Mga Maiikling Kuwento at Nobelang Bias Romance

The night the hurricane made landfall, the emergency alert had barely stopped sounding when my sister-in-law, Brielle Rourke, called again. I listened to her helpless sobbing, then calmly handed the phone to my husband, Caleb Rourke, who was busy boarding up the balcony doors. Whatever she said, he kept agreeing to it. He pulled on a rain jacket and gave me that practiced, guilty look. "Her window's broken, Lena. She's all alone over there. I'll patch it up and I'll be back before the worst of it hits, I promise." Once again, it wasn't a discussion. It was an announcement. Five years of marriage, and every storm had gone exactly the same way. The moment the thunder started, her call came right on schedule. I used to fight about it, but he always said, "My brother died young. Brielle's raising his son by herself. We help when we can." "You're a grown woman, and a strong one. You can look after yourself and our son, right?" The wind split the glass, and the shards opened my calf to the bone. I reached for the baby sweater I'd never finished knitting. Tonight, Caleb, I don't think your son or I need you anymore.

After they pulled me out of the surf, my fiancé, Milo Schneider, looked wrecked—eyes red, breathing all over the place. On impulse, I decided to mess with him. "I think I lost my memory. Where am I?" I kept my face blank. He froze for a second, then shoved his brother, Sean Schneider, toward me. "Sean, take your fiancée to the hospital—now." Yeah. That smile on my face? Gone. Sean pulled me into his arms. "Abigail, I'm your fiancé. Did you forget?"

In the fifth year of my marriage to Cynthia Bolton, she suddenly transfers a sum of money into my bank account. The note on the transfer reads, "Tuition for our son." I am completely stunned for a moment. No matter how hard I think about it, I couldn't figure out how exactly we could have a son. After Cynthia divorces her ex-husband, she marries me. She tells me that she's afraid of pain and of having children. On our wedding day, the very first condition she sets is that we remain child-free. And because I love her, I agree readily. To put her mind completely at ease, I even undergo a vasectomy. Staring at the transfer notification, I slowly turn around and ask her in a trembling voice. "What's the meaning of this?" Cynthia freezes for a moment. When she notices the bank account number she has sent the money to, a flash of annoyance crosses her eyes. Silence hangs in the air for a long time. Then, she lets out a long sigh and explains indifferently, as if she is talking about something that is absolutely ordinary. "Not long after I divorced Bradley Wilson, I found out I was pregnant."

With 30 days left until our wedding, Derrick Holmes suddenly decides to quit smoking and drinking. He tells me he doesn't want our future children picking up any of his bad habits. The following day, he checks himself into a rehab center in the suburbs and refuses all visitors. Worried about him, I make soup every day and bring it over, but Derrick insists that seeing me would make it harder for him to keep going. Instead, I leave the thermos at the reception desk. I make the trip for 23 days straight without missing a single one. Then, the results of my pre-wedding physical come back, and I discover that I'm pregnant. I buy the smallest pair of baby shoes I can find and head to the rehab center, planning to surprise him. After searching through the entire guest registry, the receptionist looks up at me. "Ma'am, no one named Derrick Holmes is staying here." I check the location on my phone. The blue dot isn't in the suburbs at all. It's at the Luna Confinement Centre, a postpartum recovery facility. I take a cab there and find Derrick cradling a newborn in his arms. "Daddy's right here. You're okay," he murmurs patiently. A nurse standing nearby smiles at him. "Mr. Holmes, you're one devoted dad." He grins. "What can I say? The baby and his mother both need me." I touch the pregnancy report in my pocket and remain outside the room for ten seconds without going in. At that moment, I finally realize that Derrick didn't refuse to see me because he's afraid he'll lose his resolve. He's simply too busy being a father to another woman's child. I leave the baby shoes by the door, turn around, and schedule an abortion.

The impoverished student I had sponsored, Jacob Murphy, had accumulated a massive gambling debt. When the debt collectors had kicked the door open, my childhood sweetheart, Renee Austin, had shoved me forward instead. Her voice was cold and distant. “He’s Jacob Murphy. Take him away.” In the darkness of an underground casino, they tore out my fingernails, then smashed my ribs one by one with an iron rod. When the searing pain arrived, I groveled on the floor like a dog. I was weeping and screaming, without a shred of dignity. Then, they “mercifully” gave me one chance to call for help. Clinging to the last sliver of hope, I called Renee. Her voice on the other end sounded very cruel. “If you hadn’t set him up, how would Jacob have ended up buried in gambling debt? Even if you die at their hands, you deserve it.” The dial tone after she hung up became the last sound in my world. Later, I really did die, just as she had said. However, there was not the slightest trace of a smile on Renee’s face. It was as if she had gone mad. Her eyes were bloodshot as she searched every underground gambling den in the city. ‘Renee, why were you crying for me?’ I wondered.

The year my wife hated me the most, I passed away. Unable to bear her lingering entanglement with her ex, I decided to end my life. At the crematorium, she casually picked a cheap urn and smiled faintly as she said, "Trash like him belongs in the sewer, even after death." When it was time to bury my ashes, she chose a landfill and scattered my ashes across the entire site. She had always believed I schemed against her and forced her to break up with her ex, which was why she went to great lengths to make sure I met the worst possible end. When everything was over, she walked away without looking back, stepping on my ashes. Yet not long after, she returned, crying as she searched through the entire landfill, desperate to find my remains.

The day we take our graduation pictures, I come across a photographer's post. In the caption, he writes, "I've been a photographer for ten years, and this is the first time I've ever done a wedding shoot on the same day as the bride's and groom's graduation! "They're both gorgeous, and they're incredibly patient. The groom doesn't even touch his phone. He just keeps gazing at the bride with so much love. "I spend all day shooting, and my camera's memory card is completely full. But getting to photograph a couple this perfect makes it all worth it!" I think about how my boyfriend, Zack Warner, is absent from our graduation photo session that morning, leaving us without a single picture together in our caps and gowns. Still disappointed about that, I open the photos, feeling envious. The moment I see the bride's and groom's faces, my breathing quickens. The groom is Zack, my boyfriend of four years. He always says we'll get married once he finds a stable job. The bride is my best friend, Wendy Carter, the campus belle. Just two hours ago, Wendy comforts me over WhatsApp, saying there are plenty of men in the world. If I'm upset with Zack, I can always find someone else. But now, she's holding Zack's hand, their fingers intertwined. She's the bride-to-be about to begin her happy new life.

Wendy and her husband's female childhood friend were kidnapped at the same time. That night, moans echoed from the warehouse all night long. A month later, both discovered they were pregnant. To protect his childhood friend's reputation, Jackson Wallace stepped forward and claimed her baby was his without hesitation. And Wendy’s baby was branded an "illegitimate child" left behind after the kidnappers violated her. Wendy smashed everything in sight and collapsed to the floor, demanding, "Why? You know perfectly well this baby was conceived before the kidnapping! The kidnappers didn't do anything to me!"

My cheating husband came crawling back on our daughter Lily's fifth birthday. He was ruined. Fired over a dirty scandal. Dumped by his gold-digging mistress the second his cash dried up. He begged me to save our marriage. In my last life, I was weak. I stayed for the kids. My reward? He went insane. In the dead of night, he locked the doors of our Greenwich estate. Poured gasoline everywhere. And lit a match. My parents. My four babies. Me. And him. All eight of us burned to ashes. But then I opened my eyes. I was back. Back to the day of Lily's party. This time, I will protect my family. And I will send that demon to hell.

Elise Van Doren and I had been together for fifteen years, but she still refused to marry me. Then we had a bitter argument about it. The next day, the television station sent me to the county clerk's office to do live interviews with newlyweds. When I got to a young groom, the question the system pulled from the live comments was, "What's the cruelest thing your wife has ever said to you?" I was sure someone was just trying to stir up trouble, and I almost skipped it. But the young man smiled shyly at the camera. "Nothing, really. She can never bring herself to be harsh with me. The meanest thing she's ever called me was 'you silly boy' when I burned my hand. "She's fourteen years older than me, and she treasures me. She always says that since I got together with her so young, she's going to spoil me rotten. That's why I chose my twenty-second birthday to marry her." The live comments went wild over how sweet they were. Even I smiled. I was about to congratulate him when a woman came up and threw herself into his arms. "Honey, what are you talking about?" My blood ran cold. The microphone slipped from my fingers and hit the floor. The woman was Elise. My girlfriend. The night before, she'd looked me in the eye and said, "You want to talk about dignity? If you had any, would you have been my lapdog at seventeen, begging me to be with you? You're paranoid all the time. Hell, I'm starting to think you're the one with another woman on the side!"

It's Valentine's Day, and I'm at my desk at the county courthouse when my fiancee, Shelby Smith, walks in to get a marriage license with her male best friend, Liam Pearson. She slides her ID across the counter and offers a casual excuse. "Rowen, don't be mad. I lost a game of Truth or Dare. The penalty is being married to Liam for just one day. I'm bringing him back tomorrow for a divorce." Liam, who has a woman's jacket draped on his shoulders, pipes up with a snide grin. "I don't think Rowen is going to process this for us. After all, he's always had a problem with me. I just don't get men—" Before he can finish, I slam the official stamp down on their application form. "Why wouldn't I? I get it. You two are best friends, nothing more. You just lost a dare, that's all. Take this form over there to pay the marriage license fee. Congratulations." Shelby's face instantly falls when she sees how completely unbothered I am. She hooks her arm through Liam's and storms out. The next day, she shows up at the courthouse with Liam again. I take one look at the vivid hickey on her neck, smile, and hand her a waiting-period notice instead. "Sorry, but a new policy has just been communicated to us. Couples rushing into a quickie divorce like you two need to go home and really think things through. If you still want to call it quits, come back in six months."

The ninth time I found a strange man's item in my fiancée's car, I picked up the ring and asked, "Whose ring is this?" "Are you doubting me again?" Olivia's voice dripped with impatience. She dialed a number with practiced ease. My sister picked up. "A man's ring? That's a gift I bought for Gregory. Seriously, bro? Olivia treats you like gold and you're still pulling this? Last time we all hung out, everyone was saying you're always accusing her of cheating. I didn't want to believe it, but wow." My best friend Gregory also chimed in when he heard. "Ethan, how do you expect Olivia to feel comfortable marrying you if you keep this up? Apologize. Now." The call ended. Olivia looked at me with that righteous expression, like she'd just won a court case. "Happy now? Can you stop accusing me?" But I was frozen. Every time I found men's items in her car, everyone around me would step up to explain it away and make me apologize. But none of them knew—that ring wasn't something someone left behind. It was something I bought for myself. A wedding gift. For our wedding. And it turned out to be the key that unraveled seven years of everyone covering for her affair.

At the company dinner, my coworkers started a game: everyone texted their lover saying they’d fallen ill. Whoever’s man replied first won. No surprise, I came in dead last again. Both my calls and my texts went completely unanswered. “Claire, don’t feel bad. Mr. Blackwood is so busy, it’s completely normal he hasn’t seen your message.” A coworker smiled and tried to comfort me, but the truth was, I’d gotten used to it long ago. Forget a cold or a fever. Even the day I was diagnosed with cancer, I called him nineteen times, and he didn’t pick up once. When I stayed quiet, everyone turned to look at Vivian in the corner, and one coworker teased her with a grin. “Vivian, didn’t you say your boyfriend was super clingy? How come he still hasn’t replied?” Vivian clutched her phone, her face full of unease. “I’ll pass. What if he’s in a meeting? I don’t want to bother him.” The mood had gone stiff, and looking at her pale fingertips, I suddenly smiled. “It’s fine. It’s just a game.” Before she could refuse again, I leaned over and hit the speaker-dial for her. The call I’d expected no one to answer was picked up in an instant. The huge private room fell dead silent. Because the voice coming through the phone belonged to Adrian Blackwood, my forever-busy boyfriend of seven years. “Babe, don’t forget our date tonight.” “Seven o’clock. I’ll see you at The Laurent.”

I was a soldier's wife. Less than two years into our marriage, I asked Lucian Summers for a divorce because I found a little handmade bracelet at home. It was not mine, and Lucian had never bought me cute little trinkets like this before. Lucian scoffed and said, "All because of that little thing?" I could not be bothered to explain this time, so I replied coldly, "Yeah. It's exactly because of that little thing."

In the third year of my relationship with Jason Lane, a woman named Yvonne Jones approaches me and slides a bank card across the table. "Here's one million to leave Jason." I stare at her in confusion. I can't understand why my boyfriend, a vocational school graduate who works as a delivery driver, is worth so much money. "Do you actually think Jason delivers food for a living?" She scoffs and pulls up a photo on her phone. In it, Jason is wearing an expensive suit I've never seen before, chatting and laughing with people while holding a golf club. "You're nothing but a toy to keep him entertained. He has bottles of wine that cost more than you make in a year, yet he only buys you gifts worth ten bucks. He tips other people thousands at a time, but when it comes to supporting you, he gives you pocket change." My eyes widen. I cover my mouth and break down sobbing. Beneath my lowered lashes, my eyes remain cold. The truth is, I've known for a long time that Jason comes from a wealthy family. At first, I waited for him to come clean on his own at first. Later, I showed vulnerability to give him a chance to come clean. But now… I touch my swollen, tear-stained eyes. All I want is to use his guilt to get as much money out of him as I can.

I am the eldest son of the prestigious Swain family in the capital. To test Snow Wardle's sincerity, I hid my identity and started from the bottom alongside her. Five years later, upon my return to the country, I was confronted by her lover, Chad Foreman, at a mall called "JesseSnow" which was named after me. Chad forced me to kneel and lick his boots and even asked his lackeys to beat me and my nanny, May. When Snow showed up, not only did she refuse to apologize, she defended Chad. She even cut off my finances and had her lawyer file a lawsuit against me for damages. I could not hold back any longer and called in the power of the Swain family. When the truth was revealed, Snow grovelled for mercy, but she could not mask her greedy nature. In the end, I reclaimed everything and made the traitors pay the price. I finally realized that this misplaced love needed to end, once and for all.

First thing Leah Labelle did after Andrew Fillion's funeral? Ask her husband Ian for a divorce. Why? Because Ian's entire family thought the perfect way to honor his dead brother was to knock up the widow. Naturally. "My parents are threatening to hang themselves or starve, Leah. What was I supposed to do? It's just IVF with Cecilia—we're not even doing anything. Why are you making this a divorce thing?" Leah shut her eyes. Her chest cracked open, and the tears she'd been holding finally broke free. "Ian, we're MARRIED. You seriously don't think this is next-level insane?" Her husband was about to have a baby with someone else. But sure—she was the crazy one.

My boyfriend, Hugh Specter, is the best psychologist in town. I struggle with severe anxious attachment, and he tells me I need to undergo exposure therapy. The treatment is designed to gradually break my dependence on him for comfort. For the first week, I'm not allowed to initiate physical contact. The second week, hugs longer than three seconds are forbidden. The third week, I'm not allowed to text him while he's working. The fourth week, all physical contact is off-limits. I'm supposed to learn how to soothe myself instead of relying on him. I follow every rule. Whenever anxiety hits, I bite down on my pillow and force myself through it. I fill an entire journal with reminders to stay calm and reassure myself. At the start of the fifth week, I arrive at Hugh's clinic early to drop off my progress report. I see him sitting on a couch at the end of the hallway, holding his childhood sweetheart, Sonia Rafferty, in his arms. He lowers his head and presses a gentle kiss to her hair, his thumb slowly stroking the back of her hand. "It's okay," he murmurs. "Hold on to me. I'm right here." I stare at the hand that has pulled away from me countless times, only to see it comforting someone else without hesitation. The receptionist lets out a quiet laugh. "Dr. Specter is usually extremely strict about professional boundaries. Somehow, Ms. Rafferty is the one person who always gets him to make an exception." So that's what his boundaries were. They were only reserved for me. I feed my progress report into the shredder, cancel the rest of my appointments, and delete his number. By the end of the fifth week, I finally complete my exposure therapy. Not because I've learned to resist the urge to depend on him, but because I've realized I don't need him anymore.

On our honeymoon tour, my husband and I faced an earthquake. I thought I was lucky to have booked a flight home, but then Ethan Parker snatched my passport and fled with my stepsister, Lily Foster. Stranded on a foreign land, I saw her new post. Lily: [Talking about clinginess, no one beats Ethan.] An attached photo showed their hands intertwined. In the chaos, someone stole my phone and cash. When aftershocks hit, I couldn't escape and got buried in a collapsed building. When I opened my eyes again, I was back to the day of the first quake. Seeing Ethan bolt from Lily's room, I didn't say a word, just quietly canceled his plane ticket. If they loved each other so much, I'd let them go on and be a doomed couple.

Claire Aniston had been in love with Calvin Bennett for a decade. In all that time, he had blown hot and cold, but she never minded. She was certain that someday, he would see how much she truly cared. That faith shattered on the night of their engagement party. Claire found him wrapped up with Iris Aniston. "Once I marry Claire and get control of the shares, I'll divorce her and marry you," she heard him tell Iris. So that was the truth. He wasn't just guarded—he didn't love her at all. Worse, he had been using her from the start. With cold resolve, Claire went straight to the head of the Bennett family. "Grandpa George, I've made up my mind. Calvin doesn't love me, and I won't force him into this. I'm not going to marry him." The old man was shocked. "But…you've loved him all these years. Did he do something wrong? Don't worry, you will always be the one I want for my grandson." "Grandpa George, the wedding date doesn't need to change. I will still marry into the Bennett family—but I'm choosing a different groom. "On the day of the wedding, seven days from now, I will draw lots among all the eligible male heirs of the Bennett family. Whoever is chosen will become my husband." After all, things couldn't possibly get any worse.