Mga Maiikling Kuwento at Nobelang Bias Romance Regret

Andy Bennett had been my husband for ten years. And yeah, we were stupid in love. Lately, though, he'd gotten weirdly obsessed with some game on his phone. Every night, it buzzed nonstop. "It's new. The vibration setting is insanely relaxing." I bought it. I even got him blue-light glasses and wrist supports because he worked crazy hours and was always stressed. If a game helped him chill, fine by me. Then one night, he left his phone on the counter while he showered. It buzzed again. The screen lit up. No game. It was an app for a sex toy. A giant control wheel sat in the middle. [Remote Control] [Couple Mode] [Synchronized Vibration] Then a request popped up. [Invited by: Eunice Seaton.] My daughter's piano teacher.

I have a terrible sense of direction. Despite having lived in Gaturnia for five years, I'm still unable to find my way around. Winona Sinclair is always helping me set up my navigation beforehand and vows to lead the way for me for the rest of our lives. On the day of our wedding ceremony, we are going up Mt. Harlow when she suddenly says that she left the rings in the trunk of the car. I'm barely a step out of the car when the lock engages with a click. Then, I notice the driver glance at Winona through the rearview mirror, as though he received the orders ahead of time. In the next second, the car speeds into the thick fog, swiftly vanishing from my sight. Subsequently, Winona sends me a voice message. "Go 999 steps forward, and you'll arrive at a fork in the road. George says that you won't even be able to find the wedding venue without me with you, but I don't believe that. Simon, don't make me lose this bet." George Yangley is Winona's ex-boyfriend. I had a new pair of leather shoes custom-made for this occasion, so they chafe at my feet as I walk. By the time I reach two thousand steps, I realize that I'm completely lost. Only then do I call Winona's phone. However, it's George who answers it. "You know how directionally challenged he is, yet you still had him walk here himself. What are you going to do if he ends up wandering the mountain for hours and can't make it in time for the wedding?" Winona replies casually, "Then we start the ceremony first, and you can stand in for him for the photos and toasts. He's bound to find his way here eventually." Just then, a photo pops up in the group chat we set up for the wedding. George is standing beside Winona, carrying the box holding our rings in his hands—the box she lied to me about being in the trunk of the car. As it turns out, those 999 steps are simply paving the way for him. Taking off my leather shoes, I toss them over the side of the mountain. It is time for me to change directions on this path I'm walking.

On the day I successfully conceived through IVF, my CEO boyfriend—the sole heir to a nine-generation business empire—finally agreed to marry me. Yet, after a flight of more than ten hours, I landed only to be greeted by a public announcement of his marriage to his secretary, with journalists watching from every angle. The secretary eagerly showed off the marriage certificate, fresh off the press. "Don't worry, everyone. From now on, I'll personally supervise Mr. Lane for the rest of our lives." When the journalists spotted me, they all focused on me, hoping I'd cause a scene. However, I merely smiled and congratulated the couple. "You and Mr. Lane are perfect for each other, Ms. Quinn. I wish you both a long and happy marriage." Everyone was shocked. No one had expected such generosity from me—Harold's girlfriend of nine years. As I turned to leave, Harold darted over to defend himself with a scowl. "Leila worked day and night with me on this international project. She refused every bonus and only asked to experience the fairy-tale romance of marrying a CEO. We already agreed to divorce once the project is over. I'll make it up to you with an even bigger, better wedding." Then, his voice softened. "For the sake of our baby, don't cause trouble, okay?" With a bright smile, I slapped his hand away. "Who told you the baby's yours?"

I had been dating a photographer for seven years, yet I didn't have a single decent photo of myself. "I only photograph scenery, not people," Nina Jensen said. She even said her last relationship ended because her ex-boyfriend kept asking her to take pictures of him. So for seven years, I stayed quiet. I never asked or brought it up. That was until today, when I came across the latest post from my influencer friend, Julian Locke. [Let me show off my photographer. She's been taking amazing photos of me for seven years for free!] One of the top comments is: [It's an honor to photograph my muse.] The profile picture was completely white. The tone felt familiar, and it sent a chill through my entire body. Turns out, it wasn't that Nina didn't take photos of people. She just never wanted to take mine. 'Nina. If I don't exist in your viewfinder, from now on, you don't exist in my world either.'

After giving birth, Belinay Scotch suddenly stopped pretending and began openly sleeping with other men in our bedroom. When I caught her in the act, she showed no signs of remorse. Instead, she mocked me without a care in the world. “The baby’s already here. What can you possibly still use to threaten me now?” Our friends all turned to look at me, afraid that I would throw a fit like I used to. However, this time, I did not yell or make a scene. I simply picked up my daughter and walked out of the room with a calm expression. From that day on, I became the perfect husband she had always dreamed of. When paparazzi came knocking, I paid them off for her. When she had conflicts with her lovers, I helped her resolve them. Then, my daughter’s christening came around. Other men brazenly showed up to force me to leave. Belinay finally could not help but laugh. She joined in with the others to mock me. “How is my ‘good husband’ going to pretend to be gracious this time?” I did not get angry. Instead, I simply turned around and handed the baby to her. “Consider this child my repayment for saving my life back then.”

I was born with a strange condition. I couldn't recognize faces and could only identify people by their clothes. Vincent Lancaster, my boyfriend, never minded. He said it didn't change the way he loved me. That was, until our wedding day. He answered a phone call. His childhood friend, Grace Langley, was in labor, life hanging by a thread, and she demanded he come immediately. My voice shook with despair. "Vincent! If you drive away now, we'll never be husband and wife!" But he left anyway, not looking back. Grace had always loved seeing him in white, so he threw aside the black suit I had sewn for him with my own hands and changed into white. A year later, Vincent returned. By then, my belly was swollen with life, and I was holding onto another man while hosting a baby shower. And the man wore the black suit Vincent had thrown away. Vincent went mad, claiming he was my husband, but no one believed him.

Victoria Graham told me we'd have to postpone getting our marriage license again just as I was picking up my fork. Victoria set down her cutlery, her tone as casual as if she were commenting on the weather. "Next time." I took a bite, chewed, and swallowed. "Okay." She glanced at me, then lowered her head and reached for another bite. Before taking it, she looked up at me again. "You're not angry?" I took another bite and answered calmly, "I'm not." We'd been engaged for six months, and this was the 17th time she'd postponed getting our marriage license. She was used to it. So was I. I ate slowly and finished my meal, one mouthful at a time. She didn't touch her food again. After taking my last bite, I got up to clear the dishes. As I passed her, she grabbed my wrist. "Lucas, next Monday. I'll definitely be free next week. We've already had the engagement party anyway. A few more days won't make a difference. Don't worry. I definitely won't stand you up this time." I lowered my gaze to the hand wrapped around my wrist, then looked back at her and smiled. "Okay." Over the past six months, she'd said "next week" 9 times, "definitely" 13 times, and "don't worry" 16 times. Even so, we had still never gotten our marriage license. And next week wouldn't be any different. Because this time, I was the one who was going to stand her up.

A week before our engagement, I finally learned that the man Madison Clarke had always secretly loved... was me. Overjoyed, I hurried to sign to her, wanting to tell her that I was LeoWinter—the gaming partner she'd been coupled with online. What I got in return was ridicule. "Charlie, how does a mute guy like you manage to pull so many tricks?" "LeoWinter already told me his account got stolen. He switched accounts ages ago. And you still want to pretend you're him?" It felt like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over my head. My entire body went rigid. She had forgotten that this game ID was permanently bound to the account. It was impossible for it to be stolen.

After the death of his first love, Caspian Stormcrown hated me for ten years. No matter how carefully I tried to please him, he met me with nothing but sneers. "If you really want to make me happy, go and die," he said. The words cut deep. Yet when a burning beam collapsed during the palace fire, he shoved me out of the way and died in my stead. He lay in my arms as his life faded. When I reached for him, he spent his last strength brushing my hand aside. "Evelyn Frostwood, how much better would my life have been if I had never met you…" he whispered. At the funeral, his mother sobbed until she could barely remain standing. "This is my fault," she cried. "I never should have forced you to marry her. If I had let you marry Amelia instead, would today have ended differently?" His father looked at me with open hatred. "Caspian saved you three times. Why did you only ever bring him disaster? Why did you live instead of him?" Everyone regretted that Caspian married me. So did I. In the end, I leapt from Starfall Tower and returned to the past, 10 years earlier. This time, I chose to sever every tie between Caspian and me and give everyone the ending they wanted.

After my father died, the illegitimate daughter he had been raising abroad immediately returned to the country to fight me for the estate. Her name was Alma. I was his only legitimate child, and I even had a will on my side. However, I still failed to keep my rightful inheritance. My fiancé Wayne, who could command the entirety of North City with a flick of his wrist, insisted on helping Alma. He stood protectively in front of Alma’s wheelchair and asked me impatiently, “With the money I gave you, you could buy plenty of houses like that. Are you really so heartless? Why would you fight a disabled person over it?” I confronted him, my voice trembling with disbelief. “Fighting? That house is the only thing my mother left me.” In the end, Wayne helped Alma win the lawsuit. He looked at my red, swollen eyes with a trace of guilt and said, “Jocelyn, I’ll make it up to you in the future.” However, I knew then that there was no more future between us.

My wife, Rosalind Judd, has been tearing up our marriage certificate 99 times in the past ten years of our marriage. This is her usual tactic to make me apologize and make amends. The first time, I transfer 100 thousand dollars for Rosalind to come back from her travel abroad with her childhood friend, Jackson Lane. The tenth time, she ruins the anniversary I have prepared meticulously and forces me to immediately help him get back to work. The 50th time, she humiliates me in front of my client during the day and forces me to sign over the transfer agreement to a villa at night, while she has a candlelit dinner with Jackson. ... Now, for the 100th time, she forces me to transfer my company shares. Staring at the love bites on Rosalind's collarbone, I suddenly chuckle. Then, I board the plane decisively. This time, I no longer want her.

On the morning of my wedding, a man in a groom's suit showed up at my door. Before anyone could speak, he walked in and told my stylist to do his hair first. My groomsmen and I had no idea what was happening. When we asked who he was, he looked me up and down and smirked. "Meredith didn't tell you? I'm the groom today. You're not needed. You already got your name on the marriage certificate, right? Count your blessings and take the hint." I held it together and called Meredith Soames. Her voice on the other end was as gentle as ever, but it made my stomach turn. "I should've told you about Royce. But he was the one who was there for me when I had nothing. The marriage is yours. Your name's on the certificate. Just let him have the ceremony." That was when I realized that in the past five years, I had never truly seen her for what she was.

Just before closing, the restaurant had one last serving of spaghetti with meat sauce left. I’d spent three years paying off my boyfriend’s debts to loan sharks. I hadn’t eaten all day and was finally about to dig in. But Jax Carter snatched the bowl away from me and carried it over to Camilla Price, the recently divorced owner of the flower shop next door. “Camilla’s got it tough raising a kid on her own. Skipping one meal won’t kill you.” The neighborhood lowlifes at the other tables whistled and hooted. “Jax and Camilla are a match made in heaven. They’ve both had it rough. Hurry up and shack up already!” “What a good guy Jax is, looking out for Camilla like that! It’s nice to see young people still care.” That night, a debt collector’s thug smashed a bottle over my head, and blood ran into my eyes. Jax didn’t even look at me. He was busy helping Camilla pick up the flowers that had been knocked over. I wiped the blood from my face. That was when it hit me: I’d wasted three years on a relationship worth less than a bowl of spaghetti. It was long past time to walk away.

After his eighteenth failed attempt to divorce me, Jesse Pellam suddenly stopped bringing it up. Before that, every single attempt had ended in complete humiliation and chaos. I had harmed myself, threatened to jump from a building, and plastered the company lobby with intimate photos of him and his female assistant, Gianna Seyfert. At a press conference, I had even publicly stripped Gianna, leaving her with PTSD. Jesse had every reason to despise me; however, he never mentioned divorcing me again. He came home on time every day and gave me full access to his phone. He checked in with me every hour to update me on his whereabouts. Even during his business trips, we stayed connected through video calls around the clock. But I still could not shake the feeling that something was wrong. Every day, I pressed him for an answer, asking why he no longer wanted a divorce. “Haven’t I done enough?” he asked. Yes, he was better than ever, almost too good to be true. It was not until he caught me following him again that he finally admitted the truth. With exhaustion evident in his eyes, he said, “I received a phone call from my future self, ten years from now. He told me that if I divorced you, I would regret it.”

When Matthew Sinclair accused me of selling company secrets, I expected my girlfriend to stand by me. Instead, Selena Oxford told me to apologize. To the man who framed me. That was the moment I understood that trust was not something you pleaded for. You either had it, or you did not. I resigned the same day, cut every tie, left a ring on the table that she would never wear, and walked out of her life without looking back. I believed we would never cross paths again. Eight years later, at a black-tie banquet, Selena spotted me across the crowd. I was dancing with another woman, moving through the room as if I belonged there. In front of everyone, now known as a corporate powerhouse, she met my gaze with red-rimmed eyes and asked, "Was it for her? Is that why you left me eight years ago?"

At the dinner celebrating our fifth wedding anniversary, I held the pregnancy test report in my pocket, planning to surprise my CEO husband. However, the moment the doors opened, I froze. A stunning woman stood there with her arm intimately linked through my husband's. She clung to Charles Lawrence with the ease and confidence of someone who clearly belonged at his side, carrying herself like the lady of the house. Neither Charles nor the guests found it strange. If anything, they seemed entertained. Someone even joked, "Mr. Lawrence and Ms. Cooper aren't just ideal partners at work. Their chemistry is something to admire as well. I've personally reserved the presidential suite at Jubilee City's finest resort for Mr. Lawrence tonight. You can be sure no one will disturb you." Fiona blushed and slipped shyly into Charles's arms. He lowered his head and kissed her hard. They fit together so naturally, so intimately, that the sight was unbearably glaring. My thoughts flashed back to the night before, when Charles had pressed me into the bed. In that moment, I had caught sight of a strange message sent by someone named Fiona: [Everyone in the company thinks we've slept together.] Charles had explained that Fiona was only his assistant, a forty-year-old woman, and that the message was nothing more than a punishment from a lost game, a foolish dare. That explanation had dissolved my suspicion and anger. Then, I finally saw the truth. I was the one who had lost everything. Inside my pocket, the pregnancy report was crushed into a tight ball. I forced the tears back, stepped away, and opened the invitation from the National Aerospace Research Institute on my phone. Without hesitation, I tapped Accept. Three days later, I would vanish completely from Charles's world.

After I finished my kidney follow-up, I sent Vivian Marsh, my wife, a message. [My wound hurts after a whole day's worth of checkups.] She only sent a reply half an hour later. [What do you mean by that? Are you asking me to cover the cost of your follow-up?] I stared at the words and could not wrap my head around them for a long time. John Howard, Vivian's first love, had run off with all her savings when she was at her lowest and taken up with a wealthy woman. From that moment on, she hated men who spent women's money. In order to show that I was not a freeloader, we always split the bill over the course of our six-year relationship. We paid for our own food and covered the cost of our house by splitting it 50/50. I did not ask her to pay a single cent for all the follow-up fees after I injured my kidney saving her years ago. But in the next second, I saw John's Instagram post. In the screenshot, he showed a catalogue for a limited-edition racecar and tagged Vivian. [Pick a color you like. Do you want exclusive rights to the front passenger seat? Then, send me a cash gift—at least seven figures.] Underneath was Vivian's bank transfer record. It was a total of 3,000,000 dollars. She replied with a smiling emoji, [If you hadn't left six years ago, you wouldn't have needed to ask me for this bit of money.] So, it was not that she hated men asking her for money. She simply hated me spending her money. I put the follow-up report into my bag and sent a message to Peter Jackson, my lawyer. [Please draft a divorce agreement for me.] We'd been keeping score since our very first meal together. It was about time for me to settle the last bill too.

The day I was diagnosed with emotional dependency disorder, my doctor told me, "Your world can't exist without Ms. Reynolds's love." And so Audrey Reynolds became my emotional anchor. She put me first in everything, even turning down important projects just to stay by my side through treatment. It wasn't until the day my condition finally stabilized that she smiled again. Her childhood friend, Damon Walsh, smiled too. "I told you it couldn't have been that serious. Wasn't Preston just doing all this on purpose to keep Audrey tied to him?" That was the first time Audrey ever hit Damon. She forced him to apologize to me. But on the day Damon went to the bar, I only quietly said that my heart was racing. Audrey suddenly slammed the medication bottle down. "Can you stop being so selfish? Damon is devastated after his breakup! I spend every day revolving around you. Is it really too much to ask that I spend a few hours taking care of him? "If you want to have another episode, then go ahead! I've had enough!" She kicked all the medication across the floor, grabbed her car keys, and stormed out, slamming the door behind her. I said nothing. I only stared at the red marks I'd scratched into my wrist from anxiety as my breathing grew more and more difficult.

Back when Elaine and I are most in love, I'm a renowned financial reporter, while Elaine Crowley is a rising star in capital circles. However, on the day I'm supposed to interview her, she stands me up once again. My boss, Lisa Donica, waves a limp finger at me and sneers. "You've been sleeping together for eight years, and you still can't land an interview with her? Has she already gotten bored of you? But I guess that makes sense. Some men don't respect themselves—they throw themselves at women and expect to be worth something!" I ignore her and step outside to call Elaine. But the moment I turn around, I find her Cullinan parked right outside. A surge of joy rushes through me. I'm just about to call out to her when the car door opens. Elaine, with her head bowed, carefully steps out with my coworker, their bodies far too close for comfort. Lisa shoots me a sideways glance. "Your woman is letting your biggest rival put his arm around her waist? Luke Tilghman, you've been cheated on!" My eyes fall on the Cullinan. I press my lips together and make a call. "Send a crew over. It's time to take out the trash!"

My husband was a senior military officer and a hardcore military fanatic. When I went into labor and my life was at risk, I begged him to sign the consent form for an emergency C-section. Instead, he looked at me coldly and asked, “What’s the maximum cruising speed of a Boeing 747? Answer correctly, and I’ll sign.” Later, my body tore from the prolonged labor, and our son suffocated to death. He said calmly, as if reciting a fact, “One thousand one hundred and twenty-seven kilometers per hour. Remember that?” At that moment, I looked at his indifferent expression and realized that I no longer loved him. With that, I left behind the divorce papers and disappeared from his life. “Felix, the military-illiterate wife you were ashamed of will never come back.”