Mga Maiikling Kuwento at Nobelang Familial Bond Regret

My mother was the grade dean at Westbridge Academy. To prove she would never favor her own daughter, she always used me to set an example. When I scored a 98 on her AP Statistics exam, she displayed my mistake in front of the class to prove she held me to a higher standard. When I picked up a calculator another student had dropped, she gave me a conduct notice. But Olivia, her favorite student aide, could cheat, lie, and break rules, and Mom always found a reason to believe her. Then two students were caught skipping PE to make out in a restricted equipment room behind the gym. I happened to have gone to the bathroom around the same time because my stomach hurt. That was enough for Mom to decide one of them had been me. She was furious. She said I had humiliated her and disgraced the school, then posted my name on the disciplinary board as if I were the most shameless student at Westbridge. She even revoked my National Honor Society membership. Later, the principal found security footage proving I had never entered the equipment room. But Mom only said, “It’s fine. Don’t make an announcement clearing her name. Otherwise everyone will say I made up an excuse to protect my own daughter.” What Mom didn’t know was that her refusal to defend me gave everyone else permission to hurt me. When I was shoved down the stairs, only one thought remained in my mind. Mom, if I die, will that finally be enough to prove you never favored me?

I was Sofia De Luca, the only biological daughter of Marco De Luca, the most powerful Don. Then my parents adopted Celeste De Luca as my younger sister, and everything changed. My birthday party could be cancelled because she threw a fit. My place at the elite academy went to her. Even the ruby brooch my grandmother left me was taken away because she said she liked it. On nothing but Celeste's word, my parents branded me a traitor to the De Luca family and personally handed me over to a rival family as a hostage. I endured every kind of torment there. They toured the world with their adopted daughter and lived in luxury. They forgot me completely. It was only when Celeste finally caused a disaster too big to bury that they remembered I existed. But once I was actually dead, the regret drove them out of their minds. If there really is another life, I have only one wish. I hope they learn how to be decent parents. But I do not want to be their daughter again.

Three years ago, Isabella Moretti was the sole heir to the Moretti family, the most powerful of New York's five crime families. She was supposed to inherit the Moretti name and most of the business flowing through New York Harbor. A Mafia shootout changed everything. To save her husband, Matteo De Luca, she deliberately drew the enemy away from him. Matteo got out. But Isabella was shot in the shoulder and captured by the kidnappers. They wanted information about Moretti operations. For three years, they tortured her to get it. She was carrying Matteo's child at the time. She did not know she had already been written off. She kept believing the husband she loved would come for her. The truth was that for three whole years, nobody came. She escaped by faking her death and made it back to New York alive, only to find that she had lost everything. Her loving parents were dead, while the husband she adored was rushing to bury her with his lover and their children at his side!

My foster sister, Sylvia Blackwood, was so terrified of being bonded to the cold, merciless Alpha King that she rigged the lot the moment it was my turn to draw. I pulled out the Alpha King. The whole hall erupted. I looked toward my fated mate, Raymond Hale—but he wasn't looking at me. His eyes were locked on Sylvia, and only her. My brother, Carl Blackwood, didn't call out the switch either. He just let them whisper and laugh. I stood there frozen, eyes burning red. Everyone treated it like a joke. They never thought I'd actually go through with bonding with a wolf that dangerous. But staring at the same faces who once swore they'd love me forever—I finally knew. I was done. I was leaving.

My parents are music professors, and their university is always hosting these music salons and exchange events. But they never took me. After I graduated from college, I was desperate to see what it was like, so I begged my mother for a visitor's pass. She was busy helping my sister Ella fill out an application for one of those concerts, and she cut me off cold: "Everyone attending is a top-tier musician. You can't even read sheet music—walking in there, you'd just stick out like a sore thumb." A few days later, I stood in the freezing wind, listening to the applause rolling out from the auditorium. My sister stood at center stage, performing alongside a bunch of renowned musicians. That night, my mom posted a proud photo of Ella's performance on social media. Graceful. Composed. Radiant. The comments were all flattery—until one relative asked: [Why didn't you bring your Seraphina along to soak up some of the spotlight?] My mom replied: [She has zero musical talent. Too much of a philistine. Not her scene.] I stared at my phone, glancing at the six-figure offer from Wall Street, and let out a helpless laugh. My mom always favored the kid she thought was brilliant—never had a clue that I was shining somewhere else entirely. Three days left until I move out of Ohio for good. I'm taking everything she called "philistine" about me and walking out of her precious little music kingdom forever.

In the underworld, power is paid for in blood and betrayal. And I was born to rule. I survived the back alleys of the Bronx. Then I was adopted by two different mafia families. The first family's fake daughter cried. She wanted my territory. I smiled. I crushed her. I took every illegal casino and smuggling route in Brooklyn. The second family's fake heir slit his wrists for pity. I yawned. I took his black Amex. And the keys to the armory. I won. Clean. Both times. I sent those two idiots to the most dangerous prison on the East Coast. At twenty, a bloody DNA report showed up. Turns out, I'm the long-lost daughter of the Callahans. The biggest Irish mob in Boston. My first day at the Callahan estate, the adopted daughter in her innocent white dress knelt at my feet. She clutched her chest, trembling. "Sister, my heart is weak. I won't live long. All these years, I've been using the family's best black market medical resources. They even spent a fortune from the off-the-books accounts to find me a new heart." "I feel so guilty. If you think I stole your place, I can just die right now." My biological mother, Eleanor, screamed. She threw herself over the girl, holding her tight. Shaking and sobbing. My biological brother, Victor, slammed his gun on the table. He pointed it at me. "She has a serious heart condition. It's your first day and you're already trying to kill her?" Even my fiancé—some political match arranged by the old-timers—laughed coldly. "She sheds one tear, and the arms deal between our families is off. For good." I didn't flinch. I walked over, slowly. Knelt down. My fingertips wiped away her fake tears. I scanned her heaving chest. Then I leaned in close to her ear. My voice was a low, mocking whisper. "Don't be scared, sweetie. I'd never kick you out." "After all—" "I’ve seen a lot of fake sisters. Your acting is the absolute worst. You won’t last a week."

My twin sister and I were supposed to celebrate our succession on the same night. Beth Moretti would inherit the family's weapons business in Naples. Her portrait towered over the banquet hall on a massive screen as the elders gathered around her, showering her with praise. Our parents, Vincent Moretti and Elena Moretti, couldn't have looked prouder. "Beth has always been exceptional. She was at the top of her class, won countless awards, and was already managing the family stables at eighteen." I stood alone in the corner, completely ignored. By the time anyone remembered me, the gala was almost over. One of the elders happened to spot me. "What about Monica? What will she be taking over?" My parents froze. For a moment, neither of them had an answer. Beth gave a small laugh. "Nothing important, I think?" Everyone laughed with her. I kept quiet. I had apparently been put in charge of the family armory, though no one had even bothered to tell me themselves. My father finally looked my way. "At least she stays out of trouble. That's good enough." Of course I stayed out of trouble. They had sent me to boarding school when I was four and left me to grow up on my own. I learned early how to take care of myself because no one else would. During school breaks, my parents would take Beth on vacation while I stayed behind. To them, I had always been the daughter they could forget. So yes, I was easy. I had learned a long time ago not to expect anything from them. After the gala, I went looking for my family. They were nowhere to be found. Then I learned they had already gone home with Beth. I took a deep breath, pulled up the Turner family's invitation from two months ago, and typed, "I accept." Then I booked the earliest flight out. This family had forgotten me for years. Now they could forget me for good.

  I was born with a weak inner wolf. My parents, the Alpha and Luna, along with my older brother Caleb, treated me like glass growing up, terrified that something would happen to me. But everything changed after my adopted sister, Jessica, was diagnosed with the exact same illness. Their concern gradually shifted entirely to her. They even demanded that I give up the only healing serum capable of curing our condition so Jessica could have it. I refused. I got into a massive fight with my parents, demanding to know why they were so biased. Because of that, everyone decided I was cold-blooded, vicious, and had absolutely no sympathy for Jessica. The day before the injection was to be confirmed, Caleb strode into my hospital room. His handsome face was full of impatience and irritation. He glared down at me. "Jessica is only twenty. She has a gorgeous future ahead of her. Your wolf has been weak since birth. Even if you get the serum, how long can this broken body of yours actually hold on?" Just then, Jessica rushed into the room wearing a thin nightgown. She threw herself into Caleb’s arms, crying and asking if I was still refusing to give her the serum. Caleb gently stroked her blonde hair, murmuring, "Don't be scared. No one can take what I promised you." I gazed at him, my mind drifting back to the first time my illness flared up when we were pups. I was dying, and he was the one who carried me through a blizzard to get to the healers. Back then, he held my hand, eyes red, and swore that even if he had to tear his own wolf in half, he would keep me alive. Looking at his cold face now, I suddenly felt incredibly exhausted. I didn't want to fight anymore. I leaned back calmly against my pillows, looked right at him, and said, "I don't want the serum anymore."

From the age of ten, every dollar my parents spent on me became a debt. Tuition. Clothes. Food. Even medical bills. By eighteen, I had signed one hundred and ninety-nine promissory notes. But Camilla—the daughter of the man who died protecting my parents—received everything for free. They gave her my bedroom, my inheritance bracelet, a Manhattan apartment, a Maserati, and eventually even the attention of my fiancé, Nick. My parents called it repaying her father’s sacrifice. They called my suffering “heir training.” On the eighteenth birthday Camilla and I shared, I was seriously injured in a car accident. While my family celebrated her aboard a Caribbean yacht, I begged them for three thousand dollars to pay for emergency surgery. They accused me of inventing the accident to ruin her party. Then Mom told me to sign another promissory note. That became number two hundred. I finally understood that no amount of obedience would make them choose me. So I gave myself seven days to repay every cent, surrender the DeLuca name, and end my engagement.

I've been a stickler for getting things right since I was a child. Whenever anyone is vague, I keep asking questions until I get to the bottom of it. At the children's home, the director used to say that the crying child gets the candy. I asked, "Why doesn't the quiet child get any? Does a child have to cry to get candy?" The director had nothing to say to that. After I became a lawyer, my supervisor assigned me a case she claimed was guaranteed to win, despite there being no evidence. I asked, "With no evidence at all, how can we possibly win?" "That isn't for you to worry about. Just show up in court on time." I put the file back on her desk. "If I can't get the full picture, I'm not taking this case." After that, none of my colleagues dared dump another hopeless case on me. That changed when my birth parents brought me home to the Rossi Family and threw a belated banquet to formally acknowledge me as their daughter. Bruno, the butler, brought out a case. Inside was a Browning pistol with the Rossi crest set into the grip. "This is the keepsake the Rossi Family commissions for each of its children. Your three brothers each have one. So does Letitia." My father took aim at a vase worth a million across the room and fired a test shot before sliding the pistol toward me. "Yours. " I picked it up. Neither the magazine capacity nor the curve of the grip had been designed for my hand. I couldn't hold it securely. I looked at him. "Father, was this made specifically for me?" "Of course." I lifted it again with my palm up so he could see the gap between my fingers and the grip. "Then why was it designed for a hand smaller than mine? "If I had to use this pistol in the field, the sharp edge at the base would snag when I changed magazines and cost me my best chance to fire." I turned the pistol over so they could see the tiny letters engraved inside the chamber: L.L. "More importantly, those are Letitia's initials." I looked at Letitia. "Or did you swap mine out?"

When I realized my soulmate Darius was still hung up on his former lover Cassia and her child, I started teaching our son to call him "Lord Darius." That night, Theo accidentally stepped into a thorn trap set by forest nymphs. He was poisoned by a minor curse that sent his magic spiraling out of control and plunged him into darkness. But Darius turned and left because Cassia called him on his messaging crystal late at night. I touched my son's forehead as his divine aura dimmed from the pain, and made him say, "Goodbye, Lord." On Theo's birthday, Darius skipped our celebration because Cassia tearfully complained that her child needed a father. I didn't say much. I just had little Theo explain to the guests, "The Lord has important divine duties to attend to." My boy would always struggle for a long time before forcing those words out. Until Darius finally realized he owed us far too much. He offered to go to the temple and commission an enchanted portrait of our family. But right there inside the Portrait Pavilion, Cassia sent another message through the crystal. "Darius, I am begging you to come to the Divine Academy. Could you just pretend to be Milo's father for a bit? The young gods here are all mocking him for being a bastard..." A flash of guilt crossed Darius's face. He was just about to bend down and explain things to our son. But this time, Theo did not need my prompting. He just waved his hand. "It is okay, Lord Darius. Hurry up and go be with your other child. Just having me and Mom in the portrait is enough."

When an attacker threw acid at my face, Mom was attending my cousin Celeste's family induction ceremony. But that day was my eighteenth birthday too. As I lay dying, I used the last of my strength to send her a voice message. [Mom, help me... I'm on the West Side. Someone is trying to kill me.] Her reply came almost immediately. [Stop using these tricks to compete with Celeste for attention, Emilia. I know exactly what you're like.] That same night, the Don summoned Mom back to the Romano estate to investigate an unidentified body found on family territory. The victim's face had been destroyed. Chemicals had eaten away the fingerprints on both hands. Mom led the security team through three days and nights of investigation. From the evidence, she concluded that the victim had been tortured for hours and had died fighting, terrified and utterly without hope. She cursed the killer's cruelty and swore she would make him pay. But she never recognized the body lying in front of her as the biological daughter she hated to mention. Me.

The ninety-ninth thing my adopted sister Isabella took from me was a grave in the sun. I had already paid the deposit, but the cemetery didn’t dare sell the plot to me. Because the Moretti family’s principessa wanted that plot for her dead dog. But I loved that spot. So I called my mother, the Donna of the Moretti family. Her voice cooled the moment I mentioned the grave： “Adriana, are you still pretending you have gastric cancer?” “Isabella just lost her dog. She’s suffered enough. Stop trying to take something else from her.” My father rejected my call. My brother, Luca, answered while helping Isabella choose the dog’s headstone. “Stop buying graves to frighten us. Why are you always so petty? Can't you stand to see your sister have anything good?” I looked at the oncologist’s report in my hand. Seven days. Maybe less. So even when I was truly dying, no one believed me. I chose the only plot left at the edge of the cemetery, where sunlight never reached, and signed the contract. Then I blocked my family one by one. They were right. I needed to stop begging them to care and remove myself from their lives for good. Seven days later, I died alone. That was when the Morettis finally believed me. And lost their minds with regret.

My father was a judge, but he fell in love with a killer. His lover ran my grandparents down with her car. He found her not guilty in court. At the time, his power was absolute. No one dared to go against him. That homewrecker lived in luxury and got whatever she asked for. My mother lost both her parents, suffered betrayal, and was driven mad by everyone's ridicule. Thirty years passed. I fought with everything I had and became a Supreme Court justice. During graduation season, I sat on the interview panel as presiding justice. Across from me was a poised, immaculate young woman. She was the finest graduate the law school had produced this year. Looking at that familiar face, I glanced down at the surname on her file. When I saw it, I froze. I stared at it for a long time. Then I raised my head and looked at the young woman who bore a faint resemblance to me. “We won’t be hiring you.”

Before my wedding, my parents and my best friend shoved me into the storage room. “Stay hidden and keep quiet. Wait for the Godfather to come find you. That’s the only way you’ll find happiness!” I curled up in the corner, waiting from dawn until nightfall, but no one ever came. Just as I was about to push the door open, I realized the storage room had been locked from the outside. I pounded on the door with all my strength, smashing at the lock until my hands were covered in blood. But when I finally made it to the wedding venue, I saw my twin sister wearing my wedding dress, her arm linked through my fiancé’s as they prepared to walk onto the stage and exchange their vows. “Are you sure this is okay? I’m afraid my sister will be angry.” Beth shyly leaned into Edward’s arms and whispered. My best friend, Alice, laughed. “What are you afraid of?” “You were the one who fell for Edward first. You’re just taking back what was always yours.” “Besides, she’s locked in the storage room right now. She’ll never find out!” Edward nodded and tightened his arm around Beth’s waist. “Let’s just think of it as fulfilling the marriage we never got to have. She deserves it.” My parents watched from the side and let out a wistful sigh. “If it weren’t for Monica, this wedding would have been Beth’s in the first place.” “I wish more than anything that Beth and Edward could be together.” I stood frozen in place, cold spreading through my entire body. So everyone had been in on this deception, while I was the only one kept in the dark. If that was the case, then I wanted nothing to do with this fake marriage or this fake love ever again.

When it came time to fill out our college applications, my family focused all their attention on my brother, who suffered from severe claustrophobia. My mother pored over the dorm room sizes at several universities in our city. "Let's just stay local," she said. "It's closer to home, and it'll be easier to take care of Cyrus." Maya Simmons, my girlfriend of three years, even changed her first choice, giving up a university where she had planned to study political science and law in favor of a local teachers college. "Don't worry, Mrs. Lockwood," she said. "I'll stay here and keep him company. I'll look after Cyrus for you throughout all four years of college." My father looked at her, visibly moved, and praised her again and again for being so loyal and devoted. Only after everyone had finished filling out their applications did they finally turn to me, still sitting off to the side. My mother spoke as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Jasper, just apply to the special education program at the local community college." My father nodded in agreement. "Right. You're already used to playing nanny for him anyway. Study special education, and you can spend the rest of your life taking care of your brother." I stared down at the application in front of me as the cold feeling in my chest deepened.

When I was six, I was playing Red Light, Green Light with my brother, and I really did freeze. My mind stopped at six years old, and the shock of it broke something in Grandma too. My brother became a different person after that, keeping the two of us fed on scholarship money and whatever he could make collecting scrap. He used to be the proudest boy you ever saw. Kids at school called him a bum and he didn't even get angry. The only thing he couldn't let go was somebody passing us on the street and calling me a dummy — then he'd go after them like a madman to make them take it back. That night he held me and cried without making a sound. "Our Maisie isn't a dummy. Maisie just hasn't grown up yet. Promise me, okay? From now on, you don't go anywhere without your brother." I nodded like the fool I was, and I followed at his heels for three straight years. Until Molly came along. All I did was play in the mud and forget to wash my hands, and I got her clean white hem dirty. My brother broke, just like that, and put me out of the house. "Maisie Callahan, you've already cost me my whole life. Does Molly have to pay too? "Can't you learn to behave? Can't you stop making trouble for me?" For one second in my life, my head cleared. So that was it. Me being here was the worst thing that had ever happened to my brother. I hid in the casket Grandma had bought for herself, closed my eyes, and started counting. The game had begun.

On our third wedding anniversary, Lorenzo Falcone came back from Sicily with a chest of jewels. Without thinking, he slid the chest toward my sister Vella and told her to pick first. I stared, eyes wide, and the disappointment slipped out before I could stop it: "Lorenzo. It's our anniversary. Don't I get to choose first?" He faltered for just a second. Then he said: "Lily, as a Donna, you should know how to be gracious. You can't always act like a little girl." I'd heard that for over twenty years. Since I was a child, the eldest daughter of the family, I'd long learned to step aside. Give up the horse I loved. Give up my grandfather's keepsake. Give up the chance to study abroad. Give up the voice that should've been mine. My father told me to be sensible. My mother told me to protect my little sister. When I met Lorenzo, I really thought—foolishly—that I was done giving things up. He'd pull me behind him when the gunshots rang out. He'd hold my hand when the nightmares jolted me awake. He'd say it in front of everyone, so sure of himself: "Lily is my only choice." But I was wrong. Not long after we got married, Vella moved in with us. She said she couldn't bear to be apart from me. Lorenzo promised he would treat her like his own flesh and blood, give her a little extra care. But somewhere along the way, extra attention turned into her first—without him even noticing. After she'd made her picks, she handed me the leftover brooch. Old. Tarnished. "This one suits you, sis." I looked at her. Forced a bitter smile. "Take it all. I don't want any of it." Quietly, I slipped my wedding ring off my finger and tucked it into my bag. Three days from now, I'll place it beside the divorce papers on his pillow. And then I'll walk away. From him. From this city that was never mine to begin with.

For as long as I could remember, whenever my sister Bella made a mistake, I was always the one who got punished. My mother used the pain of my punishments to teach her a lesson. When Bella was caught stealing from a store in the territory, my mother made me apologize in front of everyone. She wanted to teach her that she should never touch anything that did not belong to her. When Bella lost the territory's tribal amulet, my mother made me take the whip in her place. She wanted to teach her to be more careful and stop being so careless. Later, Bella became obsessed with drinking cough syrup. My mother was afraid that drinking too much would hurt her health, so she mixed lethal wolfsbane into a bottle of medicine and left it in the most obvious place in my room. I drank it by mistake and writhed on the floor in agony. My father drove me to the royal infirmary that same night. On the way, we ran into a group of guards checking travel permits. My father's permit had clearly passed inspection, but my mother insisted that it was fake. "You wolves these days are absolutely useless. You can't even tell that it's a fake travel permit?" I was in the back seat, too weak to even shift into my wolf form anymore. Yet my mother was still sternly lecturing Bella. "Look carefully. This is what happens when you drink things you're not supposed to." She kept talking, completely unaware that she had blocked the mind link between us. Due to that, she could not feel my wolf spirit weakening little by little. I had given my life for this final lesson. Was she satisfied now?

The pack knew my mother, Wynne Carter, a renowned pack healer, as the very definition of fairness. To avoid any accusation of favoritism, she once had me removed from the emergency ward while I was suffering from a severe allergic reaction, all because she couldn’t let her own daughter take medical resources away from other pack members. Even when I invited her to the academy’s open day, she turned me down because my instructor was pregnant. She reprimanded me sternly, “Get those funny ideas out of your head. My position is not a way for you to get special treatment from your instructors.” I had always believed my mother was merely strict. Then, the fire happened. My adopted sister, Lena Sylan Carter, and I, who was five months along, were taken to the pack infirmary. My mother walked straight past me while I clutched my belly in agony. She assembled the infirmary’s best healers around Lena, all to treat a minor burn to the back of her hand. “Lena is just a fragile human. She doesn’t have healing powers. Even a small wound could become infected or leave a scar. “Odette Carter, you’re my flesh and blood. If I were to give you priority, the elders will have something to say about that. “Why are you making this about yourself and competing with Lena for attention? You’re about to become a mother yourself. It’s time you grew up!” I grabbed desperately at her pant leg, only for her to shake me off in annoyance and walk away. Little did she know, my wolf had been severely injured. My healing ability was gone. Blood ran down my legs, and the pain in my abdomen shifted into hollow numbness. The truth that my mother wasn’t impartial sank in. I simply wasn’t the one she favored. My vision blurred. I knew that I didn’t have much time left.