Historias cortas de Melodramatic y novelas con Mistress ambientadas en Marriage

On the night before our engagement party, my fiancée went radio silent for five hours—just to buy her male assistant stomach medicine. When she finally came back, I gave her two choices: fire him, or call off the wedding. She disappeared for three full days. The next time I saw her, she showed up at our doorstep soaking wet. She threw her arms around me and said, "I don't want anyone but you." Then, on our wedding night, she vanished again. I'm an ER doctor. I got called in for an emergency. When I got to the hospital, I found out the patient was her assistant. He had a groin injury. My fiancée was standing by his bedside, disheveled, her clothes a mess. I didn't raise my voice. I just looked at her and said, "Cut ties with him right now. We can still make this work." Her eyes filled with conflict. She hesitated. Then she reached down and took his hand.

A blizzard had buried the mountain, turning every road into a death trap. Locals called it Deadman's Pass—seventy-two icy switchbacks with zero room for error. As the only person who had ever made it through without a scratch, I'd just gotten a million-dollar rescue call from beyond the final curve. Ten years ago, I went there once. My seventeen-year-old daughter, Maya, was skydiving with her classmates when a violent air current forced an emergency landing. The rescue came too late. She died there. Later, I learned my husband, Jayden Boone, had ignored Maya's safety. He poured hundreds of thousands of dollars into the rescue effort and redirected every team to save his ex's daughter instead. The girl had only sprained her ankle on a hiking trip. The day Maya died, I walked away from my career as a professor and stayed here, living as a broke driver. I risked my life running Deadman's Pass again and again until I knew every turn by heart. In the ten years since, no one else had died on that road. Today, a friend shoved a million-dollar rescue job in front of me and told me to leave right away. I looked at the face in the photo—the one I could never forget. Then I smiled and tossed my keys onto the table. "I can't take this job."

Robert Blackwell promised to marry me, then postponed it thirty-eight times. The fifth time, a car crash broke eight of his ribs, and I signed seven critical-condition notices. The tenth time, on the way to get our marriage license, he and the car were thrown into the sea, and his suit was torn apart by sharks. By the thirty-eighth time, his heart disease had worsened and his life was hanging by a thread. Eight months pregnant, I changed flights three times and flew twenty-three hours across half the world to find him. When the door opened, a little boy who looked exactly like him lifted his face and said, "I thought Mom was back." Robert rushed out barefoot, panic written all over his face. I turned around and saw my best friend of twelve years standing behind me with a key in her hand. The little boy ran to her and threw himself into her arms, calling her Mom. So the fiance I had waited seven years for was my best friend's secret husband all along. "I will not wait through these thirty-eight near-death weddings anymore." "Robert, I do not want you either."

After we got back together, I kept the Winter family’s rules in mind all the time. I never threw any tantrums and was content with being the man supporting Winona Winter, my wife. Within the upper-class society, I became well-known as a magnanimous husband. However, when Winona became pregnant with another man’s baby again, everyone thought that I would fight against that man, but I only brought her back calmly and took care of her. Yet Winona lost her composure and grabbed my collar. “Shaun, why aren’t you arguing with me?” I only smiled and calmly took out a copy of the family rules. “According to Rule 137, the husband needs to be magnanimous and tolerant. He must understand that his wife has needs and cannot be unreasonable.”

The carousel malfunctioned unexpectedly. My daughter was pulled into the machinery and died on the spot. I survived by sheer luck, but my groin was crushed beyond repair. My wife, Jody Parker, tore apart the entire amusement park. After refusing any settlement, she dragged dozens of staff members who had mishandled the equipment to court. She even dug our daughter's grave with her bare hands and nearly cried herself blind from grief. To help me recover from both emotional and physical trauma, she spent a fortune hiring a well-educated male nurse to care for me. Six months later, I was discharged early, hoping to move on from the past—only to accidentally find her and the male nurse naked together on a swing. "Jody, you crushed your husband's manhood and forsook your daughter's life. Am I really that important to you?" "Of course. Only with her dead and Sam crippled will he love our child without limits. Once our baby is born, Sam can take care of it. He's so gentle and attentive—he'll raise our little one to be perfectly well-behaved." My mind went blank. My blood ran cold. My daughter's death. The nightmares that tormented me every night. All of it had been orchestrated by Jody. Since she hated my existence so much, I would make sure she never saw me again.

Brad Harrington's executive assistant was having another depressive episode. He pulled out the divorce papers. "It's just paperwork," he said. "Once she's stable, we'll remarry immediately." I picked up the documents, skimmed a few pages, then looked up at him. "I'm walking away with nothing?" His face twisted with impatience. "It's a fake divorce. Are you really going to nickel-and-dime this?" I just smiled and said nothing. Quietly, I signed my name. What he didn't know — I had been waiting for this day for a very long time.

When my wedding gets delayed for the 99th time, I call the company in charge of planning the wedding and tell them to swap my name out for Julian Foster's childhood sweetheart, Madison Hart. "We understand what you mean, Ms. Sinclair. But are you sure you want to make the change? It seems that Mr. Foster has no intention of delaying the wedding this time." As I listen to the shocked host's words, I stare at the draft on the monitor. Groom: Julian Foster Bride: Olivia Sinclair But the design's special note shows, "Adjust the theme according to champagne yellow, Madison's favorite color." Madison is Julian's childhood sweetheart. Even though he claims that she's only lending a hand in referencing the wedding's designs, the truth is, she's the one calling the shots in the wedding's flower arrangement, wedding gifts, as well as the wedding anthem during the bride's entrance. She even leaves an airy comment about my wedding dress. "A fishtail gown suits her more." After dragging the document into the recycle bin, I reply calmly, "Yes. Please change the bride's name to Madison." I shall return the wedding that's filled with Madison's traces to her and Julian without altering a single thing. After that, I will retreat from this bunch of nonsense unscathed. Finally, we shall part ways permanently. Julian can stay with the woman he truly wants to be with, while I can enjoy the unbridled freedom on my own.

On my wedding day, the groom, Robert Jensen, is nowhere to be seen. All that's left of him is a letter and a baby who's born with a heart disease. "I love you, Winona, but I've also fallen in love with Claire. Since I can't give her a proper title at all, I decided to go on a world trip with her in order to make it up to her. "I'll also give you a chance to raise my and Claire's baby. While we're enjoying our trip, you can spend some quality time with our baby." The thing is, I don't have any blood relations with this baby. Why the hell should I raise Robert and Claire's baby, to begin with? Six years later, I take my son, Anson Jensen, to the airport so that we can see my husband, Joshua Jensen, off to his business trip. When I turn around, I spot Robert, who's pushing his suitcase toward me. As he stares at Anson in my arms, he exclaims in surprise, "Winona, is this my and Claire's child? You raised him well! "Unfortunately, we're already married overseas, so I can no longer marry you. But don't worry, Winona. To me, you're already my wife." As I look at Robert's face, which is rather similar to Anson's features, I let out a soft chuckle. "Don't go around mistaking other people's children for your own, Robert. Anyway, this is your younger cousin."

My cheating husband, Steve Manson, gets hit by a car and suffers brain damage. After the accident, he can only say two words—"Yes" and "No". He can't say anything else. And somehow, every answer he gives has to be the truth. For once, it feels like heaven is finally on my side. I ask, "Is the woman you're having an affair with my best friend?" His face turns pale, but his mouth moves against his will. "Yes." "Did you transfer assets behind my back?" "Yes." "Is your bank account password your first love's birthday?" "Yes." Thanks to this bizarre ability of his, I successfully send the mistress to prison and walk away with all of his assets. Yet, he can't even curse me out no matter how much he wants it. Then one day, a handsome food delivery guy flirts with me. I turn to look at Steve, who stands there with the same dull expression as always. "Are you really my husband? Why aren't you even jealous?" Without hesitation, he blurts out, "No." I freeze instantly and stare into his eyes. After a long silence, I finally ask, "Then is my husband... dead?" He answers, "Yes and no."

Before heading off to war, Sebastian Crawford made a solemn blood vow on his honor—just to keep me from worrying while he was gone. He promised to come back and marry me with a grand ceremony, the whole nine yards. Eight years later, Sebastian returned as a general, draped in glory. But by his side was a woman—dressed like a man, her very pregnant belly sticking out like a sore thumb. I took a deep breath, calmly slipped off my engagement ring, and called the whole thing off. Sebastian scowled, clearly annoyed. "Lena bled with me on the battlefield. I've always seen her as a brother in arms. She's pregnant because she helped me take care of a physical need. It was simple and practical. No strings attached." I let out a bitter laugh. Then I sent a messenger pigeon. "Fine. Then I'll find someone to help me out too."

In the three years I spent unconscious in a hospital bed, Julius Carter took care of me day and night without complaint. The very first thing he did after I woke up was get down on one knee beside my hospital bed and propose. That night, while scrolling through social media, I came across a female influencer who looked strikingly similar to me. [Another date with my boyfriend today!] [He took me to an upscale restaurant for dinner and bought me the diamond ring I wanted. He's the sweetest!] The top comment read: [You're showing off so much. I bet you're just a sugar baby!] She fired back immediately with a reply. [Being a sugar baby takes skill, too. Looking like a pig won't get you that kind of treatment.] [My boyfriend is the heir to the Carter family. Another nonsense from you, and I'll have my lawyer sue you!] My breathing hitched. Since when did Julius Carter have a girlfriend? Rage overcame me, and I tapped on her profile, ready to send her a private message. That was when I noticed a post pinned to the top of her page. The photo showed a pair of long, elegant hands placing food onto someone's plate across the table, and on the back of that hand were two small moles. They were the exact same two moles Julius had.

I woke up in the middle of the night to find my wife crying and begging me to let her see that young man one last time. "I’ll come right back after seeing him one last time. Please, I’m begging you." In our seven years of marriage, this was only the second time she’d spoken to me in such a pleading, ingratiating tone. The last time was when I caught the kid running out of her office, his clothes in disarray. Afraid I’d make a scene, she grabbed my hand and pleaded, "Honey, I promise I’ll cut him off. Please don’t divorce me. I’ll die without you." So, I gave her another chance. Just as she promised, she devoted herself to our family, becoming the perfect wife everyone admired. Until today. I turned on the bedside lamp, looked into her eyes, and told her seriously, "Go. Don’t leave yourself with any regrets." I had no regrets left. I hoped the same for you.

When I went to pick Diana Grant up, she just tossed the car keys toward me. Dangling from the silver ring was a plush white bear pendant. I paused, knowing that she had never kept a keychain or a decorative charm on her keys. Once I slid into the driver's seat, the entire alignment felt off. The seat had clearly been adjusted. "Did you let someone else drive your car?" I asked, keeping my voice casual. Dazed from the alcohol, she offered a dismissive shrug. "Yeah. I lent it to an employee for a quick business trip." I didn't press further. The next morning, the chime of the doorbell broke the silence of the house. When I pulled the door open, a shy, clean-cut young guy was standing on the porch. He blinked, then forced a sheepish smile and handed over a cup of coffee. "Hi," he stammered. "I'm just here to drop off a fresh coffee for Ms. Grant." But my attention wasn't on the coffee. My gaze dropped to his left hand. Twirling lazily around his index finger was a set of keys, and swinging from the metal loop was the same white bear pendant. I took the coffee cup from his hand and quietly closed the door. In the room, Diana's phone lit up on the table. A new notification flashed across the lock screen. It was a message that read: [Diana, I just met your husband. He looks kind of scary. Coffee was delivered safely anyway. Try to drink less alcohol next time, okay?] I picked up the phone and pulled up the video camera. With the recording running, I held the coffee cup over the kitchen sink and slowly poured the warm liquid down the drain. Then I uploaded the recorded video to Diana's social media, broadcasting it to her entire social circle. The caption read: [Thanks for the concern, but she doesn't drink coffee.]

On the day my dad gets kidnapped, I call my wife, Eliza Wood, who has a net worth of 100 million dollars, for help while sobbing. After she hears me out, she lets out a chuckle. "I've transferred three million dollars to you. This time, be a good boy and don't bother Leon." I quickly agree to Eliza's condition. After that, I transfer the money into the kidnapper's bank account. But when Dad is about to get released, Eliza pulls off some tricks to retrieve the ransom money and freeze the kidnapper's bank account. Thinking that I've tricked him, the furious kidnapper decides to kill Dad. But first, he torments Dad for three long hours before finally ending his life. When I'm on the way to pick up Dad's ashes, I notice photos of Eliza and her newly-hired assistant, Leon Turner, taking over every billboard and monitor in the city. After dealing with Dad's ashes at home, I call Eliza on the phone. "Let's get a divorce." Eliza and Leon's laughter can be heard drifting over the speaker. "This again? Leon told me that you're spending too much money, so he convinced me to give you a light punishment. Don't tell me you got mad at me because of that."

When I reach the underground parking lot, I find out that my husband, Victor Blake, has parked his car in a slanted manner. Great, his car has taken over my parking slot again. I call him and tell him to get his ass downstairs so that he can move the car out of my parking slot. While waiting for him, I come across a post on the Internet. "I'm screwing the brains out of my mistress right now. What should I do to avoid getting discovered by my wife, who might be home anytime soon?" The comment section goes nuts. Apparently, the original poster has left a like on one of the comments. "Park your car in a way that it eats into your wife's parking slot. That way, she'll have to call you every time she gets home. Not only do you have time to clean up the scene and protect your mistress, but you also get to tell your wife in a righteous manner that you're reserving a parking slot for her." I frown immediately. As soon as I tap on the WhatsApp chat, I hear someone knocking on my window. Victor can be seen jiggling his car keys outside the car. "What's with the rush? I did this just so I can reserve a parking slot for you, you know."

On the day I was cleared for depression, Olivia Jones spoke up out of nowhere as she drove. "I have another family out there." The words hit without warning. My head rang. She kept her eyes on the road and went on, almost like she was talking to herself. "All these years, you were spiraling, talking about dying every day. I was just as miserable. Now you're better, and the baby's here. It's time I make things right with my real husband and child." It took me a long moment to find my voice. When it came out, it shook. "Then what are we, me and the kid? Just placeholders?" She didn't deny it right away. After a pause, she said, calm and steady, "Call it whatever you want. You won't leave anyway. Not with the kid, right?" The warmth drained out of my body. I had been holding it together for show. At once, it all broke.

Jessica Morrison had been divorced from her ex-husband, Mark Tatum, for five years, yet they still shared a joint bank account. She made over six figures a year, but every time her salary hit her account, she transferred every last cent to him. "Even though we're divorced, we still have a child together. I can't just turn my back on him." For years, she used that as her excuse. She went to take care of her and Mark's son while her own water had already broken. Because of that, our daughter, Emma, was born with health issues. Later, when Emma had a medical emergency and needed surgery, Jessica gave all the money to Mark's son instead. That time, I asked for a divorce. But she begged me through her tears. "They're both my children. You have to understand—I'm a mother. I promise it will never happen again." For the sake of our young daughter, I gave in. But this time, Emma got sick with a high fever and was diagnosed with acute leukemia. When I went to pay the bill at the hospital, I was told the card had been declined. The bank account that should have had hundreds of thousands of dollars was completely empty. That's when I found out Jessica had transferred all the money again. Our daughter was delirious from the fever, holding my hand. "Daddy, does Mommy not want me anymore?" I comforted her as best I could, but deep down, I knew—maybe it was time to find my daughter a new mother.

The birthday gift I gave my husband was found in a doghouse by the side of the road. I spent the next five years as the butt of all jokes made by Cascade City's high society wives. Every year when Julian Carter's birthday came around, they would bring it up again, teasing that the gift I bought him was surely the most expensive one of all. "That's nouveau riche taste for you. She thinks the more expensive it is, the better." "Yeah, but I wonder where they'll find it this year. Another doghouse, maybe?" The women burst into laughter. Then, they realized something was different. This year, I had not given Julian anything at all. In fact, as his birthday drew to a close, I still had not shown up. "Laura, where's my birthday present? And what kind of behavior is this? You disappeared for the entire day. Do you have any idea how unhappy everyone in the family has been?" Julian's eyes were dark with irritation. I pushed back my sleep-mussed hair, only then remembering that it seemed to be Julian's birthday. "Oh, sorry. I forgot." After a brief pause, I added casually, "I'll have my assistant pick something out tomorrow and send it over." For a moment, he simply stared at me, as if he could not believe what he had just heard. "What did you just say?"

The day my parents traveled all the way from home to discuss the wedding arrangements, the Miller family—led by Grayson Miller—showed up late. After my third call went unanswered, my mom forced a smile and tried to comfort me. "Maybe they're stuck in traffic. It's no big deal. Your dad and I don't mind waiting." And wait we did—for three hours. Their expressions slowly shifted from eager excitement to quiet sorrow. My dad kept tugging at the stiff, ill-fitting suit he rarely wore. Finally, he couldn't hold it in anymore. His eyes reddened, and his voice trembled as he asked, "Sweetheart… does it have to be him? "I'm not trying to break you two up. It's just—you'll be thousands of miles away from us. If you ever get hurt, your mom and I… we won't be there in time to wipe your tears." My nails dug into my palms. Still, I smiled, helped my parents to their feet, and said: "Dad, Mom, let's go home. Forget the engagement. I don't want it anymore."

On my eighth birthday, I begged my mom to video call my dad, who was supposedly working late. The moment the call connected, a version of him from ten years in the future appeared on the screen. My mom held me close and smiled, asking him, "Ten years from now… our Lily has grown up. Was her coming-of-age ceremony a big celebration?" Dad replied coldly, "She kept trying to one-up Sarah's kid, so I sent her abroad. Too bad her luck ran out—her plane went down." My mom's face went pale. On the other end, my dad let out an icy laugh. "Claire, back then, you lied to me. You said if your 'plan' didn't work out, you'd die. I believed you. I gave up Sarah and her child to marry you." My mom's body started trembling. I reached out toward the screen. "Daddy, when are you coming home to celebrate my birthday with me?" Dad sighed and looked at her calmly. "The truth is, I wasn't working late that night. I was celebrating Sarah's daughter's birthday. Now you know everything. What you do next is up to you." Suddenly, a cold robotic voice echoed in my ear: [Host, do you choose to abandon the original world and stay here forever?] I wiped the tears off my mom's face and, barely understanding what was happening, said, "Mommy, does that mean Daddy doesn't want us anymore? Then let's not want him either. Okay?"