Contos de Romance sobre Plot Twists e Romances com Bias e Regret

My best friend, Cassidy Lockhart, behaves like an entitled princess. She wants to visit a princess theme park, but insists that princesses don't wait in line. Without a second thought, my boyfriend, Silas Culburn, spends our entire 6,000-dollar savings on VIP passes and the parade experience, treating her like royalty. That 6,000 dollars is the money Silas and I have saved up over six months of part-time jobs. It's supposed to be our wedding fund. The caption on Cassidy's latest social media post reads, "I've always known that every princess has their own knight in shining armor." In the video, Silas gently places a tiara on her head. The two of them walk hand in hand, their eyes fixed only on each other. I take a screenshot and send it to Silas. He calls me back almost immediately. "Cady's your best friend, and her family just went bankrupt. I couldn't say no to one little wish." My heart sinks. "So you went ahead and fulfilled her wish using our wedding fund?" "We can always earn more money, but we're only ever going to a princess theme park this one time," Silas replies before hanging up. I think back to the time Silas first meets Cassidy. He tells me, "She reeks of money, and she's so entitled." A week later, he comments jokingly, "You look like an ugly duckling standing next to a swan when you're with Cady." I wipe away my tears, open my planner, and cross out the line that says "Save for our wedding fund." Now that the money is gone, there's no point in saving up for the wedding anymore.

On the very night Ansel Halberg is in another woman's arms, Odessa Montclair meets a tragic end. The Grim Reaper gives her seven days to return to the world of the living and make one final request. Her only wish is to divorce Ansel and erase every trace of their shared past. She's determined never to cross his path again—neither in this life, nor the next.

It started with a sudden downpour. I turned around to buy an umbrella. By the time I got back, Winston Sterling had already draped his overcoat across Sera Thorne’s shoulders. He pulled me under the umbrella, his tone gentle, as if soothing a spoiled child. "Sera can't handle the cold. Just let her have it this once, Nat. Be a good girl. Don't make a fuss." I looked down at my own shoulder, which was already completely soaked through. I didn't say a word. We had been building our startup for five years. Everyone always said Winston and Sera were the dual heart and soul of Sterling Tech. One wrote the code, while the other pitched the product. Meanwhile, I was the one managing the budgets, chasing down clients, advancing money for our office rent, and pulling all-nighters to grind out business proposals. Yet, all I ever got from him was a single, offhand sentence. "Nat, you're always the reasonable one." But I finally understood. It was always the reasonable one who got pushed out into the rain, time and time again. When the car door opened, Winston practiced an all-too-familiar routine, adjusting the passenger seat cushion for Sera. That was a lumbar support cushion I had bought for myself after injuring my waist. I threw the newly purchased umbrella straight into the trash can. Then, I pulled up my phone and clicked send on the equity exit agreement I had prepared long ago. Three minutes later, his reply came back as a brief, three-word text. "Don't be silly." What he didn't know was that at that exact same moment, I had also opened another email.

Three years ago, my best friend was hit by a car trying to save me. She had been in a coma ever since. I sat by her hospital bed, holding her hand. "Serena, you promised you'd be my maid of honor, remember? Julian and I finally set the date. Please wake up soon, okay? I miss you so much." My choked sobbing was cut short by a phone call. The nurse was asking me to come pay next month's hospital fees. But when I came back, I heard the voice I had been desperately waiting three years to hear. "Julian, you told me to wait for you while you broke things off with her." "I've waited three years for you! She comes to see me every single day, and all I can do is lie here." "Now you two are getting married. What about me!"

When my wife, Rosalie Wood, had her first meal after she regained consciousness, the attending doctor, Ethan Joeman, took my seat. He cut the steak while he pointed at her rosy face and looked at me with open defiance. “Do you know how medical miracles happen? It is not because of your constant presence. It is because of my in‑depth treatment.” My fingers that held the knife and fork turned pale. Ethan grew even more brazen. His feet rubbed against my wife's calves under the table. “A person in a vegetative state can still feel things. Every night after you left, I did awakening therapy for her. She said her body could not move, yet the sense of being conquered made her feel as though her soul left her body. She woke up because she wanted to feel it again. Last night, she said she wanted to thank her savior and asked me to check her firmness after recovery. She did not disappoint me.” I looked at Rosalie, who stared at the doctor with admiration, and my chest tightened. To pay for her treatment, I sold my house and car. I slept on a folding bed in this hospital for three years. I bathed her and turned her over every day. It turned out that my three years of round‑the‑clock care meant nothing compared to a few acts of harassment committed while she was vulnerable. I took a drug from my bag and smiled as I poured Ethan a glass of wine. I thought, ‘You went through a lot, yet her awakening was only a brief moment of clarity before death. She has super‑drug‑resistant syphilis. Congratulations. You caught it too.’

My boyfriend abandoned me at the altar on the day of our wedding to accompany his childhood sweetheart, who was about to give birth as a single mother. Faced with the sarcastic looks thrown at me by the guests, I took off my wedding veil and headed to the hospital to confront him. I saw him holding her baby in his arms with love in his eyes. She asked him on purpose, "It's your wedding today, Sean. What if Riley gets mad at you for accompanying me during labor?" "I can get married anytime, but having a baby is a once-in-a-lifetime event. I'd be worried sick if I left you alone in the hospital.” "From this day onward, I'll be the baby's father. I won't let you both be bullied by anyone." I ended up marrying another man, but he crashed our wedding like a madman, begging me for another chance.

My boyfriend, Aiden Ramsey, loses a game of Truth or Dare during a party. Someone dares him to say ten good things about my best friend, Natalia Williams. Aiden doesn't hesitate at all when he answers, "She's pretty, bubbly, has a great figure, knows how to play coy, loves to smile, has a high EQ, is independent, and has a good sense of aesthetics. Also, she's very good at making other people happy." Natalia picks Aiden again in the next round. She smiles and says, "Tell us about Sylvia's good qualities." Aiden is stunned for a few seconds as he looks at me. In the end, he finally answers, "She's understanding." Someone smiles and tries to smooth over the situation by asking, "What else?" Aiden frowns, seeming to be deep in thought. However, he's unable to come up with another good thing about me. A wave of exhaustion suddenly washes over me as the awkward silence stretches on. Aiden and I have been dating for seven years. We're going to get married soon. However, even after mulling over his thoughts for such a long time, the only good thing that he can say about me is that I'm understanding. I decide that I'm not going to be understanding anymore.

My wife, Abby Wright, is a top-tier venture capitalist who measures everything and everyone in terms of return on investment (ROI). If something promises a high return, she pours her heart into it. Anything under 20% gets tossed aside. On our fifth anniversary, she assessed our relationship at a 10% ROI. That same night, she dropped millions of dollars to host an art exhibition for her childhood friend, Edward Dawson, citing an 80% return. When Mom was rushed to the ER with a sudden heart attack, Abby calculated her survival ROI at 15%. She left me stranded all night just to fly overseas with Edward to chase the aurora—a trip she rated at a 90% return. The breaking point comes when my PhD research team gets trapped while mountain climbing and I injure my leg. With rescue teams too far away, we desperately need Abby to deploy her company's helicopter. But she coldly refuses over the phone. "A single helicopter flight costs hundreds of thousands. What kind of return can a bunch of broke students like you actually give me?" Weak from hunger, I plead, "We're completely out of food and water. We're going to starve." She snaps impatiently, "Edward's cat is a rare, award-winning breed worth a fortune. If it freezes to death, can you afford to pay for it?" As I suffer through dehydration and starvation, waiting for help that never comes, I scroll past a new post from Edward. "Turns out kitty was just hiding under the couch, but she dropped a multi-million dollar deal anyway, calling this her best investment yet." The photo shows Abby gently stroking the cat. Turns out ROI assessments were always just an excuse. The truth is, she just doesn't love me. As the sun dips below the horizon, I dial the one number I've avoided for a year. "Professor Buckner, I'll join that classified national project you mentioned."

Every time I go out with my wife of three years, Jillian Luke, and my best friend, Shawn Lynch, the two of them get mistaken for a couple. At the mall, a sales clerk hands them a complimentary gift for couples. At a restaurant, the server asks if they'd like to join a couples' event. On trips, strangers tell them what a good match they are, then shove a phone into my hands and ask me to take their picture. At first, I do feel awkward about it. Jillian never explains. Every time, Shawn is the one who smooths things over with a smile. "Maybe the two of us just look a little like a couple. Don't overthink it." He says it so lightly that I tell myself, again and again, not to take it to heart. This goes on until Thanksgiving dinner, where Jillian says she'll officially take me to meet her parents. I've spent three whole months preparing. But the moment we walk in the door, Jillian's mom, Carol Simpson, grabs hold of Shawn, smiling from ear to ear. "Look at these two, everyone. They look so much like a married couple." The relatives join in on the teasing. "Just how many times have Jillian and Shawn kissed? They look more alike every day." The whole room is laughing. I stand where I am and look at Jillian. All she does is reach out and straighten Shawn's slightly crooked tie. She doesn't object, and she doesn't deny it. At that moment, I finally understand that it's not that she can't be bothered to explain. It's that in her heart, the one she truly wants to marry has never been me.

Everyone said I was Liam Reed's simp. He suffered from congenital hyperalgesia—a condition that made even the slightest bump send waves of unbearable pain through his body. So when his enemies attacked him, I took a knife meant for him. When his family subjected him to brutal punishment, I endured ninety-nine lashes in his place. Each time I suffered for him, Liam would hand me a point card. "Mathilde, every time you take the pain for me, you earn 0.1 points. Once you reach 100 points, we'll get married." For five years, I accumulated points, nearly dying more than once. Finally, my score reached 99.9 points. One day, I went to the hospital for a follow-up appointment. Years ago, I'd shoved Liam out of the way of a speeding car and taken the full impact with my legs. My injuries had never fully healed, and lately, the pain had grown worse. While waiting for my appointment, I happened to see him accompanying his first love, Victoria Adams, who had disappeared years ago, to a prenatal checkup. As I waited, I overheard Victoria say she wanted Liam to experience labor pains for himself. I knew Liam better than anyone. Even a routine injection made him clench his fists and grit his teeth. There was no way he'd agree to something like that. Yet, without a moment's hesitation, he lay down in the simulator chair and let them turn up the intensity. I stood frozen behind the glass partition, watching him writhe in agony. He was in so much pain that he nearly lost consciousness, yet he never once asked them to stop. By the time he came out, my old injuries had flared up so badly that my legs had gone completely numb. "Victoria just came back after all these years. I can't abandon her now. If you keep making a scene, I'll wipe out every point you've earned," he told me, his face pale from the pain. I smiled faintly. "Forget it. I don't want that final 0.1 point anymore."

In Kieran Chase's eyes, I was not his wife. I was a non-performing asset waiting to be liquidated. When I got sick and asked for help, he became impatient. He said, "This is a minor problem. You can handle it on your own. No need to tell anyone." When I broke down in tears, he reprimanded me. "Losing emotional control shows weakness. It exposes the fragility of our alliance. I'll have the PR team teach you emotional management." Even when I called for help after a car accident, he hung up. "Nothing about you is important enough to interrupt a transaction worth hundreds of millions." I spent seven days in the ICU fighting for my life. On my first day home, I found Kieran leaning over another woman, his voice suddenly soft and coaxing as he convinced her to take her medicine. He opened his mouth to explain. I smiled bitterly and handed him the papers I'd prepared long ago. My tone mirrored his perfectly. "Mr. Chase, regarding our marriage project, the return on investment is unacceptably low after comprehensive evaluation. I'm formally proposing we terminate our cooperation. "Here's the divorce agreement. Sign it."

I think Micah Walker is the love of my life. I fight hard within my family to secure a grand wedding with him. My parents plan to launch a multi-million-dollar jewelry line called "True Love" on our wedding day. But seven days before the wedding, Micah tells me he has to marry his first love first to honor her late mother's last wish—then marry me afterward. He says impatiently, "For Ariana's filial duty, everything else can be sacrificed. If you can't let go of that money, then go marry someone else right now!" Turns out, in his world, I and everything I have built were always expendable—just some obstacles standing between him and his precious first love. I turn away and call my brother. "Kyle, keep the wedding as planned. Just find me a new groom."

My girlfriend is the true heiress of a wealthy family, yet she suffers from severe paranoia. She's convinced that everyone is out to exploit her. She never believed in my love. In her eyes, I stayed with her only for status and money. To prove my sincerity, during our seven years together, I never spent a single cent of hers. I handed over every paycheck I earned. As for myself, I couldn't even afford a few dollars for a taxi. Every day, I walked five kilometers to work. Then one day, my mother was in a sudden car accident. The doctor called and told me to come see her for the last time. The hospital was thirty kilometers away. There was no way I could make it on foot in time. Left with no choice, I asked my girlfriend to transfer me thirty dollars for a taxi. She flew into a rage. "Simon, thirty dollars is your entire monthly living expense. How dare you ask me for that much all at once? I almost believed your feelings were genuine. But now I see—you're no different from those gold-diggers!" In the end, I never made it to see my mother one last time. When I returned home in a daze, I found my girlfriend throwing a birthday party for her childhood sweetheart. He was wearing the latest luxury watch, his face full of smug pride. "This is the one you bought at an overseas auction, right? Worth thirty million," he said. "You wouldn't even give Simon thirty dollars for a taxi. You're really generous with me." My girlfriend smiled indulgently. "It's only thirty million. It's not like I can't afford it. "Besides, how could Simon ever compare to you? Today, he dares to ask me for thirty. Tomorrow, he'll dare to ask me for thirty thousand. "I've always known it. He's been with me just to take my money." I stood there, frozen, my heart sinking into the abyss. 'It's fine. I don't want her money anymore. And I don't want her, either.'

After a car accident leaves my girlfriend, Avery Moore, with brain damage and the mind of a young child, she becomes prone to violent outbursts and destructive behavior. My younger sister, Delilah Barnes, and I care for Avery around the clock. To pay for her treatment, Delilah drops out of school and works three jobs, exhausted to the point she can fall asleep standing up. One day, while trying to stop Avery from wandering into deep water, Delilah, who can't swim, accidentally falls into a fast-moving current. Avery, with her childlike mind, simply turns and walks away, never noticing Delilah being swallowed by the river. I believe it's nothing more than a tragic accident. Until the day of Delilah's funeral, I overhear Avery on the phone. "He passed the test. Even though he came with that burden of a sister, he's been genuinely devoted to me. Now that his sister is dead, he'll have no one else. For the rest of his life, he'll depend on me and devote himself wholeheartedly to being my husband." It turns out Avery has been faking her mental decline to test my love for her. At that moment, my heart shatters beneath her feet. Avery Moore, I've passed your test. But now, I don't want you anymore.

I worked super hard during Cyber Monday and pulled in 20 million dollars in sales, only for my wife, Chelsea Abbott, to credit it to her childhood sweetheart, who had just returned from studying overseas. I was so furious that I confronted her, but she clung to Donald Dixon's arm and said righteously, "Donald just got back, and he doesn't have a solid footing yet. What's wrong with my helping him establish some authority? Are you really going to argue with me over this?" I swallowed it. But at the year-end conference, Donald actually pointed right at my face in front of the entire company and yelled, "I produced these results myself. You're just a deadweight living off your wife. You don't even deserve to be here! Keeping parasites like you in the company is a total waste of resources!" My performance was used to build his reputation, and this was how he repaid me? I turned to look at Chelsea, but she didn't even spare me a glance. Instead, she announced to everyone, "Donald's right. The industry's moving fast, and Will really can't keep up anymore. Starting tomorrow, all of his responsibilities will be taken over by Donald!" Faced with everyone's eager, gossipy stares, I didn't make a scene. Last night, the industry leader the company had been desperate to flatter just sent me an offer letter. Since Chelsea was determined to fight side by side with her childhood sweetheart, this was where we would end.

There's a tradition in the clan called bride heist. The groom has to infiltrate the bride's house in the middle of the night. There, he has to carry her on his back and rush for the exit while overcoming all the obstacles. I've waited for Nicholas Tanner for three years. Finally, the night when he and his buddies infiltrate the courtyard of my house arrives. Just as I'm about to bolt toward Nicholas, I hear him murmuring to the others in a low tone. "When the chaos breaks out, go for Tricia. We can't let her marry that good-for-nothing from the next village. If that happens, she won't be able to leave the mountains ever again. "As for Charlene, she's a wild and temperamental woman, so she'll definitely fight tooth and nail to stop anyone from abducting her. You all should protect yourselves." Nicholas' buddies swap glances with each other "I don't think this is a good idea, Nicholas. You and Charlene have already registered your marriage, after all. If she were to find out the truth, she'd definitely kick up a huge ruckus!" "Let her be," Nicholas replies casually. "It's way too dark for us to see anything during the bride heist anyway, so it's completely normal if we get the wrong bride. I'll just coax Charlene later if she gets mad at me. "Besides, y'all know that the marriage certificate is a fake one. I've already promised Tricia that I'll secure a residential slot for her in Capworth. Unfortunately, Charlene will have to bear with the grievances for now." I overhear every single word in the conversation behind the door. Instead of throwing a tantrum, I retreat back into my room quietly. Nicholas and his buddies think that I'll cause a huge ruckus and beat up the people involved in the bride heist once I find out that the groom is another man. But I just quietly recline on that man's back and become the bride of the other bride heist team.

When my ex-boyfriend Harry Thorne went bankrupt, his family forced him into an arranged marriage to save their sinking business. I handed him an abortion record and vanished without a trace. Five years later, we crossed paths again. He tossed a stack of a hundred grand in front of me, telling me to get into his bed on my own accord. I complied. In the heat of his breathless, passionate kisses, I fell under the fleeting illusion that he still loved me. That was till his fingers brushed against the scar on my lower abdomen, and he shoved me to the floor in a fit of rage. “You left me for money, and now you come back wagging your tail, groveling for the exact same thing? How shameless can you be? “You got rid of our child, after I begged you not to. How much did some other bastard pay you to bear his kid? Since you love selling yourself so damn much, I’ll satisfy you. I’ll make sure you sell every last piece of yourself!” Before leaving, he insisted on taking back the hundred grand. I crawled across the cold floor, clutching his pant leg, begging him to stay. He had no idea that the child I gave birth to was his own son, and the money was my last hope to keep our boy alive.

My parents, the wealthiest couple in the country, were famous philanthropists. I had to ask them for permission if I wanted to spend more than five bucks. The day I was diagnosed with terminal cancer, I asked them for 100 dollars, but instead of helping, they yelled at me for three hours. "What kind of disease could you get at your age? If you're going to ask for money, at least come up with a better excuse." "Do you know that 100 dollars could support children in poverty-stricken areas for a long time? Your sister is more sensible than you." I dragged my sick body for miles, back to the small basement I called home. But as I passed the mall, I saw my parents, live on a huge screen, spending a fortune to rent out Disneyland for my sister. I couldn't hold back the tears anymore. A hundred dollars wouldn't even cover one round of chemotherapy. I just wanted to buy a new outfit and leave with some dignity.

I'd been secretly in love with Adrian Shaw for ten years when he finally stumbled into my bed, drunk. The next morning, he told me coldly that he'd do the right thing by me. But not long after the wedding, Adrian left me behind, pregnant, to take charge of the company's overseas operations. He was gone for five years. Once, I took our son abroad to see him. Our boy reached up and brushed Adrian's face with one little hand, but Adrian pushed him away in disgust. "Don't you know his hands are covered in drool? "I'm a germaphobe. You two had better keep your distance." Watching my son stand there, unsure what to do, broke my heart. After that, my son and I were always careful around him, and I kept the house spotless. But Adrian still refused to come home. He never held his son, not even once. I'd almost convinced myself that all germaphobes were like him when I came across a video a reporter had recorded. In the video, Adrian was holding another little boy and carefully wiping grease from the boy's mouth. With his other hand, he held the hand of his first love, Chloe Davis. They were pressed close together, and Chloe leaned in for a kiss. So it was true. He'd spent all five years abroad with her. And his so-called germaphobia only ever applied to my son and me. That was the last straw. I faked our deaths and took my son away.

When I took my five-year-old son, Ethan Drake, for a routine medical checkup, I noticed an additional renal function test listed on the report. “This is a mandatory item for kidney donor matching. Didn’t you know?” the nurse asked. Her explanation left me confused. “The checkup I booked didn’t include this test. Could there have been a mistake?” “There’s no mistake. The appointment was made by Ms. Serena Vaughn. She specifically added this item.” The Serena the nurse mentioned was my wife. At that moment, my sharp eyes caught another form in her hand: [Diagnosis: Polycystic Kidney Disease. Patient: Noah Vaughn. Family: Serena Vaughn.] I immediately called Serena. “The nurse said you scheduled a kidney donor matching test for our son. What’s going on?” There was a three-second pause before she spoke. “The nurse must have made a mistake. I’ve been busy lately. Don’t call me if there’s nothing important.” I smiled and told her I’d do that. Then I turned to the nurse and asked, “Which ward is Noah staying in?”