband pushes open the door to the ward and walks in. "Honey, Sean's starting elementary school soon. Let's use that relocation money your mom received to buy a house near the schools."

Throughout our seven-year marriage, my CEO wife, Ruby Irving, goes on yet another business trip on Memorial Day once again, so she can't travel back to my hometown with me. But soon, I saw the photos uploaded by her assistant, Wilbur Stork, on his social media feed that featured her sweeping the grave in his hometown instead. The caption writes, "Mom and Dad must be very satisfied with their daughter-in-law because the gloomy weather has cleared up in an instant." I chortle in amusement for a brief moment before liking the post calmly. Then, I comment, "I respect your relationship and wish you nothing but happiness." But my colleagues all go nuts over the latest bombshell. They are quick to form their chat groups and speculate as to how I'm going to cause my next ruckus in the company this time. Ruby soon calls me while sounding very stern. "I know Wilbur does things very brashly due to his young age, but you shouldn't have caused him trouble in the comment section! What will everyone else in the company think of him? How is Wilbur supposed to continue working in this company? "Moreover, Wilbur doesn't have anyone left in his family. What's wrong with me keeping him company just this once? People with happy families like you don't have empathy for others at all! "I want you to delete your comment and remove your like right now. Once the holidays are over, I'll free up some time in my schedule to go back to your hometown with you." As I listen to Ruby making yet another empty promise to me in such a casual way, I let out a soft chuckle. "It's fine." Once the holidays are over, we'll be able to obtain our divorce certificates.

Nicholas Jordan, my fiance, throws a bachelor party three days before our wedding. It is then that his best friend, Clara Gunter, rushes over in a panic, yelling, "You can't marry her, Nicholas!" The people around Nicholas look completely confused. Clara gasps for air before snatching Nicholas' glass and downing its contents. "You said your fiancee has a mysterious background, but I asked my uncle to look into her, and I found out she's a gold digger who cons people into marriage! She has been married thrice and has slept with three other people. "You'd better not behave like a fool and take responsibility for someone else's discarded baggage, Nicholas!" Nicholas' expression shifts for a split second, but he still tries to defend me. "There are so many people with the same name, so it's definitely not my Lillian!" Clara pulls him close against her chest and asks coldly, "Has she brainwashed you? There are only two people by the name of Lillian Naughton around here—one is a gold digger, and the other is the billionaire heiress of the Naughton family. "Do you really think your freeloading fiancee could possibly be the latter one?" I merely sneer at Clara's false accusations. From this moment on, nobody from Gunter Group is ever setting foot inside any retail counter owned by Naughton Group.

The day after my wife, Evie Sandoval, jumps into the river and commits suicide, her family, the Sandovals, hold a funeral for her. Upon hearing the news, I put on a bespoke suit and a red glittery tie, attending the funeral in full regalia. However, the moment I step inside, her parents begin hurling insults at me. "How dare you show your face, Michael Chandler! You murderer!" "If it hadn't been for you abusing her all these years, Evie would never have jumped into that river!" I simply smile at them and calmly pull out a Bluetooth speaker from my bag before blasting some disco music. "Come on, everyone! Shake your booty to the music with me!"

My girlfriend told me she'd been bonded to a System. It let her see a Demand Index for how much everyone around her needed her. At first, her eyes had gone red with tears. "Your number's only thirty. Does that mean you don't love me?" "Not needing you doesn't mean I don't love you," I told her. After that, she started holding an umbrella for her male assistant on rainy days and driving out of her way to take him home. When I asked why, she brushed it off. "Don't overthink it. His number was just high, so I figured he needed the help." Then I came down with a fever and took to my bed, and she chose to go shopping with him instead. "Your number's low, but his side is more urgent. Let me finish helping him first, then I'll come look after you." She shut the door behind her. I closed my eyes for a moment, then picked up my phone. "Mom, I'm coming home alone this New Year."

My husband, Harrison Knight, was a workaholic. When stomach pain landed me in the hospital, he had his assistant send me medication. When my mother underwent surgery, he was abroad negotiating an acquisition. In seven years of marriage, he'd missed three of my birthdays and five of our anniversaries. He always said, "The company's still getting off the ground. I can't afford to slow down." I understood. Years ago, his first love, Celeste Foster, had left him because he was poor. Afterward, he'd sworn he would make something of himself. He went on business trips, had late nights, and worked himself to the bone. For seven years, Harrison had pushed himself relentlessly, going from a penniless nobody to a CEO everyone looked up to. I'd grown used to him always being in a rush. I'd grown used to work coming before everything else. Until the day I returned from negotiating a billion-dollar deal and saw Celeste's latest post. In the photo, Harrison stood outside the airport terminal. He'd canceled his three o'clock board meeting to pick her up himself. He was even bent down in front of her, tying her loose shoelace. Her caption read: [After all these years, you're still the best.] I stared at the photo for a long time. Then suddenly, I almost laughed. So it wasn't that Harrison couldn't slow down. He just wouldn't do it for me. That night, he called. "Celeste just got back. I'm not coming home tonight. Don't read anything into it. She's just an old friend." "Okay," I said quietly. Then I opened my laptop and messaged my attorney: [Send me the divorce papers tonight.] If he could stop for an old love, then it was time I stopped too. After seven years of running myself ragged for him, I was done.

The first time I found out that Jessica Blake was cheating on me was in our own bedroom. I was young and hot-headed, and I wanted a divorce on the spot. She cried and said she'd gotten drunk and mistaken the guy for me. She fell to her knees, begging me to forgive her. "If you divorce me, I'll jump from this window right now." That one line softened my heart for the next five years. During those years, she was gentle and caring, as if that night had never happened. Everyone could see it—Jessica loved me so much she was willing to die for me. But then came her mother's 60th birthday party. Out of nowhere, my mother-in-law, Linda, asked her, "Jess, where's my grandson? Why didn't he come?" I was confused. I thought she was just having a moment, so I smiled and said, "Mom, you forgot—Jess's due date is still two months away." Linda glanced at me calmly and murmured, "Oh… so you still don't know." My heart sank. I looked over at Jessica instinctively. She quietly put down her fork, as if she were talking about something as ordinary as the weather. "Actually, I have a son. He's five years old."

As part of a deal with my husband, Shane Ford, I went undercover and spent a week interning at his company. On my very first day, I walked into the lobby and found a woman waving a certified copy of a marriage certificate in the receptionist’s face like she owned the place. “Do you understand what this proves?” she demanded. “I’m Shane Ford’s wife. The one and only Mrs. Ford.” She looked the receptionist up and down. “Why are you slouching? Stand up straight. And when I’m speaking to you, show some respect. Keep your head down until Mr. Ford gets here.” Then she turned her attention to the company cafeteria. “You actually expect people to eat that food? I’ll have a Michelin-starred chef brought in to redo the entire menu.” I was about to step in when the coworker beside me grabbed my arm. “Don’t. She’s Mr. Ford’s first love. I heard he proposed 100 times before she finally said yes.” She nodded toward the marriage certificate and lowered her voice. “If you offend Mr. Ford, you’ll probably just get fired. But if you offend Mrs. Ford, you could disappear without a trace.” I nearly laughed. I pulled out my phone and called my brother. “Tell Shane to come down here, and have him bring divorce papers.” I checked the time. “I want him on his knees begging me within five minutes.”

By the time my prenatal appointment is over, my legs are barely holding me up. I drag myself out of the hospital and text my husband, Ethan Mercer. "I've been at the hospital all day. I'm exhausted." It takes him half an hour to reply. "What's that supposed to mean? You want me to reimburse you for the appointment?" I stare at the message, unable to process it. Ethan's first love, Chloe Hart, walked out on him when he had nothing. She took every cent he'd saved and married a wealthy man instead. Ever since then, Ethan has despised women who care about money. So, for six years, I've gone out of my way to prove I'm nothing like her. We split everything equally. Dinner. Rent. The down payment on our house. Even after I got pregnant, I never asked Ethan to pay a cent toward my prenatal care. Then, I see Chloe's latest post. She's showing off a fresh manicure, along with screenshots of her conversation with Ethan. "Pick your favorite diamond." "Want naming rights? Better send me a nice big gift. Five figures minimum!" Below it is Ethan's transfer of 3,000,000 dollars. His teasing reply read, "If you hadn't left me six years ago, would you really have to ask me for pocket change like this now?" That's when it finally hits me. Ethan doesn't hate women who act spoiled. He doesn't even hate women spending his money. He just hates it when that woman is me. I slip my medical report into my bag and text my attorney. "Please draw up the divorce papers." Our relationship has been about splitting the bill since our very first date. It's time to settle the final account.

To celebrate his female student's birthday, my professor husband brought a group of people into my laboratory without permission. By the time I rushed there, birthday candles had been stuck into my culture dishes, and my research notes were smeared with cake frosting. The only pathogen sample in existence had already been knocked onto the floor. I tried to save it, but Zack Fenton stopped me. "Clean it up later. Let Cheryl make her wish first." Shaking with rage, I pointed at the wrecked laboratory. "Do you even know what that sample was?" He casually lit the birthday candles and barely glanced at the mess. "Wasn't it just the sample for your father's treatment? Your dad's already so old. Who knows if he'll even live long enough for you to succeed? Might as well let Cheryl enjoy her birthday first." Watching him carefully shield Cheryl Smith as she leaned forward to blow out the candles, I suddenly laughed. What he did not know was this: The medicine for my father had already been successfully developed last month. The sample destroyed on the floor was the only one capable of treating Zack's rare disease.

During a round of truth or dare, my boss, Victoria Hale, leaned in and kissed my husband, Ethan Graves. As just another junior employee, I didn’t even have the chance to call her out in front of everyone. Instead, I slipped away to the restroom and asked Ethan for a divorce. He brushed it off as if I were only sulking. "Don’t take it so seriously. She’s just had too much to drink. In the corporate world, you have to entertain, play along for the sake of the project." However, in the very next round, when Victoria was dared to kiss someone else, Ethan flipped the table in front of everyone. "Touch her, and see what happens."

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

I'm the most overlooked Omega in the pack, yet I somehow end up as Alpha Blake Cartman's fated mate. Because of my low status, he never allows me to appear at any events we're supposed to attend together. I plan 18 grand events for him, and he doesn't even let me show up for our anniversary. Then comes the 19th time, when he finally agrees to let me attend. I'm over the moon. I get dressed up, ready for the night, only to see Wendy Lowe—another Omega—already standing by his side. They stand there arm in arm, looking deeply in love, while the memory video I've worked so hard to put together has been replaced with clips of the two of them acting all sweet with each other. With his arm around Wendy, Blake looks at me with nothing but disgust. "My Luna needs the pack's full approval," he says. "You were never officially acknowledged as Luna anyway. Wendy earned their acceptance long before you. Starting today, she's taking your place." Everyone who knows me in the pack is watching, waiting for me to break down and lose it. But I don't scream or cry. I'm not even angry. In fact, I feel like I can finally breathe now. Because in just three days, the three-year mating contract between me and Blake will officially come to an end.

I’d just set sail to escort the cargo to the border when a Category 8 typhoon warning suddenly blared. I steer the ship back in the direction of the harbor, only to realize that the ship has run out of fuel. The distress beacon has been dismantled, too. Immediately, I pick up the radio and call the maritime rescuers for help. As soon as the call gets connected, I hear my wife, Melanie Watkins' mocking laughter instead. "I've already rewired the emergency number so that you can never reach the rescuers. Have fun surviving in the ocean!" Her student, Darell Parker, is with her as well. "Remember when you made fun of me for not knowing how to swim, Clifton? Well, now you're given the chance to show off your swimming skills! You can swim all the way back to the shore on your own! You'd better not be as slow as the sea turtles!" The waves have almost capsized the cargo ship. If I can't get rescued anytime soon, I'll end up dying in the sea. I can only grit my teeth before pleading to Melanie, "No one can possibly swim back to shore! Help me call the maritime rescuers—" But she laughs coldly in return. "Why do you need the rescuers' help? Didn't you say one must learn how to protect themselves? Now swim! "If you think the waters are too cold, then swim faster! Maybe you'll feel warmer the faster you swim!" I give up on arguing with Melanie. After that, I head toward the cargo area with a blade in hand and get ready to sever the ropes tying the cargo down. Said cargo contains the ransom money that's capable of saving Ella Zimmerman, the daughter of Hugh Zimmerman, the wealthiest man in Starbury.

Two days before New Year's, my boyfriend, Jeffrey Graham, planned to spend the holiday at the beach with his assistant. I did not argue or complain. Instead, I thoughtfully packed his bags for him. However, he mocked me, saying that I had finally learned to be considerate now that I was pregnant. After he left, I wasted no time and went to get an abortion. Why? In my previous life, I tried to use our child to stop him, but his assistant ended up being brutally murdered at the beach. Jeffrey appeared calm on the surface after that incident, but just when I was about to give birth, he cruelly cut open my abdomen and killed my baby. That was when I realized—he had been holding a deep grudge against me all along. This time, I was determined to make him lose everything.

My daughter, Nina Camollo, who was badly injured in a car accident, died in the operating room after life-saving measures failed. Before I could recover from the shock of her death, I received the horrifying news that all her organs had been removed. Devastated and desperate, I threw all my energy into uncovering the truth. Only then did I discover that the consent form I had signed—given to me by the lead surgeon Avelina Bianchi—had a voluntary organ donation clause hidden in it. Moreover, Nina hadn't been in critical condition at all. She was still alive when all her organs were harvested. Enraged, I showed my husband, Arturo Camollo, all the evidence and declared that Avelina must suffer. Yet, three months later, I see Arturo holding Avelina's daughter in his arms at the mall with Avelina herself leaning against him affectionately. When I storm over to confront him, I learn that Avelina was Arturo's childhood best friend. Nina's heart had long been transplanted into Avelina's daughter, who suffered from a heart condition. Faced with my accusations, Arturo insists that Nina has always been kind-hearted. He believes that Nina would have agreed to it if she knew that her life could save so many others. Amid my struggle with them, a speeding car runs over me, killing me on the spot. When I open my eyes again, I find myself reborn to the day Avelina hands me the critical condition notice and consent form.

Ever since we were kids, I'd always known how to make use of my gentle childhood friend for things like sending him on errands, and borrowing his allowance. He never complained. Just silently indulged me. Things continued the same way until the day we got engaged. That's when everything snapped into place. That was the day we both woke up. I was just a throwaway character in a novel. He was the male lead—fated to fall in love and end up with the novel's heroine. I was stunned. Ready to walk away. But he was furious. Jaw clenched, eyes wild. He grabbed my hand and dragged me straight to City Hall. "Screw the novel. Screw the plot. The only thing I know is that I love you, and I want forever with you." After we got married, he treated me like I was made of glass. Gentle. Meticulous. We worked side by side, building a reputation as a power couple in the business world. The events of the novel faded into the background. I fell deeper in love with him. Three years later, the youngest daughter of a real estate tycoon started her internship at our company. That day, there was a fire in the office. In the chaos, the girl stumbled into a shelving unit. It came crashing down, headed straight for my husband. I didn't hesitate. I threw myself in front of him. Pain exploded in my skull. Blood poured down my face. The girl, in her panic, had fallen to the ground, crying out, "Aaron, help me!" My husband's face went pale. His expression—pure terror—as he ran toward her without a second thought. "Grace!" he cried. Lightning split through me. My face drained of color. The heroine in the novel—her name was Grace.

When my old phone finally died after eight years, I picked a new model and asked my wife, Mandy Sudds, for her opinion. When she saw the price, her face fell. "A marriage should involve compromise from both parties. Last week, you wanted $1,000 for a trip, and this week, you want another $1,000 for a phone. “Why didn't you think about how much I make from waking up early in the morning and coming home late at night? Have some sense, Mick." I had never traveled with her before, and all I wanted was a picture of her to commemorate the trip. Just one picture. I glanced at the latest model in her hand, and I suddenly wanted to buy a his-and-hers phone. She added, "If you really want a phone, just get a second-hand one." I looked up in delight and immediately went on an online marketplace to buy the phone I wanted at a 70% discount. When I received it, I realized the original owner had forgotten to do a factory reset, so the phone was filled with his pictures. The owner had traveled to rivers and deserts, enjoyed the night view at Wallace Harbor, and kissed his lover under the Northern Lights. When I looked closer at the pictures, I was shocked. It was Mandy and my buddy. They had traveled hundreds of thousands of miles over the last eight years. They had cheated on me behind my back for eight long years, and I had only just found out about them. My phone suddenly buzzed with a text. [Are you the buyer? I sold off that phone because my sweetheart was mad at me. I bought him the phone, and it means a lot to us. Could you return it to us?] When I did not reply, she got anxious. [Price is not an issue. Can we meet?]

On the day I finally helped my wife land the hospital's deputy director position, she told me she was ready to make our relationship public. But at her induction ceremony, the medical resident who'd always seemed to have it in for me beat her to the stage. He took her hand and cooed at her like a lovesick teenager. "Thank you for finally telling everyone about us, Megan. I promise I'll take good care of you and our baby." The room went silent for a beat, then erupted into applause, everyone gushing about what a perfect match they made. The resident looked thrilled with himself. He even walked out on a patient halfway through a surgery once, just to throw a tantrum until my wife came running to soothe him. I confronted her about it, and we had a screaming match. She didn't look ashamed at all. If anything, her voice turned mocking. "You've helped me plenty, sure. But his family background puts yours to shame, orphan. He's the only one who can give me everything I actually want." I didn't cry. I didn't fight her on it. I just nodded along and offered her a divorce instead. I wanted to see something for myself: how far she and her lover would get once my "dead" tycoon parents stopped clearing the road ahead of her.