เรื่องสั้นแนว Melodramatic และนิยาย Mistress Regret

At my wedding rehearsal dinner, a photo of me and my fiancé’s older brother—naked in bed—was displayed in front of everyone. I said it was a setup. Jason, my soon-to-be husband and the Don of the Vale, said, “I trust you.” He erased the footage—and married me anyway. For two years, he kept me hidden while my stepsister, Nerissa, stood beside him in public. He said it was to protect me—so I believed him. I believed him even when the rumors said he was sleeping with her, even when he introduced her as his Donna… until today, when I found them in bed together. Jason didn’t even stop kissing her when he saw me. “Do you like this anniversary gift, Alina?” That was when I finally understood— Jason had never believed me—and the reason he still married me wasn’t love. It was punishment.

After billionaire Jonathan Whitman lost his fortune, his wife Selene had no choice but to work as a maid in a mansion to make ends meet. She scrubbed toilets. She cleaned pools. She hauled out garbage—right up until she lost the baby she was carrying. And then she discovered her husband's affair with Vivienne, her employer. She was sleeping with Selene's husband, carrying her husband's baby, wearing million-dollar rubies, sleeping in silk, dining on imported delicacies. The moment she walked in on them, Selene snapped and pushed Vivienne. But Jonathan, to protect her, had Selene arrested and held in detention. He thought she'd come out of it humbled. Quiet. Tamer. What he didn't know was that the moment she walked free, she filed for divorce. She walked out of the basement studio they'd shared without a backward glance. What he also didn't know: he had a genetic infertility condition. And the only woman on earth whose body could give him a child—was Selene.

Everyone in my fiancée Marianne Kirby's phone has a contact name. My best friend, Jeremiah Cochran, is saved as Jerry, whereas I'm just a string of numbers with no name attached. I've asked Marianne why before, but she simply reaches up to straighten my collar. "I know your number by heart, so why would I need to save your name? I'm marrying you, after all—of course I've got to get on your best friend's good side early." Jeremiah even reassures me, "Marianne just loves you so much that she extends that love to the people around you, so I'm only benefiting from being your best friend." I tell myself that Marianne doesn't need to save my name because it's already etched into her heart. But that belief starts to crack when I'm burning up with a fever of 104 degrees, and Marianne replies to my WhatsApp messages with just two sentences. "Drink plenty of warm water. I'm working late tonight." Yet, I run into her at the pharmacy across from the hospital. She's anxiously comparing medication ingredients for Jeremiah, who's having an allergic reaction. Standing outside the glass window, I shiver with cold as I call her. The phone in her pocket lights up, displaying the string of numbers she claims to know by heart. Without a moment's hesitation, she declines the call, then smiles at Jeremiah. "It's probably another telemarketer. Just ignore it." As I listen to the dial tone on the other end, I delete the chat I've kept pinned for years. After all, I've never had a name in Marianne's world. No one will notice if a number without a contact name simply disappears.

I came home late one night to find another woman in the apartment I shared with my boyfriend, Alistair Westwood. She was wearing my silk slip, which barely covered her thighs. Barefoot, she pressed herself against him. His hand was wrapped around her bare waist. "Nika isn't feeling well, so I told her she could stay here for now." Nika peeked out from behind him. "I'm sorry. I didn't know this was your place." "Where is she going to sleep?" I demanded. "And why is she wearing my clothes?" Alistair frowned. "Nika is sick. Obviously, she'll sleep with me so I can look after her. Can't you just let this go for once?" "It's fine. I can sleep on the couch," Nika offered. Alistair cut her off at once. "No. You're too sick to sleep there." I stared at the two of them for a moment. Then I grabbed a pillow and a blanket. "I'll take the couch." As soon as the bedroom door closed, I opened my laptop and reached for an invitation on the table. Half an hour later, I typed my answer. By the next day, Alistair's company had lost one of its biggest partnerships.

I leave my boyfriend without a word when he's at his lowest. He later makes a name for himself and forces me to marry him. Our relationship goes viral online and becomes the subject of everyone's envy. They all say he's desperately in love with me, but he later sleeps with other women in our bed. I fall from grace and become the city's biggest laughingstock. I don't cause a scene. Instead, I move into the guest bedroom and leave the master bedroom for them. He's furious as he grips my neck roughly. He bites my lips, drawing blood. "Why aren't you mad?" Because I'm sick. I don't have the time to wait for him to see the error of his ways anymore.

Marty Greene, a newly hired assistant, publicly humiliates me by calling me a worthless nobody who hangs around Audrey Melton. As my girlfriend and an award-winning actress who loves me more than life itself, Audrey promises to stand up for me. She devises a seven-day plan to build Marty up before bringing him crashing down. On the first day, she replaces me with Marty as her personal assistant, claiming she wants him to understand how hard I work. On the third day, she gives him a luxury car and a mansion, supposedly to make him lose himself in vanity. On the fifth day, she bakes him a birthday cake on a live reality show. She insists it's a crucial part of her plan and begs me to be patient. Then on the seventh day, my mother, Deborah Faulkner, suddenly falls gravely ill. As she lies dying, her final wish is to see Audrey one last time. Audrey readily agrees. But I wait at the hospital all night, and she never shows up. Instead, all I see is a post from Marty on X. "Audrey is simply too kind for her own good. She almost falls for a scam after just one phone call. Luckily, I'm smart enough to see through it and stop her from falling for it." Mom dies without ever getting to see Audrey again. It's not until the following day that Audrey finally calls. "Babe, just hang in there a little longer. I'm going to expose Marty's vanity and ruin his reputation at today's awards ceremony. Then, we'll go public with our relationship and have the wedding of the century to make Mrs. Landry happy." Audrey has no idea that Mom is already dead, and that I'm done waiting for her.

My husband, a military colonel with whom I’d been married for ten years, was barred from entering our son’s funeral wake. Because before our son died, he made three final wishes. The first wish was not to tell his father about his death just yet, as he was afraid the news would upset him. Secondly, to cook his father’s favorite meal and let his father be there for his final birthday. Lastly, if his father were to miss his birthday, then under no circumstances—no matter what—never allow that man to appear before his grave. Even though the man’s eyes were bloodshot and his body was shaking as he cried his heart out in the torrential rain lashing outside the funeral home, I never let the man take a single step toward my son after his death. Three days earlier, after spending a whole night setting fireworks with my childhood friend and her son, Logan Pearce came home with a brand-new schoolbag. That was his idea of making up for missing our son’s birthday. The man frowned, puzzled by the tears in my eyes. “Isn’t it just one birthday? I’ll make it up to him next time, won’t I? Little did he know that our five-year-old son had already died from an asthma attack. The little boy would never live to see the first day of school.

After five years of building a business with my wife, Jane Fletcher, our company finally goes public. Right after I close a big business deal, I head home in high spirits, ready to take her to meet my family. She transfers me 100 dollars with a hint of annoyance and says, "Buy yourself a decent shirt to wear for the financial conference on the day after tomorrow." The next day, Ansel Meyer—the underprivileged student she sponsors—shows up in a custom suit worth two million dollars. He says apologetically, "Mr. Crane, please do not be mad at Ms. Fletcher. She just wants to give me the best. Maybe she thinks you are used to these things, so she only gave you 100 dollars." I call Jane, but she replies impatiently, "It is just a suit. Why are you being so petty?" All of a sudden, I no longer want to continue this marriage. So, I make two calls decisively. "Hey, Mitch. I am not going to go through with that 50-million deal." "Mom, hold on to the 300-million wedding gift you prepared for your daughter-in-law."

I Was Your Only Secret

On New Year's Eve, I hurry home from abroad to surprise my wife, Moira Wesley, from whom I've kept my return a secret. But when I push open the front door of our home, I'm greeted by the sound of laughter and friendly chatter. Overcome with emotions, I enter the house to see Moira with a baby in her arms as she announces sweetly, "Today, we celebrate New Year's Eve and Beatrice's one-month birthday! Happy New Year, everyone!" Upon hearing my entrance, Moira glances over her shoulder, then turns and walks toward me. She grabs the mug of hot tea on the table and splashes it at me. "Who are you? How dare you trespass into a private residence on New Year's Eve?" I try to ignore the burning pain on the left side of my face as I grab Moira's arm, hoping she'll explain herself. However, she shrugs off my grip and gives me another hard slap. "Noah, call the police! Tell them a suspicious person broke into our home and is attempting to rob us!" After that, Moira winks at me, then turns with the baby in her arms and joins an older couple. "Francine, Eric, don't worry about that. It was someone irrelevant." I stand in place, watching as the large family has fun in the house that now seems so unfamiliar, and feel a sudden wave of emptiness wash over me.

Grayson Harmon's childhood friend, Sophia Lexton, got into a car accident. She didn't just lose her memory—she came away with some post-traumatic stress disorder, too. That's what the doctors called it. They said we had to keep her calm, avoid anything that might upset her. So, for the sake of her recovery, Grayson asked me not to argue with her. To let her have her way, no matter what. She took my engagement necklace and moved into the little love nest Grayson and I had made our own. And on our wedding day, she threatened to kill herself, forcing Grayson to take her to the hospital. He looked at her bleeding out and said to me, calm as ever, "Brianna, I'll make it up to you after the wedding. I'll throw you an even grander one. Sophia is dying." Then he picked her up and walked away, never once looking back. If he had—just once—he might have seen something was wrong. He might have seen the blood soaking into my wedding dress.

My infertile wife, Quinn Hart, finally gets pregnant after seven years of marriage. But our baby boy is diagnosed with a rare disease shortly after being born. In order to treat our child's disease, Quinn and I have sold everything we own. Alas, we still aren't able to gather enough money to save him. Left without a choice, I can only take on jobs far away from home. Since Quinn is left penniless, she and our child are forced to room with other people. One day, I receive a work order that comes with lucrative rewards. Apparently, I'm required to clean windows on a tall building. Coincidentally, the address points to the building where Quinn is rooming with others. I slowly descend to the window, hoping to give Quinn a surprise. But that's when I notice the boisterous atmosphere inside that particular room. I notice Quinn holding our baby boy with one hand while her other hand is intertwined with another man. "Everyone, meet my husband whom I'm secretly married to for many years, Chester Langston. Today is our moving day as well as the celebration party for our son. "Thank you for attending the grand occasion. We'd like to toast to you in order to show our gratitude." I feel my blood freezing in my veins at that moment. Meanwhile, Quinn is typing away on her phone a short distance away. The next thing I know, I hear my phone chiming once. It seems that a new text has appeared on the screen. "Honey, I'm already pinching pennies just by sharing the same bed with other people with our son. But the thing is, I don't have enough money to last the month…" I can hear Quinn's "husband" teasing her with a soft chuckle through the open window. "So, this is how you've been lying to him, huh?" Quinn just smiles at him casually. "I did everything out of love for you, didn't I? In fact, I've been pretending to be infertile for seven long years just so I can keep my promise to you. And now, I'm pretending to be poor to the point that I keep telling Nicholas that I'm sharing a bed with strangers every day."

The marriage between Wendy Walker and Felix Foster had been the talk of Harbour City’s high society for years. Wendy was the rebellious, unapologetically outspoken heiress of the Walker family, a stunning beauty with a bold, commanding presence. Felix, on the other hand, was the cold, disciplined head of the Foster family, a powerful billionaire known for his strict principles and almost monk-like restraint. They were complete opposites. Yet they'd been married for three years. In their first year of marriage, Wendy was expected to memorize and obey all three thousand rules of the Foster family.

My husband is the Don of the entire New York East Coast Mafia. For ten years, I dimmed my own light to be his perfect silent partner, the dutiful wife who gave him the perfect heir. I thought we were the lovers who wou ld die for each other. Then came a mere associat. My husband and son had formed an alliance with the woman who seem want to take my place. But they just said, "Elena, you have the crown and the kingdom. She has nothing but us. Be generous." So, to make her smile, my husband trampled on my dignity again and again. To please her, my son affectionately calls her "Mom." In their eyes, I was the iron wall, the woman who would swallow any insult for the sake of the family honor. Until the fire. My husband locked me inside the burning room, to let me "reflect" on my jealousy. He didn't know that the fire didn't kill me. But it burned away the last ash of my love for him.

Connor Lockwood abandons me at the hospital's entrance even though I'm bleeding in the middle of my pregnancy. He insists on sending his client, a divorcée, home. The blood flows down my legs, but he hurries off without another look back. He should've been at the hospital and by my side, but instead, I see him in his client's social media update. It's captioned, "Thank goodness for my wonderful lawyer. Do you know who gets to have hangover soup when they're drunk? Me!" I spend the rest of the night wide awake. The following morning, I calmly dial a number. "Dad, I've made up my mind. I'll return home in three days to take over the company."

At an alumni reunion, my husband's business rival Vanessa Graves stands up in front of everyone and raises three toasts to him. "The first is for the time you risked your life to save me from a group of thugs and ended up with broken bones and spent six months in the hospital. "The second is for the five years we were together, and every bit of love and devotion you gave me. "The third is for putting everything behind you and coming here tonight to see me." She finishes her drink and looks at my husband, Russell Grayson, with teary eyes filled with affection. The whole table erupts in whispers, every pair of eyes locked on her and Russell. "No wonder the campus queen has been single all these years. She's been waiting for Russell Grayson." "They were everyone's golden couple back in the day. After they broke up, he was a wreck for the longest time before someone else swooped in. Are they about to get back together?" Under the weight of everyone's loaded stares, I smile and slide Russell's glass away from him. "No drinking if you're driving, honey. I have a prenatal appointment this afternoon. Why don't you come with me?"

Clarice and Kyle both followed the same travel vlogger. I didn’t think anything of the situation since the three of us had been friends since high school. The strange thing was that they had a private group chat that didn’t include me. I only found out because Kyle accidentally sent a message in our group chat. “I got us a table reservation at that restaurant for Sunday. Don’t be late.” It took less than a second before the text was deleted. I asked, “What restaurant? Let’s go together.” Kyle typed back, “Oops. Wrong chat. I’m having dinner with a colleague.” Clarice stayed silent throughout. It took some time, but I started connecting the dots. Whenever the three of us had something planned, one of them would cancel at the last minute. Previously, Clarice said she’d get the tickets for the music festival, but somehow, she could only secure two. Those went to her and Kyle. During our last camping trip, Kyle said that he only managed to borrow two sets of gear. When I offered to rent my own, Kyle brushed me off, saying that it was just too much of a hassle and that there was always a next time. That same weekend, Kyle and Clarice posted photos from that exact campsite, twenty minutes apart. For six months, I convinced myself that I was just unlucky. Looking back now, I realized that I had been singled out. So I left the group chat. No explanations. No accusations. I muted notifications from travel apps, ticketing apps, and restaurant bookings. Then, I booked a solo trip to Lake Tahoe, a ticket with no refund and no amendment allowed.

Jay Cooper, Giselle White's assistant-slash-sugar baby, accuses me of stealing his mother's personal effects from him. That night, my mom, who's severely ill, gets dangled from a helicopter. Impatience is written all over Giselle's eyes. "If you refuse to return the cross pendant to Jay, your mom will pay for your willful act!" I do my best to suppress the throbbing pain coming from my heart as I beg hoarsely to Giselle to let my mom go. But my seven-year-old daughter, Valerie Walker, jabs a button on the remote control with an icy expression. "This is what you get for going against Mr. Cooper time and again!" I can only watch as Mom falls from a high altitude, soon smashing into the ground heavily. Sorrow fills my heart as I plead in a humble tone, "Please, I'm begging you… Please take my mom to the hospital…" "That's enough, Dylan Walker! The one dangling from the helicopter is a dummy, not your actual mom! Why are you still putting on an act?"

Everyone in Eimport knew Ethan as a ruthless tycoon. Yet this same man humbly loved me. When his enemies kidnapped me for revenge, he charged bare-handed into an inferno so fierce even firefighters hesitated. I was unconscious but unscathed, while Ethan's right arm bore grotesque burns that would never fully heal. Unbothered, he even declared to the world that these scars were proof of our love. I was touched and browsed positions for couples online while he worked late. But everything shattered when I stumbled onto a video. The man's face was blurred, but the scar snaking up his wrist was unmistakable. The woman trapped in his gilded cage bore a striking resemblance to me. My heart hammered, torn between terror and devastation. That very night, I decided to leave and not ever see him again.

I'm the most hot-tempered stand-in by Emily Kelley's side. When she smiled at another guy, I smashed her million-dollar car. When she had dinner with a man, I set her multi-million-dollar mansion on fire. Everyone thought Emily would kick me out in anger, but instead, she fell even more in love with me. It turned out my arrogant, jealous attitude was exactly like the lost love she couldn't forget. I spent eight years with her, turning a spoiled heiress into a devoted girlfriend who texts back instantly and apologizes at the first sign of trouble. We were about to get married. My friends envied how well I had trained her and thought we would live happily ever after. But on the day we were supposed to get our license, I waited for her at the city hall for hours—only to find out she had married her first love instead. When I arrived at the wedding, Emily looked at me with complicated eyes and apologized. "You should know you were just a stand-in. I never loved you. Now that my one true love is back, it's time for you to go." As I walked toward the altar, the guests backed away in fear, worried I might lose control. I looked at my system screen, which showed they had already gotten married, and calmly handed her the bouquet. "Got it. Wish you happiness. Have a good life." No one knew that all my jealous tantrums and drama were just me completing missions assigned by the system. Now that she and her first love are finally married, my mission is complete. I can finally go home. This game is over.