Nouvelles Melodramatic & Romans Mistress Marriage

On Valentine’s Day, my friend dragged me to the Pund to dig through trash cans. I thought we would find nothing, but I found a platinum diamond ring. The ring looked exactly like the one on my own ring finger. I immediately video-called my wife, Wendy Lawson. “Where’s your ring? Let me see it.” Wendy paused for a moment. Then, she smiled helplessly and held up her left hand. “Yale, this is our wedding ring. Do you really think I’d lose it? See? It’s right here.” I smiled and ended the call. Then, I looked at the inside of the ring again. The engraving of our initials and our wedding date was clearly visible inside the ring. I tightened my grip on the ring, got in my car, and drove straight to Wendy Lawson’s office.

At our seventh-anniversary party, our friends are playing one of those viral personality games where people are compared to animals. Mindy Sutton props her chin on her hand and looks at Julian Payne. "What animal am I?" she asks. Julian doesn't even hesitate before answering, "A cat. You have a bad temper, you're always scratching people, and you love making other people's lives difficult." Mindy is just about to glare at him when he smiles and tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "But purebred cats are supposed to be high-maintenance. No matter how much money or patience it takes to keep them happy, they're worth it." The crowd erupts with teasing, saying that isn't an insult, and that Julian is clearly just bragging about having a precious cat. Someone else asks, "What about Celine?" Julian glances at me. For a long moment, he says nothing. "Her? A dog." A friend immediately jumps in to smooth things over, saying, "Right. Celine is like a puppy—warm, cheerful, and always following around the person she loves." Julian lowers his head and chuckles. "No. She's a dog because no matter how many times you chase her away, she keeps coming back. I've blocked her 27 times and called off our weddings three times. At most, she cries for one night, then comes crawling back to me the next day." Everyone at the table bursts into laughter. Before the night ends, a jewelry store delivers two gift boxes. Mindy receives a rare cat's-eye bracelet worth 480 thousand dollars, while I receive a silver dog tag. Engraved on the back of the dog tag are the words, "If lost, please return to Julian Payne." Mindy doubles over with laughter and leans against his shoulder. "Aren't you worried she'll actually run away one day?" Julian fastens the bracelet around her wrist and answers casually, "Dogs are loyal to their owners." I smile too. That night, I place the dog tag on top of the receipt of the cancellation of our fourth wedding. This time, I'm not going back to him.

In the seven years I've been married to Blaine Zahn, his way of punishing me whenever I get jealous is always the same. First, he humiliates me in public. Then, he leaves me alone in the middle of nowhere. This time, he punishes me because I refuse to lend him the necklace Mom left me. Blaine says, "Lizzie just got back, so she has nothing. What's wrong with letting her borrow it for a few days? Don't be so selfish." He drives away, leaving me alone outdoors on the day of the first snowfall of the year. Temperatures drop to more than ten degrees below zero. In the four hours when I gradually lose all feeling in my limbs from the cold, I make 20 phone calls and send 50 messages begging for help. I get no response from any of them. With my fingers stiff from the cold, I'm about to give in with my 51st message. I type, "You can borrow the necklace. Can you please come pick me up..." Just then, Lizzie Sterling posts an update on Instagram. In the photo, Blaine is sitting beside a warm fireplace and putting Mom's necklace around her neck. The caption reads, "I just complained about being cold and acted a little spoiled. Someone canceled all his social engagements just to stay here and warm me by the fire. He even gave me the star necklace I've been wanting forever." A mutual friend comments, "Looks like someone's heart still belongs to you." Blaine replies, "As long as she's happy, that's all that matters." The man who left me out in the snow to fend for myself is now sitting in a warm room, terrified that another woman might feel even the slightest chill. I watch as the snowflakes fall onto my fingertips and slowly melt. My frostbitten heart has no warmth left in it anymore. I delete my plea for help and call the police instead. Then, I call my lawyer. It turns out the sound of falling snow is the countdown to when my heart stops beating for him.

I tried to die a hundred times to make him notice me. For two years, I was Shawn Scott’s wife in name only—an unwanted bride bound by a scandal, left to live in the shadow of another woman. My parents only saw my faults. My husband only saw my mistakes. As for me? I saw no way out. Every time I tried to end it, I’d wake up again, bruised and humiliated. I was greeted not with concern, but accusations such as "Why are you so selfish, Zoe Jennings?" or "Why can’t you be more like your sister Yvonne?" It wasn’t until my hundredth suicide attempt that I finally understood: I was the only one fighting for a love that never existed. So, I stopped. I walked away. I disappeared. I gave them what they wanted—my absence. However, when I left, the man who never looked at me twice started chasing the ghost of the woman he thought he knew. By the time he realized what he truly lost, I was already learning how to live again.

Josie Collins and I were supposed to get married during the upcoming long holidays, but she suddenly wanted to postpone our wedding for another month, and she asked that I wait a little longer. As I had nothing else to do during the holidays, I took up a job as a wedding driver. What I did not expect was that the bride I was picking up was Josie. She wore the wedding dress my mother made for her as her ex-boyfriend, William Locke, carried her in his arms. Everyone started yelling, "Kiss her!" Josie smiled and kissed him on the cheek. When she saw me sitting in the car, she panicked. "What are you doing here?" However, she frowned almost immediately and started blaming me. "William's grandmother is suffering from dementia and thinks that we're still together. She has always wanted us to get married, so I'm helping her to make her wish come true. "Why would you come after us all this way? Can you stop being such a schemer and wipe those dirty thoughts from your mind?!" William helped her lift the heavy skirt. "Don't be mad, Sam. I'm just the groom for one day. Josie will still be yours in the end." I stared at her wedding dress. Every thread on it was sewn by my mother before she died, and she had always wanted to see Josie put it on to marry me. However, Josie made me wait, and I did. I waited until my mother breathed her last, and still, she did not witness my wedding. Now, Josie was using the wedding dress my mother made to fulfil someone else's wish. This time, I no longer wanted to wait for her.

After the car accident, one of the Johnson sons was dead and the other gravely injured. When my devout, devoted husband woke up in the hospital, he called out, "Dorothy." He claimed that his body then held the soul of his brother, Elias Johnson. I went mad, calling doctors, priests, anyone I could, desperate to bring my husband back. It was not until that night that I overheard his conversation with our son: "Father, you've loved aunt for years. You even kept yourself chaste in your private prayer room, waiting. Now, finally, you can be with her openly." The man in the bed reached out to stroke our son's hair. "If it weren't to stop your mother from destroying her relationship, I wouldn't have married her." I hid in the shadows, still reeling from their words, when I saw what happened after our son left. The husband I had always known, icy, composed, and ascetic to maintain his devout faith for seven years, was then holding his sister-in-law close on that tiny hospital bed, sharing a warmth meant for lovers. The next day, I applied for Jim Johnson's death certificate and burned our marriage certificate. At his grand wedding, I climbed aboard the helicopter sent to fetch me. However, my once-cold husband went mad, chasing after us down several streets, desperate and unhinged.

During the Thanksgiving holiday week, my husband, Caleb Whitman, keeps working overtime. I feel sorry for how hard he's working, so I take over all the household chores. While doing the laundry, I pull a food delivery receipt from the pocket of his coat. Everything on the order appears to be intended for a pregnant woman. It has bone broth, baked salmon, and fresh seasonal vegetables. It's obvious that everything was chosen with care. There's even a note that says, "For an expectant mother. Keep it low in oil and salt. Make sure the utensils are sterilized." The delivery was sent to a luxury apartment above Caleb's office building. I crumple the receipt, let out a cold laugh, and deliberately call him during lunch. "So, when's the baby shower for your kid? Don't forget to send me an invite."

On the day my wife, Adele Bellamy, rang the opening bell on Merrow Street to take her company public, my daughter and I sat in the audience. When my daughter was invited onstage to speak, she took the microphone and asked me in her small, childish voice, "Daddy, did you really get Mommy by being a homewrecker?" The hushed hall erupted as if a boulder had crashed into still water, and countless camera flashes swung toward my pale face. "Mr. Linwood, is what your daughter said true?" "If his own daughter said it, it has to be true! That's a juicy high-society secret. Bet he never expected his own kid to be the one to spill it." "Haven't you heard? Ms. Bellamy used to have a childhood sweetheart, and then they split up out of nowhere. Maybe he broke them up so that he could take that guy's place!" Amid the uproar, I rushed onto the stage in a panic to explain myself, but the moment I opened my mouth, Adele pressed her hand down on the back of mine. "Yes. He was the homewrecker."

Five years ago, my then girlfriend betrayed me for Ethan Reid. Together, they staged a car accident that killed both my parents. Then they hired someone to assault and murder my younger sister, who wasn't even sixteen, and framed me for it. I was thrown in prison where I suffered every day. It was Serena Cole who risked everything to become my defense attorney. She cleared my name and courted me with everything she had. She told me I was all she could see, that I was her whole world. When I finally gave her my whole heart, I looked down from upstairs and saw her kissing Ethan like she couldn't get enough of him, days before our wedding. Right there in our wedding car, they crossed every line. "Bold move, bride. Not worried the groom might see?" Ethan whispered. "His legs are crippled because of you. You know better than anyone whether he can even make it downstairs," Serena replied. "What's this, feeling guilty now? Every dirty thing I ever did to him, you were the one who planned it. You want me to tell him that?" "If you say a word, I swear I'll take you down with me," came her ragged response. Ethan bit her ear roughly, driving her over the edge. "Sure, sure. I know you love him so much. So doesn't this make it even more exciting? Say it. Who's your daddy?" She broke apart beneath him, saying his name over and over, breathless and undone. The tears hit me before I could stop them. She had known. All along, she had known everything that happened to me. And not only that, she had helped plan it.

On my fifth year anniversary, my wife, Rachel Sutton, announces her pregnancy on her social media feed. "After going through artificial insemination for the 39th time, I finally got pregnant with your child as I wished." The accompanying photo features Rachel lacing fingers tightly with her first love, Damon Calloway. I leave a like on the photo calmly. Then, I give them my blessings. The next thing I know, Rachel calls me on the phone. She roars at me furiously, "Damon is diagnosed with cancer! What's wrong with me bearing a child for him? Garrett Whitaker, you're being too much right now!" I reply coolly, "Then come back and file for a divorce. Once the divorce is through, you can go ahead and find yourself a husband who won't 'become too much.'"

My husband, Michael Grant's mistress, Lucy Lovelace, is demanding a break-up with him once again. Heartbroken, he drowns his sorrows with alcohol to the point that he has to get hospitalized due to stomach bleeding. Still, Michael keeps mumbling, "She's the only one who has the guts to treat me like this." Then, he grabs my hand and says, "Darling, you're a woman too. Tell me, how should I appease Lucy this time?" Well, Michael has cheated on me so many times. Lucy is the only one he's ever fallen for so far. My phone buzzes at that moment. It's a text from Lucy. "Mrs. Grant, please keep your husband in check! Don't you have any pride as a woman? Tell him to stop bothering me already!" I just smile mockingly. As always, I don't bother responding to Lucy. On the fifth day of Michael's hospitalization, he spams my phone with countless calls. When the latest call goes through, he questions me emotionally, "I'm hospitalized, you know! Why haven't you shown up at all? Do you even care about me as your husband?" I reply calmly, "I'm worried that if I do show up, you'll fall in love with me again."

Being naturally competitive, I must take first place in any game. So, when someone on the yacht suggests playing the no-looking-back game, everyone laughs and says I'm sure to win. The rule is that I stay where I am and can't turn around. If I do, I lose. My girlfriend, Selena Hodge, and good friend, Ivan Motley, stand behind me. Meanwhile, my older brother, Mack Carson, is in charge of finding a way to trick me into looking back. Not long after the game starts, Mack suddenly shouts, "Chuck, Selena is holding Ivan's hand!" When Mack sees that I don't even bat an eye, he says with a smile, "You're really not going to look back? Those two are already hugging." I remain unmoving. That is, until Mack says drily, "Chuck, they're kissing." Even though I know it's a trick to make me turn around, I still do it anyway. Ivan's head is bowed, while Selena's face is tilted upward. The two of them are indeed kissing. My mind goes blank, and I walk over to pull the two apart. Ivan's face instantly goes pale, and Selena too falls silent for a long time. In the end, it's Mack who finally speaks up. "Chuck, the two of them must have just acted on impulse. Besides, we all thought you'd never look back for the sake of winning. Who'd have guessed you actually did?" Only then does Ivan speak. "Chuck, I'm not going to lie to you—Selena spent four years chasing me. We just don't want to look back on our four years in college with regret." I have always known that Selena spent four years chasing a guy in college. During those four years, I watch her get drunk over that guy and comfort her as she curses him for having no taste. However, I never know that guy is Ivan. Yet, everyone knows. Only I am always the one kept in the dark.

My daughter, Annabelle Turner, was diagnosed with hereditary heart disease. I spent the past five years searching for a compatible heart donor for her. Now, I finally found one. Right before Annabelle is sent into the surgery room, my husband and renowned cardiologist, Gabriel Turner, tearfully makes me a promise. "Don't worry, sweetheart. I'll make sure Annabelle gets a shot at life again." Yet halfway through the surgery, Gabriel suddenly leaves in a hurry without giving any explanation. I stumble into the surgery room and see Annabelle lying on the operating table, covered in blood. Her chest is cut wide open, laid bare for all to see. Tyler Rotwell, Gabriel's assistant, stammers out, "Dr. Turner said… that Anna can still hold on a little longer, but Ms. Byron's son can't. "Dr. Turner took the heart that was meant for Anna and left…" I immediately break down and repeatedly call Gabriel's number, but Gabriel never answers a single call, not even when Anna's blood has completely dried… While settling my daughter's post-mortem affairs, I happen to see a newly posted update on Gabriel's childhood friend, Suzanne Byron's social media. "Turns out it was just a misdiagnosis," was what the caption read. "In that case, let's give this useless little thing to our good boy Oscar as a treat!" The video attached depicts Suzanne's dog Oscar tearing into the heart that was supposed to be donated to Annabelle. As I turn to look at Annabelle's cold body, the last shred of love I have for Gabriel starts crumbling apart. By the time Gabriel finally remembers Annabelle, whom he left on the operating table, only an empty bedroom and an urn containing her ashes would greet him…

The year my boyfriend is dead broke, I leave him. Later, he becomes a mafia boss and uses every means at his disposal to marry me. Everyone says that I am the first love he can never forget, the wife he cares about the most. However, he then starts bringing home a different woman every night, making me a laughingstock. Still, I don't cry or make a fuss. I quietly stay in my own room, never interrupting his affairs. Elton Carter is furious. He pins me beneath him, kisses me harshly, and growls, "Aren't you jealous?" He has no idea that I'm gravely ill. He could buy half the city with violence, threats, and money. He could buy my freedom, my marriage… and each night bring a different woman home, oblivious to the truth. Little does he know, I have just seven days left to live.

On the day I was supposed to officially introduce Sean Olson to my family, he showed up two hours late. The food on the table had already gone cold, and the look in my mom's eyes shifted from playful teasing to deep worry. Just as I was pulling out my phone to call him, a TikTok notification popped up on my screen. It was a video posted by Madison Grant, a student in his dance company. In the clip, Sean was dancing a passionate duet with her. He held her tightly by the waist as they spun together, and as the spin ended, he leaned in so close that his lips almost brushed her forehead, his eyes full of lingering affection. The caption read: [Thanks to my coach for choreographing this routine for me. We're like soulmates on the dance floor!] I locked my phone and told my family he had an emergency. After that, the entire dinner tasted completely bland. Late that night, Sean finally came home covered in the smell of sweat. He cautiously wrapped his arms around me from behind, murmuring sleepily, “Babe, I'm so sorry. The new girl’s basics are just too weak, so I had to stay late to give her extra training. “The Latin dance competition is next month, and she's the dancer I'm coaching. I can't afford to ruin my reputation. “Once the competition is over, I'll bring a nice bottle of wine over to apologize to your mom, okay?” I didn't say a single word. Because from now on, whoever he chooses to dance with has absolutely nothing to do with me anymore.

For the first three years of our marriage, Barney Hayes and I never shared a bed. He suffered from severe sleepwalking episodes that could turn him violent. Whenever one struck, he might attack anyone nearby, even me. One night, he nearly smothered me with a pillow before finally waking up. Horrified by what he'd done, he pulled me into his arms and spoke bitterly. "Alba, I can't keep hurting you like this. Can we sleep in separate rooms from now on?" I believed his condition would haunt him for the rest of his life. Then Hailey Miller came along. Her singing could somehow calm Barney during his episodes. The moment he heard her voice, his agitation faded, and he would settle down peacefully in her arms. "Don't worry, Alba. I've got him." From then on, night after night, I watched her take my place beside my husband. Barney sounded full of guilt over the line. "Just give me a little more time. I'll find a way to replace Hailey's singing. But until I'm cured, please don't come back to the house. I'm afraid I might lose control and hurt you again." So, I waited. On our sixth wedding anniversary, I decided to surprise him. With an ice cream cake I'd spent all day making, I slipped into the closet and waited for him to come home. Then I heard Hailey's voice. "Barney, how much longer are you going to keep pretending to sleepwalk?" A soft chuckle followed. "I haven't gotten tired of hearing you moan in bed yet. What's the rush?" In the darkness, I felt the whipped cream slowly melt onto my fingers. This marriage was rotten, and I was done with him.

After Heath Renwick abandons me and our daughter for Celeste Worthing's dog for the seventh time, we finally learn our lesson. He parades around with Celeste and the dog, trending online, landing magazine features, and I don't say a word. He even tears up our daughter Maisie's favorite sketchbook to line the dog's bed, and she doesn't cry or make a fuss. Then the dog chases Maisie down a flight of stairs. She hits her head and ends up in the ER with a concussion, and only then does Heath bother to show up. "Raven! Why didn't you tell me? I'm Maisie's father too!" I spend the whole night sitting outside the emergency room. I look at him, my voice perfectly calm. "It's nothing serious, just a mild concussion. She'll be out in a couple of days. We know you're busy, so Maisie will understand." Heath freezes. "A concussion is serious, and you're telling me it's nothing? What kind of a mother are you?" He wants to blow up, but the whispers around him stop him short. "Mr. Renwick really is better suited for Ms. Worthing. If she hadn't gone abroad back then, a small-town woman like Raven would never have had a chance." "Exactly. She can't even keep her own child safe." Heath frowns. "There's nothing going on with Celeste. She's like a sister to me!" I nod. "I believe you. "Maisie fell down the stairs because Prince chased her. I know that dog means everything to Celeste, so I didn't bring it up. I didn't want to put you in a difficult position." A flicker of shame crosses Heath's face. "I'll find the best doctor for Maisie. Prince is everything to Celeste, you know that. She has mental health issues." "Mr. Renwick, I understand. Maisie doesn't need to call you Dad anymore." He panics. "If you're upset, just say so! Stop putting on this act and dragging the kid into it!" I nod. "Okay. I got it." I'm not planning to make a scene. I already have plane tickets to Eraly. In five days, we'll have nothing to do with each other anymore.

In a feverish haze, I heard the doorbell ring. The delivery guy called out, "Delivery for Mr. Hendrick." I smiled as I took it from the delivery guy and thanked him. I was going to laugh at James for being childish. After all, before falling asleep, I had only mentioned that I had a fever. Yet he had already ordered medicine for me. However, when I opened the delivery bag and saw what was inside, my expression froze. Condoms and lubricant were right there in plain sight, and even the toy in my hand made my head spin. Just as I took out my phone, ready to demand an explanation from my husband, a text message suddenly popped up. "This is Sangland Resortworld. Dear Mr. Hendrick, we are delighted to confirm your reservation…"

In the third year of Alex Shaw and Eva Laurent's marriage, her sister-in-law dies in an accident. After her younger brother, Hugh Laurent, returns to the country with his son, Eva decides to name the child her heir. Alex assumes Eva did it out of concern for Hugh, so he goes to her office to discuss the arrangements. Unexpectedly, he overhears her arguing with her best friend, Celia Inman. Celia says, "Eva, you're already married! It's one thing to bring Hugh and his son home without considering Alex's feelings, but now you want to make that child your heir? Have you ever thought about Alex at all? "Hugh is an adopted son of the Laurent family. He's not even your biological younger brother. You really don't have to go this far for him." Eva glances at the little boy sleeping peacefully in her arms. In a gentle voice, she says, "This is Hugh's only son. I have to give him the best so Hugh can feel at ease. Besides, this is my son, too." Hearing those words, Alex freezes in the doorway. It feels as though someone has struck him hard over the head, leaving him with an excruciating headache. The boy everyone thinks is Eva's nephew is actually her son!

After eight years together, I took a hit for my surgeon boyfriend. Milton Woodard vowed I could ask for anything. Everyone assumed I'd seize the chance to propose, locking him down for good. Instead, I looked him in the eye and said, "Let's break up." Then I walked away without a backward glance. Milton smirked, betting with his buddies that I'd come crawling back in under three days, calling me a desperate lapdog chasing his attention. He was dead wrong because I'd been reborn. In my last life, I proposed to him and won. Overwhelmed by the news, his first love threw herself off a rooftop and killed herself. Milton unleashed his grief-fueled rage on me. On our wedding night, he slashed my face and locked me in a dank, claustrophobic basement. When I got pregnant, he force-fed me supplements until the baby grew too big for me to deliver. I hemorrhaged, torn apart, and died in agony on the birthing table. Now, reborn on the day I saved his life, I was done playing his fool.