Melodramatic Romance の短編小説 & Awakening 小説

After remarrying Odette Fairbanks, Ezra Whitlock turns into the perfect husband, one who no longer checks up on her or gets jealous. He no longer wakes up early to make her a balanced breakfast, and he no longer shows up at the hospital right on time with a home-cooked lunch for her. Even when he finds a box of ultra-thin condoms on her passenger seat, he quietly puts it away for her and pretends he hasn't seen it. Odette, however, begins to panic and starts volunteering the very explanations she's always been too proud to give.

A few days before my postpartum period ended, I found two plane tickets to Mirelia tucked inside Daryl’s wallet. I was secretly delighted. I thought he had planned a surprise for me. But on the very day I was supposed to recover, he told me that his company had suddenly sent him on a business trip. I tossed and turned all night, unable to sleep—only to see his first love post on social media. [Finally fulfilled our promise to kiss at Saint Vyron Cathedral. Thank you, God. After all this time, it’s still you.] The photo showed the two of them holding hands and kissing. I didn’t confront him right away. Instead, I turned to look at my sleeping daughter beside me, then picked up my phone. [Dad, I've made up my mind. I'll take over the family business.]

My wealthy wife, Celia Quayle, controlled the household. I bought a three-dollar bottle of water, and she scolded me for wasting money. But she bought her bodyguard, Mason Johnston, a house, saying she got a deal on it and that he deserved better. I confronted her about it. She said buying the bodyguard a house was to keep him motivated, and that she was saving money for our wedding. However, while I was working a part-time job with my younger brother, Cyrus, we saw her booking the Century Hotel for a wedding ceremony with Mason. She even broadcast the entire event live. Cyrus was furious and went to confront her, but Mason’s men rammed him with a car. It was a BMW. The accident left Cyrus with massive medical bills. I called Celia and begged her to return my bank card so I could pay for his treatment. She replied coldly, “I can’t believe you’d use your own brother as an excuse to cause a scene. Look, I’ll explain everything after the wedding.” I desperately rushed to the venue. But before I could enter the hotel, I learned that Cyrus had passed away. When Celia saw me arrive, she hurriedly pulled me aside and explained, “This wedding is just a business arrangement. Don’t overthink it. Once everything settles down, I promise I’ll give you a proper wedding.” Little did she know that the moment I received news of Cyrus’ death, I no longer wanted her as my wife.

I have intermittent aphasia. Whenever I get too emotional, I lose the ability to speak. Everyone mocks me for being mute, but my best friend and stepbrother, Julian Cadwell, and my childhood sweetheart, Vivian Wilder, are the only ones who stand up for me. When I confess my feelings to Vivian, Julian reads the love letter aloud on my behalf. On the day I propose, it is Julian who asks her for me. I thought they understood me best. When we start planning the wedding, I want a traditional ceremony, but Julian changes that plan because, in his words, "Modern ceremonies are more romantic." I want our new home to be in the heart of the city. But before I can say anything, Julian says, "Anton doesn't like the hustle and bustle. The suburbs are just right." Just like that, Vivian immediately decides on a new house in the suburbs. On the day of the wedding, I change into my suit and walk out, only to find the house completely empty. I ask about the situation in our family's group chat. Then, I get a video call almost instantly. Everyone is already at the wedding venue. Vivian tells me, "Anton, you don't need to come to the wedding. Julian will go through the motions in your place." My mother says, "Anton, a wedding is a big occasion. What if you can't speak when the time comes? Our family can't afford the embarrassment!" Julian says with a smile, "Anton, the wedding is just a formality. It doesn't matter who the groom is. I'm also Mom's son." For the first time in years, I speak in front of everyone. "You two can get married. I'm done."

On the high platform, Garrett Logan suddenly unclipped the safety harness at my back. Before I could even react, he shoved me off. I slammed hard onto the crash pad below, pain ripping through my entire body. By the time the staff pulled me back up, his childhood friend, Sienna Yates, was doubled over with laughter, holding up her phone. On her screen, the clip of me falling kept replaying on a loop. “Garrett, did you see her face just now?” The moment Sienna laughed, Garrett visibly relaxed. Sienna was autistic, and for some reason, nothing made her laugh like watching me humiliate myself. So during the ten years I dated Garrett, scenes like this happened over and over again. When I lost my job, Garrett hung up a banner and celebrated with her. When I was hospitalized after a car accident, he stood outside my room with her and watched me like I was entertainment. Every year on her birthday, he made me dress up like a clown just to make her smile. He knew perfectly well that without a safety harness, I could have died. But if it meant making Sienna happy, Garrett would push me without a second thought. Blood ran from the gash on my forehead, blurring my vision. As I kept wiping it away, one thought rose with startling clarity: Maybe I was finally done holding on to a ten-year mistake.

Before my best friend Scott Hawkins died of cancer, his greatest concern was the online girlfriend he had never met in person. He clutched my hand, tears streaming down his face. "Ian, her depression is severe. I'm afraid losing me might push her over the edge. Can you keep using my account for a while, gradually distance yourself, and end things once she's had time to adjust?" With tears in my eyes, I promised him I would. For the next three years, I pretended to be Scott. I helped her through another depressive episode, supported her as she got her career back on track, and then gradually began distancing myself. Today, I finally decided three years was long enough. She'd had enough time to accept that the relationship was over and move on. So I typed, [We shouldn't talk anymore. It's over,] and hit send. At that exact moment, my fiancée's phone lit up on the coffee table. The breakup message I had just sent appeared on her screen.

My girlfriend was known for being frugal and extremely stingy. When the chicken drumstick I loved went up by a dime, she decided they were too expensive and stopped buying them. When I got sick, she thought drinking warm water would be enough to make me better. Even the marriage certificate's nine-dollar processing fee was too much for her. She thought it was a waste of money. When the marriage certificate finally became free to acquire, I put on the only discounted suit she had been willing to buy for me and arrived at the city hall two hours early. I was eagerly waiting for her. Instead, from a distance, I saw her sitting by the lake with Henry, the male assistant she had hired six months earlier. A street photographer approached with a camera and asked if my girlfriend wanted some photos. Each photo cost a hundred dollars. I thought she would refuse on the spot, curse him for overcharging, and walk away. But she glanced at Henry beside her and said, "Henry, come to think of it, we've never taken a photo together. How about we take some?" Henry waved it off and said it was too expensive. The photographer quickly added that there would be a discount if they took more pictures. My girlfriend calmly retrieved her phone and transferred one grand to him. "No discount needed. Take a hundred photos of me and my junior. Put them in an album." I silently watched as my girlfriend and Henry posed intimately for a hundred photos. The time we'd agreed to meet finally arrived. My phone lit up. [I asked around. Although the marriage certificate itself is free now, we still need to take three ID photos. That's at least twenty dollars. That's enough to pay for one of our meals. Besides, getting the certificate is just a formality. We can still spend our whole lives together without it.] I quietly typed out a reply. [Okay. Let's not get married then.] I didn't want her anymore either.

My boyfriend, Yale Carter, was famously frugal. Everyone knew him as a world-class cheapskate. A five-cent price hike was enough to get my favorite chicken legs permanently crossed off the grocery list. If I got sick, his solution was hot water. And when we decided to get married, he refused to pay the small fee for our marriage license because it was apparently money we couldn't afford to waste. So we waited. When the fee was finally waived, I put on the dress he'd bought me only because it was on sale and showed up at City Hall two hours early, ridiculously excited to finally make things official. That excitement lasted until I saw him by the lake with Yvonne Chandler, the assistant he'd hired six months earlier. They'd been stopped by a street photographer charging $20 a picture, which should have ended the conversation immediately. This was a man who'd stopped buying me chicken over five cents. I fully expected him to tell her the price was insane and walk off. Instead, he turned to Yvonne. "You know, we never took any pictures together back in school. Want to get one?" "At $20?" Yvonne waved a hand. "Forget it." When the photographer mentioned a discount for multiple shots, my boyfriend took out his phone and made a transfer of $2,000. "No discount necessary. Just take a hundred pictures of us. We'll make an album." I watched the whole photo shoot from a distance. A hundred pictures of the two of them standing close, posing together, completely at ease with each other. By the time they were done, the two hours I'd spent waiting were up. It was officially the time my boyfriend and I had agreed to meet. My phone lit up with a message from him. [I checked. The license is free, but there are still ten bucks in processing fees. Why waste the money? We could put that toward dinner. Getting married is just a formality anyway. We don't need a license to spend the rest of our lives together.] I quietly typed out a reply and hit send. [Okay. Then let's not get married.] I didn't want him anymore, either.

It was the last stop on my pre-wedding trip with my fiance, Kieran Rose. I'd stopped at a scenic overlook to take a few pictures, but when I returned, Kieran's car was nowhere to be found. I called him right away, but he didn't answer. I wandered around the park three times, trying to find a way out, only to end up even more lost. As I began to panic, I realized that my best friend, Leah Lowe, had posted something on Instagram. "Best guy friend ever! Free ride, free trip, and a personal photographer. He's a 10 out of 10!" She'd uploaded a whole carousel of photos, every single one taken by Kieran. I zoomed in on the background of one of them and realized they were already in the next town over. Kieran and I had been together for seven years, and somehow, every date we'd ever gone on had ended with Leah tagging along. Apparently, even our honeymoon was no exception. Just then, a text from Kieran popped up. "I stopped to grab some water. Where did you wander off to take pictures this time? Hurry up and get back in the car." I stared at the message for a few seconds, then laughed. He still hadn't realized I'd been out of the car for five hours.

Rhys Lockhart, a brash and unruly trust-fund heir, comes back home from abroad and discovers he's already been married off without his consent. His bride is Elara Waverly, the head of Waverly Corp, and a full eight years older than him. Rhys naturally wants no part of it. So, when he hears she's the disciplined, immaculate type with a serious thing about cleanliness, he makes a point of it. He shows up in ripped streetwear and a backward baseball cap, a row of silver studs lining his ear. His parents turn red with embarrassment and move to apologize, but Elara simply leans forward with quiet composure, her slender fingers gently steadying them. Her voice is cool and clear. "This arrangement already asks too much of Mr. Lockhart. If anyone should be apologizing, it's me." Rhys freezes, and he slowly lifts his head. Beneath the cool detachment in her gaze, her amber eyes are filled with warmth.

At my nephew's college celebration, I ran into my ex-fiancée, whom I hadn't seen in five years. She was dressed to the nines, surrounded by our former classmates. The moment Willow Radcliff saw me, her eyes went red. "You were alive this whole time, Orson. Why didn't you come back to me?" I looked away, wanting to leave. She stopped me and pulled out the engagement ring from years ago. "I sabotaged your college applications three times and forced you to repeat your senior year for three years. And when the fire happened, I chose Gareth over you. I was wrong. "For five years, I've regretted what I did. Now, I want to keep my promise. I want to marry you. Please, give me a chance to make it up to you." She looked at me, silently pleading. Her old classmates immediately started cheering and teasing her. Everyone assumed I would say yes. After all, I'd spent 15 years trying to win Willow over. Even after she sabotaged my college applications three times, I never broke things off with her. But I simply held up my hand, showing her the ring on my finger. "I'm already married."

"Mrs. Gardner, are you sure you want to hire our team to stage a fire and fake your death in ten days?" Camellia Shaw paused for a moment. Just as she was about to reply to the message, a video call suddenly popped up. "Camellia, look! Andres is spending a fortune on you again!" The video was of an auction in progress. At the front, a man of striking elegance and charm was decisively bidding on several antique collectibles worth hundreds of millions. The crowd was already abuzz with excitement. "Mr. Gardner is so good to his wife! He bought all these antiques just to make her smile!" "$400 million is nothing! I heard Mr. Gardner even built her a private estate and named it Eterna Haven. Just the name alone is proof of how much he loves her." A wealthy businessman nearby sneered. "It's all for show. Who knows what he's really like behind closed doors?" That comment immediately sparked a wave of backlash. Many argued back, talking about how devoted Andres Gardner was to his wife. As she listened to their murmurs, Camellia forced a bitter smile.

On the day of our fifth anniversary, I got into a fight with my boyfriend, Tyrus Aberg. My best friend, Claire Dawson, sent me a screenshot. [Proxy Girlfriend: Thirty Days] Below it was Tyrus' reply. [Approved.] Every time we fought, Tyrus would deliberately have Claire act as his proxy girlfriend. He said I only dared to pick fights with him because I felt too secure in the relationship. He figured that as long as Claire got close to him and made me feel threatened, I would get jealous and tearfully beg him to reconcile. Three years ago, after one argument, he and Claire changed to matching couple profile pictures. "You've got one day to think it over. She'll be my proxy girlfriend for now. I'll only reconcile with you when you apologize." One day turned into three days. What started as switching profile pictures escalated into dates, hand-holding, and hugging. The last time I refused to cave for a whole week, he moved in with Claire. Claire spent the night wearing his shirt and showed up to parties with him as his girlfriend. He said, "You'll only feel jealous when Claire becomes my proxy girlfriend. "She's your best friend. No matter how close she and I get, it doesn't count as cheating." After this fight, he extended Claire's stint as his proxy girlfriend to a full month. A video call came in right after. "Lay-lay, it's your fifth anniversary today. "If you don't apologize soon, I'll be the one going home with Tyrus to meet his parents this Thanksgiving." On the other end, friends started laughing and counting down. They were all waiting for me to get jealous, cry, and beg Tyrus to reconcile, just like always. But I just left the three-person "Proxy Girlfriend" group chat. [A month is too short.] [Make it permanent this time.]

I'm an artist, but a car accident takes away my sight. My childhood sweetheart, Clara Vance, stays by my side when I'm at my lowest. She becomes the only light in my life, and we eventually get married. Two years later, I accidentally come across an audio recording on her computer. "Clara, thanks for saving me, but you told the doctor to take Brandon's corneas without his permission and used them to restore my sight. "What are you going to tell him when he wakes up? What if he calls the police? What are we going to do?" "He'll never find out the truth. He can't see anymore, so I'll marry him and keep him under my control. Desmond, I'd do anything for you." It feels as though someone has just dumped a bucket of ice water over me, sending a chill through me. The woman I thought had saved me has been lying to me from the very beginning. After sending a copy of the audio recording to my phone, I call a lawyer to draw up the divorce papers. Then I head to the hospital alone for a follow-up eye exam. If that's what really happened, then it's time for me to end things with Clara.

It was common knowledge that the Marsh family was the family with the strictest household rules in upper-class society. They adhered to the rules unyieldingly, and there were so many of them that the rulebook was thicker than ten legal codices. One of the rules was: If any woman wanted a divorce, she had to roll on a bed of nails for half an hour before she was allowed to leave. In the past, Violet Stane insisted on marrying River Marsh and never thought about getting a divorce. After all, she had spent ten years pursuing this aloof ice prince. Once she married him, she gave up on her flourishing career, stopped being so aggressive, obeyed the ridiculous number of house rules, and became the perfect wife for River. But she no longer wanted to do that.

In order to marry Layla Weiss, I cut ties with my family. My dad, Dan Cruise, crossed my name out of the family tree right then and there. My mom, Maryam Cruise, slapped me across the face and told me that she no longer considered me her son. I had no regrets. The engagement party was set for the International Trade Center banquet hall. We sent out 200 invitations. I waited for three hours wearing a borrowed suit. She did not show up. I could not reach her by phone, and she did not reply to my texts. I smiled and told the guests that she had to go on a last-minute business trip. After the party ended, I cleaned up the mess all by myself. A trending topic popped up on my phone. [The Weiss Family’s Eldest Granddaughter Gets Married. The Groom Is Her Childhood Sweetheart] In the photo, she was wearing a floor-length gown, arm-in-arm with Alban Carter. They stood outside the city hall with their copies of marriage certificate in hand. The date on the certificate was three days ago. I folded the borrowed suit, packed it into a bag, and dialed a number I had not called in three years. “Mom, can I come home?”

For eight years I was Ethan Black's right hand, his ride-or-die. Then I finally married him and became Mrs. Black. Three months into the marriage, I deliberately shredded one of his contemporary art pieces, a million dollars gone in a few clean strokes, all because his eyes had lingered a second too long on the new intern. Before Ethan could lose his temper, lines of text bloomed in the air in front of me, telling me I was nothing but the villainess in someone else's novel. [This woman's completely lost it. Does she really think Ethan married her out of love?] [He keeps his old buddy around as a human shield to protect his real love. Once she's served her purpose, he ships her off to a psych ward.] [Watch, the male lead's about to slap her.] I stared hard at the man coming through the door. But when Ethan reached me, he didn't even glance at the ruined canvas. He grabbed my hand instead, his voice almost pleading. "Babe, does it hurt? Did it feel good, ripping it up? If that wasn't enough, there's another hundred of them in the storage room."

For ten years, he remained tangled up with her, and everyone in their circle laughed at him for being her forever backup plan. She had once said, “The housekeeper’s son? He’s fun to mess around with, but marry him? Not a chance.” No one noticed him standing just outside the door. With his fists clenched and his eyes burning red, he turned and walked away. That very day, he married someone else.

This was our last road trip before graduation. My girlfriend, my two childhood friends, and my best friend had all agreed that the five of us would do the whole trip together. But on the third day, one of our cars broke down, leaving only four free seats. My girlfriend, Eleanor Delaney, handed me a six-hour bus ticket without hesitation. “You don’t get carsick anyway. Just tough it out. We’ll wait for you at the next stop.” Just when my best friend, Edmund Turner, was about to volunteer to take the ticket, my two other childhood friends, Faye Howard and Lily Concord, cut him off. Faye frowned. “You were throwing up yesterday. Why are you trying to play the hero?” Lily chimed in, “Are you sure you can handle six hours on the bus?” Eleanor had already carried my luggage out for me. She said with a smile, “Everett will be fine. He can handle it.” As always, I agreed. But six hours later, when I reached the destination we had agreed on, I discovered that they had changed their route and gone to another city on a whim. In the group chat, the four of them ate barbecue and laughed happily. No one even remembered to inform me about the change of plans. At that moment, I recalled what had happened over the past few years. When Edmund felt cold, they offered him three jackets. When he felt tired, everyone would stop to let him rest. The less I complained, the more they took me for granted. This time, I was done chasing after them. I bought a return ticket and replied to the out-of-town company that I had turned down two weeks earlier. [Hello, I’d like to accept the position you offered me before.] I did not want to be around people I had known for over a decade anymore.

During a parent-child activity at kindergarten, the teacher asks the children to draw what they want to be when they grow up. The other kids draw princesses, dinosaurs, and astronauts, but my five-year-old son, Evan Jepsen, draws a cell phone. Across its screen, he's written a message in crooked letters. "Incoming call from Annette." "Why do you want to be a phone?" the teacher asks, puzzled. "Because Daddy loves his phone more than anything," Evan replies earnestly. "When Mommy asks him to come to dinner, he gets annoyed. But whenever Annette calls, he smiles right away." The classroom falls silent, and I stand frozen in place. "Once, Mommy had a fever of 102°F, but Daddy said he was busy and couldn't take her to the hospital," Evan continues. "But when Annette said her stomach hurt, he canceled a really important meeting and carried her to the car himself. "One day it was raining, and Daddy promised to pick me up. But then Annette called, and he made Mommy and me get out of the car. "Daddy said Annette's brother saved his life a long time ago, so he promised to take care of her forever." Evan looks up at me, his voice growing softer. "If Daddy wants to repay Annette's brother, why are we always the ones he leaves behind? "If I become Daddy's phone… would he hold me all the time too? Would he listen to me when I talk, just like he always listens to Annette on the phone?" I pull him into my arms and wipe away my tears. "Sweetheart, you don't have to become a phone," I choke out. "I'll take you away from your daddy, who never seems to notice us anyway."