Mga Maiikling Kuwento at Nobelang Bittersweet Romance Bias

On the day the earthquake hits, my father, Collin Rimes, carries my injured little sister, Poppy Rimes, on his back, trekking about four miles through the mountains before finally reaching the emergency relief camp. His spine is bent low as he paces back and forth outside the command center in anxious hesitation before finally plastering a pleading, subservient smile on his face. "I'm looking for Captain Rubin. I'm his father-in-law. My little girl is injured. Could you please find a place for her?" The guard in camouflage frowns and heads inside to report. A moment later, Scotty Rubin's cold voice drifts out of the tent. "There are injured people everywhere waiting for help, from three-year-olds to 80-year-olds. Every one of them is just as desperate. But we follow protocol here. No special treatment." The smile on Dad's face freezes. Lost and helpless, he glances down at Poppy, who's drenched in cold sweat from the agonizing pain. His Adam's apple bobs, and he swallows the words he wants to say. Nodding emphatically, he hoists Poppy onto his back and shuffles to the side. "Yes, yes, of course. We should follow the rules. That's only right. Scotty is right." Seeing this, a sharp, suffocating pain stabs through my heart. But just as I'm about to speak up, I manage to get a peek at Scotty's phone lighting up on the desk. The latest message is to the woman he's never truly gotten over. "Don't worry, Mae. I've already arranged a private shelter for you. You and your family can all go there. There'll be hot meals, hot water, and dedicated doctors on standby." In that instant, I realize I'm the world's biggest joke. Well, since that's the case, I'll just set Scotty free.

Sebastian Sterling was the CEO of the Sterling Group, ranked third among the world's wealthiest business leaders. We had a five-year-long relationship, three years of which we lived together. He told me he loved me so much that he was willing to sacrifice himself for me, yet he never gave me the title of Mrs. Sterling. During those three years of living together, he betrayed me three times, pushing me into hell with his own hands. The first time, he secretly obtained a marriage certificate with his close friend's widow. However, he knelt before me, crying and begging me to believe that it was just for protection. The second time, under the spotlight of media cameras and thousands of watching eyes, he held her hand and announced that she was his wife and the lady of the Sterling family. Backstage, he gripped my hand and swore in a low voice that he would marry me once everything ended. The third time, he spent a passionate night with her and got her pregnant. I discovered the truth when I saw them at the hospital, attending a prenatal appointment together. Loving him was death by a thousand cuts. I forgave him again and again, yet he betrayed me every time. One day, I finally walked away. In my pocket was my positive pregnancy test—I was carrying the child he had always wanted. Only then did Sebastian collapse to his knees in regret, crying out my name with a broken voice. However, he had lost not just me, but the heir he never knew existed too!

From dating to marriage, seven years together, Kevin Fletcher bailed on fifty-two trips with me. Every single time, he had an excuse. A project deadline. A last-minute business trip. An elderly relative who suddenly wasn't doing well. And every single time, he promised he'd make it up to me. I believed him. Fifty-two times. Until last month, when I found a travel planner tucked away in his study. Inside were fifty-two plane tickets to the same city. And fifty-two photos of him and his so-called childhood friend, Fiona Snow. Written on the first photo: [She said she wanted to see the ocean, so I cleared my schedule and took her.] On the thirty-third: [She got drunk and said her biggest regret was never starting a family with me.] The fifty-second photo was dated the same day he blew off our fifth wedding anniversary trip. On the back, he'd written: [She's pregnant. I'm going to be a dad!] I wiped my tears away, opened my laptop, and drafted the divorce papers. Then I booked a ticket to Antarctica. This time, I was going to see the view alone.

I was thrown out someone else's door twice before I even turned thirty. The first time was during my marriage with Donald Stern, a businessman. When it was time for my pregnancy checkup, I found out he was making love to a college girl right in front of the 100th floor's window. He called me a childish woman and threw me out the door. My father told me that all wealthy men cheated sooner or later. To prove people wrong, I married my childhood friend of ten years, Shawn Foster. He was accepting and caring of me. He did not mind that my ex-husband still sent apology gifts every year. He did not even mind that we had no children after three years of marriage. Every time we were going at it and reaching the climax, he would nibble on my ear and whisper, "We don't need children. All I need is you." On our anniversary, he brought home a woman I had never seen before and ordered the butler to throw my luggage out of the main bedroom. I clenched the pregnancy test I had not yet shown him. With a trembling voice, I asked, "What's the meaning of this?" A cigarette sat between his fingers. He had a look on his face that said he had just heard the biggest joke getting cracked. "Drop the act already, Yvonne. Haven't you learned anything from Donald dumping you?"

The day Mason Jablon came with me to try on wedding dresses, his assistant, Gigi, wrecked the custom gown I'd waited three months for. Mason stepped in front of her, way too calm. "The dress has a ton of tiny details. Of course Gigi had trouble holding it. Cut her some slack." I just stared at him. "Mason, I've been waiting three years for this wedding. Do you have any idea how long I waited for that dress?" His face tightened. "So we'll get another one made. It's not like that's the only dress on the planet. Once the new one's ready, I'll give you the wedding of your dreams. Promise." I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. I just nodded. The dress didn't have to be this one. And the groom didn't have to be Mason.

I foolishly endured five rounds of IVF, suffered through endless pain, and nearly died from severe prenatal hemorrhaging before finally giving birth to the first grandson of the Newton family, all because Bryce told me that we would get married once the baby was born. However, Bryce publicly took his first love, Selina, by the hand on the day of the baby shower and announced with a smile, "Thank you all for coming for Selina and my child." At that moment, I froze at the top of the staircase. When he spotted me, he walked over with a smile and said, "I knew I couldn't keep this hidden forever, so I thought it would be better to tell you now while the baby's still young." Then, he raised his glass toward me as if he were negotiating a business deal. "You got pregnant before marriage, so everyone looks down on you. Plus, your parents have disowned you. You have nowhere else to go. Don't worry. You can keep raising the child, but Selina would be the child's legal guardian. "You'll come with me to the City Hall to handle the registration tomorrow." He thought I would lose my mind and swallow my pride for the sake of my child. Instead, I quietly left and sought out the true heir of the Newton family, who had just returned from abroad. A few days later, my child and I were officially become members of Newton family. I became Bryce's stepmother on that same day. Naturally, my child became his younger brother. I had sole custody over my child, and that wasn't all. No, the best part of this deal was that the Newton family inheritance would eventually belong to me as well.

People always said Hannah Robbins had the Midas touch. She could turn a worthless penny stock into a market sensation overnight, and eligible bachelors from all over the world lined up to court her. Yet out of all of them, she chose Ethan Turner, a man who hadn't had a penny to his name. Ten years later, that once-broke young man was sitting on hundreds of billions in assets, building a conglomerate from the ground up. Everyone praised Hannah for her brilliant foresight, envying her as the day finally approached when she would walk down the aisle with Ethan. But when she excitedly rushed to City Hall, she waited until dark without Ethan ever showing up. Instead, she saw a provocative Instagram post from his assistant, Sara Russell. [My boss saved me from an arranged marriage. From now on, he's not just Mr. Turner, but my Mr. Turner!] In the photo, the freshly stamped marriage certificate held up by Sara and Ethan was glaring. The news spread like wildfire, and everyone seemed to wait to watch Hannah lose her mind with jealousy. Instead, she left a like and commented: [Congrats! I'll be sure to send a big gift for your wedding.] And the guy who had been silent all day called her soon after. "I only get marriage certificate with Sara because of an emergency. Her parents suddenly called and tried to force her to quit and go home for an arranged marriage. "I couldn't afford to lose top talent like her, so I agreed to marry her just to get her parents off her back. It's not a real marriage, so why are you being so petty? "You have one minute to delete that comment and apologize to her. Once we handle her parents, I'll divorce her and marry you." Hannah listened to the arrogant tone of Ethan, whose heart had strayed. All she gave him was a cold, contemptuous laugh. "That won't be necessary. We're done."

Alyssa Lambert, the only daughter of the world's wealthiest family, falls in love with Justin Fuller, a poor man whose company went bankrupt and is burdened with billions in debt. In the third year of concealing her identity to stay by his side, Justin finally pays off all his debts, starts a new company, and makes his debut on the Nova Exchange. As Alyssa watches his confident figure on stage, she thinks it's time to reveal her true identity. When she arrives outside the private room booked for the celebratory banquet, she happens to overhear the lively chatter inside. "Justin, Alyssa has faithfully stayed by your side for three years and was even willing to live in a basement with you. Now that you've paid off your debts and the company is publicly listed, isn't it time to propose to her?" "Yeah! When the company was just starting up, and you had no money to hire people, Alyssa practically split herself into three and only slept four hours a day. She even took the initiative with every difficult deal. Where else would you be able to find such a great girlfriend? You'd better marry her soon!" Alyssa's hand freezes on the doorknob, and she feels a wave of unease creep over her. She had hinted about marriage before, but each time, Justin dodged the question by saying he still couldn't provide her with a good life. Now that the company went public, would he… finally bring up the topic of marriage? "I haven't forgotten the kindness Aly has shown me these past three years. I also believed she was the one for me, but…" Justin leans back on the couch with a glowing cigarette between his fingers. Everyone's gaze is fixed on him, while outside the door, Alyssa feels her heart skip a beat. "Claudia is back."

My boyfriend did not like my big chest. He gave me five hundred thousand dollars to go for a breast reduction surgery. At the same time, a mystery man suddenly transferred me five million dollars with a note telling me not to listen to my boyfriend. I gripped my phone tightly and secretly replied to my boyfriend’s best friend’s text message. [If you want me to listen to you, money is not enough.] He immediately texted back. [What are you saying? I don’t understand.] I replied. [Forget about it. I’m heading to the hospital now.] As expected, he got anxious. [What else do you want?] [Do you have 7 inches?] [I have 10 inches.] [I won’t believe you until I see it for myself.] After that, he proved it to me through his actions.

It was in our bedroom that I first found out about Nathaniel Foster's affair. My anger got the better of me, and I demanded a divorce right away. Nathaniel broke down into tears and claimed it was a drunken mistake. He went down on his knees, begging for my forgiveness. He cried, "I'll jump off this building if we get a divorce!" I relented, and things went on like this for five years. He was the sweetest, gentlest husband ever since that day. It was as if he was trying to pretend that night never happened, like I'd never noticed his infidelity. Everyone told me Nathaniel could throw his life away for me. Then, his mother's 60th birthday came. She blurted, "Where's your son, Nathaniel? I'd like to see him." That stunned me, but then I thought she'd gotten the date wrong. So, I smiled. "Melanie, the delivery date's in two months." Melanie shot me a calm look. She muttered under her breath, "Ah, so you still don't know about the boy." Something squeezed my heart, and my eyes darted to Nathaniel. Nathaniel put his silverware down. "I have a five-year-old son." He spoke as if he'd just listed out his grocery list for next Tuesday.

Ever since my CEO husband returned from his business trip, he's been acting strange. His hugs are stiff, and his kisses are empty. Even when we're intimate, something just feels off. When I ask him why, he just smiles and says he's tired from work. But everything falls into place the moment I see his first love stepping out of his Maybach, her body covered in hickeys. That's when I finally give up. I don't argue or cry. I just smile… and tear up the 99th love coupon. Once, he wrote me a hundred love letters. On our wedding day, we made a promise—those letters would become 100 love coupons. As long as there were coupons left, I'd grant him anything he asked. Over the four years of our marriage, every time he left me for his first love, he'd cash in one. But what he doesn't know is that there are only two left.

"Jump. You love me to death, don't you? Didn't you say you'd do anything for me?" Ethan Hart wanted me to throw myself off the observation deck of the tallest tower downtown, live, in front of the millions of people watching the broadcast. I stood on the wrong side of the railing. Below me, traffic streamed through the streets and neon flickered in the distance. His friends clapped and cheered. Vivian Lane laughed softly and curled herself against his arm. Ethan's grin turned vicious. "Come on, don't waste everyone's time. Jump, and I'll marry you." He'd made me a promise once. Finish a hundred of his demands, and he would marry me. When his company was circling bankruptcy, he told me to hand over everything I owned, and I did. Then he moved Vivian into my house in the suburbs and left me to sleep in a motel. The night he was tangled up with Vivian at a private party, he sent me over with something for his hangover, and made a point of telling me to bring a box of condoms, the right size. I stood at the door holding the soup I'd made, and heard him laugh. "She's my ATM. I use her, then I throw her out." No matter how far it went, I'd done all ninety-nine. This was the last one: jump. He thought I'd hesitate, thought I'd cry and beg him to pick something else. I didn't. I let go and fell. The wind roared in my ears, and the whole lit-up city slid past me. I heard him shout, heard the crowd scream, and underneath all of it, the one voice I'd waited too long to hear. [Congratulations, host. Emotional conquest progress: one hundred percent. Reward delivered. Your mother's terminal illness is fully cured.]

My husband, Fabian Hunt, is a neurologist. To spend the rest of his life with his colleague, Yelena Walker, he's been working day and night in the lab for the last three months. Finally, he succeeds in developing an experimental drug that can erase memories. I happen to see his tablet one day. He forgets to log out of his account, so I go through his chat history. Yelena: "Fabe, when can we finally be together without hiding?" Fabian: "Darling, just wait a little longer. Once I switch Anya's vitamin pills for the experimental drug, she'll lose her memory. After that, she'll ask for a divorce herself, and I won't have to take any blame." In an instant, I feel a chill run down my spine. So, he's willing to erase my memories of our time together just to get me to leave him. Since that's the case, I'll give the adulterous pair what they want. But when I start to forget one anniversary after another, Fabian asks me in a panic, "Anya, how can you forget everything about me?"

After my father passes away, my mother—now married into the wealthy Hawthorne family—brings me to live with them. Everyone laughs, saying I'm being groomed to become either of the Hawthorne brothers' bride. Even I start to believe it. But later, when I try to marry one of them, both reject me. The older brother says, "I'll need to marry for business one day. Why would I marry her?" The younger one scoffs. "She's older than me. Who'd want an old woman?" But the very next day, the two of them propose—together—to my assistant. I instantly become a joke. After that, I call my mother. "Mom, I'm willing to marry into the Grant family."

I had once been the woman Theo Bennett would have risked his life to marry. For six years after our wedding, he treated me like his entire world. He even had a matching tattoo carved into his lower abdomen, identical to mine, as proof of his devotion. But in the seventh year, he coldly demanded that I make a full-body model for his kept woman. "Catherine," he said, his voice sharp with contempt, "this is the price you pay for lying to me about being my savior. You know my tastes better than anyone. Make sure you replicate Hannah's body temperature. She's pregnant. I don't want to hurt her." Hannah Moore lay limp in Theo's arms, laughing so hard her shoulders shook. "How pathetic, Catherine," she mocked. "I'm pregnant, so I can't be with Theo. And yet he'd rather order a model of me than lay a finger on you. Once this one wears out, I guess I'll have to trouble you to make a few more copies of me." Only then did I understand. Theo had mistaken Hannah for the woman who once saved his life. I didn't scream. I didn't cry. I didn't argue. I simply turned around and dialed Sebastian's number. "Sebastian," I said calmly, "Theo is having an affair. I want a divorce."

At one in the morning, my husband Grayson's phone lit up. A message from Leah popped up on the screen: [I sprained my ankle during rehearsal. It hurts so bad I can't sleep. Can you come hold me?] Watching Grayson throw on his clothes, I leaned back against the headboard and nearly laughed out loud. She was pouting in the middle of the night and making a married man drive halfway across Seattle to take care of her. For a twenty-two-year-old dance academy intern, she really wasn't very considerate. At least nowhere near as thoughtful as a certain sports science major I knew. That evening, Nolan had just gotten his professional motorcycle racing license and ridden his new bike across the bay to deliver the silver-gray heels I needed for tomorrow's board meeting right to my office building. Before he left, he'd pinned me between the car door and his chest in the parking garage and kissed me until my knees went weak.

I was getting married, but my boyfriend of five years did not know it yet. Lately, he had been driving a female coworker home every night and coming back late. She had a terrible memory and was always leaving things behind in his car. First it was earrings. Then adhesive bra inserts. Then intimate photos. One night, at midnight, she called to say she had left her allergy medication in his car. My boyfriend pulled his pants back on and rushed out the door to deliver it to her. Because of her, our wedding had already been postponed 19 times. After five years together, I decided to give him one last chance. "Either stop driving her home, or the wedding is off." He stayed silent all night. After that, he actually started coming home on time. I thought things were finally getting better. Then, one week before the wedding, I opened the front door and found half the furniture in our living room gone. The woman next door poked her head out and ran a hand over my washing machine with a smile. "Amanda, we're neighbors now. Ignatius loaned me the money to buy a house. He said I could use some of these old appliances until I get settled." My hands trembled as I opened my banking app. The $300,000 wedding fund we had spent five years saving was gone. Every last cent. This time, I did not even have the strength to argue. Then my mother called. "Sweetheart, how would you feel about moving the wedding to Rose Garden? I think your current venue doesn't do you justice." I looked around the half-empty living room and laughed. "Sure. And while we're at it, let's replace the groom too." After all, my mother had remarried into one of the wealthiest families in the country. My five stepbrothers had been waiting years for me to come home. And among the men around them who wanted to marry me? There was no shortage of candidates.

Seven years into my marriage to Sebastian, we had our first child. On Logan's first birthday party, one of the old friends Sebastian had known since prep school rattled a little velvet cup of dice in Logan's face and laughed. "Come on, Mrs. Forsythe, humor us. Let the birthday boy roll. A game. For old times' sake." Logan giggled and slapped at the cup. "If he rolls a six," the groomsman went on, grinning sideways at Sebastian, "Sebastian goes and picks Serena up from the airport tonight. Deal?" The moment I heard her name, my blood went cold. I turned to Sebastian. He'd been keeping in touch with her behind my back. All this time. He caught my eyes. He covered my shaking fingers with his and frowned slightly. "Don't be jealous over nothing. We're all friends. It's just a ride from the airport." And then, without quite meaning to, he nodded. Permission given. Logan laughed and opened his little fist. The dice clattered across the linen. A six. "That's fate!" someone whooped. "Serena's flight lands in two hours. You'll make it!" The room erupted. Glasses up. Backs slapped. Sebastian surrounded. His face softened and he turned and went for the door. Watching his back disappear through that door, I didn't do what I used to do. This seven-year bet of mine — I had lost it, completely.

While cleaning Desmond Maynard's house, I accidentally knocked over his mother's keepsake. He once told me it was his most precious possession. But when I picked it up, hundreds of love letters spilled out. There were beautiful poems, passionate lyrics, and heartfelt confessions. He had written one letter a week without stopping. On the back of each one wrote a line: To My Love, Bunny. The nickname rang a bell. It was his junior in college. Things started to make sense. I slaved away for 13 years, running his household and caring for his family, but Desmond never even said he liked me. That was because he already had someone he liked. I sorted the letters by date, put them back, and grabbed my phone to make a call. "Mom, I'm in for the marriage proposal."