Mistress Marriage 단편 소설 & 소설

Sheila Lindell, my fiancee, is the world's most renowned pyrotechnician. We have been together for seven years, and I have hinted countless times that I want to see a fireworks show made only for me. She always smiles and says, "I'll make you the most beautiful one for your next birthday." I arrive at the beach with high expectations on the night of my birthday, but when I get there, I see Sheila standing together with Jeremy Lund, her first love, under the fireworks. They burst over the sea, looking as brilliant as a dream that doesn't belong to me. I freeze in place when I hear someone nearby chuckle and say, "I heard Ms. Lindell puts on a fireworks show here every year for her first love. It costs hundreds of thousands of dollars each time. I guess she really does love him." I stand at the edge of the crowd, watching them surrounded by the fireworks before feeling a sharp pang in my chest. Sheila presents me with a neatly wrapped box when I return home. "Happy birthday, Christian. I bought you a countertop dishwasher. You can leave the dishwashing to it from now on. Your hands won't have to stay in water all the time now." I look down at the neatly wrapped box and smile faintly. I have loved Sheila for seven years, yet I only need a single moment to let her go completely.

The day my boyfriend, Ashton Grant, ends up in the hospital, I find his will. Or rather, 214 of them. They're written on different dates, but every single one names the same beneficiary. And it isn't me. It's his first love. My hands go cold. I can't even confront him because Ashton is lying unconscious in a hospital bed. "Mr. Grant is addicted to extreme sports. The more dangerous, the better," his assistant explains. "He writes a new will before every trip. But only the most recent one was ever made official through his lawyer." I already know the answer before I ask. "And I'm still not in it, am I?" The assistant falls silent. After six years together, Ashton still disappears for weeks at a time, leaving me terrified that he won't come home one day. And all this time, whenever he risks his life, he's making sure that another woman is taken care of if he dies. His first love. If she's the one he thinks about when he might not make it home, then why should I be the one waiting and worrying when he leaves?

I'm born different, with two hearts inside my body. This is the only thing about me that makes my parents happy, because my brother, Tristan Foster, has congenital heart disease. They bring me into this world only so he can keep living. Then I meet Cindy Green and marry her. She pulls me out of the desperate need to chase my family's love. I think she's going to be different from my parents. But when Tristan's condition flares up, she becomes obsessed with wanting me to donate one of my hearts to him. What she doesn't know is that I only have one heart left. The other one is already beating inside her.

I've gone on a business trip. It's 3:00 am when my best friend suddenly calls me. He asks me why I didn't tell him that I already have a baby, seeing as we haven't met for a year. That question takes me by surprise. Josephine Bennett and I have been married for many years, but we've been using contraception all this time. Since when do we have a baby together? My best friend then sends me a screenshot of Josephine's social media feed. The caption shows, "This marks our 100th day together, my darling baby! I love you so much!" My heart goes tense when I see the screenshot. Immediately, I call Josephine to ask her what's going on. Her reaction is very cool and collected, though. "That's a relative's baby. I found the baby super adorable, so I decided to share the post. I didn't think I'd end up sharing the caption too." I just smile when I hear Josephine's answer. Later on, I call my older brother, Leonard Sterling. "Cut the funding for Josephine's research project. Turns out she's been cheating on me."

On the day of the divorce hearing, the judge went through the usual questions. “You’ve only been married for three years. Are you certain your marriage has broken down beyond repair?” I forced a bitter smile. I took off my wedding ring and placed it on the table. “We were married for three years, yet we were never together for all three years. “Your Honor, is there anything left between us?” We dated for five years before marriage. My name was pinned at the top of his WhatsApp. I was his emergency contact. I was even the beneficiary of his insurance policy. I thought I had married the right man. But on our wedding day, he received a phone call, and his face instantly turned pale. I asked him what happened. He only said his mother was sick. He left everything behind and immediately booked a flight back to his hometown. For the next three years, he sent me photos of his three meals every day, but his mother never appeared in any of those photos. I felt sorry for him. I even offered to quit my job and go back with him to take care of her. He had refused and said softly, “I can’t bear to let you do that.” A month ago, I saw a cancer influencer’s account online. Orion Young appeared in one of her vlogs. The caption was heartwarming. [He’s there when I wake up. He’s there for every meal. His hands are always there for me to hold.] What did that make me? For 1,095 days, I had only myself. He had been lying to me. The judge struck the gavel for the final time and asked, “Have you made your decision?” I nodded firmly. The court officially ended the marriage. I looked at the divorce judgment in my hands, and my tears finally fell. I thought, “Orion, I’m setting you free. I’m setting both of us free.”

When a wave of labor pain brought me to my knees in the hospital hallway, Orson Caldwell, a brilliant doctor, was just about to wheel me into the delivery room. Just then, his phone rang. When he answered the call, his expression fell. "Seraphina, Cressie's teddy is having trouble giving birth. It's in critical condition, but the vet clinic in her town is closed. I have to perform a C-section on it." I clutched my stomach as blood slowly began to seep between my legs. "I'm fully dilated. If you leave now, what am I supposed to do?" Orson looked annoyed. "We'll get another doctor to do it. You're only giving birth, but Cressie's dog could die. I'll make it up to you and our child someday." With that, he rushed into the elevator without even taking off his white coat. I laughed through my tears, pulled out my phone, and called my father. "Dad, I'll agree to the arranged marriage."

When the rebellious and flamboyant Sylvia Carter returned to her home country, she discovered that her family had already married her off to someone. Her husband was Jason Porter, the head of his family, who was eight years older than her. Naturally, Sylvia was reluctant to accept it. During their first meeting, having heard that Jason was disciplined, reserved, and a clean freak, she deliberately showed up in a black, form-fitting halter dress. She even hired eight male escorts to fuss over her with refreshments. Her parents were embarrassed. Just as they were about to apologize, Jason calmly leaned forward. He held them steady with his strong hands and spoke in a deep, clear voice. "This arranged marriage has put Ms. Carter in an uncomfortable position. I should be the one apologizing to her." Sylvia froze. She slowly raised her head and met Jason's intense gaze. He had such alluring amber irises.

Seven years after my death, an engagement invitation from my ex-girlfriend arrives at my house. Back then, I had broken up with her in my lowest, most desperate days and married someone else. Now, she has reinvented herself as a rising powerhouse worth hundreds of billions, driven by revenge and eager to see me regret everything and beg for mercy. Unfortunately for her, I am not the one who shows up. She looks around in open contempt, convinced my absence means guilt, shame, and fear. When I finally appear, all she sees is an urn.

All the paparazzi in Glorisia knows that Wanda Foster would rather sleep with an escort from a nightclub than with me, her legally-wedded husband. The daily question they ask is, "When will Mr. Gulliver give his precious first time away?" When faced with the paparazzi's cameras, Wanda turns to look at me arrogantly. "We can just lead different romantic lives on our own. If you don't like how I act, feel free to sleep with someone else too." After that, Wanda turns to leave. That night, the spicy photos of her and her latest beau go viral on the news once again. Just when everyone thinks I will spend yet another sleepless night agonizing over the news, I contact some paparazzi and place a reservation on a spot for sensational news. Then, I strip down and mess up the bedsheets before taking a nude photo of myself from another person's POV. After that, I use an unknown number to text Wanda. "Oh my, James is seriously amazing in bed! Let me know when you're going to divorce him!"

When my Alpha mate, Xander, wanted to bring Sadie—the pregnant widow of his best friend—into our home, I let him. I even went before the Pack Elders myself and filed to sever our fated mate bond. I set him free to honor the guilt and devotion he felt for her. I did it all because of my last life. In that life, blinded by jealousy, I had coldly refused his request. That refusal led to tragedy. Sadie left our territory alone, miscarried on the road, and was left barren—never able to bear a cub again. And he blamed me for all of it. So when I was the one dying, bleeding out on the birthing bed and begging him to save me, he showed me the depths of his hatred. He coldly pulled the pack healers from my room, leaving our cub and me to die in a pool of our own blood. I can still hear his icy words. "Sadie lost her cub because of you. Now, you pay the price for your cruelty." So this time, I stepped aside. I let him keep his promise to the woman he cherished, and I gave him the bone-deep hatred for me that he so clearly craved. But I never imagined what would happen when I was finally, truly gone from his life. I never expected that the same Alpha who treated me with such cold cruelty would go mad searching for me. That he would tear the territories apart, only to fall to his knees before me, his eyes bloodshot, begging me to come back.

Everyone knew that the crown prince, Mathias Cavendish, was a handsome man with a calm and composed demeanor. He was a dream suitor for every woman of marriageable age in the city. However, no one knew how wild he was with Seraphina Montclair when his body pressed against hers every night and he thrust hard into her in all sorts of positions in bed. On the 1,001st night he met her through the secret passage, Seraphina lay weakly in the messy sheets, feeling sore all over. Mathias looked down at her after being fully satisfied, and she finally worked up the courage to say, "Your Highness will be marrying my older sister at the end of the month…" Her fingers clenched the corner of the covers as she said almost inaudibly, "Would you be willing to give me a place by your side on the same day?" Mathias was wearing his clothes when he suddenly paused. "No." He turned to look at her, his cold yet handsome face lit up under the flickering candlelight. "I promised Cordelia that she would be the only woman by my side. Your presence shall never be known to her." Seraphina turned pale instantly. "What would that make me?"

At our wedding, my husband, Justin Garner, pushes me—three months pregnant—toward our enemies as an apology in order to save his foster sister, Clara Garner. "This is my sincerity. You can do whatever you want with her." I don't cry or make a scene. I quietly follow the enemies away. That's because in my previous life, I had traded all my wealth for freedom and returned to Justin's side. In the end, I was forced to drink drugs and lost my unborn baby, suffering for three days and nights. "Justin, those 'enemies' were people you hired to act, and Maxine didn't even lose her innocence. Why did you have to get rid of the baby?" Clara asks. Justin coldly laughs. "If you're acting, you have to make it look real." I died full of hatred. When I wake up again, I choose to let those people take me away. Three years later, when I arrive at a banquet on the arms of my new lover, Justin goes mad, grabbing me and demanding, "Maxine Preston, where is our child?"

Jennifer Koch, my childhood friend, has spent years helping me "test" my boyfriend, Tyler Sloan, to see if he's someone worth being with. When she sends a message in our group chat saying that she wants a beach vacation, her boyfriend immediately books first-class flight tickets for the two of them. Meanwhile, I wait up, checking my phone constantly. The clock strikes midnight before Tyler's reply comes in. "I'm busy." On Valentine's Day, Jennifer is showered with gifts and flowers. What I get is a lecture from Tyler. "Can you not be so childish? Who cares about these frivolous things?" Every time, I hold back my tears and try to excuse his behavior for him. "He's just not a very sentimental guy. He doesn't know how to be romantic, but I know he cares about me." Once we get engaged, however, it seems as though Tyler has learned to be romantic at last. He has decided to hold a grand wedding ceremony for us. Yet, every time he meets with the wedding planners, he gets Jennifer to go with him. He even lets her try on the wedding gown in my place and walk down the aisle at the dress rehearsal for me. "I just want to keep it a surprise for you," he tells me. During my bachelorette party, a fire breaks out at the hotel because of some faulty wiring. Jennifer pulls me into a corner to hide. "Cassie, if Tyler doesn't save you first this time, you should dump him at the altar, okay?" The next second, Tyler kicks down the door, his eyes red. Just as I'm about to stretch my hand out, he scoops Jennifer up in his arms and rushes for the door, saying to me, "You can escape by yourself. Jenny can't stand being in pain!" I freeze up. The smoke swirls around me. I watch as the emergency responders call out, "The bride's safe! Where's her family?" Tyler grips Jennifer's hand tightly and chokes out, "I'm here. I'm her husband." As I stare at their embraced figures, it finally hits me. Tyler does have it in him to be sentimental and romantic after all. I'm just not the woman he shows that side of himself to.

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…

On their seventh wedding anniversary, Kimberly Williams discovered a divorce agreement in Richard Munoz's nightstand drawer. It was covered in scribbles and cross-outs, as if he'd agonized over the decision time and again. [If I fall in love with someone else during the marriage, I voluntarily give up all my assets and leave with nothing. Here's the list of properties.] He'd originally vowed to walk away penniless for her sake, but in the asset section, he'd crossed things out one by one. First, he struck through the house he planned to give her, then changed the $50 million to $500,000. Finally, in a ruthless scrawl, he added: [Better if Kimberly leaves with nothing. Can't help it. Lotta is pregnant.]

I spent six months and over $20,000 to plan a family vacation. However, when my mate's childhood sweetheart Ethan heard about our trip, he wanted to join us. Chloe didn't hesitate. She cancelled my spot in the protected convoy and gave it to him instead. She forced me to travel alone through deadly Shadow Pack territory — a thirty-six hour journey where three wolves had died last month. The whole family supported Chloe's decision without a thought for my safety. So I changed my travel plans. I headed north instead of south. I spent three months enjoying myself, ignoring their mindlink messages. That's when the family started to panic...

News of a wedding in Nordica's top power family lit up the world. But at the rehearsal, I caught my fiancée, Ivette Bianchi, making out with her childhood sweetheart, Jerick Weiner. "Babe, we've been in love forever. Let me use your first-time blood as pigment for my art?" Ivette blushed, hesitated— Jerick didn't wait. He pinned her to the wall and kissed her. "My best piece needs that color," he whispered. "I want this painting to end our youth." I watched them twisted together, ice-cold. Dropped the ring. It clattered across the floor. "Go through with the ceremony," I said. "Or your family goes broke." She stiffened, shoved Jerick off, and spat, "Fine." Then she turned right back, grabbed his hand, and dragged him inside. "It's just a bachelorette party. I won't miss the rehearsal." The door slammed. I didn't react. I was done. I made the call. "Change the bride. And yeah—the Bianchis crossed the line first. I want them erased."

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!

My boyfriend, Wendell Lowe, has been complaining about my best friend, Carissa Chapman, for three years. He hates the fact that she's loud, uploads too many selfies on her social media feed, and doesn't bother looking at the price whenever she's ordering food at a restaurant. Every time a gathering is over, Wendell feels the need to talk smack about Carissa. "Don't invite her to the next gathering in the future. She's so annoying." I keep thinking that Wendell really dislikes Carissa. So when Carissa gets a new boyfriend, I quickly tell him the good news. "Carissa has a boyfriend now. She won't be bothering us anymore." But Wendell gets mad instead. "Who's the guy? Is it the IT guy from her social circle? Isn't he the one who pulls OT every day? Can he even spend time with her?" One week later, Carissa brings her new boyfriend, Gavin Ferguson, over to our gathering. Gavin keeps putting food on Carissa's plate, pouring her water, and dabbing the corner of her mouth for her. Wendell, on the other hand, looks extremely stormy the whole time. After the gathering is over, I comment, "Gavin is pretty decent. He's pretty caring toward Carissa." Suddenly, Wendell stops in his tracks. "He's just putting on an act. Carissa is the type who gets touched far too easily. She shouldn't be with a guy like him. "If anything, she needs to find someone who really understands her. Someone who knows that she's terrified of the dark, doesn't eat cilantro, and often smiles and says that she's fine whenever she's sad." The more Wendell speaks, the softer and shakier his voice becomes. Under the streetlight, I notice how damp his lashes are. A tear soon slides down his nose bridge. For the past three years, Wendell has been admonishing Carissa relentlessly. It turns out it isn't because he hates her. I turn on my heel and walk in the other direction. "You should seek her out. Don't take the detour this time."

The day my wife slept with her terminally ill “male best friend” to take his virginity, I left a divorce agreement behind and walked out. Before I left, I commented under their hand-holding photo on Instagram. [Let's get divorced. I wish you and Theo a long and happy life together.] One minute later, she called me. "Logan, how did I end up marrying someone as selfish as you? Can you really let him die without someone to carry on his line?" I sneered and replied that she wasn't my wife anymore, so that wasn't really my problem. She panicked.