Mistress Melodramatic 단편 소설 & 소설

I'm on a vacation during the holidays. When I'm scheduling to buy a ticket home, I accidentally oversleep. Still, I manage to secure a train ticket home. Due to the uncomfortable ride, I reach home looking very haggard and wretched. As soon as I step through the front door, I see someone stuffing a bunch of cleaning appliances into my arms. A woman can be seen gazing at me haughtily. Then, she starts ordering me around. "Hurry up! You must clean up this house by 6:00 pm tonight!" I notice that she's wearing my mom's pajamas. Then, I retreat to the doorway just so I can study the double-storied mansion again. This is my home! But who the hell is that woman? Also, who does she expect to clean up this place? Me? As in the only daughter of the wealthiest man in the city? I tap on my family's group chat and tag my dad. "@Dad: Hey, why did your new flame order me to clean the house?"

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 childhood friend, Sawyer Dwyer, had just confessed his feelings to me when his ex, Lina Keenan, got into a car accident. In the hospital hallway, his voice was steady. "She can't handle any emotional shock right now. Just give it some time. Don't tell her about us." I met his gaze and nodded. I never thought "some time" would turn into three whole years. He made her soup, helped with her rehab, and gave her all his attention. But whenever I showed the slightest frustration, he got annoyed. "Joelle, don't overthink it. She just depends on me right now. Once she's better, everything will be fine. "I'm just being there for her as a friend. "Stop making this into something it's not..." ... Over and over, he made the same promises with complete confidence. Then one day, I brought a hot meal to Lina's place and pushed open the door. They were kissing. I stood there, frozen. When Lina noticed me, she smiled. "Joelle, I have good news. We're back together. When are you going to get a boyfriend? I want to see you happy too." I looked at their hands locked together, my eyes burning. "I did have a boyfriend. But just now... we broke up."

At a certain class reunion, the former class president brought out the time capsules everyone had written years ago and read them aloud one by one. When it was Harper Langley’s turn, he opened her note and read, [Marry Jayden as soon as possible.] The room immediately broke into teasing laughter. “You two must already be married. Why didn’t you invite us to the wedding?” Before Harper could respond, the man sitting beside her spoke up with a smile. “She’s my boss now. She’s been busy building her company, so she hasn’t had time to get married. If any of you keep pressuring her to settle down and mess with my paycheck, you’re going to have a problem with me.” The speaker was Eugene Rowe. Back in school, he had been Harper’s obsessive pursuer, and she had deeply disliked him for it. He had since become her assistant. Harper did not deny anything. She simply took my hand and smiled, as gently as she always had. I pulled my hand away and smiled at everyone. “I’m getting married at the beginning of next month. You’re all invited.” Eugene’s face turned deathly pale. He stared at Harper in disbelief. She frowned and pulled out her phone. A moment later, my phone buzzed with a message. She texted: You didn’t have to lie to our classmates just to avoid embarrassment. My company is at a critical stage right now, so marriage can wait. I locked my phone without replying. I had not lied. I really was getting married at the beginning of next month. Harper was just not the bride.

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."

I'm a good luck charm to my wife by nature. After marrying me, Heather Seymour, who's crippled because of a car crash, miraculously stands up on her own and gets to ditch the wheelchair. On top of that, her business is booming as well. In less than half a year, she successfully establishes her own company. After Heather's company goes public, she tells me with a smile that she wants to give me a huge gift at the celebration party. I'm filled with anticipation, thinking that Heather finally wants to fulfill her promise of having a child with me. But instead, Heather is seen lacing fingers with her subordinate, Lucas Mallard, at the celebration party. Not only does she announce her relationship with Lucas, but she also tosses me a divorce agreement. Her expression remains icy as she says, "Randall Grahm, if it wasn't for the fact that I got into an accident when Lucas was studying abroad, I wouldn't have married you, to begin with! "Now that my legs have recovered, my company is listed, and I'm pregnant with Lucas' baby, it's high time for you to return the position as the CEO's husband to him! Our family of three will finally be whole again!" It turns out that Heather married me just so I can take over the responsibilities of taking care of her back then. Everyone thinks that I'll go ballistic from rage, so they can't wait to see me humiliate myself. But I just agree with the divorce with a smile before dropping my signature on the paperwork. What Heather doesn't know is that I'm only a good luck charm to her simply because of the system I'm bound to. Once the divorce is official, the things that I've given to her—that are exchanged from the system—will be taken back one by one!

At my mom's funeral, my lecturer wife, Vivian Carter, decides to have a rendezvous with her student, Noah Myers, with ten packs of condoms in her bag. Once they are done with their passionate lovemaking, Noah uploads a photo to his social media feed. It features a red-faced Vivian lying on his bed. Meanwhile, the clothes of mourning that she's worn to the funeral are strewn all over the floor. The caption reads, "The only who's not loved is the actual homewrecker here. My relationship has finally borne fruit!" His feed goes wild with comments. Everyone mocks me for being a shameless simp for Vivian, and that I've been ruining Noah's relationship with her this whole time. My mentor, Avery Sanders, is sick with worry. But I, on the other hand, merely brew myself a cup of coffee. Then, I say lightly, "Since he likes uploading his intimate photos that much, I might as well upload photos of his and Vivian's bastard child as well as their paternity tests. Here's the caption—I, the legal husband, am now defending my pride as a married man. "Now, I'd like to see if Noah and Vivian are capable of bearing the consequences of pissing off my prestigious and wealthy family!"

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."

During the summer vacation, I go overseas with my boyfriend, Cornell Glover, to attend his favorite music festival that is called the Tuchella Music Festival. When we are lining up to go into the venue under the sweltering heat of 86F, I go to the vendors nearby to buy him some iced bottled water. But by the time I get back, Cornell is gone. To make things worse, my digital ticket shows that it has already been checked in. Anxious, I call him and ask, "Have you gone in? Why does my ticket show that I've checked in?" Cornell replies, "Oh. I ran into Ellie Valdez, the intern from our department, just now. She was crying at the entrance because she couldn't get a ticket, so I gave yours to her." "Are you crazy? I was the one who got us those VIP front-row seats!" I exclaim. "Come on. It's not like you're interested in rock music. You'd just be scrolling on your phone after you get in. Ellie is a diehard fan. Don't you think you should let someone who appreciates the music have this instead?" Cornell says nonchalantly. I am so shocked that I don't know what to say. After a few seconds, I say in disbelief, "So you left me out here, all alone, for an intern's sake?" Cornell sounds dismissive as he says, "You can hear the music from outside anyway. Just find somewhere to sit and wait until the music festival ends. Don't be so selfish." I listen to the long, monotonous beep after he hangs up on me for a moment before calling my lead singer brother right away.

After giving me the cold shoulder for a month, Jules Anderson voluntarily handed me two VIP wristbands for Coachella and invited me to attend it on our wedding anniversary. I was dressed to the nines that day, but he never appeared, even after admissions started. Then, once I was about to enter, I realized that the wristbands in my bag were gone. At that moment, Jules' childhood sweetheart, Maddie Washington, updated her social media. In the photo, Jules was solemnly holding a pink cotton candy, completely different from his usual cold and aloof demeanor. The caption read: [Finally seeing Domi Dora. Thank you to the person who always responds to my every request.] Looking at the empty compartment in my bag, I suddenly understood everything. In the past, I would have had a big argument with Jules and forced him to give me an explanation. Now, I just felt relieved. It had been five years. I accumulated so many disappointments that I was drained.

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.

While doing my girlfriend Bianca White's laundry, I found an envelope with a certified marriage certificate and a wedding photo between her clothes. In the wedding photo against the white background, the young man beside her smiled with bright, reckless confidence. I shook all over and slammed the document down in front of her. Bianca gave it one calm glance, then tapped the young man's face in the photo with her fingertip. "Mason Rivers. You know him. He failed to get into grad school and tried to kill himself last year and I saved him, so we exchanged numbers. He wouldn't have come to me unless he was desperate. "His parents are very controlling. Back home, they were trying to force him into a marriage and give up on his education. As an educator, I couldn't just stand by and watch him die, so I helped him." Bianca said it so casually, as if she had only done him a small favor. However, the marriage certificate and wedding photo would not go away. I stared at it, then suddenly laughed until I almost cried. I had waited eight whole years for that certificate, yet I had never once gotten Bianca to say "Let's get married" even now. I never expected Mason to get it with one sentence.

Late one night, my wife called me, her voice carrying a hint of apology. "Drew, I'm sorry. I cheated." Everyone in our lives knew she loved me more than anything. So how could she possibly cheat? After realizing it was April Fool's Day, I replied with a smile, "I cheated too." She didn't sound surprised at all. Instead, she seemed relieved. "That's good. At least I don't feel as guilty now. "The divorce papers are in the second drawer of the study. Just sign them." I was about to tell her she was putting on a pretty convincing act when the call suddenly ended. Smiling, I opened the drawer and froze. The divorce agreement was real, with her unmistakable signature at the bottom of the final page. My eyes stung as I reached for my phone, about to ask whether this was really some kind of joke, when a message arrived from one of my wife's graduate students. [Mr. Jensen, so it turns out you cheated too. In that case, just step aside already. Then Ms. Jones and I can finally celebrate our first anniversary out in the open!]

Vivian Grant lost her memory and forgot everything about me. Her memory stopped in the year when she loved her ex-husband most. No matter how the people around her tried to explain it, she still believed I was the third party who had come between them. The doctors said her amnesia might be treatable, so I held on to that hope and refused to let go. For three years, we got divorced and remarried over and over again. We became the biggest joke in the city's elite circles. Some people even started betting on us. They bet on when I would finally give up, and when Vivian would finally remember. Then news of our eighth divorce hit the trending charts again. Reporters rushed into the law firm with cameras on their shoulders. They shoved microphones in my face, their questions full of provocation. "Mr. Sterling, as a divorce attorney, how does it feel to have been divorced eight times yourself?" The firm's sign was smashed. The commendation banners clients had given me were trampled underfoot. Before I could respond, my supervisor fired me for damaging the profession's reputation. "Julian Sterling, let me give you some advice. Have some self-respect. Stop clinging to Ms. Grant." I clenched my trembling hands and suddenly felt exhausted. They were right. This time, I really should give up.

Ever since my wife, Allison Strong, gives birth to our son, Noel Russell, she becomes unable to speak. The doctors say it is likely a psychological issue. For three whole years, she does not say a single word to me. Even when there's a gas leak in the house, she simply waits for me to discover it myself. When Noel cries from hunger, she never tries to comfort him. After my company goes bankrupt, I don't even have time to grieve. I spend my days delivering packages to support the family while taking my wife to see psychologists and specialists. One day, I am dead tired after working from morning until night. As I back my car into the garage, I fail to notice that Allison has left three-year-old Noel to play behind the vehicle. The moment I feel the car roll over something, my gut tells me something is very wrong. Noel's cries last only a few moments before he falls silent. My legs nearly give out beneath me. Forcing myself to stay upright, I scoop up Noel and rush him to the hospital with my hands trembling uncontrollably. Meanwhile, Allison stands silently somewhere to the side. Just like always, she says nothing. Her expression remains absolutely unfazed. Though she is the one who has given birth to Noel, everything seems completely unrelated to her. I have a mental breakdown. Grabbing her by the shoulders, I shake her desperately and yell, "You saw what was happening, why didn't you warn me? Why did you let him play there? What kind of psychological problem do you have that you can just stand by and watch your own son die? "Are you trying to destroy me, Allison?" I scream hysterically, but she still does not open her mouth or make a sound. Despair engulfs me. Three years of complete silence from her crushes me. Just when I am about to give up, Allison pushes through the crowd and softly speaks her first words in three years. They are quiet, but I hear them clearly. "Clarence..." Clarence Welch is the name of her first love. Only then do I realize that her psychological issue is with Noel and me.

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.

Just before the end of my shift, the last patient I see is my wife, Tracy Montgomery. Her prenatal test report clearly states that she is three weeks pregnant. She is the mother, and the father is her lover of five years, Max Lockwood. Calmly, I slide the report across the desk and say softly, "Congratulations. You finally got what you wanted." Tracy pauses for a moment before frowning hard. "That's it? Are you just congratulating me? Don't you have anything else to say?" I stare at the piece of paper and at the child who isn't mine. I initially think I would react the way I always do, which entails throwing away my pride and causing a huge scene in front of her. But in the end, I don't even have the strength for that anymore. Her fingertips brush gently across her stomach as she says, "I've had my fun over the years. Once the baby is born, I'll settle down." Hearing those words, I lift my head and meet her eyes. I say evenly, "Tracy, our contract has expired."

It was the day before SAT. I made a video for my time capsule. If all went well, I'd be watching the video 10 years later, and all did go well. A bit too well, really. The moment I opened the video call app, I was connected to the future me. The one living a decade in the future. "Did I get into Harland U? Got a PhD? Is Johnny still my best friend? He has a very short temper. No one else can stand him. I bet you've gotten your PhD and married Zoe." The future was a bright, hopeful place in my mind. Unfortunately, the future me flew into a rage the moment Zoe's mouth left my tongue. "That bitch is giving you pens filled with vanishing ink so Johnny gets to be the state's top scorer instead of you! You're not getting into Harland! You're forced to repeat the year! "That bitch is going to act sorry and down and promise to get into an LDR with you only to go steady with Johnny right away! The whole campus knows about them! They're the perfect couple! "You're an idiot, Seamus! Your girl's going to cheat on you, and you'll thank the guy who railed her for fucking taking care of her!"