Mga Maiikling Kuwento at Nobelang Melodramatic Romance Independence

After I fail my mission, the system grants me three days to say goodbye. For the first time, I become the perfect husband in Kristen Snowe's eyes. I stop waiting up for her when she doesn't come home. I stop fighting with her over the money she keeps giving to her childhood friend, Jake Leigh. On the first day, she scoffs at me. "If you'd acted like this from the beginning, I wouldn't feel so sick and tired of you!" On the second day, she starts to get suspicious. "That's it? You're not mad? You're not up to something, are you?" By the third day, she's the one falling apart. "Honey… Why aren't you jealous anymore?" I smile. "Isn't this exactly what you wanted?"

I, Isabella Norton, once made a promise with Julian Lawson, the billionaire CEO. After 98 proposals, he vows to appear at the doors of the city hall on my 99th attempt. But when the day comes, he doesn't show up. Instead, he brings his mistress, Natalie Mayer, to a concert. The sweet kiss they share under the camera's spotlight quickly turns into a trending sensation. At the same time, I also make headlines for turning up at the city hall for the 99th time. Speculations about the mysterious groom who never makes an appearance run wild. Everyone wonders when I will make my 100th attempt to propose. Out of guilt, Julian promises to show up next time when he realizes that I have carried out my promise. But when he finally arrives there clad in an impeccable suit, all he receives is a text message from me. "There won't be a hundredth proposal. It's over between us."

“Lenny, I’m not telling you to hand over your engagement to Ava for nothing. I will make it up to you…” The familiar voice echoed in her ears, and the pain made Lena snap her eyes open. In a daze, she realized with a jolt that she had been sent back in time to exactly one month before her wedding to Henry. Her father, Chase Johnson’s earnest, pleading expression was identical to the one in her memories when he had forced her to give up her engagement. “Fine,” Lena said, her voice slightly hoarse as she abruptly cut him off. Chase could not hide the joy on his face. “Lenny, you’ve finally come to your senses!” A cold, detached look flickered in Lena’s eyes, and her lips curled into a faint, mocking smile. “I want one billion dollars–” “One billion? Have you lost your mind?” Before she could even finish her sentence, her father's face turned a deep, angry purple, the veins on his temples bulging out. Lena casually tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, taking her time to finish the rest of her sentence. “Plus, a legally binding document cutting all ties with you. We will no longer be father and daughter.”

I had been in a relationship with Celine Jodie for seven years, but she married her first love, Dylan Graham, a month before our wedding. One afternoon, I was checking the guest list when a screenshot popped up in the wedding planning group. The screenshot was of another group chat called 'Our Promise at 18'. There was a photo of Celine and Dylan standing at the entrance of the local county clerk's office, holding their marriage certificate, and below were people who responded with texts. Her brother, Jordan Jodie, said: [Did you manage to keep it a secret from Gabriel? Don't let him delay the wedding over this matter.] My best friend, Isaac Tatum, replied: [Don't worry, he's still waiting for Celine to come back to try on her wedding dress.] Celine's best friend, Hailey Krate, wrote: [They just want to give their youth a proper ending. It's only a temporary marriage certificate. It's not like we're actually changing the groom.] Celine said: [Let's keep this from Gabriel for now. I'll explain to him after the wedding.] I held my phone, my fingertips cold. Two seconds later, the screenshot was unsent. The wedding planning group was silent for a moment. Then, Jordan casually asked how many boxes of candy I wanted to order, and Isaac urged me to try on my suit tomorrow. I stared at the screen and answered: [No need to order candy for doorgifts anymore. The groom won't be attending.]

In the fifth year of her marriage, Natalie Shaw is taken to the police for the 199th time after being mistaken for a mistress. Someone comes to bail her out. Her face is covered in scratches and blood. A chunk of her hair has been ripped out, exposing raw, bleeding skin. It's a horrifying sight. She cries from the pain. But soon, she goes numb. She sits in the chair in silence, trying to untangle her hair, which has been clumped together by thick, sticky blood. Only when a police officer hands her a document and tells her she is free to leave does she slowly lift her head. And sure enough, the person who has come to bail her out is not her husband, Adrian Carter.

On our fifth anniversary, I booked out the rooftop lounge to propose to James. Everything was set. Roses, champagne, candles. The only thing missing was him. Then my phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number. “Don’t bother waiting. He’s across the street buying a ring for his childhood sweetheart.” I laughed. Thinking it was a sick prank, I just looked out the window. Directly across the street, in the glass window of a luxury jeweler, James was sliding a diamond ring onto another woman’s finger. My phone vibrated again. “I confessed to you three years ago. “Knowing this now... Will you marry me?” ---

On Valentine's Day, my husband, Jason Smith, gets sent to the hospital after getting into a car crash. He's not alone—his naked adopted sister, Susan Lane, is sent there as well. The police officer explains to me, "Your boyfriend got distracted when he was driving, resulting in him crashing into a car that was in the opposite lane." After that, I retrieve the items that have survived the crash. They consist of a diamond ring, a pair of stockings, a pack of condoms, and an agreement. "I, Jason Smith, promise that I will never see Susan Lane ever again!" Three days later, Jason gets discharged from the hospital. He shows up in front of me with a bouquet. "Happy Valentine's Day, honey! Susan thinks these flowers are rather fresh, and that it's a waste to throw them away. I remember you loving flowers the most. You should get them placed in a vase. Don't let them go to waste." I just shake my head as I stare at the bouquet. The flowers are as rotten as my five-year marriage. That's why it's time to throw everything into the bin once and for all.

I'm in the hills for a project inspection when a sudden downpour hits. I lose my footing and tumble down a steep slope. Lying in a pool of blood, I fumble for my phone and call my husband, Joel Grant, who's supposed to be nearby. "Rachel has anxiety. I only brought her back to her hometown to help her unwind. Can you stop being so paranoid and jealous for once? You're due in two weeks. I'll be there, okay? Just behave." In the background, I hear Rachel giggle softly. "The models have to be in their birthday suit for sketching, right?" Joel hangs up without another word. My sister-in-law—and best friend—Chloe Murphy finds me. She's sobbing as she cradles me, desperately trying to call her husband, Michael Grant, for help. "Are all pregnant women insane these days?" Michael snaps. "Don't start with the same manipulative crap as Anna. Joel and I are busy modeling for Rachel. We don't have time for your petty dramas." Then he blocks her. My injuries are too severe. There's no way help will arrive in time. Despite being heavily pregnant herself, Chloe hoists me onto her back and carries me down the mountain to the nearest hospital. Somehow, I survive. My baby doesn't. Chloe, devastated and physically pushed past her limits, loses her child too. "I want a divorce," I whisper with my eyes swollen from crying. "Me too. I'm done with Michael." We filed for divorce together. That's when Joel and Michael finally lose their minds.

Maude Ellington's fiance sends a message to his first love before their wedding. "You've always been the one I wanted to marry." With their wedding fast approaching, Maude watches him meticulously plan every detail with his first love in mind. She quietly lets it all go. Because she no longer wants the wedding. And she no longer wants him.

Three years back, a crash wrecked Rhea's hearing—and the future she'd built her life around. At her lowest point, Eddie stayed by her side like a hero, pulling her out of the shadows. But the second she got her hearing back and thought she could finally tell him... she heard the truth: he'd planned the whole thing. For his beloved. So she could win. Yeah, he was already engaged. To that girl. Rhea didn't cry. Didn't scream. Just picked up her phone. "Grandpa, I'm ready. I'm taking back the Cliburn name. And I'm entering the international piano competition as your heir."

Julian Carter orders me to clean up his childhood sweetheart's new home when I'm still recovering from childbirth. "Everyone knows you're good at home economics! Things will be much easier for us with your help." I'm wrapping things up when I feel something dampen my pants. The discharge trickles down my leg and onto the floor. Nadine Stephens covers her mouth and cries dramatically, "What's that? It's so disgusting!" She even bends over and pretends to gag. Awkwardness and shame wash over me, making me want to dig a hole and hide myself. However, Julian grabs me and scowls. "I told you to come here to help. You're causing trouble on purpose, aren't you?" It's Valentine's Day, but he chases me out and tells me to go home. I wait for him for the whole night with our child in my arms. He only returns the following day with love bites on his neck. That's when I know we won't have a future together.

One night before our engagement, Darren Finch insisted on throwing a singles party aboard a cruise ship. He made it clear I wasn't invited. But in the middle of the night, I got a call saying he'd fallen overboard. Panic overtook me. Feverish and disoriented, I stumbled to the deck and dove into the sea without a second thought. The night waters were icy, sapping the strength from my limbs. As I was pulled back onto the deck, shivering and soaked, I heard laughter ring out from the crowd. Carrie Specter, Darren's childhood sweetheart, stood above me. She gave a soft, lilting laugh. "Seeing how far you're willing to go for Darren... I can finally hand him over to you without worry." At that, Darren wrapped an arm smugly around her waist. "Carrie, you really do know me best." "I told you," she beamed, "Paula would pass your test." I let out a cold laugh, slipped the engagement ring from my finger, and flung it at his face. "No, thanks. I wish you two eternal bliss. Just don't ever drag me into your drama again."

As soon as I leave the hospital after my abortion, I send my husband, Rykel Heffer, a message. "I terminated the pregnancy." I get an instant reply. "Okay." I stare at that single word and suddenly find it almost funny. For years, whenever I gave him a heads-up before heading into a high-risk assignment, the only reply I got was "okay". And whenever I reminded him that if he was unable to reach me for 24 hours, he should come looking for me, I also got a simple "okay". When I was trapped under the rubble after a building collapsed and lost contact for 72 hours, I sent Rykel 309 desperate messages, consumed by fear. He replied with 309 "okay"s. Only now do I realize that every reply I have ever received has been an automated response. Since Rykel never reads my messages, naturally, he has no idea that half a month ago, I told him I would be taking an overseas assignment and terminating the pregnancy today. His attention and affection have always belonged to the woman who fills his social media feed—Joey Mugbrey. "It's our thousand-day anniversary, and it's Joey's birthday too!" The post is accompanied by a screenshot of their chat history. Above the countless messages is a 1,000-day streak, celebrating their thousand days together. I tap "Like" on his post and leave a comment. "A wonderful day indeed." Today marks the anniversary of the day I narrowly escaped death in that collapse years ago. More importantly, it is the day I decide to leave Rykel for good.

Luna Baxter and Simon Fulmer have been married for five years. One day, she receives a provocative voice message and intimate photos from Simon's first love. They're sent from his phone, too. "I've only been back in the country for half a year, but he took the bait as soon as I laid it. He's prepared blue fireworks for me tonight, but I don't like the color blue. To avoid wastage, you can have them on your wedding anniversary." Luna and Simon's fifth wedding anniversary comes a month later. She looks out the window at the blue fireworks lighting up the sky. Then, her gaze lands on the empty seat across from her. Simon's first love challenges her again. She sends her a photo of them having a candlelight dinner. Luna doesn't cry or kick up a fuss. She silently signs a divorce agreement and asks Simon's secretary to prepare for a wedding. "What are the bride's and groom's names, Mrs. Fulmer?" "Simon Fulmer and Sophie Sutherland." Seven days later, she flies to Naavi to give them her blessings. She throws them a wedding.

Six years into our long-distance relationship, I tell my girlfriend, Claire Whitmore, that I'm too busy with work to spend her birthday with her. Behind her back, I secretly take the property deed with me and board a ten-hour flight to her city. I want to propose to her in front of all our friends and surprise her. While waiting for my ride, I use my work phone to reply to a few messages, then casually scroll through my social media feed. The first post I see is from my childhood friend, Ryan Cole. "I'm going to be a godfather! My goddaughter is 8.5 pounds. I'm so happy!" I open the photo and see Claire and Damian Pierce posing together, a baby between them. My mind goes completely blank. I scroll through Ryan's other posts and discover that they're all about Claire and Damian's life together. Every moment from the past six years has been documented, from when they first met and fell in love to their marriage and the birth of their child. In their wedding group photo, I even spot several of my closest friends. My heart sinks. They all know about this. I'm the only one who's been kept in the dark for six years.

Emma Blanton twists her ankle, and my fiance, Matthew Harrison, insists on becoming her personal chauffeur. When I voice my disapproval, he makes an even more outrageous decision. He moves Emma into my apartment at Bellemont District—the apartment I bought with my own money. He argues like he's the victim, "You're being selfish. She's injured, and living alone is too dangerous for her right now. I'm just being a decent human being. "And that place is sitting empty anyway. Having someone there helps with security." On the morning we were supposed to get our marriage certificate, he doesn't show up. I call, expecting apologies. Instead, I hear, "Emma had a fever this morning—101 Fahrenheit. I had to take her to urgent care. We can postpone getting the marriage certificate. Her health can't wait." To hell with postponing! I grab my phone and call David Rockefeller. "Do you want to marry me? Then get to City Hall. I'm serious—right now."

Ten minutes before the IPO, my lower body started burning with intense pain. The pain was so bad that my knees buckled and I fell from the stairs on the third floor. I hit my forehead, which started bleeding, and fresh blood dripped into my eyes. As I convulsed on the ground, my hands covered my crotch as my skin felt like it was being fried in boiling oil. My fiancée, Yvette James, came over in her high heels and kicked me in the thigh. "What's with all the pretense? It's just half a bottle of ointment poured down your pants." Her bestie, Henry Curtis, had his phone held toward me as he livestreamed the situation. He was bent over from laughing too hard. "Check this out, fam! This penniless loser is burning from the waist down! It's too funny!" I could hardly breathe from the pain, and I begged Yvette to get me an ambulance. Yvette rolled her eyes and pushed the camera into my face. "Henry is targeting 100,000 viewers for this live stream! Can you scream louder? Don't be a buzzkill! That thing between your legs is just like a toothpick. That ointment might give you a growth spurt, so you should thank me for it." My lower body had gone numb from the pain, and I saw the comments section ridiculing me. I stopped begging for help as I stared coldly at Yvette while giving the orders to pull her funds. "The wedding is off. Be prepared for your company's bankruptcy."

The company had just taken off when a project my wife, Lenora Peterson, was in charge of ran into trouble. To ease her mind during her pregnancy, I went overseas in her stead, spending ten perilous years abroad before finally returning home, barely alive. Instead of the joyful reunion I had imagined, she greeted me with cold detachment and thinly veiled disgust. "Why are you back?" Lenora asked. "Today is Nathan’s housewarming party," she added. "Let’s head there first—we’ll talk later." We rode in silence the entire way. When we arrived, a ten-year-old girl came dashing over and clung to Lenora affectionately. “Mommy, why did you take so long? Daddy’s been waiting for you forever!” Daddy? My eyes burned with rage—until I saw my old friend Nathan Grant stepping out to greet us with a smile. "Lily, come to Daddy. Mommy’s tired—don’t bother her now." When I met Lenora’s eyes, the guilt I saw there told me everything I needed to know. I turned away and texted my assistant, Morgan Williamson, to begin acquiring the company that, by right, had always belonged to me. He soon reported back. "Mr. Brooke, the acquisition process will be completed in three days."

I told Charlie my biggest secret—I was the long-lost daughter of the powerful Moore family in Dreslane. He swore he'd help me reunite with them. But the night before I met them, the Moore family made a grand declaration—they'd already found their missing daughter. A ceremony was set. I rushed there, heart pounding, only to see Charlie standing beside his childhood friend, Raine. She was being introduced as the Moore heiress. And somehow, she had the exact same birthmark as me. Before I could do anything, Charlie locked me in a restroom. "It's just a name," he said. "You still have me. So why does this matter? Raine's parents died saving me—she never had a real family. For my sake, can't you just let her have this?" Then, to erase any doubt, to make sure Raine could live as me without fear—Charlie took a knife and carved the birthmark off my body. The shock. The pain. I lost my three-month-old unborn baby that night. And as I lay there, blood soaking through my clothes, I finally gave up.

The pills I keep by my bedside have been swapped with vitamins. I almost die after getting a heart attack. After the stent surgery, I ask my husband, Evan Whitmore, to find out who did it. I just want the truth. However, he doesn't even look up and just brushes me off. "It was just a mistake. Cecilia probably grabbed the wrong bottle. She bought those vitamins for me. "Don't push this. She has asthma. She can't handle stress." I stare at him in shock, my chest tightening. I can't tell if the pain is from my healing heart or from the words he just threw at me. Cecilia Monroe is his secretary, and he always takes her side. That moment is when I realize that our five years of marriage mean nothing to him at all.