Independence Romance 단편 소설 & Revenge 소설

Word on the street in the city of Hereshire was that Roy Chester had a penchant for eighteen-year-old girls. Yet, Willow Croyton was twenty-one when they started dating, and she stuck by him for nearly three years. She was a well-known simp to Roy, her only merit being her docility and good behavior. Later, when Willow left, Roy was spotted multiple times near her apartment block, his eyes teary. 

While collecting samples in Antarctica, I was caught in a blizzard. When I finally made it back to the vehicle, I found the fuel tank drained and my thermal suit shredded into rags. I screamed for help, but laughter crackled through the communicator. It was the voice of my husband's childhood sweetheart. "No need to rescue her, you guys! Sophie's got the world record for low-temperature endurance! "Today, let's see if she can hike across the ice in a T-shirt, all on livestream!" Then came my husband's doting voice. "Baby, I've already spoken to the manager. If she pulls this off, you'll get your spot in next month's expedition!" That was when I understood. My husband had turned me into a stepping stone for her future. As I shivered violently in the cold, I begged, "Please, Zachary. After all our years of marriage…" Before I could finish, he cut me off coldly. “Save your body heat and keep walking. Luna's future depends on you. "You've got the stamina anyway, so just hold on for another five kilometers!" At that moment, my heart froze solid. If they wanted me dead, then I would make sure they froze at the base instead. With trembling hands, I raised the axe, aiming it directly at the base's heating pipes.

Back when I was young and dumb, I slapped some college guy working a side gig at a nightclub. My boyfriend had just ditched me for my best friend, Vanessa Shannon. Then, not even five minutes later, I caught her in the corner, sliding her hand under another guy's shirt. He bit his lip and just took it. Something in my brain short-circuited. I stood up and walked over. If Vanessa wanted him, why couldn't I? But the second I reached for him, he smacked my hand away. Vanessa cracked up. The whole private room turned to watch. Mortified, I slapped him. "You work at a place like this. Don't play innocent." Later, my family went broke, and I ended up working at a nightclub just to get by. The private room was loud as hell. I lost a game, and everyone at the table started chanting for me to take my bra off. My face went hot. I stood there, completely frozen. Then a low voice cut through the noise with a cold laugh. "You work at a place like this. Don't play innocent." I looked up. Our eyes locked. His stare was icy, full of pure mockery. It was the college guy I'd slapped years ago.

On our last trip before the wedding, someone drugs me and leaves me in another woman's bed. When my fiancee, Sophia Sullivan, and my brother, Sean Jefferson, rush in to save me, I hear Sophia suddenly ask Sean in Lutenian, "Did you get enough footage?" "Yeah," he replies. "But isn't this bad for Ethan? Everyone's going to think he's a rapist." Sophia's expression hardens. "It's all an act. Nothing actually happened. We're just getting some footage. I just have to make sure I don't abandon him. Once you run this story, you'll win a Pulitzer. That's what matters the most." Lying in Sophia's arms, I feel a chill run through my entire body. Afraid I might've misheard her, I ask, "What are you two talking about?" Sophia wipes the tears from my eyes. "We're talking about what happened to you," she says, her voice as gentle as ever. "Why don't you let Sean report what happened to you? He can clear your name." Thinking I still don't understand Lutenian, she turns to Sean and starts talking about how they can get more attention for the story. She has no idea that I've spent the past year learning Lutenian just to fit in with them. I never expect that the first time I finally understand what they're saying will be the moment I discover that they're betraying me.

On our wedding anniversary, I took my wife, Kacey Winston, and our daughter, Aimee Fitz, on a cruise. However, Kacey secretly brought her childhood sweetheart along as well. There was a shipwreck, and Kacey stole the lifeboat I found and took it for herself. She had no regard for my survival and focused only on helping her lover escape. Aimee cried hard and held onto Kacey’s pant leg while begging her. “Save Dad, Mom! Save him!” Kacey kicked Aimee into the sea with hatred in her eyes. “If you don’t want to come with me, die with that useless piece of trash!” When we both ended up on a deserted island, we already found Kacey and Saddler there. I found out about their plot to have me killed. I felt uneasy, and hatred spread through me. For all their plotting for money, it would depend on whether they got off this island alive.

I see an anonymous poll online after Aidan Spencer returns to me and our family. "Does a man feel guiltier to his wife or mistress after cheating?" 99% of the voters chose "mistress". I turn to Aidan. "Do you agree with this?" He puts down his book, a hint of indescribable fatigue in his cool gaze. "I'm already back with you, Lily. What else do you want from me?"

It was only in the eighth year of our marriage that I discovered my husband had a mistress in the neighborhood. Her place had the same layout as mine, except her furnishings were more luxurious. He was a good husband for her, meticulously caring for his young and beautiful wife. They were even expecting a baby. She sent me a message, eager to get rid of and replace me. She had forgotten I was the one who had been through hard times with him, Clyde Sherwood, and fought alongside him for more than a decade. Her pregnancy was what they both wanted, but there was no way I would allow things to work out the way they anticipated. Taking advantage of his conflicted feelings, I made sure he didn't have any more assets. Everything came with a price. Not only would I make him fall from grace, but I would also make him rot in ruins.

On the day of the World Rally Championship finals, I pressed the accelerator to the floor, ready for the final dash. The next moment, the engine exploded in a deafening roar, and thick smoke instantly filled the cockpit. Flames spread toward the fuel tank. I yanked at the door, desperate to jump out, but the handle wouldn’t budge, and the brakes felt welded in place. In that instant of despair, my husband’s voice came through the comms. “Attention, all teams, no need to rescue her. My wife is the Iron Racer! “For today’s live broadcast challenge, let’s see if she can drive this burning car across the finish line!” His co-commentator, recently recruited onto the team, chimed in with excitement. “Thomas, the sponsor just confirmed! As long as Jane holds on to the end, they’ll increase investment. I can get a permanent spot!” I understood instantly then that the husband on the commentary platform I had supported for years was using my life to pave the way for his mistress. Smoke clawed at my throat. However, I forced down the dizziness and begged, “For the sake of all our years together…” Only for him to cut me off with irritation. “Save your energy for driving. You’re skilled. Just hold on a little longer. Mandy’s promotion depends entirely on you.” The cockpit had become an inferno; my skin searing with every second. I gripped the blistering wheel, steering through the smoke for the last time. This time, my finish line was the commentary platform where the two of them were huddled together.

The Crown Prince loves poetry, but my legitimate elder sister, who wants nothing in this world so much as to be Crown Princess, hasn't an ounce of talent. My mother was born in a brothel, and because of her I grew up skilled in verse, music, and letters. So my sister turned her attention to me, and had me write the poems she sent to the Crown Prince. She promised that if I helped her become the Crown Princess, I'd become a true daughter of House Vale. Because my mother was only a mistress, I'd entered the house as nothing but my sister's maid. But once I'd made her Crown Princess, she repaid me with a cup of poisoned wine. Before I died, I heard her say: "Only with you dead will no one ever find out my secret." When I opened my eyes again, I'd come back to the day she asked me to write the Crown Prince a poem. This time, I bowed my head and agreed, just as I had before. But I changed what I put in the poem. We're both daughters of House Vale. So why shouldn't the Crown Princess be me?

I grew up alongside the three most powerful young CEOs in Ashford. They once said that anyone who made me shed a single tear would never work in Ashford again. But today, because of a broke college student, they shoved me into an icy lake in fourteen-degree weather. "Vivienne, you're so dramatic. A little cold water won't kill you." Harrison stood on the shore, his expression ice-cold. "But Chloe can't handle being hurt." I shivered uncontrollably as I watched them gather that girl into their arms. The same men who used to panic if I so much as frowned now looked at me with nothing but disgust. I climbed onto the bank. I didn't cry or make a scene. I simply pulled out my phone and dialed the number I'd refused countless times before. "Mr. Thorne, I accept the marriage arrangement." Three days later, when the private jet of the country's richest man arrived for me, they chased it like they'd lost their minds. What they didn't know was that Damian Thorne, the ruthless, supposedly disabled head of the Thorne family, could walk perfectly well. He was also someone none of their families could afford to cross. As for me, I would never look back.

Just a few days before my wedding, I accidentally come across a post while scrolling online. The title reads, "To the guy getting married in this city, your fiancée's already cheated on you." Curious, I click in to see the gossip, only to realize I'm the one being talked about. A deep male voice plays in the video. "I heard you're getting married?" The woman in the frame, bare-backed and trembling, chokes back a sob. "After you left, I realized you're still the one I love most. I'm done with him. Take me away, please!" The moment I hear her voice, it feels like someone punches me straight in the chest. Then I notice something on her wrist—the luxury couple's bracelet I gave her just yesterday. And in that instant, I feel like the biggest joke of all. Turns out the fool was me.

Just for brushing against the hem of Eva Lawson, the heiress’s custom couture gown, Lucy Quinn's mother had her limbs broken, then thrown into the sea to die. The day Lucy dragged the arrogant heiress to court she thought that justice might finally be served. Eva was declared not guilty. Why? Because the defense attorney representing her was none other than Wyatt Grant, founder of the most untouchable law firm in River City, and Lucy Quinn’s husband. When the trial ended, the elegant and aloof man stepped down from the defense table and placed an apology letter in front of Lucy. "Lulu, sign it. You don’t want to be sued for defamation and end up in prison, do you?" His tone was calm and coaxing, but behind the lenses of his gold-rimmed glasses, his gaze was cold as ice. Lucy, tears stubbornly clinging to her eyes, looked up at him and said with a trembling voice, "Why, Wyatt, Why?"

Everyone knows me as a gentle and calm wife. On our wedding night, my husband, Julian Chapman, sleeps with another woman. I tell myself that it's part of being married and that I should be understanding. He blows through the 30,000 dollars I brought into the marriage. I kept my silence. Then, he brings home one mistress after another. I pour them drinks myself. When his gambling debts finally catch up with him, he sells me to a brothel without a second thought. "This is my wife. She's quiet, obedient, and easy to deal with. Take her instead. Do whatever you want with her." I laugh. He has no idea that I had a reputation before I ever married him. They called me the Queen of Hell. I had been training courtesans since I was five. Does he think he can sell me? Fine. I'll take his smug pride and grind it into the dirt. I'll strip away every bit of dignity he's so proud of. From now on, I'm the one calling the shots, and he's the star attraction. Since he spent my money on mistresses, I'll put him on stage and make him earn his keep. That seems fair to me.

After I become pregnant, Mason Clarke suddenly becomes incredibly attentive to me. He cancels all his social engagements and personally cooks for me every day. Everyone envies me for finding such a devoted and caring husband. Until one day in his study, I accidentally discover a document titled "Prenatal Blood Donation and Cord Blood Donation Agreement". My name and social security number are clearly written on it! In the beneficiary column is Chloe Reid, his first love, whom he has been supporting abroad for seven years. From outside the door comes his gentle, doting voice. "Chloe, don't worry. I'm personally monitoring her. Her nutrition and daily routine are held to the highest standards to ensure the baby is born perfectly healthy. Your life-saving treatment is absolutely guaranteed!" So all those pregnancy meals he carefully prepares for me, the mountains of expensive supplements, none of it is ever out of love. It's all to fatten me into nothing more than a walking blood bank!

Jack Ingleton uses a business trip as an excuse to rendezvous with his lover again. Before I can process this, the private investigator I hired gives me an update—Jack's lover is pregnant! I want to wreak havoc and leave them to die, but it turns out Jack's scheming to kill me so he can marry his lover! Now that I know everything, I prepare a counterattack. Sorry, but my plan will be put into action before yours!

On the flight to the World Healthcare Competition, the lead professor had been checking the samples of the experimental drugs for the competition. When he got to Sabrina, the junior member of the team, she blinked innocently and said. "I replaced all the samples with highly toxic reagents. I wanted to test everyone's emergency response in unexpected situations. "Not just ours, though. I secretly swapped the other teams' samples, too." In my previous life, I immediately contacted airport security and forced all flights to be grounded, narrowly preventing a global medical disaster. Sabrina was arrested for deploying hazardous substances, missed the finals, and became a pariah in the medical world after that. At the celebration banquet, my boyfriend, the lead surgeon, locked me inside a negative-110-degree freezer. He looked at me with cold, unfeeling eyes as he said, "Sabrina was just joking. You could've quietly switched the samples back. If you hadn't called the police, she wouldn't have been ruined, and she wouldn't have slit her wrists in prison. "You should experience the cold and despair she felt before death." They pressed the cooling switch, and so my blood congealed as I suffocated in agony in the extreme cold. … When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the flight. Sabrina was cupping her face, looking at the lead professor with bright anticipation. I quietly put on my eye mask and said nothing. I wasn't going to stop her this time. Instead, I would let the entire team die from the poison together.

After I buy a house with my dad's inheritance, my girlfriend, Claire Dickson—who's also an interior designer—handles the renovation. Upon moving in, I realize she gives her three childhood friends, Terry Boyle, Mark Sullivan, and Wayne Tucker, permanent fingerprint access. Meanwhile, I, the actual owner, am given only a temporary passcode. "We grew up together," she says. "They're practically family." Later, my study becomes Terry's livestreaming room, the patio fills with things they like, and the entryway has only four pairs of matching slippers. On my birthday, I work late into the night, only to find that my temporary passcode has expired. Through the window, I watch them celebrating Terry's birthday in my home. Claire refuses to let me in. "Everyone's having a good time. Just stay at a hotel tonight. Don't ruin the mood." I walk away without knocking again. The next day, I put the house on the market. They forget one thing—having permanent access doesn't mean it's their home.

We can't settle on our holiday plans, so my girlfriend, Janine Simpson, starts a group chat with the three of us. "Let's roll the dice. Whoever gets the highest number decides. That's the fairest way." My friend, Mitchell Stone, rolls a six and wants to go to Marisport. I roll a one. I wanted to go to Rosemont. Rosemont isn't a random pick. It's the place my late mother had always wanted to visit but never got the chance to. This year marks five years since she passed away, and I've promised her I would see Lake Azure for her. Janine knew that, too. Three months ago, she held my hand and promised she would go with me this year. "Fair's fair. You lost the bet." She sends a little pat-on-the-head sticker in the group chat. This is the 27th time this year that I've rolled a one. The week before, I'd lost when we were choosing a restaurant for our team dinner. The week before that, it was a movie. Then yesterday, I used Janine's tablet to look up travel guides and accidentally came across her synced text messages. Her chat with a friend sat right at the top. "I sent you the dice plugin. It can roll whatever number you want." "Thanks. Cameron can get quite stubborn. This is the only way to get him to agree to things." I stared at those messages for a long time and placed the tablet back where I found it. She has known all along what Rosemont meant to me, and it turns out I haven't been losing because of sheer bad luck. I've been losing because she has already taken someone else's side. I leave the group chat and book a direct flight to Rosemont. On the first day of the holiday at 7:00 am, I will board the plane alone.

I get back from a six‑month business trip right before Valentine's Day and go to pick out a watch for my wife, Natalie Smith. The sales associate jokes, "Mr. Fuller, you and Ms. Smith really are in sync. She was here yesterday and bought a matching set of this exact model, saying they were for Valentine's Day." I freeze. Then I suddenly remember that her assistant, Tyler Chadwick, posted a picture of the exact same watch on social media last night, along with a smug caption. "She says my time belongs to her from now on." I immediately call Natalie, but a man's voice answers instead. "Hello? Who is this? Why are you calling so late? Ms. Smith is in the shower. Call back tomorrow." I let out a cold laugh. "Who am I? I'm your boss! Tell her you're both fired. Neither of you needs to show up at the office tomorrow!"

I stare at the email on my screen, unable to move my fingers. Tomorrow is our company's crucial product launch, and I just learn that the patent for the algorithm I spent three years developing is now filed under Matthew Ashford's new assistant, Sophie Bennett. I storm into Matthew's office to confront him. Sophie sits on his desk with her legs crossed, looking completely innocent. She claims that she filled out the form by mistake. "It's just a clerical error. The patent still belongs to the company. What's the big deal?" Matthew stands up from his chair, positioning himself in front of Sophie. I can't believe what I am hearing. "Matthew, this is my research!" "Emma, you're thirty-five. Why are you picking a fight with a twenty-three-year-old intern?" He frowns. Then, he turns to Sophie. "Starting tomorrow, you're the new CTO. Emma needs… some time off." I'm utterly stunned. A decade of marriage and five years dedicated to building a company together have been shattered by a few casual words from him. Thirty minutes later, Sophie posts a photo on social media of herself sitting on Matthew's lap. They are both clinking champagne glasses. "So lucky to have the best boss ever. I'll make sure to be his loyal kitten." Below that, Matthew leaves a comment—three red heart emojis. I shut my laptop and pick up my phone. "Hello. Is this Mr. David Langley from Novara Group of Sundale Valley? This is Emma Whitmore. I've changed my mind. I'm ready to join you." I pause. "And by the way, about that unreleased algorithm upgrade, I have the complete technical blueprint. Make me an offer." Later, I fly to Tallisport with an eight-figure check in hand, while Matthew goes frantic trying to find me.