Bias Romance Short Stories & Regret Novels

Five years ago, for the sake of my fiancee, Ellia Murdock, I went overseas alone to deal with all the obstacles her family faced. The day I returned, she sent a car to pick me up to attend her son's birthday party. She smiled and introduced me as her long-lost uncle, who was also crazy, in front of all the guests. Her son clapped his hands and exclaimed, "Mommy, I want to ride the crazy horse!" Ellia's smile vanished. Her voice turned cold as she ordered, "Jason, don't ruin Nial's fun. Get down." My heart jolted. I glared at her. "Ellia, you want me to let a brat ride me like a horse?" Right after I finished my sentence, her current husband slapped me across the face. "What's with the act? You're just a lunatic. Cut the nonsense." I touched my burning cheek and smiled. She had forgotten that I left to clean up her family's mess. I could clean things up, but I could make a mess too.

To help my younger sister, Emily Lambert, recover from her asthma, I went out of my way to buy a private island known for its pristine air. However, on the very day she arrived, someone kicked her so hard that they broke her ribs, and she called me crying. "Arthur, they're saying this island belongs to someone else! They're going to throw me into the ocean." Through the phone, I heard the island manager's harsh voice. "This island is a gift from Ms. Wynter to her boyfriend! Who do you think you are? You're just a trash picker, and you think you can just show up here?" Suddenly, everything clicked. My wife, Cassie Wynter, had a boy toy on the side, and he was now trying to take over the island meant for Emily's recovery. Well, that score needed to be settled. Cassie and I had been married for two years. In that time, she had transformed from a nobody in a third-rate family to a powerful CEO controlling the luxury goods market. Everyone said she had a gift for business, that she had the Midas touch. However, no one knew the truth: the exclusive royal supplier connections she wielded were resources I had risked my life for in the United Zahara. I dialed the Zaharan Royal Family. "Prince Khalid, it's time you repaid the favor you owe me."

One week had slipped by since I last begged Christopher Lutherson to take up that case, and that caught his attention. The silence led him to believe that my pride was finally crushed. His arrogance drove the texts that came next. "You're coming to the celebration party tonight. Do as I say, and I'll consider taking your father's case. This is your last chance. Don't try to guilt-trip me with your childish notion of unfairness." My phone screen lit up, but I showed no reaction. I simply signed the divorce papers. For five years of marriage, all I had ever known was humiliation. I endured every disgrace, every torment, just to beg the legendary lawyer Christopher to save my father, who had been framed. He knew my father was innocent, yet he made sure the most crucial evidence didn't see the light of court, all to please his first love. He did nothing but stand by while my father was tormented. My father succumbed to the inferno they called prison. Seven days ago, he took his own life to prove his innocence. I only stayed with Christopher for five agonizing years so my father would have his name cleared and be released from prison. Christopher never knew that. The legendary lawyer had won countless cases, but in the end, he made me lose the only person I had left in this world. My father was dead. It was time for me to leave.

Midway through the banquet, the clasp on Carrie Ellison's bra suddenly snapped open. I was just about to take her to the dressing room when she turned around, letting her childhood sweetheart, Gabe Allen, slip his hand inside her dress and fasten it for her. I frowned. Carrie rolled her eyes, completely unconcerned. "Why are you getting jealous over nothing? Back then, Gabe even used his teeth to undo my bra clasp. What's the big deal about him fastening it now?" That very day, news of the "perfect childhood sweethearts" shot to the top of the trending charts. After the banquet, Carrie didn't receive my apology. Instead, she received my resignation letter. In front of everyone, she splashed champagne in my face. "It's just fastening a clasp! Do you really have to nitpick and make me look bad?" I said nothing. I simply placed the divorce agreement I had just drafted in front of her.

I was forced into an arranged marriage with Brandon Fuller, and he escaped 99 times. The first time, I was left alone at the beach as I waited for the whole night. The second time, he switched places with a homeless man and left me alone on the stage in humiliation. Brandon finally gave in on the 99th time. However, when I went to him with my wedding dress in my arms, I overheard his conversation with his friends. “Brandon, are you really going to marry your true love seven days later? What about your arranged marriage, are you going to escape that?” Brandon snorted. “I must marry Poppy! As for arranged marriage, I’ll just simply host a fake wedding for her! “She’s the one who caused my older sister’s death! Even though I was in love with her for seven years, she deserves to be stood up!” I froze. It turned out his promise was fake. I turned around without any hesitation. Then, I called home. “Mom, I’m still having that wedding, but please find a new husband for me.”

On the day I found out I was dying, Evan Buck, my husband, came home with a “dating contract” he had signed with his assistant, Cherry Mello. “She threatened to kill herself if I didn’t agree to date her for three months.” He continued with a sincere gaze. “But don’t worry. It’s just indulging a young girl’s wish. You’re the one I love. I promise you, after three months, she’ll resign, and we’ll never hear from her again.” I knew that when Evan made up his mind, there was no talking him out of it. Just like how I had long seen the unmistakable longing in Cherry’s eyes when she looked at him. However, he said I was overthinking and refused to dismiss her. Looking at the man I had loved for ten years before me, I quietly slipped the terminal diagnosis behind my back. Three months. What a coincidence. That was exactly how much time I had left.

After Pierce Emery and I got back together, I started "renting him out." Every time his old flame, Daphne Roach, called him away, I stopped crying and causing scenes like before. I charged by the hour instead. Ten grand an hour during the day. Twenty at night. Triple on holidays. Three months later, my account was up almost two million dollars. Pierce had promised to help me pick a dress for a banquet, but Daphne called him crying, saying she'd sliced her hand while cooking. I didn't even look up. I just held out my phone with the payment screen open. One night, I came down with a brutal fever. While Pierce was driving me to the hospital, his phone rang again. Daphne. He stared at the screen for a long second before answering. Her voice came through shaky and tearful. "Pierce, the thunder's so loud. I can't sleep. Can you come stay with me?" I quietly pulled out an umbrella and told him to let me out at the next intersection. He looked at me like he wanted to explain something, but I just smiled. "Don't forget to transfer the money." The same thing happened again on the day our daughter went in for her routine checkup. Except this time, she was the one asking him for money.

Everyone thinks I've lost my mind when I marry Bryan Sable. That's because I'm the daughter of the richest family in town, while he's just the owner of a small company. Everyone says he's only marrying me for my money. They don't know that he's willing to risk his life just to be with me. He also spent years pursuing me. On the day of the wedding, apart from the wedding ring, I also give him 99 free passes, saying, "If you ever upset me, you can use one of the free passes to cancel it out. But once you've used up all 99 of them, this marriage ends." Bryan swears he will never even use a single one of the free passes. But not long after we get married, he gets involved with his secretary, Roxy Upton. From that moment onward, the free passes get used up in rapid succession. He uses one when he misses my birthday party because of her. He uses another when I find a hickey left on his neck by someone other than me. It gets to a point where even our butler can't help but remind Bryan, "Mr. Sable, I think Mrs. Sable is upset right now. Are you sure you want to leave now to go to Ms. Upton?" But Bryan doesn't think much of it. "If she's upset, let her be upset. What's the worst that can happen? I'll just use one of the free passes. I've only used about 50 of them. I've got plenty of chances left." He has no clue that he only has three free passes left. And by now, I no longer kick up a fuss. I'm simply waiting for the day he uses up the final chance. I'm going to watch him dig his own grave, losing me as well as everything I've given him.

By the fifth year Dylan Crewe dropped me on a remote island, I finally learned submission. He brought his sugar baby, a college student, along with a Doberman to pick me up. I sank to my knees, wiped the sand off his leather shoes with my sleeve, and bent my back as a step for them. “Your duty from here on out is to take care of Tammy Bates. She and the Doberman are your family now.” I complied with his demand with a smile. Dylan took over my family’s empire, pushed my parents to the depths of despair until they jumped to their deaths, while I was abandoned in the middle of nowhere to break me. He succeeded in his venture. Back in the familiar manor, I couldn’t recognize the place I once called home. My alarm clock rang at 4 o’clock every morning, as my day would start with a special diet for Dobie and its grooming session. At nine o’clock, I would lay out Tammy’s outfit for the day and be her literal punching bag at the gym. I would have the drinks and food ready for Tammy’s friends in the evening, as she kidded around with her friends about how she tamed the once proud, notoriously spoiled heiress of Hedgewood’s high society.

On the first night of our graduation trip, the class representative, Gordon Perkins, suggests that we draw lots in order to get our rooms assigned to us. "Let fate decide the pairs who get to stay in the same room as long as they have the same number, regardless of their gender! Imagine how exciting this is!" Throughout my four-year college life, Ivan Decker and I have been in a relationship for three of those years. No one knows about our relationship, though. I pull out a ball from the box and await my partner. When it's Ivan's turn, he draws out a ball with the number seven. Gordon raises his voice immediately. "The other lucky person who gets to stay in room seven is… Rebecca Benson!" Rebecca, the young woman whom Ivan has pursued in a high-profile manner in the past, goes bright red. Everyone cheers on them right away, claiming that Lady Fate really wants them to be together. But I'm the only one who stays silent. No one knows that I've heard Gordon secretly tell Ivan something before it's time to draw lots. "Look for the ball with the raised dot. I specially saved those ones for you and Rebecca." As I look at Ivan, who walks over to Rebecca and picks up her suitcase for her with a soft smile, I find myself smiling as well. It turns out that Ivan never plans on making our relationship official despite having waited for him for three years. This time, I decide to be the one who leaves first.

On the eve of our wedding, I find out that the wedding invitations have Travis Somerson's and his assistant, Victoria Cademere's names printed on them instead of mine. I demand an answer from Victoria, who bursts into tears and tells me that she has accidentally mistyped the bride's name as hers. Travis calls me right away. "It's just a naming mistake, Harper! Must you make such a huge deal out of such a small mistake?" He even calls me a petty and jealous woman who can't even tolerate the presence of a female employee in his vicinity. Five minutes later, Victoria uploads another social media post. Apparently, not only has she uploaded a photo of the wedding invitation, but she also adds a couple photo of her and Travis being lovey-dovey. The caption reads, "Mr. Somerson told me that even if I screw up, he'll be there to help me settle everything." If a female employee were to provoke me in the past, I'd have forced Travis to fire the former. But this time, I no longer care about him anymore.

Jason Schwartz had been a close friend of my father's, despite the age gap. The year I met him, I was fearless, the kind of girl who thought nothing could touch her. I bit down hard on the hand he offered me. Jason just laughed. "You're adorable," he said. "Like a little wolf." On my 18th birthday, he shoved me onto the bed, his eyes red, as if he had been holding back for years. "Diana, I've finally waited long enough for you to grow up." He was the one who pulled me into that first flutter of desire, the one who led me across every line I wasn't supposed to cross. I grew into exactly the kind of girl he wanted. The day my father was hacked to death by his enemies, Jason took my hand and stepped into his place without hesitation. When I was pregnant, he brought home a girl covered in blood. "Diana, she's not like you. She's like wild grass, tough and stubborn." He said he admired wild grass. But he forgot something. He was the one who raised me into a rose that only knew the shelter of a greenhouse. Good thing I didn't need him anymore.

In the third year since my husband, Axel Kramer, starts working as a rideshare driver, we finally manage to buy a home of our own. On the day we move in, he suddenly says to me, "Some friends want to come over for dinner tonight. I already said yes." I'm someone who values boundaries and doesn't like outsiders coming into my home. Even when we host relatives, we take them out to restaurants. "Can't we just go to a restaurant?" I ask. He looks helpless as he replies, "I already suggested that, but Lindsay said it would be more fun if we hang out at home. She said we should liven it up in our new home. And since everyone knows I'm a good cook, she wants to try my cooking too." One corner of my eye twitches with displeasure. Lindsay Brun is the female driver he's mentioned the most over these three years. She's also the only woman in their rideshare drivers' group chat.

My daughter Mia's congenital heart condition had worsened. She desperately needed the one-of-a-kind miniature artificial heart I'd spent five years developing. The night before surgery, my wife Victoria stole it from the cold storage unit. I rushed to the hospital like a madman, only to find her at the bedside of her first love Dominic Forsythe's son, prepping him for surgery. "Mia can hold on for another six months. Dominic's son can't wait." "What kind of father are you, being this selfish?" Victoria stood there, righteous indignation written all over her face. I looked at my daughter lying in her hospital bed, barely clinging to life, and dialed the overseas number I'd refused a dozen times before. "Professor Ellsworth, this is Nathan Hartley." "I'll accept your offer. But I need you to arrange a medical transport—immediately—to bring my daughter to your facility. Her heart needs emergency intervention." I spent five years developing a life-saving heart for my daughter. Victoria stole it overnight and gave it to Dominic Forsythe’s son. “Mia can hold on for another six months. Dominic's son can't wait.” She had no idea I held all the core patents for that heart. That same night, I took my daughter aboard a medical jet and fled the country. The next time we met, you would be on your knees begging me.

I won a hundred million. Without a second thought, I quit my job, the one that paid me twenty thousand a month. My husband, who earned barely six thousand, assumed I had been laid off, and in that instant, he showed his true colors. "Let's get a divorce," he said calmly. "You're not good enough for me anymore." Even my mother-in-law, who had always seemed so gentle, turned on me without hesitation. "Get out of this house," she snapped. "And take your sick daughter with you. From now on, you're on your own." That was the moment I gave up on both of them. I did not argue. I did not try to stay. Meanwhile, they were thrilled, convinced they had finally rid themselves of me and my daughter, the burdens they no longer wanted. What they did not know was that inside my bag was not just a lottery ticket worth a hundred million. There was also a diagnosis. My husband, Wade Zeller, had late-stage stomach cancer.

On our wedding day, the big screen glitched—then flipped to kissing shots of Caleb Gorman and his "girl best friend," Holly Beech. Holly shot up, hand over her mouth, smiling all fake-innocent. "Relax, everyone. We were just messing around. Caleb and I go way back. Guess that makes me wife number two." Caleb smiled, soft like always. "That's just her. She's a total blabbermouth. Don't take it seriously." I looked at him. Calm. "She plays kissing pics of you two at our wedding and calls herself your 'wife number two.' That's messing around?" His face tightened. Annoyed. "It's a few photos. We've been together five years. You're really gonna nitpick something this small and not let it—" I raised a hand, cutting him off. "Yeah. I am. I'm not letting it go." That hit him. He wasn't used to me standing firm. I turned to the crowd. "This wedding's over."

Three years of marriage, and I'd become known in our social circle as the ultimate doormat. My husband staying out all night, his silent treatment, bringing his first love home to flaunt in my face—through it all, I'd smile and make him hangover soup, keeping the house spotless. Everyone thought I loved him to the point of madness. Even he believed it. Until the day of the divorce, when he begged me with tears in his eyes not to leave—and then watched "me" collapse rigid to the floor after a power outage, revealing a charging port on the back of my neck. He lost his mind. Meanwhile, the real me was lying on a beach in the Maldives, running my fingers through the hair of a gorgeous twenty-something with a six-pack, cheerfully pressing the "factory reset" button.

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?"

On the day I'm due for my labor, Chad Nelson's first love, Lucy Baker, who's diagnosed with depression, barges into the maternity ward. Without warning, she plunges the knife she's holding into my belly. By the time Chad and the medical team arrive at the ward, I'm already lying in a pool of my own blood on the bed. The machine recording my vitals keeps screeching loudly the whole time. But Chad crouches down next to Lucy, who has gotten shoved to the floor by a nurse earlier. It seems that her elbow has suffered from light abrasions. "Dr. Nelson, your spouse is in critical condition. She needs to undergo a surgery immediately!" Chad raises his head to glance at me. His tone is cool and professional. "None of Caitlin's vital organs are hurt by the stab, so she can still endure the pain for now. Lucy, on the other and, has a coagulation disorder. Even though she has only suffered from abrasions, there's a chance that her blood flow can't be staunched at all. This makes her situation more critical than Caitlin's. "Anyway, give the two bags of blood in the blood bank to Lucy." When I get pushed away, I use all of my strength to grip Chad's white coat tightly. He just frowns at me in return. "Lucy didn't do this on purpose. Her depression has gotten triggered, that's all. Since you're a woman of medicine, you should be more empathetic toward the patient." After that, Chad digs out a letter of forgiveness from his pocket that he has already printed out in advance.

A trending tag read: "Emil Carson's mistress is pregnant." On my birthday, he came home with a woman who had a slightly visible baby bump. "Caprice is pregnant. I need to make sure she and the baby are properly taken care of. I’ll need you to cooperate. For now, we’ll go through a temporary divorce. Don’t worry. Once the baby is born, we’ll get married again." I did not cry or make a scene. I proceeded with the divorce from Emil. When we stepped out of the city hall, he expressed in a pleased manner, "Just stay low and keep to yourself. I'll contact you after Caprice gives birth." Then, his tone suddenly became threatening. "But if you cause any kind of trouble for Caprice, you can give up on any chance of remarrying me." I nodded quietly. However, I waited until they had their second baby, and yet there did not seem to be any initiative on his part to remarry me. It did not matter anymore. I was about to give birth to twins—a son and a daughter. Just like Emil, I was going to become a parent of two. If anything, I was afraid of him barging back into my life and disturbing my peace. After all, I now have a partner who has a particular streak of jealousy.