Cerita Pendek Melodramatic Romance & Novel Bias

When I went to pick Diana Grant up, she just tossed the car keys toward me. Dangling from the silver ring was a plush white bear pendant. I paused, knowing that she had never kept a keychain or a decorative charm on her keys. Once I slid into the driver's seat, the entire alignment felt off. The seat had clearly been adjusted. "Did you let someone else drive your car?" I asked, keeping my voice casual. Dazed from the alcohol, she offered a dismissive shrug. "Yeah. I lent it to an employee for a quick business trip." I didn't press further. The next morning, the chime of the doorbell broke the silence of the house. When I pulled the door open, a shy, clean-cut young guy was standing on the porch. He blinked, then forced a sheepish smile and handed over a cup of coffee. "Hi," he stammered. "I'm just here to drop off a fresh coffee for Ms. Grant." But my attention wasn't on the coffee. My gaze dropped to his left hand. Twirling lazily around his index finger was a set of keys, and swinging from the metal loop was the same white bear pendant. I took the coffee cup from his hand and quietly closed the door. In the room, Diana's phone lit up on the table. A new notification flashed across the lock screen. It was a message that read: [Diana, I just met your husband. He looks kind of scary. Coffee was delivered safely anyway. Try to drink less alcohol next time, okay?] I picked up the phone and pulled up the video camera. With the recording running, I held the coffee cup over the kitchen sink and slowly poured the warm liquid down the drain. Then I uploaded the recorded video to Diana's social media, broadcasting it to her entire social circle. The caption read: [Thanks for the concern, but she doesn't drink coffee.]

My newlywed husband forces me, a late-stage liver cancer patient, to drink hard liquor just to please his secretary. When the secretary later stages a setup, pretending to take a knife for him, she loses too much blood. In a panic, he demands that I give her a blood transfusion. I name my price—ten million dollars. He sneers. "Your blood really is worth its weight in gold, huh?" Of course it is. A liver cancer patient's blood doesn't come cheap. Later, when his precious secretary crashes into my car, he mocks me again. "You caused the accident on purpose, didn't you? Stop pretending—you just want more money. Wendy Yaeger, you disgust me." I'm done. All I want now is to get that divorce certificate before I die, but he looks down at me with disdain. "Don't use such pathetic tricks to get my attention. You're not even qualified to negotiate with me." Fine. Once I'm dead, the marriage will end on its own.

My wife, Valerie Larson, had a congenital heart condition. Despite that, she still wanted to have a child with her first love, Eugene Dyer. I refused without a second thought. Ten months later, Eugene's mother, Susan Turner, passed away. Her eyes were still wide open as if refusing to accept death without ever holding her grandchild. Overcome with guilt for failing his mother, Eugene took his own life in his small, rundown apartment. Valerie, consumed by grief and anger, took us on a road trip, only to crash the car head-on into a truck without hesitation. She shouted, "It's your fault Eugene died! If you had let me give him a child, he never would have ended up like that! His whole family is gone, so yours doesn't deserve to live either!" When I opened my eyes again, I found myself back on the day Valerie first asked to have Eugene's child. This time, I forced a small smile and said, "Darling, go ahead. Our whole family will support you."

At a charity gala in Manhattan, a reporter asked the final question of the night. "Mr. Hayes, whose name will be on the $200 million trust you announced tonight?" The question had barely left her lips before knowing laughter rippled through the crowd. The answer was obvious. It could only be me —— his wife and the heiress to Lockwood Holdings, Chloe Lockwood. I was about to stand and share in his moment. But my husband, Eric Hayes, dropped a bombshell. "It will be named for the most important person in my life: the girl I once shared a bed with." "When I was broke and had nowhere to go, she gave me half her bed. We split the rent on a $350 attic room." "Her warmth was the only reason I could sleep at night." "Without her encouragement, I wouldn't be who I am today." The reporter scrambled to recover. "Mr. Hayes is clearly a man of deep loyalty. What a beautiful story you share with Ms. Lockwood!" "Not Chloe. Another woman." Eric corrected her without hesitation. Every pair of eyes in the room landed on me. Three seconds of silence passed. I leaned toward my assistant Vivian and gave her two quiet orders. "Find her." "Then... strip Eric of everything."

I've been with Sebastian Radford for five years, and I assume there are no secrets between us. Then, the night before our engagement party, Sebastian says, "Cece, check the group chat." I open the four-person group text, confused. "Nobody sent anything." Sebastian goes, "Oh. I misread it." When he heads into the bathroom, the tablet on the coffee table lights up with two new messages. My friend, Noelle Frasier, texts, "You scared me to death. You almost gave away our trip plans." My childhood friend, Wade Kirby, writes, "I really don't want Cece to tag along. I can't even cut loose with her around." Sebastian replies, "I'll be more careful next time." I glance at the group name. "No Cecilia Ward Today!" I scroll up. There are over 2,000 messages, documenting an entire life I know nothing about. Just last week, on the night of my promotion dinner, they're all texting about that barbecue joint on the west side. I ask Sebastian why everyone seems so unenthusiastic, and he tells me, "Everyone's got their own stuff going on." It turns out "their own stuff" is figuring out how to do everything without me. I don't make a scene. I quietly set the tablet down, pick up my phone, and call to cancel the engagement banquet. Then I walk into the bedroom and start packing.

Three nights before my wedding, I called my fiancé, Garrett. A version of him from five years in the future answered. I couldn't keep the happiness out of my voice. "Are we happy together? Has your mother finally accepted me?" A long silence hung on the other end before a low, tipsy chuckle came through. The laugh was faint, the kind you'd use to humor a naive child. "Vivi, in the last five years, you've asked me for a divorce more times than I can count." I froze. "...What do you mean?" "It means you found out about me and Kiera." My breath caught. I couldn't believe it. "My sister? I thought you couldn't stand her." He let out a quiet sigh. "Vivi, saying I couldn't stand her was just my way of hiding how I really felt." "Don't worry, I won't divorce you. We made our vows at the altar, after all." A chill ran through me. I wanted to press further, but a lazy little giggle drifted through from the other end. "Garrett, who is it?" He murmured something in response and hung up. A second later, a message from Garrett popped up on my phone. [Vivi, our wedding is almost here. You're happy, right?] [I'll be good to you for the rest of my life. If I ever break that promise, I don't deserve to live.]

After my wife, April Carter, gives birth to my child, I'm forced to quit my job and become a full-time stay-at-home dad. Before long, I spiral into severe depression. Countless times, I press a knife to my wrist, only for her to desperately throw her arms around me as I break down in hysterics. "Don't do this! Think about the baby and me! We're right here with you!" My brother, Lucas Getz, and my best buddy, Thomas Balfour, each grab a knife and press it against their own wrists. "If you want to die, we'll die with you," they declare. "Are two lives enough for you?" After that day, I fully commit to my treatment, determined not to let anyone else get hurt because of me. But just when I think I'm finally about to see the light, Lucas drags me to a wedding. Standing on the stage as newlyweds are none other than April and Thomas. My mind goes blank with a deafening buzz, and my blood runs cold. Lucas gazes up at the couple on stage with envy. "This wedding should have happened five years ago. But your depression has kept the two of them trapped in guilt." Then he turns toward me. "Do you understand now? The truth is, you're the one keeping us trapped in misery. It's time to let go."

My boyfriend's mother had Alzheimer’s. She constantly mistook my best friend for her son's girlfriend. I lost count of how many times I tried to explain that I was his actual girlfriend, but within minutes, she would forget everything, grab my best friend’s hand, and call her a family. Out of sheer helplessness, my boyfriend had no choice but to tell my best friend to pretend to be his girlfriend. She comforted me at the time, saying, “Don’t worry, it’s all just an act.” My boyfriend promised me as well, saying, “As soon as my mother’s condition stabilizes, we’ll get engaged.” I ended up waiting three long years. During the first Christmas, my best friend stood in my spot for the family portrait, smiling with her arm wrapped around my boyfriend's. During Thanksgiving the following year, my boyfriend's family went for a holiday overseas, and my best friend went along as his fiancée. I could only watch through a screen as they showed off their picture-perfect romance to the world. It wasn’t until this year’s New Year’s Eve family gathering that my boyfriend claimed his mother’s condition was finally improving. He told me he was taking me home so we could finally announce our engagement. Sitting at the dinner table, I was hopeful; I prayed that his mother would remember who I was. Instead, she took my best friend’s hand, smiled, and pressed, “When are you two getting married? I’ve been waiting for this day forever.” My best friend flushed, playing timid and not daring to answer. My boyfriend hesitated for only a single second before announcing in front of everyone, “We’ve booked the venue. We’ll have the wedding right after this trip.” A chill ran down my spine. Just then, my phone buzzed. It was a text from him. [Just play along with us one last time. Once this is over, I swear I’ll marry you.] I stared at the message for a long moment, then typed back. [Okay.] Then, I canceled the order for my custom wedding ring and forwarded my resignation letter to HR. Today was the last chance I was ever going to give him. Since he chose to play his part and marry someone else, it was time for me to exit this play as well.

There's an earthquake. I'm trapped underneath the debris with another young woman. "This woman's chest has been pierced by a steel bar. We have to save her immediately." The rescuers start to approach me when my husband, Quintus Ford, suddenly darts in the other direction. "She's pregnant! Save her first!" I look at him to see him staring at the other young woman in panic. He doesn't know I'm pregnant, too. The doctor who's trying to stop my bleeding shouts, "I can't stop her bleeding! I suspect she has a blood clotting disorder!" I force myself to nod and look at Quintus desperately. However, he says, "I'm her husband. I'll bear the responsibility if anything goes wrong."

I'm waiting for my wife, Sophia Young, to pick me up. My colleague, Tony Shaw, who habitually hitches a ride with us, stays with me. He complains incessantly, "Why isn't your wife here yet? It's freezing cold! I'd prefer to be home by today!" He lives in the western part of the city. Every time we drive him home, Sophia has to make a large detour. However, my stomach is killing me that day, so I politely break things to him while cradling my stomach. "Tony, I'm not feeling well today and would like to get home early to rest. You should take a taxi home yourself. I'll let you hitch a ride next time." Tony snorts coldly and walks away. I wait downstairs for another 30 minutes, only to receive a call from Sophia. She informs me, "Traffic along the street outside your office is unusually congested. I've stopped the car at the intersection up ahead, so come find me there." I venture into the rain to find her car while struggling to keep the umbrella up and open. When I open the car door, I realize it's already filled with her colleagues and there's no space for me. Sophia rolls the window halfway down and points at the blond-haired man drying his hair with a towel in the front passenger seat. She explains, "Ian saw his friend at the intersection just now. The handsome young man looked rather pitiful soaking in the rain, so I gave him a lift. Your company's close by anyway, so why don't you head back in there first? I'll come back to pick you up once I've sent them home." The storm ruins my umbrella, and rain gets in my eyes, making them sting painfully. As I gaze at Sophia's packed car, I find that my marriage to her suddenly feels incredibly meaningless.

For five years, I was married to Angelo Harmon, who treated me like a queen, earning the envy of everyone around us. But my dream life ended when I discovered he had a second home with a younger woman. When I confronted him, he brushed it off. "It's just a fling for excitement. You’re still my wife. What's the problem?" His callousness repulsed me, pushing me to terminate my pregnancy and walk away.

My wife, Claire Mercer, ran the hospital, and she still handed my mother's surgery to a junior physician. Only because he was the one child her late mentor had left behind. "Noah needs this chance to prove himself. Let him take your mother's surgery." I refused, and Claire decided I was doing it to spite her. "My mentor asked me before he died to look after Noah. Can't you try to understand me, just once?" Every urgent word of it was in Noah's defense. I looked at her and was suddenly very tired. Anything to do with Noah, and I was the one who gave way. A car crash put me in the hospital and the doctors issued three critical-condition notices; she was at Noah's birthday party. My mother's health collapsed; she took Noah traveling to cheer him up. Even in the house she and I were married in, there was always a bedroom kept empty for him. For ten full years, Noah had been wedged between us. I raised my eyes, my voice dry. "This time you're still choosing him, aren't you?"

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.

I'm on my way to get married when a truck slams into my car from behind. After being unconscious for a long time, I hear the doctor telling my fiancee that I might lose my memory. I decide to have a little fun and open my eyes, pretending to be confused. "Who are you?" My fiancee goes completely still. I'm about to admit I'm only teasing her, but before I can, she grabs my best man's hand without a second thought. "I'm Janice Lloyd, your best friend's fiancee. You got into a car accident on your way to our wedding."

Rachel Winters and I have held 99 weddings, and all 99 times, she played the runaway bride. She always makes a run for it right before the vows, leaving me alone in the awkward silence of the venue. "Felix Hampton, you have to forgive me for my impulsiveness. I promise that I won't run away again on our 100th wedding," she says. "I will hold your hand and grow old with you. I will be yours forever!" To prove her sincerity, she decides to hold our 100th wedding on a cruise ship in international waters. "We'll hold the wedding at sea. That way, even if I wanted to run, I wouldn't be able to." Yet, just as we are about to exchange our rings before the vows, Rachel strips off her wedding gown, revealing a wetsuit underneath. "I'm sorry, Felix. I still can't bring myself to marry you." With that, she plunges into the open sea. Someone is waiting for her at the side of the cruise ship. They embrace tightly, their lips meeting in a passionate, lingering kiss. Some time later, she gets tired of her own games and holds a 101st wedding with me. This time, she voluntarily handcuffs her own wrists together. "Honey, I won't run away anymore now that I've handcuffed myself like this. I'm giving you the key. I'm willing to give up all my freedom for your sake!" However, I take the key from her and toss it straight into the trash can. "I don't want your love or freedom anymore." I've already played the foolish groom a hundred times, waiting for a bride who would never arrive. And now, it's finally my turn to run at our 101st wedding.

Maren Reeves, my best friend, suddenly told me she'd gotten back together with her ex. I tore into her for going back to a man who'd already hurt her, but she only gave me a bitter smile. "Maybe some people are just destined to keep getting tangled up with each other. Renee, I don't need your validation. I just don't want you to be mad at me." At the time, I didn't understand what Maren really meant. I thought she was only worried I'd get worked up over that jerk again. Seeing the conflict on her face, I couldn't bring myself to keep scolding her. I simply hugged her and told her not to settle for anything that made her unhappy. Then, a year later, I went to the hospital because of severe menstrual cramps and unexpectedly saw her leaving the maternity ward. Confused, I was about to approach her when a man hurried over, carefully helping her along and fussing over her every need. In an instant, I instinctively ducked behind the corner, my entire body trembling uncontrollably. Because that man was none other than Isaiah Cole, my husband of three years.

After the college entrance exam, Zac and I went on a graduation trip together. I never expected to run into my best friend, Keira, on the airport shuttle. Before I could even process the surprise, Zac started explaining next to me. "Keira's never been on a plane before. I happened to have some points, so I used them to get her a half-price ticket." Keira smiled and took my hand. "You don't mind having one more person with you, do you? I promise I'll try not to get in your way." I forced a smile. Once we arrived at our destination, the three of us went sightseeing together. They always seemed to gradually drift closer to each other while leaving me behind. Only after walking for a while would they suddenly remember I was there. They would then turn around and complain that I was walking too slowly. When I suffered from heatstroke and was taken to the hospital by a kind stranger, neither of them even noticed. "Where did you go? Did you get registered? Keira's starving." Zac called to question me. That was when I saw the message he had sent. He instructed me to go line up at a popular restaurant. I also saw the hundreds of photos of Keira he had sent in our three-person group chat. It was obvious who he paid more attention to. Since I was already out of the picture, I decided to just give up on him.

For three years, Julian Hart has been Larkmoor's idea of the perfect husband. 7:00 a.m. — He gets up to make breakfast. Vivienne Sterling eats only whole-wheat sandwiches, so he goes out early for the freshest ingredients. 9:00 a.m. — He ties her shoelaces and sees her off. 10:30 a.m. — He cleans their mansion, waters the plants, and straightens her study. 3:00 p.m. — He organizes her walk-in closet and jewelry and irons her clothes. ... 10:00 p.m. — The bath he's prepared is at precisely the right temperature when she arrives home on schedule. As Julian helps her out of her coat, he catches the faint smell of tobacco on it.

At the Lowell family's autumn memorial gathering, the moment my unfavorable token hit the floor, Spencer's girl best friend, Keira Boone, burst out laughing. "Wow, Lena. You're carrying a Lowell baby and the tokens still say no?" The Lowells had a rule: if an engaged woman couldn't draw a favorable token in five years, the engagement was void. Year one, I drew a bad token, and the wedding was pushed back. Year two, my dad was dying. I begged Spencer through tears to take me to the hospital, but he held me back. "Lena, ten more minutes. Don't let your dad's illness break the rules." Now it was year five. Keira tossed a marriage certificate in front of me. "But don't worry. Spencer already has a wife." In the photo, she and Spencer sat shoulder to shoulder. The registration date was the day after my fourth failed draw last year. Yet the night before they signed, Spencer had held me and said, "This is the last year. I swear I'll marry you." I went cold all over, but Keira wasn't done. "And lately, whatever needs Lowell had, your bro here took care of them for you." My stomach turned. I spun around to confront Spencer. He just rubbed his temples. "You're pregnant. I didn't want to risk touching you. What's wrong with her helping out? "The certificate's just to keep my family happy. You'll still get the wedding next week. "I've gone this far for you. What more do you want?" I slid off my engagement ring and set it back on the altar. "I don't want it anymore. "And I don't want you either."

My girlfriend, Serena Weston, always has my "one-time" fingerprint registered on the smart lock for her house. Every time she registers it, she tells me, "Feel free to come over at any time. You're always welcome in my home!" However, every single time, when I return to her doorstep, the lock's prompt always claims, "Your fingerprint is not registered." After being locked out yet again, I stare at the sensor pad glowing red and call Serena. As soon as the call connects, her tone's apologetic as usual. "I'm so sorry! Blake was messing around yesterday and accidentally deleted your fingerprint while testing the lock. Hold on. I'll re-register it for you the next time I'm back." Once again, I have to wait for the next time. I grip my phone and suddenly recall the excuses she gave the previous times my fingerprint was deleted. The time before last, she told me there was a glitch during a system upgrade. Yet, her childhood friend Blake White's fingerprint remains untouched. Last time, she told me the lock was malfunctioning, so she'd changed the entire panel. In reality, it was because Blake had merely grumbled, "It's not safe to have too many fingerprints registered." Every single time, she has a perfectly plausible "accident" that justifies her giving in to Blake's possessiveness over the house. "Wait for me to come back and open the door for you," Serena says on the other end of the line. However, as soon as I hang up, I hear the crisp click of the lock from inside the house. Blake knows I'm outside. Yet, he locks the door from the inside. I rise to my feet and dust off my trousers, telling myself to let it be since I have no desire to walk through that door anymore.