Plot Twists Romance 단편 소설 & Hypocrisy Marriage 소설

On the 999th day of our relationship, Declan Fletcher took a photo of the half-empty cup of my coffee and posted it in the group chat, deducting 20 points from my score. There were only three people in the chat group—me, him, and my cousin Rachel Black. He circled the 28-dollar bill, his tone sounding like he was judging a thief who stole money. Declan: [Sonia Golding, I've said before, splitting the bills 50-50 doesn't mean you get to take advantage of me. If you really want to marry a regular guy, you'd better stop spending money like a gold digger. Declan was my boyfriend for three years. He was also the poor kid I thought was struggling with family debt, a seriously ill mother, and who could not even afford a new shirt. That was why I paid half of the rent, half of the water and electricity bills, and even secretly covered half of the caretaker fee for his mother's hospitalization. He set up a relationship point system for me. One minute late: -5 points. Ordering an expensive dish: -10 points. Expecting a gift on a holiday: -30 points. I spent three years racking up points just to go from 'not marriage material' to 'worth considering'. However, he never once counted the cost when it came to Rachel. If Rachel wanted expensive food, he would treat her. If she wanted to visit an island for Independence Day, he would book two first-class tickets that very night. It was not until today that his driver accidentally delivered a prenuptial agreement to me instead of him that I realized Declan was not penniless. He owned three properties and two companies. The handbags he bought for Rachel cost enough to cover my rent for three years. It turned out that splitting the bill 50-50 was not his principle but a calculated move to filter out the women who genuinely cared. That evening, he transferred 28 dollars to me for drinks. The remark read: [Cover any unnecessary expenses yourself.] I accepted the money and sent him a breakup bill in return. Sonia: [I've lost out over these past three years. I'm done with you.]

When I'm eight months pregnant, my parents, who sold me off when I was a child, beg for my forgiveness and ask me to come home to await the birth of my baby. Suddenly, a gas explosion occurs. Without a moment's hesitation, Mom and Dad shove me aside and rush through the inferno. They are quick to carry my younger sister, Avril Holden, who suffers from leukemia, to safety. Only my husband, Zack Burton, charges into the flames like a madman to rescue me. He even brings in a top-tier medical team for my treatment after I'm rescued from the fire. In the end, I lose my baby, and a falling roof beam leaves me with a broken leg. As I hobble along to catch one last glimpse of my child, I see Zack outside the morgue, pulling Avril into an excited embrace. "Thank God, Avril! We can now harvest Ashley's bone marrow while she's unconscious, and you'll be cured! You'll be back to your old self in no time." I once believed Zack was my warm, reliable refuge, but it turns out it was nothing more than an illusion all along. The marriage I once took such pride in has become a bitter, freezing winter. If that's how it is, then I shall simply let go.

I suffer from severe depression, while Jayden Sherwell's best friend, Mindy Quest, is always quick to call people out for being dramatic. When my condition flares up, Mindy poisons the emotional support dog that has been by my side for five years. When I learn about Teddy's death, I break down and try to kill myself. Mindy locks me alone in the bedroom. "Suicide is just stupid. She's trying to kill herself over a dog? Just leave her alone to think things through," Mindy says. I pound on the door. My hands tremble as I grip a knife and hover it over my wrist. I keep telling myself over and over that I can't kill myself. I crawl to the drawer and search for my antidepressants, but it's empty. Mindy's smug laughter rings out from outside the door. "I just flushed them down the toilet. Just hang in there. Taking medication for years has made you stupid. "Now you try to kill yourself over every little thing." My physical symptoms become severe. I lie on the floor, struggling to breathe as I fight to call out to Jayden for help. Unable to bear watching me suffer, Jayden opens the door, but the moment he touches me, he takes two steps back. "Mindy is right. You aren't depressed. You're just being dramatic," he says. "You can't expect us to cater to you forever. Just hang in there. You'll be better soon." I collapse over Teddy's cold body, and whatever warmth remains in my heart disappears. At that moment, I feel as if I completely lose the will to go on living.

Nathan Riley and I had been married for five years. Throughout those five years, whenever I asked him about his relationship with Rosie Cooper, he always gave me the same answer. "She's like a little sister to me." I believed him right up until the crash. That was the day I finally learned who Nathan would choose if his wife and his so-called little sister were both in danger. It happened during a chain-reaction collision on a mountain highway. The SUV I was in smashed through the guardrail, leaving half the vehicle hanging over a cliff. A jagged piece of metal tore through the window and sliced across my face. Blood poured into my eyes, turning everything around me into a blur of red. Nathan reached out to me first and grabbed my hand. For one brief second, I thought I was safe. Then, Rosie started crying from the wrecked car nearby. "Nathan, I don't want to die. Please get me out first." His expression changed instantly. I tightened my grip on his hand. "Nathan, don't let go. There's nothing beneath me." His jaw clenched, and he started prying my fingers off his hand. "Joslyn, can you stop making this harder? Rosie's been on her own since she was a child." Suddenly, the SUV lurched beneath me. My grip slipped from Nathan's hand, and I plunged into the darkness below. The last thing I saw before everything went black was Nathan turning away from me and rushing toward Rosie. When I woke up, Nathan was sitting beside my hospital bed, looking as though he had not slept in days. The moment he noticed me stirring, relief washed over his face. He quickly took my hand, murmuring my name and thanking the heavens that I had finally woken up. I kept my eyes closed and pretended not to recognize his voice. "Excuse me, sir… Are you with the rescue team?"

I've just received a text from my CEO wife, Cara Lavigne. Apparently, she's gone on another last-minute business trip again, so she can't accompany me to the funeral home. But soon, I see Cara's silhouette being captured in a photo, where she celebrates her assistant, Warren Stone's birthday with him in a work-related post he has just uploaded. The caption reads, "Thank you for the amazing cake, boss! I feel so happy to be able to celebrate my birthday!" I just smile calmly before leaving a like and a comment. "Happy birthday." My colleagues, on the other hand, start betting pools like mad to see what kind of tricks I'm going to pull this time in order to kick up a ruckus. Cara calls me immediately just to scold me. "Warren is just celebrating his birthday, so what's with the comment? He's a very sensitive person, you know! How is he going to survive in this company now that you've passive-aggressively humiliated him in that public post? "It's been barely two years since Warren joined this company, not to mention he doesn't have any friends! What's wrong with me celebrating his birthday with him, huh? People like you, who are born with silver spoons in their mouths, will never understand Warren's plight! "I want you to delete your comment right now! We'll talk more about this once I'm home! Your dad is already dead anyway, so you can just wait for a few more days before claiming his body!" I can only clench my fists tightly as I listen to Cara's heartless and nonchalant words. "No need for that." Once she is back, the divorce procedures will be done.

On Halloween night, I went to pick up my husband after he had been drinking. As I reached the door, I heard someone inside asking about the wildest thing anyone had ever done. In his drunken haze, my husband muttered, “I’ve been living a second life behind my wife’s back. After Halloween, I’ll end things with the other woman, go back home for good, and try to make it up to her.” My heart sank, though I felt a small sense of relief that he was getting back on the right track. He continued, “After all, our two kids are just three years old. This is when they need their dad the most.” Everyone in the private room praised him for being responsible, saying that nothing was more precious than a reformed man. I stood frozen in place, because we had agreed not to have children when we got married. I was the “other woman”.

I've infiltrated into a private group chat called "The Domestication Project". The group owner is in the middle of spamming her experience of her destroying her husband's mental willpower. "I've secretly swapped out my husband's anti-depressants for something else. Every day, I keep telling him that he's a useless, pathetic loser. Once he's hopelessly dependent on me, I'll have him thrown into a mental hospital and take over his company naturally." All the group members keep praising the group owner for being a total professional in gaslighting her husband. Soon, they start asking for her methods and experience. I tap on the photo of an experimental journal that the group owner has just sent. To my shock, the name listed on the mental health report with a diagnosis of severe depression is actually my own! As for the haughty group owner, she's Sophie Hayes, my wife of ten years! Yesterday, that woman told me with red-rimmed eyes that she'd rather go bankrupt just to cure me of my depression! It turns out that her devotion and love toward me for the past ten years is nothing but a grand yet cruel plot to murder me slowly! Since Sophie wants me to get reduced into a lunatic who has lost all of his marbles, then I shall put on an insane show for her. After that, I lock the doors in the mansion and dump the gasoline that I've just bought all over the living room.

Cole Hartness has abandoned me in the snow mountain for a week. By the time the search-and-rescue team finds me, I'm practically on my deathbed. Cole remains high and mighty even when surrounded by the others. "Rach is kind enough to forgive you even though you almost killed her in the snow mountain. If it wasn't for her pleading for your sake, you'd be staying here for another week. "Our engagement banquet shall be delayed. We'll only proceed with it once Rach makes a full recovery." Cole is already prepared for my impending tantrum. After all, he knows that I've been looking forward to the engagement banquet for a long time. But I reply obediently, "Okay." For a few moments, Cole finds himself stunned. "You owe Rach this much! Once she's done recovering, we'll get engaged! Stop being so unreasonable—" "Cole, I'd like to rest for a while," I cut him off before closing my eyes tiredly. What Cole doesn't know is that I've already decided to leave him the moment he makes the decision to ditch me in the mountain. That is, if I can survive the avalanche.

During the long National Day holidays, I planned a Golden Highlands trip for the whole family. I even booked tickets for a luxurious train ride so we could enjoy the scenery. But on departure day, my husband and son vanished. I called my husband. I could hear an airport boarding announcement in the background. My voice trembled. "Where are you?" He panicked and mumbled that the company had an emergency before hanging up. I tried calling again, but the line was busy. The next day, he posted an update on his social media. In the photo, he stood beneath the snowy peaks of Wintercrown with one arm around his old love while the other held our son. The caption read: [If we had been a little braver back then...] A friend commented: [Where is your wife?] I stared at his reply: [She's sick and resting at home.] Three expired train tickets sat on the table as my eyes welled up with tears. A decade of marriage. A pack of lies. It was time to bring it all to a close.

My younger sister, Noelle Lynch's 18th birthday wish is to personally give me the wedding bouquet at my wedding. That's why throughout the five years of Noelle getting tormented by polio, the sentence that I utter to my fiance, Jeremy Morgan, the most is, "Wait a little longer." I want to wait till Noelle is fully recovered and can give me the wedding bouquet. Only when that time comes will the wedding be held. At first, Jeremy keeps arguing with me over this matter. "You're marrying me, not Noelle! Is it that important for her to attend our wedding? My mom really wants us to have a child! If we're not getting married by this year, then we might as well break up!" Things between us have soured since that day. When Noelle finally recovers from polio at the end of the year and wins the pageant as Miss Global Winner, I specifically give myself a long vacation. Then, I secretly contact the wedding planning company in hopes of moving the wedding date forward. But the staff member asks me in shock, "Didn't Mr. Morgan hold his wedding last month?" She even digs out the backup video from the wedding on her computer. In the video, Jeremy can be seen wearing a white suit. With red-rimmed eyes, he slides a ring onto the bride's finger. Shockingly enough, this bride is Noelle, the very same person who keeps claiming that I'm her salvation. I feel as though I've plunged into an icy abyss. Subconsciously, I log into Noelle's social media account. The first thing I see is a barrage of messages from Jeremy. "Honey, I already told her that I'd go on a business trip for a month. We'll meet up at the airport right on time. "By the way, remember to bring the black lace stockings that I've given you. I'm already looking forward to seeing you wearing them…" I clutch my phone tightly at the sight of the messages. Then, I hail a cab and rush to the airport immediately.

At my engagement party, a female dog was sitting on my fiancee’s seat. Her guy best friend, Ryan Anderson, was holding the leash. “Bro, don’t take it personally. Your fiancee drank too much the night before at her bachelorette party, that’s why I’m letting her sleep in for a bit longer.” Everyone looked at me mockingly as they laughed. I felt as though someone had slapped me. All the guests had arrived, but Lily Smith showed up late. “It’s our engagement party today. Are you asking me to marry a dog?” I asked as I suppressed my anger. Lily grabbed Ryan’s sleeve and glared at me impatiently. “What are you talking about? Ryan saw that I was too tired, so he let me rest for a bit longer. Are you seriously offended? “As my fiance, you should be more understanding, like him!” It felt ridiculous and wrong to me. My heart sank as I stood up. “Fine, since he treats you so well, you should marry him then!”

When I get married to Zachary Lennor, I know that he has a younger, depressed sister who's a huge pain in the ass. On our wedding night, she suddenly barges into our room with the excuse that she's terrified of the dark. That's why she wants Zachary to sleep with her. When I get hospitalized due to my illness and need Zachary to take care of me, his sister insists that he go home to eat all three meals with her every day. Otherwise, she'll go on a hunger strike. Even when Zachary and I are on a date, his sister will call him immediately, claiming that her depression is acting up. If he doesn't go home right away, she will jump off a building without hesitation. Unable to take it anymore, I unleash my anger on Zachary's sister. But Zachary is quick to shield her from my ire. With an icy expression, he tells me, "I only have one sister, whereas I can always get myself another wife. If you can't stomach her presence at all, we'll get a divorce right now." I keep tossing and turning in bed at night, unable to sleep at all. That's when I decide to get out of bed just so I can apologize to Zachary and his sister. As soon as I walk to the doorway, I hear a familiar voice whining from the master suite, where Zachary stays. "Zach, since Samantha got so mad at me today, does this mean she's found out that I'm not your actual sister at all, but your ex-wife?" Zachary pauses momentarily before saying reassuringly, "Even if she does, it's fine. Although I do love her, I've already vowed to stay with you forever the day I married you. "So, even though we're already divorced, I will still keep my word. I won't let you go." At that moment, I finally realize that Zachary's so-called younger sister is just a fake identity. Her depression is also a big fat lie. I'm the only one who's been kept in the dark about everything in this performance. In that case, I'm not going to humor these jerks anymore.

The day I have only 220 dollars left in my savings, I buy a 200-dollar ticket to a piano recital. When my friend finds out, she asks if I have gone crazy. I reply without a hint of emotion, "I just want to see what kind of woman is worth taking all our savings and spending it on a concert grand piano for. "That money was supposed to save our daughter. Summer was counting on it for her surgery." The recital lasts two full hours, and everyone praises the beautiful music. But all I can think about is the woman onstage and my husband, Zander Stafford, sitting right in front of her. He's dressed in a sharp suit and looks so refined that I barely recognize him. At the end of every song, Zander is always the first to applaud. There is a fervor in his eyes I have never seen before. It isn't until the recital ends that I finally receive a message from him after two months of silence, along with a bank transfer. "I'm sorry, Sabina. Things are tight at the construction site right now, so I'm using some of the money from that account," he writes. "My boss says he'll pay me back as soon as the money comes in. "Didn't you say Summer is sick and in the hospital? Take these 5,000 dollars for now." I look up at the two people embracing in the center of the stage. I return the money and reply, "It's not necessary." I no longer need it. I will never need his money again. Summer is already dead, and nothing matters anymore.

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.”

My wife has a severe sex addiction. But in the seven years we've been married, she never lets me touch her. To suppress her urges, she spends all day submerged in ice-cold water, and her arms are covered in needle marks. Several times, I try to initiate intimacy out of concern for her, but her reaction is terrifying. She even threatens to kill herself. "I told you, I only want a Platonic relationship in this lifetime. Can you stop being so selfish? If you insist on making me do that, I'd rather die!" she exclaims. She maintains this unusual obsession for seven years. Even after ending up in the hospital multiple times from suppressing her desires, she refuses to cross that line. Then, on our wedding anniversary, a man comes in for a pre-check of his phalloplasty enlargement for the ninth time. After the anesthesia takes effect, he begins rambling incoherently. "Honey, I love you so much." Looking at the surgical scars, I shake my head, thinking this guy is really willing to go to extreme lengths for his wife. Then, I hear his final murmur. "Tasha, aren't I so much better compared to your useless husband?" My hand jerks, and I nearly drop the scalpel. It is because my wife's name is Tasha Snyder.

Late one night, I was scrolling through social media and stumbled upon a trending post. "Does your husband ever say you're obsessed with your brother?" One comment sat at the top with thousands of likes. The profile picture showed a cartoon girl covering her mouth, laughing. "Oh, I can answer this one! My husband used to say that too, but here's the thing: he's actually the son I had when I was 19!" Every word oozed with smug satisfaction. Some commenters tore into her, calling her manipulative and her husband a total sucker. She only got bolder. She posted a screenshot of a bank transfer with the details blurred out, right next to a photo of limited-edition sneakers. "All my son had to say was he liked them, and my husband caved! Then he gave him extra cash for a fancy dinner!” "A guy like this? If I don't milk him, who will?" I stared at the sneakers and the transfer amount. They matched exactly what I had bought for my "brother-in-law" that afternoon and the money I had just sent him. Down to the last cent. Ice shot through my veins. That sucker she was bragging about? That was me.

A month before our wedding, my fiance decides to father a child with his late best friend's widow. I don't lose it or make a scene. Instead, I calmly send him a text. "There are plenty of ways for her to become a mother. Why does she have to have your baby?" A second later, he calls and accuses me of being unreasonable. "My best friend entrusted her to me on his deathbed. She doesn't know anyone here, and I'm all she has. Why is it such a big deal if I have a child with her? Besides, we're using IVF. It's not like we're sleeping together, and I'm still going to marry you." I smile as I text him back. "Don't bother. I'm marrying someone else, so you two can have each other."

I was thrown out someone else's door twice before I even turned thirty. The first time was during my marriage with Donald Stern, a businessman. When it was time for my pregnancy checkup, I found out he was making love to a college girl right in front of the 100th floor's window. He called me a childish woman and threw me out the door. My father told me that all wealthy men cheated sooner or later. To prove people wrong, I married my childhood friend of ten years, Shawn Foster. He was accepting and caring of me. He did not mind that my ex-husband still sent apology gifts every year. He did not even mind that we had no children after three years of marriage. Every time we were going at it and reaching the climax, he would nibble on my ear and whisper, "We don't need children. All I need is you." On our anniversary, he brought home a woman I had never seen before and ordered the butler to throw my luggage out of the main bedroom. I clenched the pregnancy test I had not yet shown him. With a trembling voice, I asked, "What's the meaning of this?" A cigarette sat between his fingers. He had a look on his face that said he had just heard the biggest joke getting cracked. "Drop the act already, Yvonne. Haven't you learned anything from Donald dumping you?"

My son, Yale Foster, had what they called school-pickup anxiety. Every afternoon before dismissal, he needed to know I was home waiting for him. So when he called from his smartwatch yet again to tell me not to come get him, Yates Foster looked genuinely troubled. "Winnie, don't come to the school. "If Yale sees you at the gate, he will start panicking that you're going to leave him. Once he starts crying, no one can calm him down." I stood there with my car keys in my hand, unsure what I was supposed to do. Yates sighed. "Mom's already gone to pick him up. Just stay home and wait for him." That was how three years passed with me almost never picking up my own son from school. Helen Foster handled pickup in my place and went with him on the school's family field trips. Whenever I wanted to go myself, someone always had a reason why I shouldn't. "The entrance gets so crowded. You'll only make him more anxious." "His teacher says Yale's finally getting used to the routine. We shouldn't keep changing who picks him up." "Winnie, you already work so hard. Leave little things like pickup to us." I believed them. Until today, when I happened to see a group chat on Helen's phone. Buried in the group's photo album was a password-protected folder: [Yale's Growing Up] I opened it and found everything I'd missed: school performances, parent-teacher conferences, family field days, graduation photos. Three hundred twenty-seven pictures. In every one of them, Yates, Yara Xavier, and Yale stood together. I wasn't in a single shot. In one photo, Yara even had a name tag pinned to her chest that read: [Yale Foster's Mom] The last file was a video. Yale was holding up an award when he asked, "Dad, why isn't Mom here yet?" Yates smiled and corrected him. "Mommy Yara is already here, isn't she?" Everyone behind the camera burst out laughing. And just like that, I understood. For the past three years, while they kept finding reasons to shut me out, they'd been letting another woman take my place throughout Yale's entire childhood.

On the day I caught my fiancé, Henry Smith, in our bed with my adopted sister, Stacy Ellis, I slipped into severe depression and took 30 sleeping pills. After I was saved, my parents, Harold and Karen Ellis, told me calmly that Stacy had been diagnosed with a terminal illness and only had three months to live. It was up to me if I wanted to forgive them. Henry teared up as he begged me, "It doesn't matter if you're willing to forgive. I'll keep my promise to give you a wedding in a month." When I saw how much he regretted what he did, I gave in to him. That ended when I came across a private conversation on my brother's phone. His name was Toby Ellis, and he was a doctor. Stacy had sent him a voice note, and she could be heard laughing daintily. "You're so smart, forging that medical report to trick that crazy woman, Toby." My hands were trembling when I confronted my family with the conversation. However, Toby remained silent and smoked his cigarette while my parents looked tired as they blamed me instead. "You're too emotionally fragile. We wouldn't have gone so far as to lie to you if we hadn't been afraid that you'd try to kill yourself again." Henry's eyes were filled with hate as he shielded Stacy behind him. "Can't you just be a little more accepting? Are you really determined to see your family all apart?" I watched the man I loved and my family make demands for me to give in to Stacy. I swallowed hard, tasting blood. In the end, I smiled calmly. They were willing to go as far as to claim that Stacy was suffering from a terminal illness just to protect her. All the while, they were unaware that my severe depression was real. It was also true that somatization was causing many of my organs to fail. I no longer wanted this family, especially when I would not be surviving past this winter.