Contos de Romance sobre Melodramatic e Romances com Bias e Marriage

One day, my partner, Natalie Moore, cried and begged me to let her have the baby she had conceived with her childhood sweetheart, Yarden Holt. I agreed, but only on two conditions. Firstly, Yarden had to take the child abroad and never come back. Secondly, if Natalie ever broke the first condition and allowed them to come back, half of the Moore family’s estate had to be transferred to me. Everyone called me a gold-digging opportunist. They accused me of using a woman to climb the social ladder and coveting the Moore family fortune. Nevertheless, Natalie was willing to go against the entire Moore Corp board just to keep that child. Five years after that, I went to a neighboring city for a project and found a little boy. I took him to the police station so they could contact his family. The officer dialed the number the boy gave, and the voice that came through was one I knew all too well. “Baby, don’t worry. I’m coming to get you right now.” Less than half an hour later, Natalie, who was supposed to be hundreds of miles away at a meeting, stormed into the police station. I sat on a bench and watched her indifferently. She froze, and her face turned pale. I smiled and stood up to greet her. “Natalie, I had no idea that you had secretly brought this little boy back. Did you stop caring about your inheritance?”

After I lost my five-year-old daughter, I slit my wrists for the 49th time in a haze of grief. My husband was bandaging the wound when he suddenly broke down. "You and our daughter got into that car accident because I put sleeping pills in your milk. "I've already stayed by your side through your treatment to atone for what I did. How much longer are you going to torture me?" I stared at Nicholas Halston, my eyes wide with disbelief. He took a deep breath, as if a weight had finally lifted from his shoulders. "The woman I've been seeing on the side for the past three years is actually your foster sister. "I drugged you because she wanted to do something reckless in the house that day. I was afraid you'd find out and divorce me. "I didn't know you'd leave the house afterward." The relief on his face felt like a rusted blade driven straight into my heart. After I drank the milk, the nanny rushed in to tell me our daughter had a high fever. I couldn't reach Nicholas, so I drove her to the hospital myself. Halfway there, drowsiness overwhelmed me. I slammed into an oncoming car, and our daughter died on the spot. Grief and guilt consumed me. I hated myself for the carelessness I believed had killed her. I never imagined that Nicholas and Rosalind Sommers were the true culprits. I laughed and cried like I'd lost my mind. Nicholas spoke again, his voice heavy with endless exhaustion. "Whether you want to have another child and start fresh or keep trying to kill yourself, that's up to you." The next second, his phone lit up with a pregnancy test report from Rosalind.

Tammy, who my husband Steven used to mentor, was in the car crash with me. My liver had ruptured. I was drenched in blood. Steven didn't even flinch. He yanked Tammy out first, and she only had a scratch on her forehead. While I was unconscious, barely hanging on, he was freaking out about her getting a scar. When I came to, completely done, I chucked the divorce papers at his face. He went feral—ripped them up and said I'd only leave him over his dead body. I used to hate when he pulled that line. But now? If that's what it takes, so be it.

When my wife's first love was injured in a car accident and urgently needed a kidney transplant, she gave me an ultimatum. If I refused to donate my kidney, she said she would take our daughter and die alongside him the very next day. Crying, she begged. "Can you stop being so selfish? It's only one kidney. "It's not like you'll die! Are you really going to force me and your daughter to our deaths?" With a bitter smile, I agreed. What she didn't know was that our daughter had already died in the very same car accident that injured her beloved first love. And I was suffering from end-stage kidney failure. Once I went through with the surgery, I wouldn't be far behind from death either. Since she was willing to sacrifice everything for the man she loved, then I would give her exactly what she wanted. I would make her the person responsible for both my death and our daughter's so she would have to live with that regret for the rest of her life.

My wife, Karen Quinn, pretended to be trapped in a fire and called me for help. Without a thought for my own life, I charged into the flames to save her and came out so blackened by smoke that I looked like a lump of charcoal. Just as I was grieving, convinced something terrible had happened to her, I found her standing in the safe zone with her male best friend, Cade Morrow, neither of them with a scratch on them. She held up her phone and burst out laughing. "Todd, are you out of your mind? You've been fooled ninety-nine times, and you still fall for it like an idiot." Some of the others couldn't stand it anymore and warned her, "Aren't you afraid he'll divorce you if you keep going this far?" My wife shot me a sideways glance and said with contempt, "My first love died because of him. A little suffering like this is letting him off easy. "Besides, he's a pathetic nobody that no one wants. I'm the only one who'd ever feed him. Where else could he go without me?" What she didn't know was that I was dying. This time, I was really going to leave her for good.

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.

After I marry Yannick Harker, I become the laughingstock of Grisport. They call me the "Voucher Wife". Whether it is doctor's visits, meals, or even a pack of sanitary pads… I can only pay for them with vouchers that are only redeemable at designated stores. The Harkers impose an unwritten rule—every expense I incur must be approved by the female butler, Tracy Swain. The vouchers bearing her personal seal become my only source of money. On our wedding anniversary, I'm injured in a car accident and end up covered in cuts and bruises. But when I try to pay my medical bill, I'm told that every medical voucher I have is invalid. With nowhere else to turn, I ask Yannick for help, only to be met with his impatient refusal. He sneers, "You need money? Isn't the 200 thousand dollars in vouchers you get every month enough for you? Or is one of your relatives waiting in the operating room waiting to undergo surgery again? "Colette Skelton, you once put a price tag on yourself and sold yourself into the Harker family. But now, you're not even worth that much anymore." I know Yannick hates me. He hates me for demanding an extra one million dollars at our wedding. That has made him the laughingstock of the entire city for marrying a gold digger. So, Yannick cancels all my bank cards and cuts off every job opportunity I have. With those vouchers, he humiliates me openly without the slightest attempt to hide his overbearing ways. The glaring lights of the emergency room make my eyes sting until tears form. With the last valid voucher I have left, I exchange it for an abortion procedure. Later, Yannick finds me like a man possessed. With bloodshot eyes, he demands to know why. I calmly slide the remaining vouchers across the table to him. "Here's your 200 thousand dollars in vouchers. Yannick, I've settled my debt to you. From now on, we owe each other nothing."

I was a wedding planner, and I personally designed my husband's wedding to his mistress. I had been with Victor for five years. Three of those years were swallowed by the pandemic. The remaining two were spent married, pregnant, and raising a child. The wedding I had always dreamed of existed only as "next time" whenever it came out of his mouth, until the day I received a new wedding planning request. The client was a young woman, her eyes curved with laughter, her smile bright and full of hope. "This is the venue my boyfriend chose himself," she said softly. "He insisted the wedding had to be held here." I took the file from her, and my gaze stopped on the venue name. The church in Clairmont. The very church I had mentioned to my husband countless times, the place I had dreamed of more than anything else. I was just about to smile and marvel at how someone in this world shared my taste so perfectly when the groom's name leapt into view. Victor Langford. My fingers froze on the page. Across from me, the girl was still wrapped in her happiness. She added gently, "We've only been together for two months, but he said he wants to give me the best wedding possible." I curved my lips into a smile and fixed my eyes on that familiar face—the man I had lived with for five years. After all this time, the day I planned Victor's wedding had finally arrived. Too bad the bride wasn't me.

To avoid being the topic of gossip, I could only use disposable items every time I went to my girlfriend, Erica Livingston's, house. She made me use disposable slippers in her house, and disposable utensils when we had our meals. Even when I stayed the night, she prepared disposable sheets for me. "If someone saw any of your things at my house, I wouldn't know how to explain it," she would tell me every time. "I'll get you everything you deserve once we go public." I waited three years for that to happen, and I had to enter her house every time as if I was a guest. This continued until one day, when she held a birthday party for her assistant, Ryan Strobe, at her house. When I opened the door, I saw Ryan taking out their matching house slippers from the shoe cabinet in her house. Erica's best friends arrived next and wore all of the other disposable house slippers available at her house. I was left standing by myself at the door. "You can come in barefoot. It's not cold in the summer," Erica said to me without looking up. It felt like she was calling out to a stranger to enter her house. I stared at the table, full of food, from afar, with utensils printed with Ryan's favorite anime character. In the far corner was a pair of cheap, disposable utensils that belonged to me, and I suddenly felt like everything I had with her was disposable as well. It was time that this love that was buried deep in secret should also be disposable to me, and I should throw it away now that I was done with it.

When Naomi Sullivan married me, she was already ten million dollars in debt. I spent the last five years working three jobs to help her pay off her "debts" while providing for her as well as our son, Shane Lewis. Not once did I ever complain about anything. All along, I firmly believed that my efforts would pay off, and we would eventually lead a good life together. Last week, our company finally secured a massive investment. Naomi and I hugged as we celebrated the occasion. I thought that the hard times were finally over. Today, I ended up seeing Naomi featured in the financial news. Dressed in a formal gown, she was hailed as the sole heiress to a multi-billion-dollar empire. She was shown engaged in an animated conversation with her "investor", Jared Lewis. The news headline read, "Naomi Sullivan Completes Five-Year Adversity Trial, Proves Her Ability to Build from Scratch to the Board of Directors". I trudge home in a daze. When I get there, the five-year-old Shane is playing with the latest limited-edition toy robot. He looks at me with a frosty, distant expression that bears an uncanny resemblance to his mother's. "Mommy told me everything. You failed the trial, Daddy. You care too much about money."

When Mom was seven months pregnant, a speeding car hit hers. Not only did she suffer multiple fractures, but she lost her child as well. Dad was heartbroken. As a top lawyer in his field, he promised Mom that he would seek justice for her. Yet on the day of the court hearing, when Dad saw that the defendant was his childhood sweetheart, he denied being the lawyer for Mom. He turned around and abandoned Mom, who was still in her wheelchair. Subsequently, Mom found her own lawyer. However, during the appeal of the second instance, Dad stood at the place of the defendant, taking on the role of the defense lawyer. Mom’s lawyer lost the case completely. She was charged for falsely accusing the innocent for selfish gain and had to pay a compensation for mental damage of $100,000. Mom’s entire body shook when she received the sentence. Ignoring the pain on her body, she went looking for Dad to question him, only to see him standing with his childhood sweetheart. “Gerald, your wife will surely get mad at you for doing this. What if she asks for a divorce?” Dad draped his jacket over her shoulders and assured her. “Megan, I would never accept this case had I known you were the defendant. You weren’t in a clear mental state during your pregnancy. We just aren’t fated to see our baby alive. Tina was just acting in a moment of spite. She loves me so much, she won’t make things difficult for me.” Mom felt all her energy drain from her body. She released her clenched fists, and the written court judgment fluttered to the ground. Using the remaining dollar in her account, she printed two copies of a divorce agreement.

The day the university released the family placement positions for doctoral graduates, I went straight to the Human Resources Office to register. But the staff member barely looked up before rolling their eyes. "Mr. Slater, everyone at this university knows you cheated on your wife and are about to leave the marriage with nothing. How do you still have the nerve to ask about the placement position?" I thought there had been some kind of misunderstanding. I rushed home, hoping to explain everything to my wife, only for my mother to slap me across the face. "I don't have a shameless son like you. Get out of Natalie's house!" I was driven back to the rural school where I had spent the past three years teaching. But by then, the entire village was filled with rumors about me, and even the children avoided me. The day I received the divorce papers my wife had mailed me, I returned home. But before I could enter, I overheard her talking to her friends through the half-open door. "Natalie, you spread those rumors and forced your husband into divorcing you just so Mr. Talbot could get that placement position. Aren't you worried your husband won't remarry you afterward?" She let out a dismissive laugh. "Not even my mother-in-law has a problem with it. No one but me would marry a penniless man like him! Ian needs this job more than he does. In a week, once everything's settled, I'll forgive him for 'cheating' and take him back. He'll be so grateful that he'll probably thank me for the rest of his life." My grip tightened around the divorce agreement until my knuckles turned white. If that was how it was going to be, then I would give her the divorce. But once I signed those papers, she could forget about ever remarrying me.

On the day of our fifth wedding ceremony, the bride, Natalie Knight, was late yet again. A notification suddenly popped up on my phone: a trending post on the local city forum. [What's the most thrilling thing you've done after finally winning over the person you'd secretly loved for years?] The original poster answered his own question: [Becoming her husband, obviously. Then stealing her away from my childhood best friend at his weddings five times and going at it with her backstage at the ceremony until we couldn't see straight.] Amid a flood of angry comments, the poster went ahead and shared a photo taken afterward, both of them drenched in sweat. No faces were visible, but it was easy to tell the poster was wearing a groomsman's suit. The woman, shown only in profile, was wearing a wedding dress. A strange sense of familiarity turned me cold from head to toe. The next moment, the doors to the wedding venue finally swung open, and two figures appeared before me. They matched the people in the photo exactly. It felt like I'd plunged into ice water. One was my childhood best friend, who'd been inseparable from me for thirteen years. The other was Natalie, the wife I'd married at the courthouse five years ago.

In the second year of my divorce battle with Adrian Pierce, the judge awarded him everything. As I was packing, my daughter pulled an old cell phone out of one of the boxes. "Mommy, look. It still turns on." I tapped the screen, and an email popped up. It was one I had written to myself 10 years ago. "Clara, how are you at 28? Did you marry the man you love? Is your baby adorable? He loves kids so much. You two must be so happy together." Tears splashed onto the screen as I typed back, one sentence at a time. "I did get married, and we had a daughter. However, I found out he was cheating on me with my best friend, our daughter's godmother, during the third year of our marriage. We spent two years fighting through the divorce, and he won. I walked away with nothing." A reply came back mere seconds after I hit the send button. "You're lying! Adrian and Avery love me more than anyone else in the world. They would never betray me like that." A bitter smile tugged at my lips as my trembling fingers typed another swift but brutal reply. "The people who loved you the most? Funny. Our daughter was born with a congenital heart defect. She wouldn't survive without surgery. I got down on my knees and begged Adrian for the money to save her, but he accused me of trying to scam him. "He froze every one of my accounts and used the money from our wedding gifts to pay for his wedding with Avery. The invitations have already been sent out. "Wake up, Clara. Adrian will no longer love you 10 years from now. Now that you know the cruel truth, it's your choice whether to walk away now or stay with him."

Ever since I got pregnant, stepping on the scale has been my biggest fear. My husband, Greyson Lewis, had a rule: if I weighed even a little more than I had the week before, he’d cut off my living expenses for the following week. He said our friends had been laughing at him ever since I got pregnant, mocking him for marrying a pig. Of all days, I happened to gain two pounds on the day of my anatomy scan. The bill came to $1,680, but he’d locked me out of both my bank card and the supplementary card he’d given me. When we got home, Greyson made me a plate of boiled vegetables, without even a single ear of corn. "Eat less for a couple of days. Corn and potatoes are carbs, too. You need to lose weight as quickly as possible." But in the middle of the night, I was so hungry I couldn’t sleep. I sneaked $20 out of his pocket and went to grab a late-night burger and fries. I’d barely eaten half when the police caught me. "Your husband called to report that you stole his money." Greyson rushed over and frowned at me. "So now you’ve learned to steal, too? Can’t you control your pig-like appetite for once?" Suddenly, I was just so tired of it all. I held out my hands. "Yes, I stole the money. Take me away." The officer stared at me in surprise, but Greyson only sneered. "Good. Let her spend a couple of days in jail. Maybe then she’ll stop thinking about food all day." I lowered my eyes to my swollen belly and suddenly laughed. He was right. How much weight could I lose just by eating less? Wouldn’t I lose it much faster if I got rid of the baby?

A week before we're supposed to get married, my fiancé, Caleb Payne, asks me to book eight tickets for a trip to the coast. He says it's one last trip before the wedding and that everyone we're close to is going. After three days of trying, I finally manage to get eight seats together. But right after I pay, I accidentally see a poll in a separate group chat they created called "Trip Without Anna." The poll asks whether I should go with them. Seven people vote no. One person doesn't choose either option. No one votes yes. The people who voted include Caleb, my own sister, Caleb's childhood best friend, and the cousin I've practically helped raise. I ask Caleb if he's the one who didn't vote. He rubs his forehead. "Yeah. I didn't vote against you. Isn't that enough? Everyone's worried that if you come, you'll be telling people what to do and ruining the fun. Just give me some space before we get married, okay?" "Then why did you ask me to book eight tickets?" Caleb answers like it's obvious, "Because you're good at snagging tickets. We can use the extra seat for luggage. I'll pay you back later." My own sister, Irene Hudson, tries to talk me down. "You two are about to get married. Don't let a few tickets ruin your wedding." I stare at the eight seats together. Turns out, I spent three days getting those seats just so everyone else could take a trip without me. A notification pops up on the booking app, telling me I have ten minutes left to cancel the tickets for a refund. But by then, the tickets are the last thing on my mind. All I can think about is the man I'm about to marry. When everyone else votes against me, he can't even bring himself to vote for me.

On our wedding night, my wife, Corinne, suddenly said, "Emmett, let Silas take your place with me tonight." I froze, sure I'd heard her wrong. Then she said, "I don't want this either, but Silas is dying. The only thing he wants before he dies is to find out what it's like to be with a woman. "You two are twins anyway. You look exactly alike. Just let him stand in for you tonight. "Don't worry. I'll be thinking of you the whole time." My parents were standing at the bedroom door too, their eyes full of tears as they begged me. "Emmett, just say yes! It's Silas's last wish!" In that moment, a flood of memories came rushing back.

When the Irwins were on the brink of bankruptcy, I proposed a marriage of convenience to Ryan and saved them from collapse. Ever the playboy, Ryan was so grateful that he swore eternal loyalty to me, even getting a vasectomy immediately to prove his devotion. He took me across mountains and rivers, saying he wanted to etch our love into every corner of the world. Three years later, he got me drunk, stole my phone, and used it to infiltrate the Knights’ estate. That night, he orchestrated the complete downfall of my family’s legacy. My parents overdosed on sleeping pills. My sister was dragged into an alley by his men, violated, filmed, and the footage was auctioned off to amuse wealthy heirs. I begged him to let my family go. However, he gripped my face and forced me to watch as my parents were cremated. “You think marrying me back then was some noble sacrifice? Sure, the whole city praised your family for helping mine in our darkest hour. But what did they say about me? “They call me your lapdog, Lily!” Ryan destroyed the Knights to prove he was better than us and not anyone’s dog. He tore up the divorce papers and shoved the shreds into my mouth. Ryan wanted me to watch as he rose to power and made the world kneel before him. To humiliate me, he brought home a different woman every night, turning our house into a hotel while I served them. “What’s the Knights’ worth now? With your status, cooking for them and massaging their feet like this is only fitting.” It didn’t matter. When I saved him from that avalanche, a shard of stone slashed my heart. Now, I only have three days left to live.

After his twin brother dies, my husband, Cassian Howell, starts supporting two households, splitting our family's money equally between them. Half goes to our daughter and me, and the other half goes to his late brother's widow, Esther Heaton, and her son, Noah Howell. He says he can't let his nephew grow up without a father figure. When our daughter, Anne Howell, graduates from elementary school, her teacher asks each student to contribute 50 dollars toward graduation photos. Cassian refuses at once, calling it an unnecessary expense. It's the same excuse he used the week before when I asked him for new undergarments. I call him. "I'll go without if I have to, but everyone in her class is getting graduation photos. Anne is the only one who hasn't paid." He sounds annoyed. "Faye, you know I have two households to support. We have to cut costs wherever we can." Before I can answer, he hangs up on me. Moments later, Esther posts a photo in our family group chat: a limited-edition children's camera and a brand-new designer bag. Her caption reads, "Thank you for the gifts, Cassian! I'm so grateful Noah has a father figure in his life, all thanks to you." I stare at the words "father figure" for a long moment before I finally understand. In Cassian's heart, Esther and her son are his real family. Anne and I are just outsiders he can afford to neglect.

At the Davenport family dinner, I arrive wearing the same dress Tucker Davenport's true love once wore. His face darkens immediately. He glares at me coldly and orders that my dress be burned on the spot. "Damn it, Willow, can't you show a little self-awareness? Shelby might be too naive to notice, but there's no way I'm letting you appear like this in front of her." The intense heat rushes toward me as the flames consume the fabric. A sharp, burning pain shoots between my legs, crashing over me like a tidal wave. The pain drags me under, but I suddenly jolt awake, barely able to gasp a plea for mercy. Tucker doesn't spare me a glance. He simply turns away to help Shelby cut the cake. Days later, he finally remembers I exist. "As long as you behave and don't bother Shelby again, you'll still be Mrs. Davenport." I stare at the burns on my legs as my tears dry up. I refuse to beg any longer. I'm done being Mrs. Davenport.