เรื่องสั้นแนวBias Romance และนิยาย Marriage

When I'm paying the heating bill, I find out that my wife, Violet Jensen, has two accounts under her name. The first account belongs to our home. The second account goes to a unit in a high-end private residential area. The remark on the account shows two words that say "love nest". Love nest. I don't know who on earth Violet is sharing that nest with, but I know where that address is. After all, that's the apartment I bought at full price before my marriage.

For the sake of her secretary, who was supposedly battling cancer, my wife, Sofia Griffin, made a shocking proposal. She would pay ten million for taking his virginity as an attempt to help him raise the funds needed. I had barely opened my mouth to object when she cut me down with a sharp rebuke. She said, "Chris has always been a proud man. Just giving him the money would seem like a handout and hurt his pride. "Can't you try to be compassionate? Do you really have to be jealous over something this small?" I said nothing. I simply smiled and nodded. What she didn't know was that, as an infectious disease specialist, I had already recognized the signs. It wasn't cancer... It was late-stage AIDS.

I got back from a six month work trip and found my pet hamster dead. I couldn't just bury it. I wanted to preserve it, keep it whole. But when I carefully opened it up, I went still. Its lungs were pitch black. That kind of damage couldn't happen fast. It meant months of breathing toxic smoke. But my husband and I never smoked. So who'd been living in my house while I was gone?

After my brother and fake heir, Damon Stewart, runs someone over, he frames me for it. My fiancee immediately breaks off our engagement and marries him. I'm facing prison time, but Crystal Morgan—my childhood sweetheart who's also a lawyer—resolutely chooses to marry me. She works tirelessly to clear my name, and eventually she gets Damon sent to prison. However, her family runs into financial trouble, and her ailing mother is facing prison time herself. To repay a debt of gratitude, I, an accountant, take the blame for the crime and spend seven years in prison. But on the day I'm released, I overhear Crystal and her mother, Lilian Murphy, talking from behind the gates. "Crystal, Elijah loves you so deeply. If he knew that you married him to get Damon off the hook and sign the leniency agreement for his parents' deaths, how heartbroken would he be?" Lilian questions angrily. "I didn't want to either, but his parents are already dead," Crystal replies. I feel my mind reeling. Damon is the one who killed my parents? Lilian sighs. "You signed the leniency agreement, so Damon didn't even have to go to prison. Why did you still frame Elijah and send him to prison?" "If I didn't send him to prison, there was no way we could keep the truth hidden. What, was I supposed to sit back and watch Damon spend seven years behind bars?" My heart clenches painfully. Seven of the best years of my life were spent behind four prison walls, all for Damon's sake. It turns out the mutual love I thought we shared is nothing but a lie. Since that's the case, I'm done with Crystal.

It's the third year since my wife, Joyce Sinclair, cheated on me. I spread her intimate photos with her male assistant, Bryan Long, on the internet. Then, I doused myself in gasoline and threatened to drag everyone down to hell with me. Bryan's so scared that he flees the city that very night. I think I've won. However, to settle my lawsuit and cover the damages, my older sister, Rachel Lovett, sells her house and takes out high-interest loans. In the end, the burden becomes too much for her, and she jumps from a high-rise building. Her voice is hoarse in the recording she leaves me. "That's enough, Ray. We've lost everything. Mom and Dad have aged overnight, and I can't take it anymore..." Mom clutches Rachel's belongings and cries until she passes out. Dad's emaciated hands clamp around my neck as he demands at the top of his lungs, "How many more lives do you have to destroy before you're satisfied?" Tears silently trail down my cheeks, and I finally come to my senses. I no longer neurotically look into every single man around Joyce, and I stop badgering her with questions about the scent of men's cologne on her. Even when I walk in on her staring at a photo of her and Bryan and reminiscing about the past, I take the initiative to bring him back. It all comes to a head when Bryan wishes to become Joyce's lawfully wedded husband on his birthday. Without the slightest hesitation, I print out the divorce agreement, sign and seal it, and deliver it to him. To my surprise, Joyce rips the agreement to shreds. She grips my chin and demands hysterically, "Raymond Lovett, what happened to the stubborn man who'd rather die than divorce me? Where is he now?"

I loved Cassidy more than anything. Although she had been involved with countless men, and she had even cheated on me with Henry, the fake heir, I still couldn't bring myself to let her go. I worked out, took medication, and did everything I could because I wanted to have a child with her. When the doctor finally told me today that I met the required fertility criteria, I grabbed the test results and rushed straight to her office. "Cassidy, I–" My voice came to an abrupt halt. Cassidy was passionately kissing her new male secretary with her arms wrapped around him. She glanced at me impatiently. "Get out!" I suddenly came to my senses. I could accept having a wife like her, but could our future child accept having a mother like her?

I have once spent three whole years winning over the untouchable Keith Reed. I have also paid the price by sacrificing my whole career just so I can become the envied Mrs. Reed of my own will. But on our fifth wedding anniversary, I have decided to file for divorce. My best friend, Hailey Walker, is my lawyer. She repeatedly asks me, "Are you sure? You turned down an offer from a world-renowned fashion magazine just to get married to him, but now, you're telling me you want to file for divorce?" Suppressing the bitterness in my heart, I say, "Please help me draft a divorce agreement. The sooner it's done, the better." She sounds bewildered. "But why?" Looking at the extravagant bouquet of black datura on the dining table, I give my final answer. "It all began with a bouquet."

On my wedding day, my fiancée's adopted younger brother, Jason Sanders, suddenly stood up to toast us as we were exchanging rings. "The first toast is for my sister. She gave herself to me last night so that I wouldn't feel insecure, making me her first man." After he said that, he kissed my fiancée, ignoring the strange looks from everyone. "The second toast is for my brother-in-law. Don't be fooled by my sister's usual aloof demeanor around you; she's actually very passionate in bed. Even though you're impotent, you've still struck gold." My fiancée, Wendy Sanders, covered his mouth in a hurry and tried to laugh it off. "He’s just rambling because he's drunk. Just ignore him." But Jason broke free from Wendy and looked at me challengingly. "The third toast is for everyone. Since Wendy is getting married today, I would like to personally put the ring on her finger. I'm sure no one has any objections, right?"

To afford train tickets home for New Year's Eve, I searched for a part-time job and stumbled into a livestream that was practically throwing money at the chat. A young woman in a silk robe rested her chin on her hand. Behind her, a villa glowed under expensive lighting that reflected off polished marble floors. "Being kept in here is suffocating," she said in a voice that mixed boredom with sweetness. "My sponsor gives me more money than I can spend. Help me out. Take some off my hands." Cash drops flashed across the screen one after another. I tapped as fast as I could, my heart hammering. A few large ones landed in my account. I was close. One more would cover both my ticket and my boyfriend's. The streamer leaned closer to the camera. "He keeps saying my tear mole looks like his girlfriend's," she said, her mouth twisting with disgust. "So unlucky. Of all things, I had to match with some broke girl." My finger slipped. I had a tear mole under my eye in the same spot. The live chat flooded with questions. [How is the sponsor's girlfriend broke?] The streamer gave a short snort and reapplied her lipstick, as if correcting a minor flaw. "He's just messing around. He tricked her into 200,000 dollars in debt. She's so stupid she works multiple jobs to help him pay it off." A chill settled in my chest. My boyfriend also owed 200,000 dollars. She continued, her tone light, "The funniest part? He slept with me for three days. When he left, I asked if he was giving her a taste of honey." She smiled cruelly. "He said all he has to do is claim he's going to work a construction site hauling rebar. The idiot will feel guilty and deliver food all night. So he won't need to please her." Another large cash drop flashed across the screen. The total reached the exact amount I needed. My phone rang. Benjamin's name lit up the display. When I answered, his voice sounded worn down, as if it had scraped against concrete. "Via, we still don't have enough for the tickets," he said. "I hauled rebar and made a little over 40 dollars. I'm heading home now."

My wife, Lily Tanner, is a mortician. She's trying to avoid getting fired during her pregnancy, so she keeps locking herself in the morgue. I may be her husband and colleague, but even I am not allowed inside. I don't want her to work too hard, so in the middle of the night, I sneak into the morgue to do her checks for her. However, she reacts by going berserk and sounding the alarm. Ever since then, I've been very careful around her, fearing that it may affect her pregnancy. Later on, with Lily repeatedly receiving praise from the deceased's family, our department decides to hold a commendation ceremony for her. The whole family seems relieved. However, as soon as Lily receives her award, I ask her for a divorce. The room instantly falls silent. Tearing off the medal on her chest, she complains in a wounded tone, "I'm working myself to the bone even when I'm pregnant, and I'm doing all this to give our child a better life. You're worried that I'll outperform you and overtake you as the top mortician in the industry, aren't you?" I look away from her, a cold smile forming on my lips. "Spend the rest of your life with those bodies, then. I don't want the child anymore, and I'm definitely divorcing you."

The year Daniel went broke, I swallowed every last drop of pride.  I took a job as a dancer at a shady nightclub just to pay off his debts. We lived in a forty-dollar-a-night basement room, surviving on stale energy bars and tap water.  I became the laughingstock of everyone we used to know. Eight years later, he pulled off the ultimate comeback and clawed his way back to the top. His very first move?  Bringing his high school sweetheart, Mia, straight into our home. At his victory party, in front of a room packed with people, he laid down three rules for me. "First, keep your distance in public. Mia’s a total germaphobe. "Second, Mia is sensitive. From now on, tell people you’re my assistant. "Third, never bring up your nightclub days again. It disgusts me." Mia clutched her tea glass and added timidly, "Maddy, I’ll be in your care." The room erupted in laughter.  The looks thrown my way were a mix of pity and mockery. I just smiled and nodded. "Of course." The next day, I moved my things into the maid’s quarters and handed over the master bedroom.  When she complained that the doorknobs I had touched were filthy, I hired a deep-cleaning crew to sanitize the entire house. When Daniel came home that night, his eyes were bloodshot. He grabbed my wrist, shaking with rage. "Maddy, what the hell is this drama? Do you still think you're some spoiled rich girl?" I didn't have the energy to fight back, let alone answer. Eight years of pouring cheap liquor down my throat had burned through my body. Hidden in my nightstand drawer, buried beneath a stack of old mail, was a late-stage stomach cancer diagnosis. In three days, I would be gone from his world forever.

The first week after I married into Claire Smith's family, her grandfather looked at me across a table full of relatives and said calmly, "From now on, keep your mouth shut and do as you're told." Claire did not say a word in my defense. She did not even look up at me. Yet when we returned to our room that night, she bought me a brand-new watch that had just been released. For the next three years, her younger brother ordered me around like I was his servant, while her mother repeatedly pointed a finger in my face and accused me of living off her daughter. At the family Christmas dinner every year, I was never given a seat at the head table. At the company's annual dinner, I could not even get a proper seat. Every time it happened, Claire would make it up to me afterward with a gift and a few words of comfort. "Just hang in there a little longer. Once I become general manager, I'll finally have a real say in this family." I believed her, so I endured it for three whole years. That all changed when Hank Lawson, a young man Claire had been supporting through a scholarship, joined the company. Hank completely botched a multimillion-dollar project, yet Claire did not criticize him once during the meeting. Instead, she took responsibility for his mistake in front of the entire executive team. "He's still young. He needs time to learn." At the Christmas dinner that year, Hank clumsily knocked over an antique teapot that Claire's grandfather had treasured for years. It hit the floor and shattered, sending pieces of ceramic skittering across the room. Claire immediately grabbed Hank's hand and carefully checked his fingers for cuts, then she looked up at her grandfather. "Grandpa, don't scare him." On Hank's birthday, Claire rented out an entire ballroom at a hotel for the celebration. Almost everyone from the company showed up. They gathered around the two of them, laughing and raising their glasses, as if they were celebrating an engagement rather than a birthday. It was only then that I finally understood. Claire was not incapable of standing up for someone. She simply had never been willing to stand up for me. This time, I did not fight it. I pulled out my phone and called my brother. When he answered, I was silent for a few seconds. I finally said, "I lost. I'm ready to come back and help you."

In the seventh year of our marriage, Jenna Birch is finally accepted by the powerful Birch family as their long-lost, illegitimate daughter. But inheriting the family fortune comes with one condition—she must carry a child for her late sister's widower, Zach Corey, to continue both family bloodlines. Jenna swears she will never forget the humiliation Zach once inflicted on her. She insists she'll only stay by his side long enough to make him suffer before casting him out of the Birch family for good. Instead, she drifts farther away from us. She comes home later each night, and Annie and I are no longer a priority. Then, six months later, she announces her marriage to Zach without ever telling us. Looking at the wedding photos, Annie asks innocently, "Why is Mommy lying in Mr. Corey's arms?" I wrap my arms around my little girl, my heart breaking for the child who has no idea what's happening. "Because she has a new family now. It's time for us to leave."

The villagers raised me as a child. So, when I became successful, I initiated a development plan for the village to repay their kindness. However, because of forced evictions, the village chief’s family, who were the kindest to me, four villagers, and two youngsters died miserably under the excavator’s shovel. I gave away every penny I had, knelt in the rubble to beg forgiveness, and was beaten bloody by the enraged villagers. I was left disfigured, crippled, and eventually thrown in prison for ten years. After I came out of prison, I went to a faraway place, changed my name, and worked on a construction site. I planned to just drift through the rest of my miserable life in obscurity. However, my ex-wife and daughter tracked me down. “Max, why didn’t you tell me when you got out? That whole thing has passed now. Weylon has built a great career. He can get you a decent job. “Come home. Our daughter and I miss you.” Our daughter, Josie, glared at me with grievance. “Who misses this murderer? He’s the reason I can’t hold my head up. Everywhere I go, people curse me. I don’t want a beast like him for a father. “Mom, you and Uncle Weylon are all the family I need…” I caressed the scar on my face, looked at my crippled right leg, and felt my numb heart ache once more. Back then, the person who skimmed the compensation money, forced the evictions, and caused those deaths was Weylon, my ex-wife’s foster brother. To protect him, she had threatened me with our daughter’s life and made me take the fall. At that moment, she was standing before me, offering charity from on high.

I'd been "married" to Zachary for two years—until I tried applying for a loan and the bank's system flagged someone else as his legal wife. Our wedding? Just a private show. The real marriage license had his name next to hers. So yeah. I wasn't the wife. I was the other woman. Crushed, I went home—only to hear Zachary talking to his friend, Ethan, by the door. "Man, watching you stress is exhausting," Ethan said. "You clearly love Sierra. So why marry Cathryn?" Zachary looked torn. "At first, she was just a stand-in. But when she left, I couldn't stop thinking about her. So I brought her back—as my assistant." He paused, then muttered, "I can't live without Sierra. But I can't let go of Cathryn either. So I gave Sierra my love in public and kept Cathryn hidden with the title. That's fair, right?" I stood frozen, heart splitting open. He loved us both. Me—his childhood sweetheart. Her—the hidden wife. I thought I was the one. Turns out, I was just the game. He didn't break my heart. He shattered my whole world. But I didn't cry. I didn't scream. I walked away. And started planning two things.

I had been married to Jeremy Yeager for three years, and he had a strict rule. "We can't lend our money to outsiders. We help out during emergencies, but we don't support them endlessly. This is the bottom line." Thus, I begged him on my knees when my father needed 60,000 dollars for his gastric cancer surgery. He remained calm. "If we break this rule today, your entire family will be draining our bank account tomorrow. I have to be responsible for this family." I sold my dowry to raise the surgery fee and accepted that some boundaries needed to be kept in marriage. When Jeremy's childhood sweetheart, Celia Marten, returned to the country to start a business and her start-up funds were insufficient, he transferred 470,000 dollars from our joint account. I confronted him, yet he just laughed and replied, "It's different. Celia's doing legitimate business. It's guaranteed to turn a profit. Besides, she's not an outsider." Looking at the numbers on the transfer record, I suddenly understood everything. It was not a matter of principle. The 60,000 dollars for a life-saving treatment was for an outsider; the 470,000 dollars investment was not. What truly mattered was who wanted the money. I did not argue or make a scene. I took our marriage certificate out of the drawer and slammed it on the table. "She's not an outsider, huh? Just make her your wife, then."

Throughout our seven-year marriage, my CEO wife, Ruby Irving, goes on yet another business trip on Memorial Day once again, so she can't travel back to my hometown with me. But soon, I saw the photos uploaded by her assistant, Wilbur Stork, on his social media feed that featured her sweeping the grave in his hometown instead. The caption writes, "Mom and Dad must be very satisfied with their daughter-in-law because the gloomy weather has cleared up in an instant." I chortle in amusement for a brief moment before liking the post calmly. Then, I comment, "I respect your relationship and wish you nothing but happiness." But my colleagues all go nuts over the latest bombshell. They are quick to form their chat groups and speculate as to how I'm going to cause my next ruckus in the company this time. Ruby soon calls me while sounding very stern. "I know Wilbur does things very brashly due to his young age, but you shouldn't have caused him trouble in the comment section! What will everyone else in the company think of him? How is Wilbur supposed to continue working in this company? "Moreover, Wilbur doesn't have anyone left in his family. What's wrong with me keeping him company just this once? People with happy families like you don't have empathy for others at all! "I want you to delete your comment and remove your like right now. Once the holidays are over, I'll free up some time in my schedule to go back to your hometown with you." As I listen to Ruby making yet another empty promise to me in such a casual way, I let out a soft chuckle. "It's fine." Once the holidays are over, we'll be able to obtain our divorce certificates.

My husband and I have been legally married for five years. This is the tenth time he's canceled our wedding ceremony. This time? His student, Laura, is competing in her first international violin competition—and he 'needs' to be there. I still remember the last cancellation: an awards ceremony he had to attend with her. The time before that? She fell ill, and he stayed at her hospital bedside. The other times? I've lost count of the excuses, but it doesn't matter. The reason is always Laura. Her needs always outweighed my wedding. My marriage. My life. Fine. If he wanted to stand by Laura so badly, he could stay there forever. This hollow, five-year farce of a marriage? It's over.

When I came home after a three-day business trip, my daughter ran straight into my arms with a bright smile. "Mommy, I've been really good while you were gone. Look how clean I kept the house." Too clean. The trash can was full of empty soup cans and bread wrappers. I pulled up the footage from the living room security camera. The first night, Sadie sat alone on the couch watching TV until she fell asleep, then slipped off the couch and landed on the floor. No one was there to help her. She got back up on her own, grabbed a pillow, and curled up on the floor to sleep. The next morning, she stood on a little step stool, trying to reach the kettle in the kitchen. The kettle was too heavy for her. Hot water spilled across the table and burned her hand. She jerked it back, then ran to the bathroom and held it under cold water. She didn't cry once. On the third day, she came down with a fever. On the footage, she sat holding a thermometer and looked straight into the camera. "I think Mommy can see me. I'm a little warm, but I'm okay. You don't have to worry." Then she found the fever medicine herself, broke a tablet in half, and swallowed it. Three days. Three whole days. Gavin Halstead hadn't come home once. I checked his social media and found a post from three days earlier, tagged at a seaside resort. Celeste Rowan had written, "Thank you, Mr. Halstead, for taking Millie to see the ocean. She had so much fun." I saved the security footage to a flash drive. Then I crouched down, pulled Sadie into my arms, and buried my face against her shoulder. "Sweetheart, you don't have to be alone anymore. "From now on, wherever Mommy goes, you're coming with me. Just you and me. We don't need Daddy anymore."

In our third year of marriage, my wife's kept boy toy decided he wanted to break up with her. He left her nothing but a long, dramatic message and blocked her on every platform before she could respond. [You can't give me what I actually want. I don't want to keep dragging this out with you.] I watched my wife's romantic drama play out with a cold, distant expression. After three years of them breaking up and getting back together more times than I could count, I figured this was nothing new. I expected Elena Sheridan to rush straight to coax him back like always. But this time, she was ice cold about it. "He was just a plaything I kept around for amusement. Now he thinks he can threaten me with a breakup? I’ve clearly indulged him too much." But a month later, the news broke online. He'd jumped from a building. The woman who had always been cold and unfeeling completely fell apart.