เรื่องสั้นแนว Tragic Love Romance และนิยาย Bias

My name is Regina Chavez. The first time Carter Gresham cheats, he falls to his knees before me, slapping himself in shame. The tenth time I catch him, he smiles and tries to comfort me. "Once I get my heart back on course, I'll come back to the family." The 20th time, his patience snaps. He yanks my hand away and throws a divorce agreement in my face. I tear the papers to shreds and spend the night destroying everything in the house. By the 30th time, Carter simply sends a signed divorce agreement. In a desperate bid to make him come back, I threaten to cut my wrists. But even as my blood pools across the floor, no one seems to care. When I wake up, his friends are gathered around me, telling me to get a divorce. "Haven't you already spent years building a life with Carter?" "He's already dealing with enough because of your depression. His seeing someone else isn't the end of the world. Do you really need to cry and threaten to kill yourself over it?" Without thinking twice, I find myself signing the divorce papers. The following day, I quietly schedule an abortion, keeping it a secret from everyone. I'm done waiting for Carter to come back.

I have a habit. Whenever I eat, watch a movie, or ride the bus, I will always save an empty seat next to me. I believe that Cindy Newman will one day show up in my city and surprise me. But we've been in a long-distance relationship for three years, and not once has she ever visited me. In the end, I have no choice but to handle all the wedding preparations on my own. I try on countless suits to find the one. I look everywhere for the perfect venue. The exhaustion ultimately catches up to me. With trembling fingers, I text Cindy, "I'm running a 102-degree fever. No meds at home." It takes her 30 minutes to reply to me, "So? What do you want me to do? Learn how to fly and deliver you meds? I'm busy going over a proposal. Just order it online and have it delivered to your place." My high fever is so intense that I can barely lift a finger. Amid the haziness, I pass out. When I wake up, I see my best friend, Eugene Grant, by my side. He sighs and feeds me warm water and a tablet. "She's just taking advantage of the fact you're too kind to say anything. If I were you, I would've blown up already." Two weeks later, Eugene also comes down with a high fever. I've planned to rush over and take care of him, but I see his latest post online. The photo shows only a woman's hand holding a spoon. The caption reads, "The weather is getting colder, and I've unfortunately come down with a cold. Thank goodness for a superwoman who travels over 500 miles to deliver me soup." I know what I'm seeing. It's Cindy's hand. On Cindy's wrist is the bracelet I've spent six months saving up to buy for her. At long last, it dawns on me that the empty seat remains empty not because she can't make it, but because she simply doesn't want to. In that case, I'll stop saving a seat for a person who will never come.

Seven years into our marriage, my husband, Lucas Thorne, is hailed as a legendary astronomer in the field of astronomy. It is no secret that he absolutely adores me, his wife. He always keeps a polite, distant demeanor with those around him. Even when his new assistant, Serena Cox, asks for his number, he coldly turns her down. In the year he proposed to me, he named a star "LAW", which was an acronym for "Lucas Adores Wilma". Since then, every asteroid he discovers is named with initials that hold a special significance only the two of us know. To others, they might just be scientific achievements. But to me, they are unspoken love letters. This goes on until this morning, when I stumble upon an unfamiliar phone. I unlock it easily with my middle name, thinking it's yet another quiet gesture of his love. But to my horror, I find a string of explicit messages between him and another woman. The person who was at the receiving end of those messages was none other than… Serena, his assistant.

I seem to be born knowing how to make myself small enough for everyone else. When I was five, Mom and Dad posed for a family portrait with my younger brother, Orson Townsend, standing between them. Each of them held one of his hands, and because I was worried the picture would look too crowded, I quietly slipped behind a potted plant. The photographer counted heads three times before smiling. "What a beautiful family of three." I clapped along from behind the leaves. At my 12th birthday party, Orson claimed the slice of cake with the most frosting. Mom and Dad took one piece each, while I cleared the table and washed the plate without being asked. Mom praised me for being so considerate, and I treasured that compliment for years. After I got married, I carried the same habit into my marriage. My wife, Victoria Reed, celebrates Gavin Burton's birthday with him, goes to the movies with him, and accompanies him to the hospital. Meanwhile, I order his cake, buy their tickets, and schedule his appointments. Victoria ruffles my hair. "Don't overthink it. I've been the only person Gavin can rely on since we were kids." I smile and nod. She doesn't know I've been alone since childhood, too. One day, rain starts pouring as we leave the grocery store. A paper bag gives way, sending oranges rolling across the pavement, so I crouch down to gather them. Victoria keeps walking with the umbrella held over Gavin and never once looks back. As they move farther away, their retreating silhouettes blur into the memory of Mom and Dad holding Orson's hands all those years ago. A wave of disappointment washes over me. This time, I'm ready to make room for someone else to take my place as her husband.

At the Harvessa courthouse, Charlotte Lair pulls three marriage certificates from her purse and hands them to the clerk. "Hi, I'd like to file for a unilateral divorce from all three of my husbands, whether they agree or not." The clerk stares at her in disbelief. "Wait, three husbands? How can you be married to three men at once?" But the moment she reads the names on the certificates, she realizes who she's dealing with. Charlotte's husbands are none other than the three most powerful men in Harvessa.

It had been six months since I died in a car accident, but my wife, Susan Young, still thought I was throwing a tantrum and waiting for me to come home and apologize. Then one day, she suddenly couldn’t find a watch. Her childhood friend, Julian Lane, gave it to her. When it broke, she asked me to take it to a watch repair shop. She called and said angrily, “Quentin, are you finished making a scene? If you don’t want to be with me anymore, we can get divorced. What are you trying to prove? “Where did you put the watch I asked you to get repaired? “Did you hide it from me? After all these years, you still haven’t stopped being jealous of Julian!” Then my sister’s voice came through the phone. “Congratulations, Susan. Quentin is dead. He’ll never be jealous of Julian again.”

My daughter, Nora Tyler, has congenital heart disease. When her disease relapses once again, I scoop her into my arms and travel to the hospital on foot on a rainy night. By the time I reach the hospital, I accidentally see the note my husband, Lionel Tyler, has left for the doctor. "I don't care what you do, be it dragging the time out to kill Nora or failing to save her life. No matter what, Nora isn't allowed to leave the hospital alive! "Chloe's due date is almost here. I want you to pay more attention to her. Only her child has the right to become the first child of the Tyler family." I can only stare at the note with bloodshot eyes. At that time, the medical staff has already wheeled Nora out from the ER. A white sheet can be seen draping over her body. When I was still pregnant with Nora, Lionel had taken leave for two years just to take care of me. He truly viewed me as the apple of his eye back then. After I gave birth to Nora, he even purchased an island and named it after her. My favorite gardenias filled every inch of that island. The Lionel who once refused to take any other woman but me as his wife and had prioritized me more than his own life… is also the same man who has personally killed his own daughter just because his first love, Chloe Meyer, is pregnant. My heart has officially died. After leaving a divorce agreement behind, I go home and inherit my family business. Now, Lionel can never hope to reach me ever again.

On our wedding day, I opened the bridal limousine with a smile and found a live hen inside instead of my bride. The surprise passed, and I was calm again. It had to be another stunt from Miles Carrington, my fiancee's possessive adopted brother. When I turned, there he was, hanging off Vanessa's arm exactly as expected. "Vanessa's marrying you, so I'm the one left all alone." I was about to lose my temper when Vanessa smiled at him indulgently and turned to the officiant. "The hen can stand in for me. The ceremony means the same thing either way." The officiant looked mortified. For the sake of the Rowe and Carrington name, I swallowed it. Again. Then came the send-off to the bridal suite. The guests were still cheering when I eased the door open. Miles had Vanessa pinned to the bed, thrashing around like a toddler mid-tantrum. "I'm not sleeping alone tonight. Vanessa has to stay with me." I'd hit my limit, but Vanessa cut me off before I could get a word out. "Then we'll move the wedding night to next month." The room went dead silent. She kept going as if nothing about this were strange. "Miles is traveling overseas with friends next month. We can have it then." She wore a faint smile, certain I'd still be the dignified, forgiving man she planned to marry. Instead, I took off my boutonniere. "Don't bother."

The night before our engagement, my fiancée, Yvonne Gomez, died. The police said her car had crashed through a guardrail and plunged into the river. All they found was a bloodstained watch. The entire Gomez family blamed me. "If she hadn't gone out to buy you a wedding ring, none of this would've happened!" "You're a living curse! Wasn't getting your parents killed enough? Now, you've killed your fiancée too!" Ernie Young, a junior she had gone to school with, played her final voice message as he cried. "Don't die for me. Go live a good life." I held her watch and kept vigil at the funeral home for three days. On the fourth morning, I put on the white suit she liked best and went to the river alone. Then, I downed a bottle of poison. "Yvonne, I'm coming to marry you." I had just climbed over the guardrail when cheers erupted under the bridge. Ernie ran up to me, clapping and laughing so hard that tears rolled down his face. "I won! I knew he would come! Yvonne, he fell for it! He was really going to jump into the river to keep you company!" The crowd parted, and Yvonne stepped out holding a bouquet of roses. Her white dress was spotless, and it hurt to even look at her. She turned to Ernie first, her voice indulgent. "Happy now? No more games after this." Ernie put an arm around her shoulders and asked smugly, "Don't I get some credit for testing how much he loves you?" "Of course." She smiled and nodded. "You liked the wedding ring I picked out, didn't you? You can borrow it for a week." Only then did she hand me the roses. "Surprised? Ernie was just upset. He felt like you were taking me away from him, so I went along with it this one time. You don't mind, do you? You've proved you love me. Now, we can go back and get married." I finally understood everything. The accident was fake. So was the recording. It was all a prank Ernie had come up with to appease himself. And Yvonne had personally allowed him to put my life on the game board as a bet. I shook my head as a sharp pain shot through my stomach. "It's fine… There's no going back…"

After graduation, just before I was supposed to start working at my boyfriend's company, I got a phone call from myself twelve years in the future. I could barely get the question out fast enough. "Well? Did my genius boyfriend's startup make it?" My future self laughed softly. "It did. His company goes public when he's thirty-two, and by thirty-five, his net worth is over ten billion." I was ecstatic. "So I make it big in the industry right alongside him, right?" There was a long silence on the other end. "You have two kids, and at the company, you're in charge of... ordering takeout, filing reimbursements, hiring people, and putting together reports." I froze. Her words suddenly came faster. "So listen to me. Take a different job. "Don't work for him and spend your time doing whatever needs doing. Take the development job at that major tech company that offered you a role. "Three years from now, the Director of Engineering gets fired for bribery. You'll have a shot at taking his place, with an annual salary of five million. "Once you get that first year's salary, don't buy a car. Buy two small apartments in Briarport's old district. Two years later, that area will be redeveloped to support a new free trade zone. The relocation compensation will be enough for you to start your own company without taking out a loan." I hurried to ask, "What kind of company?" "AI." She told me about all the changes the industry would go through over the next twelve years, then carefully walked me through several crucial turning points I needed to remember. There were only ten seconds left on the call. I stopped her before she could hang up. "One last question." "Xenia Wells, is your dream still alive?"

My boyfriend's childhood friend got knocked up. To save her rep, Quentin Palmer married her. When I asked what that meant for me—and our baby—he stayed ice-calm. "Rainee's not like you. I'm all she's got. She wouldn't survive the gossip." Like I had anyone else? Like I wasn't carrying his baby too? Later, while people laughed behind my back about the "fatherless" kid I was having, Quentin just stood there—next to Rainee, silent. That's when it hit me—love comes with a pecking order. So I ended the pregnancy. Gave up my baby... all so he could play the hero for her.

While shopping for our wedding jewelry, my fiance, Xavier Shepherd, buys two pieces so that my sister, Abigail Young, can get the first pick, as always. One is a pink diamond necklace that he tracks down across three cities before winning at auction for a fortune. The other is a cheap black brooch that comes free with the necklace. It doesn't even go with my wedding dress. For the first time, I point to the necklace before my sister can. "Can I choose first this time?" Xavier ruffles my hair. "Abigail has always liked being first. If she can't have what she wants, she'd rather have nothing at all," he says. "You're not picky. Whatever's left will do." I say nothing. An empty feeling settles in my chest. I've known Xavier for 20 years. Whenever I'm with him, I'm always the one who gets my sister's leftovers. Whenever he cuts up a watermelon in the summer, he would always serve Abigail the first slice. She would always choose the reddest, seedless piece from the center. Then, he would hand me the slice closest to the rind that's ridden with seeds. "This one's ripe too. It's not as sweet, but it'll do." When he buys a new car, Abigail gets the first pick again. She takes the front passenger seat because it's the least likely to make her carsick. Xavier gestures toward the back. "It's a little cramped back there, but either seat is yours." Later on, I realize that his love is no different. He loves Abigail, but she chooses her academic career and dreams over him. With her gone, he switches sights and confesses to me instead. To him, I have always been the second choice. I stare at the black brooch and push it away. "You can have them both, Abigail. I don't want it either." I'm done settling for her hand-me-downs.

House Ashbourne had a rule for marrying off its daughters: a suitor had to shoot down the ceremonial orb hung high in the family chapel, blindfolded, before he could come to claim his bride. I'd been foretold at birth to become queen. My parents didn't want me to suffer in the palace, so they promised me as a child to the heir of House Hawthorne. But Cedric Hawthorne, an archer who never missed and was hailed as the army's rising star, failed to hit the orb for five straight years after I came of age. I went from the most envied girl in the capital to its laughingstock. When word reached the palace, the Crown Prince came to our house himself and said he'd like to try. I hurried to my father's study, only to hear Cedric's voice, low and hushed. "Next month Rosamund leaves to marry far away in the south. I don't want to spend the little time we have left as nothing more than her sister's fiance." My sister threw herself into his arms, her voice thick with tears. "If only you weren't Evelina's fiance." Even my parents, who'd always doted on me, sighed and went along with it. "He's already missed five times. What's the harm in making Evelina wait one more year?" My heart lurched as it finally hit me: every hurt I'd suffered these five years had come from the people closest to me. Fighting back the sting of tears, I turned to the man who'd followed me there. "Then, Your Highness, I'd ask you to come to the family chapel and try."

For their fifth wedding anniversary, Xavier Parker gave Riley Quinn a gift: he forced 999 bottles of hard liquor down her throat. "Xavier, I really can't drink anymore..." Riley begged, her voice hoarse. He let out a cold laugh and leaned over her. "Your parents loved drinking so much they drove drunk and killed my entire family. You're their daughter. You must love drinking just as much." "I'm sorry." Riley's eyes reddened with despair. She had apologized countless times, so often that the words had become second nature. "But my parents already died to atone for that accident. Isn't that... enough?"

“Joseph, I’m begging you for the last time. On account of how young Rachel is, can we please extend the agreement?” Mrs. Gibson pleaded. Joseph said firmly, “Mrs. Gibson, we previously agreed that I’d divorce Chloe once the six years is up.” “Alright then,” Mrs. Gibson sighed regretfully. “I respect your decision. It’s been tough on you these few years…” “Thank you. Please keep my plans to go abroad a secret for now.”

When Sylvia Reed postponed our wedding for the fifth time, I found a pregnancy test report in her bag and decided to force the issue. Then I saw a trending local post. A woman rolled up her sleeves, baking cookies. Beside her, a man bent down to tease a child. One look was enough. I recognized the scar on her wrist. It was in the exact same spot as the one Sylvia got years ago when she took a knife for me. The scarf draped over the man's shoulders was one I'd custom-made for Sylvia. Our initials were stitched into it. The sight burned. I thought about how Sylvia had been glued to her phone lately, and how I'd heard a baby crying through it. Ten minutes ago, she'd sent me a voice message. "Luke, something urgent came up at the company. I can't make it back to try on the suit with you. Maybe we should postpone the wedding again? Next year. We'll definitely do it next year." But I'd already waited seven years for this wedding. I took off my groom's suit and cut it to pieces. Then I wiped my eyes, pulled out my phone, and dialed a number I hadn't called in seven years. "I'm short a bride for my wedding. Interested?"

In the short time I'm away at the restroom, the waiter has already cleared half the dishes on the table. My girlfriend and best friend move to a two-seat table by the window, sitting across from each other, completely engrossed in conversation. Neither of them even notices that I've left and come back. "I'm flying to Portside City next week. This hotel has a rooftop pool. Are you in, Captain Clark?" Dylan Humphrey's voice is bright. "If you like it, then sure. It could be a nice getaway." I freeze. That is the same hotel I had shared in our group chat a month ago. Back then, Hayley Clark had replied with only three words, "Stop following trends." Bitterness rises in my throat. Suddenly, I'm reminded of our high school graduation night. The three of us stay up late talking about our futures. Hayley says she wants to become a pilot, and Dylan swears he will be the most handsome flight attendant in the sky. Then, they both turn to me, their eyes shining with expectation. I say, "Then, I'll be an air traffic controller. No matter how high you two fly, I'll be the one guiding you." Now, watching them sit across from each other, chatting and smiling, I suddenly feel disheartened. I don't want to keep waiting for them to land anymore. My control tower is shutting down.

I'm famous in the rich wives' society for having an ostrich-like personality—cowardly and often loves escaping from reality. In my three-year marriage, I've personally conducted cosmetic surgeries on 99 substitutes of Callum Holden's first love, Alice Teller. Veronica Dane, the 99th substitute, stares at her reflection in the mirror in delight. There's a trace of mockery in her eyes at the same time. "Mrs. Holden, I heard that you've been alone throughout your marriage. What a shame… To think that the nation's best plastic surgeon can't work on altering her own face. "In order to thank you for your efforts, I'll give you a glimpse of Callum's bedroom performance when the time comes. How about that?" I tune out Veronica's mocking words. After all, I've gone through similar situations 98 times in the past, and I have fought back before. But all Callum said to me was, "You owe me this much, Talia. You can never finish atoning for your sins, even if it takes you your entire life!" The thing is, he has forgotten that I've given him 99 substitutes, just as I had promised. Now, I will never go looking for the love that is never mine, to begin with.

During the holiday, a hashtag related to honeymoon trips goes viral on social media. The topic is, "How are you planning to spend your honeymoon?" One of the threads that has the most replies reads, "I have to bring my mistress along, of course." "Wow! That's crazy. Can you teach us how to pull that off?" I frown as I scroll down the thread and find the reply. "There are a lot of poor, female backpackers these days. As long as the mistress acts pitiful enough, you can pull the wool over your wife's eyes. And just like that, a couple's haven will become a world of three. "My wife and I will be going on our honeymoon trip tomorrow. I'll give everyone live updates in this thread." Feeling disgusted, I close the thread. … The next day, my husband, Sean Clifford, and I meet a poor, female backpacker on the road. She has no car, money, or any suitcases with her. Sprawling herself across the windshield, she begs, "Can you give me a ride, sir? I have blisters all over my feet. I can't walk anymore."

The peach I’d given my childhood friend was rotting in the corner of his desk again. Juice had soaked through the little note I’d written, and the sickly sweet smell had everyone nearby complaining. One of my classmates covered his nose. “Mia Ander, is that your trash again? It stinks.” My face burned as I hurried over and picked up the peach. “It’s not trash! “It only went bad because no one bothered to take care of it.” Just then, Julian Waterson walked into the classroom. He paused for a moment. Then, without saying a word, he picked up the strawberry milk the prettiest girl in class had given him, pushed the straw through the lid, and took a sip. The next day, I brought another peach. But this time, I didn’t leave it on the corner of Julian’s desk. His longtime rival leaned across his desk and held out a hand with a grin. “If he doesn’t want it, give it to me.” “No.” “Why not?” I looked down and took a bite from the sweetest part of the peach. “Because from now on, I’m keeping the best for myself.”