Contos de Romance sobre Melodramatic e Romances com Male POV

I have a poor sense of direction. I can go to the same place ten times and still not know how to get there. So, Aimee Thornton spends an entire week putting all the streets around school into a hand-drawn map for me. There are no directions on the map, only places named "The Convenience Store With the Yellow Dog at the Door" and "The Old Man Who Sells Terrible Tacos". She ruffles my hair and muses, "How is this one going to survive without me?" But everything changes when our friend, Dean Sullivan, comes home from abroad. During our trip, Aimee tells me to get out of the car and check if we've skidded. My feet have just touched the ground when the car speeds off. She texts me the next second. "There's a rest area about three miles ahead. Dean and I will wait for you there. Dean has a point. You'll never get over your poor sense of direction if I don't give you a push." I end up trekking through the torrential downpour for an hour, desperate and panicking. Aimee suddenly sends me a hand-drawn map with an arrow, and she's added a cute smiley face beside it. "Follow the map, and you'll be there in 20 minutes." Alas, I walk until my calves ache, only for the road to narrow and cut off in a dead end. I call Aimee, but Dean's lighthearted laughter greets me instead. "Hey, man, congratulations on taking the wrong way! "I made a bet with Aimee that you wouldn't notice the arrow she'd drawn on the map was deliberately pointing in the opposite direction. As it turns out, I know you better than she does. "And that means I'm the only one she gets to hang out with for the rest of the trip, since having you tag along will be too much trouble." I hear Aimee's indulgent laugh going off beside him. "A bet's a bet. Whatever you say goes, Dean." The price of codependency is too much for me—so much so that I'll be lost if Aimee decides to up and leave me. I wipe my tears dry. I want to find my way alone this time.

The day my attending physician gave me the critical illness notice, my wife Jane Hesler secretly mortgaged the house to the bank without telling me. The money she borrowed was not for my medical treatment, but was transferred to her first love, Anthony Shane — all because he said he needed funds for his business. I called her. "The house is for our daughter. You can't touch it." Her voice on the other end of the line was full of anger. "If you'd been able to come up with the money, would I have had to mortgage the house? Anthony's business needs funding; what's wrong with me contributing some money as a partner? Let me tell you something. I can live a thriving life without you." After hanging up, the doctor asked me with a grave expression, "Are you sure you don't want further treatment?” I nodded, putting on a bitter smile. "Yes."

It was the fourth anniversary of our relationship. Heather Hilmann took her friend Liam Sherr and me went to have barbecue together. The waiter recognized them and smiled, asking, "Still the usuals?" Heather nodded. It was a table by the window for two, and Liam sat on the inside. The ribeye had slightly charred edges, and the dipping sauce had no onions. She gave the first piece and the last piece to Liam. I sat near the aisle, and there was not even a dipping‑sauce dish in front of me. When they paid the bill, the waiter checked the membership records and reminded them with a smile, "Ms. Hilmann and Mr. Sherr, tonight was your 100th visit. You can take your customized grill pan home." A line of words was engraved on the back of the grill pan: [Heather and Liam, Together Forever.] The date was three years ago. I then remembered that Heather had been at the hospital celebrating my birthday that day. It turned out that the two hours she had been away were not for a company meeting. Liam touched the engraving and asked her with a smile, "After you and Ian Jeffrey get married, will we still have our monthly get‑together?"

After seven years together, Joan Quinton and I finally walked into the studio for our pre-wedding photos. Derek Blake—my old college roommate and the guy who'd introduced us—tagged along. The second he put on his custom best-man suit, Joan's eyes lit up. She immediately wanted a few pictures with him. I was standing in the middle in my wedding suit when Derek rubbed his nose and laughed. "Dude, I look like a bodyguard." Joan instantly pulled me aside and gave him the center spot. The camera flashed. The two of them looked way too natural together. Like they were the ones getting married. While we picked out photos, Joan tapped the shot of all three of us. "Let's blow this one up for the reception." I looked at her. "Why would another guy be front and center in a photo at our wedding?" She shoved the mouse away. "You're a grown man. Why are you being so petty? If Derek hadn't introduced us, would we even be together?" "It's just a photo. I'm still marrying you, aren't I?" I stared at myself on the screen. Even in my best suit, I looked like I didn't belong. Just because you're standing somewhere doesn't mean it's your place. And just like that, I was done fighting to be front and center.

The news said a massive hurricane would make landfall in Maisonet Bay by six that evening. By four o'clock, coworkers were already packing up to leave. The subways and buses had stopped running. Anyone with a car offered to give the carless a ride home. When someone asked if I needed one, I smiled and turned them down. "Thanks, but I'm good. My girlfriend's picking me up." They laughed and teased me about how nice it must be to have someone. At five, the wind outside picked up. I called Melanie Hayman, but she didn't answer. Our last messages were from an hour ago, when she'd said she was "almost there." I figured traffic must be bad and left it at that. By five thirty, the rain was coming down in sheets. I was the only one left in the office. The bulb overhead flickered, then went out with a pop. I dialed Melanie's number again in the dark. This time someone picked up, but it wasn't her voice. "Ryan?" I froze. "Where's Melanie?" "Mel's driving. She can't really talk right now."

My girlfriend, Emma Marshall, had hearing loss and was always claiming she misheard me. I asked her to pick up a gaming setup. She came home with two. "I must've heard you wrong again. Kevin can take the extra one." I asked her to order tacos. She got sushi instead. "Sorry, I heard you wrong. Kevin loves sushi, though. We should invite him over." Then I spent months planning every detail of the home we were supposed to build together and asked her to buy a place in Blackmere. On the day we were supposed to go see it, she drove straight to Carlifield instead. She didn't seem to notice anything was wrong until she realized I hadn't said a word the entire drive. "I'm sorry. I really thought you said you liked the scenery in Carlifield, so when I found this place, I bought it without thinking twice." But Kevin Stone, her childhood best friend, worked only a few minutes away. She hadn't misheard me. She just never cared enough to listen. Something inside me went completely still. For once, I didn't argue. I didn't ask for an explanation. I didn't even feel angry. I just looked at her and said calmly, "Emma, I think we should break up."

In my hometown, boys are expected to make their own wine by stomping on grapes from a young age. The wine will be given to their future wives and drunk on their wedding day. Since college, Suzanne Landon and I have left our hometown to make our fortunes elsewhere. Now that we've achieved success, we return home. The bottle of wine I've been keeping for 28 years can finally be opened. I know how much of a germaphobe Suzanne is. So, I deliberately replace my wine with a store-bought bottle for the Cherry Blossom Festival, even though I know it's against tradition. Just as I'm about to tell her the secret, I overhear her talking to her friends outside the door. "If you drink Finley's wine, then according to our local customs, you'd have to marry him. Wouldn't Chadwick be pissed?" "Exactly. Chadwick has already opened his bottle of wine. If no one drinks it, wouldn't it be embarrassing for him?" Suzanne laughs nonchalantly and says, "There's no way he'll leave me. He's even replaced the wine for my sake. Besides, his wine has been aged for 28 years. Who would possibly drink that? Finley's has only been aged for 20 years. I've heard that's the sweetest. "Even though I've chosen Finley, I won't mistreat Chadwick. If no one else is willing to marry him, I suppose I could always give him a place to stay by my side." It feels as though a hole has opened in my heart, and the cutting cold wind howled through it. I slowly pull my hand back. I'm not unwanted, and it's not like I have to marry her. I open the message that arrives every year without fail and type a few words before hitting send. "Are you still willing to marry me?" The reply comes almost instantly. "Wait for me."

It had been seven years since I was diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimer's. Esther Logan, the woman I had dumped, returned to our town with her award-winning actor fiancé. I had completely forgotten who she was. I was barely managing to survive by relying on the sticky notes on the wall. When Esther saw me, I was dressed in washed-out clothes and staring right back at her. She smiled. "What? Why do you look so sad just seeing me? What happened to all the enthusiasm you had for going after rich women? Can't even be bothered to pretend anymore?" As soon as she finished speaking, I tugged at the corner of her clothes and asked, "Miss... Hello. May I ask who you are?" Esther sneered and pulled the man beside her closer. "Great. Acting like you don't know me now, huh? What, did you run off with some rich woman and lose your mind too?" I blinked. "Oh... Would... Would you like some water?" With that said, I turned to pour water for the 'guests', remembering the instructions on the sticky note.

My wife, Vicky Charleston, a lawyer, dragged me to court for the eighth time over custody of a dog. Partway through the trial, she finally caved and sent me a message. [Name whatever terms you want, as long as you hand the dog over to Derek.] She used to be someone who wouldn't bend, not even a little. To avoid any appearance of a conflict of interest, she'd once stood by and watched my father, Austin Fletcher, get framed and thrown in prison without lifting a finger. Now, to help her foster brother, Derek Charleston, win a dog we'd raised together, she'd forged twenty-six pieces of fake evidence, faked the dog's birth certificate, even its purchase records. I'd refused to give in. We'd fought over it seven times. But this time, to everyone's shock, I didn't argue at all. "Your honor, I'm done contesting this." Then I sent Vicky a message. [The only thing I want is for you to help me get my father's financial case reopened.] On the plaintiff's side, Vicky let out a long breath of relief. What she didn't know was that, while she'd been signing the custody transfer agreement, a divorce agreement had been slipped in among the pages.

To save my daughter, I collected 50,000 plastic bottles. Day after day, I dug through trash, carried them home, and traded them for scraps of hope. However, when I finally hauled them all to the recycling center, I learned their selling price had dropped. The 50,000 bottles were worth only enough to buy my daughter a better urn. Desperate, I held my feverish daughter in my arms as she suffered a seizure. I called my actress wife for help. Her answer was ice-cold. “$5,000 for a fever? Do you think I’m some kind of charity?” The irony was that she had spent $50 million building a private hospital for her screen partner’s dog just hours earlier.

I stood at the airport in a downpour and waited four hours. All I got for it was a message from Nicole McKenna: [Something came up at the office. Just grab a car and head home on your own.] I called a ride, but with the storm outside, it took another hour before a driver actually picked up my request. As unlucky as that was, I felt strangely calm once I finally climbed into the car. I even felt a flicker of relief when I saw the post from Freddy Sandler, Nicole's college junior. The photo showed the two of them at a candlelit dinner, captioned: [I said the rain was boring, so you came to keep me company.] None of it stung anymore. I'd finally made up my mind to leave her. The realization put me in such a good mood that I tapped "like" on the post without even thinking twice. Afterward, though, Nicole came to me with her eyes rimmed red and begged, "We've been together for years. You're really just going to let it go?"

My father was dying. There was no time to waste. Every flight and express-train seat to Meadowridge was sold out that day. The only remaining option was a last-minute business-class airline ticket costing twelve hundred dollars. My wife, Marissa Langley, a corporate president earning eight figures a year, frowned at the price. "Do you know what that much money means to this family?" "You're a stay-at-home husband who gets to live comfortably while I work. You never think about how hard I earn our money." Then she froze my cards. She took my phone. She kept my driver's license so I couldn't buy the ticket. Because of her, I missed my father's final moments completely. After the funeral, I saw a social-media post showing her celebrating the birthday of Tyler Beckett, the college intern in her department. The cheapest present she gave him was a custom Velvet Swan cake that cost thirty-three hundred dollars.

I'm playing hide-and-seek with my little niece. I close my eyes, count to 20, and head up to the attic, only to find the door padlocked shut. I turn to leave, but then I hear rustling on the other side. I tiptoe closer and press my ear against the wooden door. I'm about to shout, "Found you!" when I catch the sound of my buddy Alec Redmond's breathless breathing. "Cassidy, you think anyone's going to come up here?" My girlfriend, Cassidy Brennan, laughs softly. "Don't worry. I promised Cora I'd buy her that Barbie she's been wanting. She locked the door, so no one's going to find us." I freeze outside the door. My blood runs cold. This morning, Cassidy and Alec tell me they have a surprise planned for me. Then the two of them drive off together. I clench my fists until my knuckles go white. So, this is the real surprise.

I receive a message from Theo Clark, the college student I financially sponsor. He wants to know what he should do because a wealthy woman wants to be his sugar mommy. He is only a sophomore, so I advise him not to take shortcuts and to prioritize his studies. But before I finish typing my message, he blocks me. One day, I sprain my wrist, and my friend Daniel Colgan accompanies me to the hospital for a checkup. He points at a couple standing outside the orthopedics department. "If your wife were here, she'd definitely be taking care of you just like that. Seriously, has she lost her mind? Why did she insist on expanding her business to a place like Nenton?" Without looking up, I tell him, "She's doing it for our future. I don't blame her. She loves me, and that's all that matters." We are about to leave when I run into the couple. The woman cups the young man's face and kisses him, his leg in a cast. Her voice is gentle as she says, "Theo, I love you. Please don't get hurt again. It breaks my heart to see you like this." I freeze. The woman is my wife, Esme Lambert, who is supposed to be in Nenton at this moment, and the man next to her is Theo, the college student I've been sponsoring for three years.

After Poppy Steele, the heiress of the Steele family, loses her sight, my brother, Trevor Nott, breaks off their engagement and moves abroad. Left with no other choice, my parents ask me—their adopted son—to replace Trevor as a form of compensation. I take meticulous care of her for five years until she regains her sight. Just as she is about to marry me, Trevor appears at the wedding holding a bouquet of flowers, gets down on one knee, and confesses his love to her. The usually aloof Poppy bursts into tears. She throws away her wedding ring and runs to him, asking why he has only shown up now. I instantly become the laughingstock. I don't make a fuss, though. I change out of my suit and let them have the wedding. Poppy praises me for being sensible, claiming her recent actions are just for show. She promises that I will always be her fiance. I smile without saying anything and quietly book a flight abroad. She doesn't know yet that my care for her is nothing more than a deal. Now that her old flame is back, it's time for me to live my own life.

I was the simple-minded fool that General Adelaide Knight had pulled from a pile of corpses on the battlefield. The poison had been too severe. I survived, but my mind never fully recovered. When people hit me or cursed at me, all I ever did was stare blankly and smile. Adelaide took pity on me. She brought me into her home and refused to let anyone mistreat me. She once said, "Reed may be a fool, but he's my whole life." And like a fool, I believed her. For five years, I followed her everywhere like a shadow. Then Fabian Ortega returned to the capital. He looked so much like me that we could almost have been brothers. He'd been poisoned, and none of the doctors knew how to save him. His only chance was to fight poison with poison—using blood drawn from the heart of someone whose body was already saturated with an even deadlier toxin. So Adelaide placed a dagger and an empty bowl in front of me. Her voice had never been gentler. "Be good, Reed. Your body's already full of poison. It's just a small cut over your heart. It won't hurt. Let me take some blood for him. I'll buy you your favorite candy tomorrow, okay?" I stared at the cold gleam of the blade and slowly blinked. The truth was, when the knife pierced my chest, the blood came so fast that I felt so cold. Still, I endured it and forced the same vacant smile onto my face. "Okay." I watched Adelaide pick up the bowl of warm blood and hurry toward Fabian's room. She was in such a rush that she didn't even spare a glance at the bloodstained dagger she'd left lying on the floor. I tossed the cheap candy she'd bought me into the fire and clumsily began packing my things. Since she no longer wanted Reed's life, this poisoned fool had no reason to stay.

My wife of three secretly married years, Izzy Presley, threw a welcome-home dinner for her childhood friend who'd just returned to the country. A sharp-eyed coworker noticed the wedding ring on her finger and teased her about it. "Izzy, does this mean there's a wedding on the way?" Izzy didn't deny it. Instead, she traded a smile with Sebastian Wood, the friend she'd grown up with, and made her answer loud enough for the whole room to hear. "Yes. Sebastian and I are getting engaged." She handed out cash gift cards to everyone in the room as she said it, me included. Someone who'd had a little too much to drink called out. "I've watched Stevie and Izzy come and go together for three years straight. Honestly, I thought you two were the real couple." I kept my head down and tightened my grip around the stem of my glass. On my phone, the chat thread with Izzy was still open. That 200-dollar cash gift, the exact same amount she'd given every other guest in the room, burned behind my eyes. Then her voice drifted over, light as air. "My assistant Stevie is good at his job. Work is work, and feelings are feelings. Let's not confuse the two." The teasing only got louder after that. Through the whole party, everyone celebrated for her. No one knew that Izzy and I had already been married for three years. This marriage was like a deal struck in the dark, the kind that could never see daylight. Because I loved her, I'd gritted my teeth and held on for three years. But now, I was ready to let go.

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 wife, Sienna Fairchild, has one ironclad rule. Every Monday, she has dinner with her brother-in-law. During that time, she turns off her phone and blocks every message. Nothing, no matter how urgent, takes priority over their little family gathering. Then one day, our daughter falls down the stairs at preschool and breaks her arm. I call Sienna over a dozen times, but not a single one goes through. With no other option, I call her brother-in-law instead. "Abby got hurt at school. Can you have Sienna come to the hospital?" The other end goes quiet. Just when I think the call has been dropped, Sienna's voice comes through. "My whole day belongs to them. Don't bother me unless it's actually important." The line goes dead. I stand frozen, staring at my daughter crying on the hospital bed. She looks up at me with red, tear-filled eyes. "Daddy, does Mommy not want me anymore?" I choke back the lump in my throat as exhaustion washes over me. Maybe it's time to find my daughter a new mother.

In order to keep Sam Anderson from being fired, my lawyer wife, Blair Reid, drugged me before the hearing and handed my important case over to him. Blair then handed one of my major cases over to Sam. “The effect of the poison will only last for a day. Once the case is over, I’ll make it up to you.” I watched as Blair pulled an all-nighter to draft an outline for Sam and promote him. She also brought him around to network with other lawyers. After some time passed, Blair said she felt sorry for me. She told me she would immediately promote me to a partner at the law firm. However, she went crazy after realizing I did not get my voice back.