Bias Romance Short Stories & Marriage Novels

My younger sister, Noelle Lynch's 18th birthday wish is to personally give me the wedding bouquet at my wedding. That's why throughout the five years of Noelle getting tormented by polio, the sentence that I utter to my fiance, Jeremy Morgan, the most is, "Wait a little longer." I want to wait till Noelle is fully recovered and can give me the wedding bouquet. Only when that time comes will the wedding be held. At first, Jeremy keeps arguing with me over this matter. "You're marrying me, not Noelle! Is it that important for her to attend our wedding? My mom really wants us to have a child! If we're not getting married by this year, then we might as well break up!" Things between us have soured since that day. When Noelle finally recovers from polio at the end of the year and wins the pageant as Miss Global Winner, I specifically give myself a long vacation. Then, I secretly contact the wedding planning company in hopes of moving the wedding date forward. But the staff member asks me in shock, "Didn't Mr. Morgan hold his wedding last month?" She even digs out the backup video from the wedding on her computer. In the video, Jeremy can be seen wearing a white suit. With red-rimmed eyes, he slides a ring onto the bride's finger. Shockingly enough, this bride is Noelle, the very same person who keeps claiming that I'm her salvation. I feel as though I've plunged into an icy abyss. Subconsciously, I log into Noelle's social media account. The first thing I see is a barrage of messages from Jeremy. "Honey, I already told her that I'd go on a business trip for a month. We'll meet up at the airport right on time. "By the way, remember to bring the black lace stockings that I've given you. I'm already looking forward to seeing you wearing them…" I clutch my phone tightly at the sight of the messages. Then, I hail a cab and rush to the airport immediately.

The battery in my artificial heart is about to run out, yet no matter where I look, I can't find the spare battery. When I turn around, I realize that my wife, Tracy Maddox, has installed it in a streaming camera. She is using it to livestream a fundraiser for her sick first love, Gavin Spade, who has a cold. "Come on, everyone. Send more gifts! Gavin feels terrible because of his cold. Once we raise enough money, I'll take him to get the most expensive imported cold injection available!" I am so enraged that my vision darkens for a moment, like I'm about to pass out. I shout, "Tracy, you know exactly what happens if my heart loses power. Are you going to just watch as I die?" Covering the microphone, Tracy turns to me and shouts back, "Gavin has a fever of 102.2 degrees Fahrenheit! Your heart is just out of power. Can't you just wait a little while? Once the livestream is over and we've raised enough money for his injection, I'll give the battery back to you!" Using the last of my strength, I activate the emergency communication system inside my artificial heart and contact the R&D center. "The artificial heart is about to stop permanently. Activating the black box... Uploading evidence of murder in real time..."

On my 30th birthday, my husband, Miles Harrington, was out of town on a business trip. To make it up to me, he had a cake delivered. What arrived at my door was a Superman cake that looked like it belonged at a three-year-old's birthday party. I was about to call him when my phone rang. "Honey, you're not gonna believe this. That bakery messed up my order and sent you the wrong cake." I didn't think much of it. Instead, I posted the story on my social media account as a funny little birthday mishap. Comments started pouring in almost immediately. [Was it really the bakery's mistake, or does your husband have a kid somewhere?] I laughed it off. Miles and I had been together since college. We dated, got married, and built a life together. Other than not having children, we were the kind of couple people envied. But as the post gained traction and the comments kept coming, I decided maybe it was time to delete it. Before I could, I got a direct message from the bakery. [Hi there. I wanted to clarify, the delivery driver didn't mix up the orders. Mr. Harrington bought two cakes. He accidentally swapped the delivery addresses.]

On the day I decide to divorce Evan Beckett, I still make lunch and deliver it to him in person. After he takes a sip out of the soup, he widens his eyes in surprise. "The soup's pretty decent! I'll have it again tomorrow!" I nod in response. "Sure thing. I'll teach the housekeeper how to cook it later." That's when Evan lifts his head to look at me. "You got something going on tomorrow?" "Let's get a divorce, Evan." I sound very calm; so calm that everyone, including Evan, thinks that I'm throwing another tantrum. But what they don't know is that I'll be traveling to the ends of the earth with a research team, where we'll be based in for eternity, in 12 hours.

When the property manager calls me, I'm in the middle of picking out the curtains for my new home while sitting behind my desk. "Ms. Grant, the moving truck hired by your partner is stuck in the underground garage of the apartment. Do you need help dealing with this incident?" My hand, which is clutching the mouse, freezes at that moment. I haven't even received my keys to my new place. How can I possibly be moving my things there now? "But Matthew showed up with the permission slip that you signed and claimed the keys. Right now, he's carrying the bed into the master suite. "He told me that you've given him permission to let your relative, Ms. Rosalie Sullivan, and her child move into the apartment." Rosalie Sullivan. That name makes my head buzz loudly. I have practically worked myself to the bone for ten years to secure the internal allocation that got me this subsidized apartment in the city center. In fact, I've only received the notification that I'll be receiving this apartment yesterday. To think that Matthew Lowe actually has the audacity to receive the keys behind my back and give the apartment to someone else! As for Rosalie, she's the poor widow left behind by Matthew's best friend. She and her child are also the very same people whom I've personally supported out of my pocket and looked after for three years. I clutch my phone tightly at that moment.

After I get detained in the police station, my husband, Gavin Pratt, specifically comes over to bail me out. But I grip a policeman's arm without letting go. "I'm the one who did it! Hurry up and arrest me!" In my previous life, I was surrounded by the family members of a car crash victim. A bar owner and a saleswoman who sold cosmetics were there as well. They claimed that I had gone into a drunken frenzy and stole perfume from the store. On top of that, I even ran a red light and hit someone with my car. I kept explaining the truth to everyone, yet no one believed me. Instead, they all had me surrounded and beat me up till I died. When I wake up again, I've returned to the day I'm detained inside the police station.

I begged my husband 304 times before he finally agreed to spend a birthday with our seriously ill daughter. We waited until the cake on the table melted and the warmth slowly left our daughter’s body, but he never showed up. Then, his first love shared a photo on social media. In it, my husband had one arm around her and the other holding her child. Behind them stood a towering birthday cake display. Our daughter had waited five years for a birthday cake that never came. Yet another child received it without even trying. The caption read: The promised tiered cake is finally here! I quietly liked the post. Soon after, he texted me, demanding an explanation. [How many times do I have to tell you? Miranda’s daughter is dealing with depression, and I need to be there for her. Don’t call me unless it’s urgent.] I looked down at the child in my arms, whose body had gone completely cold. “Alright,” I said softly. “I won’t do that again.”

My girlfriend, Kiara Sommer, gets one of her legs crippled in order to save me. Her adopted younger brother, Cain Fullton, suffers from heart failure after shielding us from harm. Since then, his heart becomes extremely weak, and he has to rely on the expensive imported medication just to survive. In order to gather enough money for their surgical bills, I take on a body-casting job in the black market. Not only are my limbs encased in scalding hot silicon, but I also have to endure it whenever a few female perverts cop a feel of me. I can't even move an inch when I'm doing my job. After all, I'll have to compensate for the damages if I ruin the mold. I can only grit my teeth and endure the agony, only to get slapped a few times in the face afterward. "You already have the guts to take on a job like this, and yet you're frightened of getting groped?" As I withstand the humiliation and the burning pain, I return to the hospital with the money in hopes of buying more medicine for Cain. When I walk past a VIP lounge, I hear familiar laughter erupting from within. "Kia, this is the 998th test, right? Once Shane passes 999 tests, are you really going to marry him?" Kiara frowns slightly at the question, though she soon replies coolly, "Yeah. The tests stem from my family's rules, and you're ordered to serve as the supervisor. But still, don't go overboard, yeah? Shane is the only one meant to be my husband." So, Kiara lies to me and torments me to this point just so she can marry me? As I stare at my broken and bruised reflection in the mirror, I feel my lips curling into a smile all of a sudden. With trembling hands, I dig out the old phone that I haven't used for the past two years. My eyes slowly redden as well. Then, I draft a text message. "I regret everything now, Winona. Please take me home."

The delivery-app price war ended up being the smoking gun that proved my husband was cheating. A man who drank nothing but premium craft coffee somehow had a Dunkin’ iced coffee bag sitting in his car. After catching me staring at it, he explained, “The new receptionist at work gave it to me. She said there was some promotion going on and the drinks were ridiculously cheap, so she bought too many and offered me one. I only accepted it because I didn’t want to be rude.” I looked at him with amusement. “Is she pretty?” Hearing the sarcasm in my voice, Carter Freeman snapped. It was out of character. “If you’re going to keep acting jealous for no reason, get out of my car!” It seemed that so much time had passed that he had forgotten that the “Freeman” behind Freeman Group was not Carter Freeman, but me.

On Christmas Eve, I giddily wait for my husband, Hunter Gibson, to come home while nursing my eight-month pregnancy. Unexpectedly, Hunter bursts through the front door with his childhood friend, Winter Jones, in his arms. I attempt to help him out, only to get shoved to the floor instead. My belly bumps into a corner of the coffee table, causing pain to shoot up my nerves. Cold sweat soon beads on my forehead, and yet Hunter doesn't even spare me another glance. "Get out of my way! Someone drugged Winnie's drink at the bar! If I don't purge the poison out of her, she'll die!" As I shield my belly, I dig out my phone. "I'll call an ambulance for her—" But Hunter snatches my phone away before hurling it at the floor, breaking it into splinters. Then, he grabs me by the neck angrily. "Are you trying to ruin Winnie's reputation? If word gets out, how is she going to live with her head hung high?" In order to prevent me from "ruining his plan", Hunter decides to trap me on the balcony while disregarding my pleas and the fact that I'm only wearing thin pajamas. "You should take some time to cool off! Once you've finally learned your lesson, you're only permitted entry!" I can only slam my palms onto the glass door desperately with tears running down my face. There, I'm forced to watch as Hunter and Winter go at it like desperate rabbits on the carpet in the living room, with the Christmas songs serving as their ambiance. A heavy snowfall has occurred that night. At the crack of dawn the next morning, Hunter finally remembers that I exist. He calls my number, yet my phone was turned off. Furious, Hunter yells, "Where the hell did you go? Winnie's stomach is in discomfort! Get your ass back here right now and cook her some soup!" What he doesn't know is that I'm right outside the balcony door. The thing is, dead people are incapable of answering phone calls, not to mention Hunter has already broken my phone, to begin with.

On the day of the wedding, Tiffany Blake publicly slipped a wedding ring onto her secretary's finger. "I'm pregnant. The baby is Chad's. Once the child is old enough, I'll marry you." Guests whispered among themselves, convinced that I—the one who had chased after her for a year—would just swallow my pride and take it. But that very night, I accepted the marriage arranged by my family and vanished from her world without a trace. A year later, I attended a charity gala with my wife, Nicole Cooper. She had a last-minute conflict and sent someone from her regional office to pick me up. I never expected it to be Tiffany, whom I hadn't seen in a year. "You're back just in time. My maternity leave is almost up. From now on, you'll be the one taking care of the child."

My wife had such a compassionate heart that she brought the young homeless man outside our apartment home for dinner, then demanded I give up my room so he could stay there. She spent the entire down payment I had saved on designer clothes for him and took him to five-star restaurants. She said she was only helping him and told me not to be so petty. Then, I got sick and ended up in the hospital. I called my wife and asked her to use the emergency funds in our bank account to pay for my surgery. She agreed right away. Despite that, I waited an entire day and missed the surgery, and the doctor told me I had only one month left to live. She never brought the money. Instead, I saw the photos she had posted on social media during her travels. My wife leaned against the homeless man in front of a famous landmark, smiling like she had everything she wanted. The caption read, "Wyatt said he's never been to any famous landmarks, so even if I have to spend every last cent, I'm going to take him around the world so he won't have any regrets. Also, someone was so afraid I'd spend money on Wyatt that he lied about being sick. He has no compassion at all!" Only then did I realize her so-called sympathy was just an excuse for falling for someone else. In that case, I did not want her anymore.

At my dad's funeral, Dawn Arnold pushes my wheelchair from behind. Suddenly, she speaks up. "I heard you screaming for help the day you and your dad got roped into that tragedy." I stiffen up instantly before looking up at her in disbelief. "Didn't you tell me that you weren't home at that time?" Dawn's gaze falls on Dad's portrait on the altar. She replies coolly, "It was a lie. At that time, I had just finished having sex with Felix. My legs were awfully limp, so I didn't open the door for you." I remain rooted to the wheelchair, my throat closing up from shock. "After you went through the amputation, you suffered from the phantom limb pain so much that you had to take sleeping pills in order to be able to sleep. So, Felix and I keep screwing on the spot next to you in bed. "We aren't exactly quiet, you know. But you've never woken up. Isn't it thrilling, Shane?" I can only stare at Felix Tanner, who's quietly wiping his tears a short distance away. He's the survivor of the break-in case from ten years ago. Back then, Dad was the one who helped him throw the killer behind bars, only to get murdered in cold blood by said killer, who had just gotten out of prison. In fact, that killer is also the one who chopped off my leg…

My CEO husband told me he had a last-minute job to handle. He said that because of it, he couldn't accompany me to retrieve the body. Then I went online and saw a photo my husband's secretary had posted as a birthday status update. [Thanks for the red velvet cake, Mr. Mitchell! Happy birthday to me!] I smiled and left a comment. [Happy birthday.] That single comment sparked a frenzy among my colleagues. They immediately began placing bets on how big of a scene I would make. Then he called. "Lucy is just celebrating her birthday, Brianna! Why do you have to ruin it by showing up in the comments?! Don't you know how sensitive she is? How is she supposed to feel comfortable at work now?! "She's only been here for two years. She doesn't even have any friends! What's wrong with me looking out for an employee and keeping her company on her birthday? A lucky girl who grew up in a wealthy family like you wouldn't understand! "If you want to talk about this, fine. Wait until I get back. But delete that comment right now! We can always wait another few days before retrieving his body. Where is your father going to go anyway? He's already dead!" I clenched my fist and replied, "That won't be necessary." By the time he returned, we would already be legally divorced.

When I returned from a five-year overseas assignment, I walked out of the airport expecting Dan Hill to finally keep his promise and propose to me. Instead, he stood there with a distant expression. “Stella, I’m sorry.” Before I could even process the apology, he continued, “I was the one who arranged your transfer order. I deliberately had you reassigned to that remote project out in the desert because I needed space for Hayley and myself. She was pregnant back then, and I didn’t have any other choice.” A long silence followed, and I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood. Five years of scorching heat, endless dust storms, and sixteen-hour workdays in a place that felt forgotten by the rest of the world… I finally learned it had all been a carefully constructed prison of his making. “You’re overbearing and confrontational. I was afraid you’d go after her. I’m telling you the truth now not because I expect forgiveness, but because I hope you’ll stay calm and not make this uglier than it needs to be.” His voice carried an air of weary resignation. I took a step back to avoid him as he reached out toward me. I was smiling through my tears. “Dan, this could’ve been a clean break, but you’ve ruined that.”

I was a princess ennobled by my father, the late king. Marrying the general of the northern frontier, Griffin Quenell was already a great show of royal favor. On my wedding day, just as my royal carriage arrived at the Quenell family’s courtyard, a woman dressed in grey wool knelt before the castle gate. She held a swaddled infant in her arms. Griffin, as the groom of the day, dressed in his wedding tunic, blocked my path with a troubled expression. “Your Grace, Joan is someone I met in the borderlands. She bore me a son and now has no place to go. Please let her move in with me on this special occasion. You’ll be my first wife, and she’ll be my second wife. It’s all for the sake of the Quenell bloodline.” The guests at the gate erupted into commotion. His grandmother, Wilma Quenell, spoke firmly. “Your Grace, you were born into royalty. You certainly do not lack a title. However, Griffin is the only son the Quenell family has had in three generations. This child bears the Quenell name. We surely can’t make him an illegitimate child.” The border soldiers knelt and said in unison, “Your Grace, have mercy!” I looked down at the child in the swaddle, then at Griffin’s pleading gaze. I smiled, removed my coronet from my head, and placed it on the wedding table. Then, I turned and boarded my carriage. “General Quenell, I will not stop you from wanting an heir, but my late father’s decree said I am to be married, not given away as a gift. If your family cannot abide by his words, then I shall take the decree back with me.”

The day I was acknowledged as the real Sinclair heiress, Moon Sinclair, the fake heiress, stood before me with tears in her eyes and said she wanted to give the engagement back to me. I placed a hand over my stomach. I had only recently found out that I was pregnant. I said softly, “I don’t need it. I already have feelings for someone.” As soon as the words left my mouth, several lines of text suddenly appeared before my eyes. [This is hilarious. The so-called villain is turning down the engagement so confidently right now. Just wait until she sees the male lead. She’ll regret it immediately.] [But the male lead will still choose the heroine, the fake heiress. The villain will use her pregnancy to cling to him and refuse to let go.] [The heroine will eventually be driven to slash her wrists. Everyone in the family will despise the villain, and the male lead will hate her too. In the end, she and her baby will both die during childbirth.] I lowered my gaze. The whole thing felt absurd. How could I become obsessed with a man I had never even met? At that moment, I heard footsteps behind me. Moon wiped away her tears and hurried over. “Cameron, this is my sister. This engagement should have been hers from the beginning.” I turned around and met a pair of familiar eyes. He was the man who had supported me for the past five years. He was also the father of the baby in my womb.

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.

“Have you decided, Alara?” Mason Whitmore slid the agreement across his desk. “Of my four sons, which one will you choose?” Ten years ago, I saved his life. He brought me into the Whitmore family and made me a promise: when I turned eighteen, I could choose one of his sons as my fiancé. The man I chose would inherit the Whitmore company. Everyone thought I would choose Ethan. He was Mason’s eldest son, a champion race car driver, and the boy I had loved for years. Then I heard him tell Jenny: “Alara was never my choice. I only said I’d marry her to keep my father happy.” So I made my decision. Not Ethan. Not Julian. Not Ryan. I would choose the son they all ignored. Noah Whitmore. The one in the wheelchair.

On the day I remarry Jeremy Grant, the fake heiress, Jessica Decker, sets my foster mother ablaze, killing her on the spot. Right after calling the cops, I get knocked out by an unknown assailant. When I open my eyes again, I realize that Jeremy has ordered cosmetic surgery to be done on me. Since I'm sporting Jessica's face right now, that means I'm being used as a scapegoat for Jessica's crimes. Three years later, on the day I get released from prison, Jeremy's legal team is on standby the whole day. As soon as I show any signs of getting revenge, they won't hesitate to admit me into a mental hospital for the next three years. My son, Oliver Grant, even uses the money I've given to him in the past to build a 99-story safehouse for Jessica. In fact, she's hiding in the top floor. The name of that building is J Tower. Of course, the "J" is taken from Jessica. Everyone is terrified that I might hurt Jessica in any way. But I respond by vanishing from the face of the earth. Just like that, I disappear from everyone's lives. The next time we meet is when Jeremy and Oliver show up at my street food stall. I turn on the gas stove before smearing the grease all over my apron. Then, I cut open a pancake skillfully. At the same time, I say calmly, "It'll be an extra dollar for an egg. Two dollars will be charged if you want spicy sausage included." Jeremy gulps quietly, his voice coming out terse. "I'm allergic to eggs. Oliver can't endure any spicy food at all." A pause later, he adds, "Have you forgotten about our preferences?" There's no need for me to remember a single thing about them. All I need to remember is that I'll be able to save enough money to pay off the last installment of the burial plot next to my foster mom's plot if I can sell 33 more dishes.