قصص وروايات قصيرة من فئة Romance وعن Tragic Love وتضم Bias

My legs buckled when I was told that they'd fished the body of Christopher Quinton from the sea. My knees smashed into the gravel beneath my feet because I knew he'd have survived if he hadn't tried to save me. Three days later, I dealt with all the enemies and became the demoness of Porton's elite circle. Five years later, the pier business expanded considerably. However, I kept the scar on my arm as a memento to remind me of him. It had been five years since he died, exactly five years. I bought a bottle of herbicide in an attempt to take my own life. Then, I saw the supposedly dead Christopher proposing to my best friend, Zoe Shaw. I saw all my underlings congratulate them. I froze for a moment before charging ahead, demanding an explanation. Gus, the guy who'd worked for me for 12 years, stopped me. "Everyone knows, boss. Zoe's pregnant! Calm down!" Henry, the butler my father had left me, stopped me. "My lady, it's been a thorny path for Mr. Quinton and Zoe, and now they're getting married. You're already the head of the pier. Give them your blessing. Everyone knows how possessive you are. "They had to fake their death to keep away from you. It hasn't been easy for them either." I stared at the men who stopped me, my nails digging into my palm. It was then that I realized that my life was an utter joke. I flushed the herbicide down the toilet and sneered at Gus and Henry. "Then, you'll be holding their funerals."

My girlfriend and best friend adopted a stray. She kept going to his place ever since. Whenever she did, she would have that look of impatience on her face as she said, "I would go over to his place, but that cat only lets me hold it." Blake Chaucer sneered. "You think I want you at my place? It's the cat that likes you, not me." They would squabble whenever they met up. Still, it didn't take long for her to memorize his door's passcode. She even remembered how he needed something warm before bed because he had a weak stomach. When she didn't show up on my birthday, she said, "The cat's having a fever, and he can't handle it himself." I held my resentment over our situation for a long, long time, and it erupted on the day my parents came over. They wanted to see her. Alas, they waited for three hours, but she didn't come back. So, I went to Blake's place without telling them, and what greeted me was a particularly clean place that had no signs of a pet living there. There was no cattery, no litter box, and not even a strand of fur lying around. However, there was a pair of women's slippers sitting on the porch and a bottle of perfume Queenie Hilton regularly used in the bathroom. A sticky note was plastered on the fridge's door. It was her handwriting. It read, "I'm making dinner, you dummy."

The day the university released the family placement positions for doctoral graduates, I went straight to the Human Resources Office to register. But the staff member barely looked up before rolling their eyes. "Mr. Slater, everyone at this university knows you cheated on your wife and are about to leave the marriage with nothing. How do you still have the nerve to ask about the placement position?" I thought there had been some kind of misunderstanding. I rushed home, hoping to explain everything to my wife, only for my mother to slap me across the face. "I don't have a shameless son like you. Get out of Natalie's house!" I was driven back to the rural school where I had spent the past three years teaching. But by then, the entire village was filled with rumors about me, and even the children avoided me. The day I received the divorce papers my wife had mailed me, I returned home. But before I could enter, I overheard her talking to her friends through the half-open door. "Natalie, you spread those rumors and forced your husband into divorcing you just so Mr. Talbot could get that placement position. Aren't you worried your husband won't remarry you afterward?" She let out a dismissive laugh. "Not even my mother-in-law has a problem with it. No one but me would marry a penniless man like him! Ian needs this job more than he does. In a week, once everything's settled, I'll forgive him for 'cheating' and take him back. He'll be so grateful that he'll probably thank me for the rest of his life." My grip tightened around the divorce agreement until my knuckles turned white. If that was how it was going to be, then I would give her the divorce. But once I signed those papers, she could forget about ever remarrying me.

My fingerprint had never been given a permanent place in Haiden Buckley's smart lock. He always registered it as temporary access. Whenever he set it up again, he gave me the same reassuring promise. "Come by whenever you want. You're always welcome here." His words sounded generous, yet the result never changed. Whenever I returned to his house, the scanner rejected me with the same message—fingerprint not registered. That day was no different. I stood outside Haiden's front door, watching the scanner flash red after rejecting my fingerprint once again. After staring at it for a moment, I pulled out my phone and called him. Haiden answered almost immediately. His apology came easily, as though this were nothing more than a minor inconvenience. "Sorry. My friend was playing around with the lock yesterday and accidentally removed your fingerprint." He continued before I could respond. "Wait there for now. I'll register it again the next time I'm home." There it was again. Another promise for next time. My fingers tightened around my phone as memories of all the previous incidents returned. Two times ago, Haiden had blamed a system update for wiping out my access. Somehow, Kendall Hatfield's fingerprint had remained perfectly intact. Last time, he claimed the lock was faulty and that he needed to replace the entire control panel. But the truth had been much simpler. Kendall had casually remarked, "Keeping too many fingerprints in the system isn't safe." Soon afterward, mine had been removed. Haiden always had an explanation that sounded reasonable enough on the surface. Somehow, every convenient accident ended the same way. He gave Kendall exactly what she wanted, leaving her as the only woman with unquestioned access to his home. Haiden was still trying to reassure me over the phone. "Just stay there. I'll open the door for you when I get back." The call ended. A second later, a sharp click came from the other side of the door. I knew that sound. Someone inside had turned the deadbolt. Kendall knew I was right outside, yet she had deliberately locked the door anyway. I remained still for a few seconds before slowly getting to my feet. I brushed the dust from my pants and looked at the door one last time. 'Forget it. I don't want to go inside anymore.'

After saving money with Justin Pierre for five years, we finally went to view a house. My best friend, Maria Houston, came along too. "The master bedroom needs a walk-in closet. Can we knock down this wall?" she asked Justin while pointing at the floor plan I had been looking at for the past six months. "I'll get a designer to take a look tomorrow. You can change it however you want." The two of them discussed everything, from the direction the apartment faced to the tiles, from the floor-to-ceiling windows to the bathtub. Meanwhile, I stood in the corner, unable to get a word in. When it was time to sign the papers, he seemed to suddenly remember I was here and said, "We'll put this place under Maria's name for now. She's here all by herself, so consider it a company benefit. The company is a little tight on cash lately. You can keep renting for another two years." However, I had also left my hometown behind to build a life with him from nothing five years ago. Back then, we had squeezed into a tiny apartment without even air-conditioning, and he had made me a promise with absolute certainty. "Once the company takes off, the first thing I'll do is give you a home." Now that the company had finally succeeded, the first home he bought was for someone else. I stared at the two signatures side by side on the contract and realized there was no place for my name. Since he had already planned a future that did not include me, I was not going to wait for him anymore. Thinking about it, I opened the page to terminate my lease and confirmed it.

When my 520th flight touches down, I find my girlfriend—someone who has never once picked me up from the airport—waiting for me there in the terminal. Lindsay Shire is holding a bouquet of air-freighted roses and a velvet box with a diamond ring sparkling inside. The moment she drops to one knee, a collective, stunned gasp ripples through the crowd. We've been together for ten years, and this is the first time she's ever indicated that she wants to marry me. Pretending to keep my composure, I slip the ring onto my finger. My voice trembles as I say, "Lindsay, we—" But she suddenly laughs and glances to the side, one eyebrow arched smugly. "I told you he'd say yes. I won the bet. Hand over the painting." I freeze as a wave of cruel laughter erupts behind me. A whole crowd of wealthy socialites and trust-fund babies saunters over, led by none other than Trent Morasca—Lindsay's former fiance. He's laughing so hard that he's nearly in tears. "I was wondering why you kept him around for so long," Trent jeers. "If I had a lapdog this obedient, I wouldn't have the heart to kick him to the curb, either." Then he turns to me. "I heard you grew a backbone this time after your fight and actually moved out of Amber Estate. But the minute Lindsay crooks her finger, you come running back?" One of the rich heirs thrusts his camera into my face. "Guys, look at him! He actually fell for it! He's so moved he's actually got tears in his eyes!" "Lindsay, I think he's going to latch onto you now and demand you take responsibility!" he adds, before breaking into loud laughter. Lindsay shoots them a sideways glance, and the crowd instantly falls silent. For once, she actually bothers to explain. "It's Grandpa's 80th birthday, and I couldn't find a suitable gift in time. "Trent just won the 'Misty Peaks' painting at an auction last week, and you know how much Grandpa loves stuff like that. So, we made a bet. "As long as you accept my proposal, the painting would be mine."

Caelan Hanson takes three bullets for his ice-cold, beautiful foster sister, Misty White, before her grandfather, Joel White, finally agrees to let him marry her. However, while Caelan lies unconscious from his injuries, Misty announces that the man she intends to marry is Ezra Caldwell, an impoverished student who's sponsored by the White family. This announcement sends shockwaves throughout the entire city. After all, everyone knows just how ruthless Caelan is, the wolf cub Misty had raised with her own hands. Ezra's merely an intern reporter at Portside Press Holdings. He's nowhere near worthy of being on this scion's radar. Hence, when Caelan shows up at Misty and Ezra's engagement party, almost every guest is certain that this spoiled little tyrant, who has fallen hopelessly in love with his mother's goddaughter, is about to wreak havoc. Misty's expression, too, hardens. Instinctively, she shields Ezra behind her and warns him, "Know your place, Caelan!" However, he flashes the two of them with an extremely bright smile and responds obediently, "Congratulations, Misty! You've found yourself a fine fiance."

Gillian Chadwick, my fiancee, has always put her adoptive brother, Jude Chadwick, first. When a new romantic trend catches on, he gets the first gift, not me. When she buys her very first car, she gives him the first test drive. Even when a fire breaks out in our house in the middle of the night, she rushes into Jude's room first and drags him downstairs. She doesn't call to wake me until she has made sure he's safe. After getting burned in that fire, I finally lose my temper and demand Gillian choose between Jude and me. She looks at me in confusion. "Thomas, Jude is the only family I have in this world. Why are you competing with him? How about this? I promise to treat you both completely equally from now on, okay?" After a long hesitation, I finally agree. But later, Gillian gives the wedding ring she has custom-made to Jude, and she even lets him be the first to see her wedding dress. On the day we go to get our marriage certificate, Jude tags along. "Thomas, Gillian has never been married before. Let me try it out for you first," he said shamelessly.

My fiancee, Joanie Halter, and I live in the same city, less than five miles apart. And yet, we barely see each other more than twice a month. Whenever I ask when she's free, she always gives me the same answer. "I've just been really busy with work lately." Then, by chance, I come across her travel records. Out of the 52 weekends in the past year, she has bought plane tickets for 48 of them. The destination is always the same country, where her junior from school, Forrest Jacobsen, lives. She always leaves first thing Saturday morning and comes back Sunday night, rain or shine, sometimes even more punctual than she is about going to work. Our most recent date was yesterday, at the convenience store downstairs from her office. She hurriedly finishes her hot dog, checks her watch three times, then says, "I have a meeting." I smile, not exposing her lie. This will be her 49th trip. I neither call nor text her. Instead, I simply sign the lease transfer papers, then buy a one-way ticket to another city. She spends thousands of miles every week playing situationship with another guy. All I want is to move to a different city and stop waiting for someone who will never spend a single weekend with me.

For four years of marriage, Cillian Newberry's catchphrase had always been "wait." Traveling could wait until he wrapped up his work. Celebrating our wedding anniversary could wait until his meeting was over. Visiting my parents back in my hometown could wait until he had the time. Today was my birthday. I made sure to ask him two weeks in advance if he would be home for dinner. After he promised me he would be there, I spent the entire afternoon preparing his favorite dishes and waited for him to come home. However, I waited from six o'clock until nine, but he never showed. Then, an entertainment news broadcast caught my attention. [The CEO of Newberry Corporation was spotted picking up his childhood sweetheart after work! Could this be a case of old flames rekindling their romance?] I subconsciously looked up upon hearing the reporting. The broadcast showed a man holding an umbrella while tightly embracing a woman dressed in light clothing. It was only a few steps from the building entrance to his car, yet he tilted the umbrella toward the woman the entire way, letting the rain soak his own shoulder. Then, I received a text from him. [Something came up. I'll be back in a bit.] I thought I was used to waiting. I thought I was content with waiting quietly at the table for him to come home, as I always had. When I looked at him in his rain-soaked suit on the television, I realized I was done waiting.

"Your Highness, are you really going to secretly take blood from Miss Jerryton's heart and treat Miss Mullery with it?" The elderly imperial physician's hand that held the dagger trembled. The candlelight reflected the cold sweat on his forehead. Arrisa Jerryton lay on the bed. Her thin body sank into the luxurious quilt, and her face was as white as the first snow of winter. Louis Xavier spoke in a tone colder than the snow outside the palace. "Yes. I already fed her anesthetic powder. She is in a coma and will not wake up. Hurry up."

When the rebellious and flamboyant Sylvia Carter returned to her home country, she discovered that her family had already married her off to someone. Her husband was Jason Porter, the head of his family, who was eight years older than her. Naturally, Sylvia was reluctant to accept it. During their first meeting, having heard that Jason was disciplined, reserved, and a clean freak, she deliberately showed up in a black, form-fitting halter dress. She even hired eight male escorts to fuss over her with refreshments. Her parents were embarrassed. Just as they were about to apologize, Jason calmly leaned forward. He held them steady with his strong hands and spoke in a deep, clear voice. "This arranged marriage has put Ms. Carter in an uncomfortable position. I should be the one apologizing to her." Sylvia froze. She slowly raised her head and met Jason's intense gaze. He had such alluring amber irises.

The night before our graduation, I find out that my girlfriend of four years, Naomi Walker, has been financially supporting a low-income student named Luca Brown. Every month, the money she saves from her living expenses goes straight to Luca. I confront her with my phone in hand. She falls silent before finally admitting, "Yes, I feel sorry for him. So what?" Four years together, and it all means less to her than her sympathy for him. I'm not ready to let things end like that. I push aside my sadness and stand beside her for our graduation photo. Then her roommate, Ava Jackson, comes rushing over. "Naomi! Luca heard you're getting engaged to Caspian after graduating, and he took a whole bottle of sleeping pills in the dorm!"

Every time my wife, Jocelyn Seacross, visits her childhood sweetheart, Levi Anderson, who is terminally ill, she hints to me that maybe we should get a divorce. She says it's because Levi's dying wish is to have a proper place in her life. Today, she hints at it again. I don't kick up a fuss and simply say, "Okay." Because this conversation has already happened 99 times. This is the hundredth time this conversation has come up, and I finally find a reason to convince myself to let her go—our child is dead. Now, all that remains between Jocelyn and me are two certified copies of the marriage certificate.

After divorcing my unfaithful husband, Yale Gibson, I end up completely miserable. So when we remarry, I become the perfect wife he always wanted. When rumors swirl about him and Willow Leeds, I step forward to clear his name. When Willow falsely accuses me, he turns a blind eye while I immediately take the blame and apologize. Even when I'm set up and brought to the police station, I refuse to call him to bail me out. I simply tell the officers I have no family, letting them lock me up for an entire week. Seven days later, the heavy gates of the police station clang open at dusk. A sleek black Cullinan screeches to a halt right in front of me. Yale strides over, his brow furrowed slightly. "Sarah, why didn't you call me when you ran into trouble?" he asked. I give a faint, distant smile. "It's nothing serious. I didn't want to bother you." A flicker of unease crosses Yale's eyes. He replies, "I was overseas with Willow the past couple of days and didn't check my messages." He pauses, then lowers his voice. "I'm sorry." "It's fine," I say smoothly. "I wasn't expecting you to come anyway. Just focus on what you have to do." Yale stares at me for a moment before suddenly grabbing my wrist. "Why aren't you upset?" he asks. He keeps his eyes on me, confusion flickering in them, along with a hint of unease. I find it almost funny and reply, "Why would I be upset? You gave me an explanation, and I accepted it. There's nothing to be upset about." "Yale…" I look at the man in front of me, completely confused. "Isn't this exactly what you wanted?"

I know my chances of getting promoted are gone the moment I find out that Henry Zeller joined the company through connections. Henry is Yvonne Parker's first love, the one man she still hasn't gotten over. After the promotion is announced, Henry comes over. "If I were you, I wouldn't have expected any other outcome. You knew I was in the running," he says smugly. "After all these years, you should've known that it doesn't matter that you're her husband. I'll always be her first choice." I stare at him. I can't even remember how many times I've lost to him since he reentered my life. There was my last birthday, when Yvonne chose to go hiking with him. Then there was our anniversary, when she left me to go to him because he said he was scared. I don't remember anymore. All I know is that I've been waiting for this promotion for three years. Henry knows it, and so does Yvonne. After five years of marriage, I thought she would at least let me win once. But, once again, I lost. I look over wearily at Yvonne in the distance. I don't feel like competing with Henry anymore. I can't spend the rest of my life letting a woman who doesn't love me decide whether I get to win or lose.

Three days before my wedding to Natasha Bishop, my best friend Devon Hart shows up in tears, saying he's fallen in love with someone he shouldn't have. That night, I stay out drinking with him until we're both wasted, then I call Natasha to come pick me up. Wanting to mess with her, I slump face-down on the table and pretend to be passed out. Half an hour later, familiar footsteps stop right beside me. Natasha leans down and pinches my cheek, the way she always does when I'm drunk. "Graham?" I hold back a laugh and stay quiet, burying my face deeper into my arms, grinning to myself. Any second now, she'll sigh, help me up, and get me a glass of water, just like she always does. But her hand stops. Before I can even react, she turns and walks over to Devon. "How'd you let yourself get this drunk?" Devon grabs her hand, barely conscious. "Natasha…" She doesn't pull away. Instead, she leans down and murmurs, "I'm here." I lie there with my face still pressed to the table, suddenly stone-cold sober. And in that moment, I'm pretty sure I know exactly who Devon was talking about.

The day we go to pick out our wedding rings, I show up half an hour late trying to save five dollars on the cab fare. By the time I arrive, my boyfriend Travis White and best friend Evelyn Moon have already picked out two rings. They're too busy talking and don't even notice me standing behind them. "This 20 thousand dollar ring is your birthday present. And this 800-dollar one is for Sadie." Evelyn playfully punches Travis's arm. "Stop it! You've already been pretending to be broke to test Sadie for three years. Isn't that enough? "If you dare treat my best friend badly after getting married, you'll have to answer to me!" Travis sighs. "I checked her bank balance last night. She's only got two thousand dollars. She spends too much and doesn't know how to save." I freeze. So, the luxury purchases and property acquisitions I've seen on his phone aren't sent to the wrong person after all. "Whatever. As long as she doesn't get greedy when she chooses the ring, I'll tell her the truth at the wedding," Travis adds. But I think it's time to put an end to his little test.

It's only a day after my death, and my wife, Abbie Johnson, is at a hotel with her first love, wearing a red dress. I once told her while I was drunk, "Next life around, I'll let you go. And I'll set myself free, too." Abbie just rolled her eyes and scoffed. "I can't wait. Hope that day comes sooner." Now she gets her wish. I'm gone. She walks right past my body without batting an eye. Yet the moment they slide me into the incinerator, she suddenly charges forward like she has lost her mind. "Can we please just stop fighting?"

On our sixth anniversary, I waited ten hours for my boyfriend in the middle of a Colorado blizzard. I waited until the coffee stand closed, the last shuttle was canceled, and my toes went numb. I called Mason thirty-one times. He never picked up. At 9:53 p.m., the video call finally connected. But the person on the screen wasn't Mason. It was my best friend, Tessa. She was sitting in his passenger seat, smiling. "I came up a couple of days early. Figured I'd borrow your tour guide." I asked Mason why he hadn't come. He said impatiently, "It's Tessa's first time here. I can't just leave her alone." It wasn't that he couldn't come. He had simply chosen to leave me behind. Ten minutes later, I called about the London project I'd turned down two weeks earlier. "Is the offer still open? I'm in." The snow still hadn't stopped, but I'd already decided to leave.