Melodramatic Romance 短篇故事與 Marriage 小說

After Lyra Beaumont, a financially disadvantaged student I sponsored, was sexually harassed at work, she came close to taking her own life. I paid to open a pottery shop for her so she could run her own business. When Forrest Croft found out, he spoke with open disdain. "There's no smoke without fire. Why do you insist on bringing someone like her into our lives? Don't blame anyone else if you end up getting hurt." I stared at him in disbelief. "Forrest, how can you say something so cruel?" After that argument, I left the country in a huff and spent two months abroad. There were 58 ceramic mugs in the display cabinet in our living room. During a video call, Forrest proudly announced what he had been up to. "Honey, I've been stopping by her shop every day to support her business. You must be happy now, right?" Seeing the tenderness in his eyes, I suddenly felt a little guilty for being so stubborn. I changed my ticket to the earliest available flight and rushed home, hoping to surprise him. But the moment I opened the front door, I heard wet, squelching sounds coming from our bedroom. "Forrest, you take a mug every time we're done. My hands are getting sore." "That's barely anything. I'm going to fill that cabinet." I stared at the 58 mugs in the cabinet, and suddenly the whole thing seemed absurd. Two months. Sixty days. Fifty-eight times. He had not just been supporting her business. He had been sleeping with her in my bed too.

I begged my husband 304 times before he finally agreed to spend a birthday with our seriously ill daughter. We waited until the cake on the table melted and the warmth slowly left our daughter’s body, but he never showed up. Then, his first love shared a photo on social media. In it, my husband had one arm around her and the other holding her child. Behind them stood a towering birthday cake display. Our daughter had waited five years for a birthday cake that never came. Yet another child received it without even trying. The caption read: The promised tiered cake is finally here! I quietly liked the post. Soon after, he texted me, demanding an explanation. [How many times do I have to tell you? Miranda’s daughter is dealing with depression, and I need to be there for her. Don’t call me unless it’s urgent.] I looked down at the child in my arms, whose body had gone completely cold. “Alright,” I said softly. “I won’t do that again.”

On my final assignment of the year, I'm sent to cover dating rumors about the woman I've been secretly married to for five years. A headline claiming that Anna Green, Asteridge's famously aloof heiress, may have found true love quickly went viral. "The woman no one could win over finally made it official. I always thought she'd never marry." "Who could possibly have won her over?" Everyone gushes over her supposed new romance, unaware that she and I have been married for five years. Then Anna calls a press conference to clear up the rumors herself. Beneath the bright lights, she commands as much admiration as ever. When they call on me, I force myself to lift the microphone. My voice shakes. "Ms. Green, is there any truth to the recent rumors?" Anna looks at me for several seconds, then turns away. She locks fingers with Tyler Cooper and kisses him with every camera in the room trained on them. "Of course there is." The world around me goes silent.

My family was the wealthiest in River City, with assets worth trillions. On my eighteenth birthday, my brother, Calvin Chester, gifted me an entire jewelry production line while my parents built a private museum and named it after me. The greatest hardship I’d ever faced? Learning how to spend my inheritance. Then I met Dario Darwin. For him, I cut ties with my family and helped him build his empire from scratch. But when I was three months pregnant, he demanded I drink on behalf of his assistant, Fran Fallon, a woman “slumming it” as an intern while secretly being the heiress to another fortune. “Stop pretending,” he sneered. “You’re not like Fran, raised in pampered luxury. You’re older, so act like it and take care of your juniors!” Then, to the clients leering around the table, “My wife’s just being dramatic. She can hold her liquor. Don’t hold back—pour her another!” Amid their jeers, he left with Fran, abandoning me to a room of drunken men. Years of sacrifice, only to be humiliated. I scheduled an abortion and called him. “We’re done.” Through the phone, Fran’s simpering voice chimed in, “It’s my fault that Clea is upset… I should quit and go home to my family’s billions.” “Ignore her. She’s faking it,” Dario cooed back. On the day Dario signed the divorce papers, my parents and Calvin came to take me home. Our marriage came to an end, but his tragedy was about to begin.

I plan on ordering some food using my husband's phone, yet I've noticed a remark that's been saved on the delivery app. "The food is for a pregnant lady. Please make sure to be hygienic and use less oil and salt when making the dishes." I can feel my heart sink. I turn my gaze toward the bathroom, where my husband is. I can't figure out why my husband, who's been firm about not wanting a child, has been ordering meals for pregnant women. After a moment of hesitation, I scroll through the delivery app's order history with shaky hands. Numerous orders have been placed with the same restaurant, one that specializes in making exquisite dishes designed for pregnant women. Each of these food orders costs more than ten thousand dollars. My husband's company address has been chosen as the delivery address, and he's also the recipient. … After exiting the delivery app, I sit on the couch and stare into space. As I look at my husband's well-defined muscles, I recall how he, who's about to hit 40, is suddenly quite invested in getting in shape over the past year. I blurt out asking, "Have you been ordering food to your office often lately?" My husband freezes for a split second. Then, he fixes me with a gentle gaze. "I do that once in a while. Why are you suddenly asking about that? By the way, I haven't had the sweet and sour meatballs you make in a long while. Can you make some for me so that I can bring them to the office for my lunch tomorrow?" I smile at him and agree to his request. Still, I toss and turn in bed as the remark about the pregnant lady in his phone keeps gnawing at me that night.

On our fifth wedding anniversary, my wife, Nina Sable, drops a bombshell on me. She secretly aborts the child we have tried for three years to conceive, just so she can give her childhood friend, Mike Reed, a son to carry on his family line. When I confront her about it, she calls me out for being petty and heartless. "Mike is the only son in his family. He refuses to marry anyone else because of me. What's wrong with me giving him a child?" My dad, Matt Smith, suffers a heart attack from the shock and dies. My mom, Caroline Dunn, can't take the blow and loses her mind. She falls from the balcony, leaving her in a coma. Desperate to get pregnant as soon as possible, Nina fools around with Mike even on the day of Dad's funeral. And she posts about it on social media. "You stayed faithful to me, so I'll carry on your family line. We may not be meant to be in this life, but let's meet again in the next." I smirk and leave a comment underneath. "How are you not meant to be? I'll make sure you two get what you want right now."

"Mr. Rogers, are you sure you want to do this? Noelle is only five—" I cut the lawyer off and signed my name on the authorization form. "I am." Outside the window, rain poured down in sheets. I looked up at the office building across the street. Behind the floor-to-ceiling windows on the thirty-seventh floor, Rachel Lloyd, the president of Lloyd Group, was in a meeting. She wore a perfectly tailored white suit, her expression icy and composed. Every gesture carried the commanding presence of the queen of the business world. No one knew that this woman was my wife, at least in the eyes of the law. Even fewer people knew that we had a five-year-old daughter. It had been three years. For all three of those years, I had worked as an ordinary driver for her company, driving her to and from work every day. "Mr. Rogers, turn left. Mr. Rogers, stop here." That was all I ever heard from her. She never gave me so much as a second glance when other people were around, as if we truly were nothing more than an employer and her driver. Noelle had learned to call me ‘Dad’ when she was two, but she had never dared call Rachel ‘Mom’. Rachel had made one thing very clear. "Don't let me hear you calling me that in public." Noelle had been a good girl. She never called her Mom again. However, I knew what happened every night. She would curl up in bed, clutching the one stuffed doll Rachel had ever bought for her, and whisper into the darkness, "Goodnight, Mommy. You looked so pretty today. Will you come see me tomorrow?" Rachel had bought that doll three years ago at a convenience store on a whim. It had cost her only $29.90. To Noelle, however, it was priceless. She had held on to it like a treasure for three long years.

On the day my dad gets kidnapped, I call my wife, Eliza Wood, who has a net worth of 100 million dollars, for help while sobbing. After she hears me out, she lets out a chuckle. "I've transferred three million dollars to you. This time, be a good boy and don't bother Leon." I quickly agree to Eliza's condition. After that, I transfer the money into the kidnapper's bank account. But when Dad is about to get released, Eliza pulls off some tricks to retrieve the ransom money and freeze the kidnapper's bank account. Thinking that I've tricked him, the furious kidnapper decides to kill Dad. But first, he torments Dad for three long hours before finally ending his life. When I'm on the way to pick up Dad's ashes, I notice photos of Eliza and her newly-hired assistant, Leon Turner, taking over every billboard and monitor in the city. After dealing with Dad's ashes at home, I call Eliza on the phone. "Let's get a divorce." Eliza and Leon's laughter can be heard drifting over the speaker. "This again? Leon told me that you're spending too much money, so he convinced me to give you a light punishment. Don't tell me you got mad at me because of that."

When Naomi Sullivan married me, she was already ten million dollars in debt. I spent the last five years working three jobs to help her pay off her "debts" while providing for her as well as our son, Shane Lewis. Not once did I ever complain about anything. All along, I firmly believed that my efforts would pay off, and we would eventually lead a good life together. Last week, our company finally secured a massive investment. Naomi and I hugged as we celebrated the occasion. I thought that the hard times were finally over. Today, I ended up seeing Naomi featured in the financial news. Dressed in a formal gown, she was hailed as the sole heiress to a multi-billion-dollar empire. She was shown engaged in an animated conversation with her "investor", Jared Lewis. The news headline read, "Naomi Sullivan Completes Five-Year Adversity Trial, Proves Her Ability to Build from Scratch to the Board of Directors". I trudge home in a daze. When I get there, the five-year-old Shane is playing with the latest limited-edition toy robot. He looks at me with a frosty, distant expression that bears an uncanny resemblance to his mother's. "Mommy told me everything. You failed the trial, Daddy. You care too much about money."

On the fourth day after my son's death, I decided to secretly dissolve my military marriage with my husband. Before that, I had three days to settle everything for my son. On the first day, I tricked my husband into signing the cremation papers. On the second day, I went to the school and collected the textbooks my son would never get to use. On the third day, I cooked a table full of dishes and begged my husband to celebrate our son's last birthday. He agreed, but soon after claimed he had a mission. Instead, he spent the entire night setting off fireworks with his childhood sweetheart. That night, I cooked. Then, I sat alone before my son's photo and ate all my son's favorite foods. The next day, my husband returned, guilt flickering in his eyes as he handed me a brand-new backpack. He said it was a gift for our child's first day of school. But he didn't know—our child would never have a first day of school.

On my wife's birthday, she brought home the poor male student she had been sponsoring and invited him to celebrate with us. Then he turned around and threw the million-dollar necklace I had bought for her straight into the trash. “What even is this? A necklace this outdated should’ve been retired ages ago. Who picked it, some old-fashioned fossil?” For a moment, every friend and relative in the room stared in stunned silence. My wife, however, looked completely unfazed. Instead, she praised him for having a fresh eye and slipped on the cheap ring he had bought from a street stall. I watched it all without yelling, without making a scene. Then I picked up our marriage certificate and tossed it into the trash as well. “Good point. I guess an outdated husband like me should be retired too. Congratulations on your new marriage.”

A month before my wedding, I've discovered a series of suspicious transfers made by my fiancee, Irene Lambert. The recipient is none other than her first love, Blake Chandler—the man she has never truly forgotten. For seven years, she has sent him 50 thousand dollars every month without fail. When I place the bank statements before Irene and demand an explanation, she barely looks up from her work. "Blake injured his right hand saving me. The money is simply compensation for what happened. Don't worry, money's the only thing I'll ever give him," she says evenly. I refuse to let the matter go, but even my friends urge me to overlook it. "It's only 50 thousand dollars. With how wealthy Irene is, she'd consider a watch at that price too cheap to buy for you. As a man, you've got to be the bigger person," they argue. With our wedding only a month away and seven years of history between us, I finally give in. That is, until I discover that our housekeeper, Olivia Harper, prepares a child's meal every afternoon and delivers it to Irene's office. When I confront Olivia, she stares at me in confusion. "Isn't that your child, Mr. Sanford? He's already around five or six years old—and he calls Ms. Lambert 'Mommy'."

In the fifth year of our bland marriage, I receive a message that my husband has booked a hotel room with a woman. Within the next second, seductive pictures of me show up in the work group chat. In the pictures, I seduced my husband but failed. My colleagues in the group chat mock me by saying, "She gave Mr. Reed an ultimatum and forced him to marry her. He was forced to break up with the woman he loves." "Mr. Reed put up with her for five years. It only makes sense that he could no longer resist and decide to reunite with his lover." My sick father dies out of shock, yet my husband does not show up to his funeral. That night, I inform Belinda that I wish to divorce her son. "Back then, you told me that I'm Caleb's blessing in life. You said that he'd have endless success if we were to marry. "As long as I married Caleb for five years, you promised to pay for my father's medical fees. Now that the time is up, you should let me go too."

"Jump. You love me to death, don't you? Didn't you say you'd do anything for me?" Ethan Hart wanted me to throw myself off the observation deck of the tallest tower downtown, live, in front of the millions of people watching the broadcast. I stood on the wrong side of the railing. Below me, traffic streamed through the streets and neon flickered in the distance. His friends clapped and cheered. Vivian Lane laughed softly and curled herself against his arm. Ethan's grin turned vicious. "Come on, don't waste everyone's time. Jump, and I'll marry you." He'd made me a promise once. Finish a hundred of his demands, and he would marry me. When his company was circling bankruptcy, he told me to hand over everything I owned, and I did. Then he moved Vivian into my house in the suburbs and left me to sleep in a motel. The night he was tangled up with Vivian at a private party, he sent me over with something for his hangover, and made a point of telling me to bring a box of condoms, the right size. I stood at the door holding the soup I'd made, and heard him laugh. "She's my ATM. I use her, then I throw her out." No matter how far it went, I'd done all ninety-nine. This was the last one: jump. He thought I'd hesitate, thought I'd cry and beg him to pick something else. I didn't. I let go and fell. The wind roared in my ears, and the whole lit-up city slid past me. I heard him shout, heard the crowd scream, and underneath all of it, the one voice I'd waited too long to hear. [Congratulations, host. Emotional conquest progress: one hundred percent. Reward delivered. Your mother's terminal illness is fully cured.]

Ever since I got pregnant, stepping on the scale has been my biggest fear. My husband, Greyson Lewis, had a rule: if I weighed even a little more than I had the week before, he’d cut off my living expenses for the following week. He said our friends had been laughing at him ever since I got pregnant, mocking him for marrying a pig. Of all days, I happened to gain two pounds on the day of my anatomy scan. The bill came to $1,680, but he’d locked me out of both my bank card and the supplementary card he’d given me. When we got home, Greyson made me a plate of boiled vegetables, without even a single ear of corn. "Eat less for a couple of days. Corn and potatoes are carbs, too. You need to lose weight as quickly as possible." But in the middle of the night, I was so hungry I couldn’t sleep. I sneaked $20 out of his pocket and went to grab a late-night burger and fries. I’d barely eaten half when the police caught me. "Your husband called to report that you stole his money." Greyson rushed over and frowned at me. "So now you’ve learned to steal, too? Can’t you control your pig-like appetite for once?" Suddenly, I was just so tired of it all. I held out my hands. "Yes, I stole the money. Take me away." The officer stared at me in surprise, but Greyson only sneered. "Good. Let her spend a couple of days in jail. Maybe then she’ll stop thinking about food all day." I lowered my eyes to my swollen belly and suddenly laughed. He was right. How much weight could I lose just by eating less? Wouldn’t I lose it much faster if I got rid of the baby?

When the call came that her mother had suffered a massive brain hemorrhage and was in a coma, Clara Gabriel's mind went blank. She bolted from her desk. "Where do you think you're going?" The cold voice of her fiance, Julian Vance, cut through the office. "You're still on the clock." As Clara turned to the man she was supposed to marry, her eyes were filled with tears. "My mother is in the ICU." "Going there won't change the outcome," Julian said, his expression completely unreadable. "You are the future first lady of this company. Are you really going to set an example of abandoning your post?" Clara's chest tightened. "This is an emergency. It's only ten minutes before my shift ends…" "Clara," Julian interrupted, his tone darkening. "Sit back down." He paused and adjusted his cuffs. "Rush-hour traffic is backed up for miles. You won't find a cab anyway. Wait ten minutes, and I'll drive you." Rush hour was brutal. It was only ten minutes... Clara walked back to her desk in a daze. She kept telling herself that Julian was just being pragmatic. He was right. But despite how she kept staring at her screen, the burn behind her eyes refused to go away. ---

I stumble across a shared document titled "Honeymoon" on my wife, Talia Smith's, computer. I assume she's finally making good on the promise she's put off for five years. Overjoyed, I click it open, only to find the itinerary is completely different from what we originally agreed on. The original schedule overlaps with my business trip, so I postpone the trip by two days. Since there's no aurora in Glacieland during this time of year, I change the destination to Kjeldsland. Then I remember we're trying to conceive, and our expenses are piling up, so I downgrade our tickets from first class to business class. Just then, another account suddenly appears and changes everything I've edited back to its original state. Immediately after, a line of text pops up in the document. "Mommy, we agreed to go to Glacieland, so we're going to Glacieland! If not, Daddy will be upset!" That catches me off guard, and I assume someone's playing a prank on me. Talia has appeared behind me at some point. "He's the son of my foster brother and me. Next time, I'll definitely go on our honeymoon with you," she explains calmly.

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.

Delaney Sterling and I have been childhood sweethearts for ten years, but she disappears on the eve of our wedding. When I find her again, she has lost her memories and is with another man. It isn't until after she regains her memories that she finally remembers I am her true love, and the man is nothing more than a liar taking advantage of her amnesia. She disgustedly gives the man a sum of money and deletes all his contact information in front of me. Later on, we go ahead with the wedding we'd once planned. Five years of marriage pass in bliss. I've almost forgotten that brief episode until I accidentally damage our marriage certificate and have to get it reissued at the courthouse. The staff tells me, "Mr. Carrington, the official seal on your marriage certificate is forged." The words strike me like a blow, leaving me dizzy. "That's impossible. My wife, Delaney Sterling, and I registered our marriage three years ago. Please check again." "The system shows that Ms. Delaney Sterling is indeed married, but you are unmarried." "Then who is she married to?" "Tristan Prescott." It is the very man who once deceived Delaney.

My wife, Giselle Stone, has severe face blindness. She can't remember anyone's looks, including mine. It's already a norm for her to chat with me animatedly one moment, then her illness kicks in, resulting in her mistaking me as a stranger the next. Giselle screams at the top of her lungs as she fights with me over the steering wheel, causing me to crash the car at the side of the road. As I lie in my puddle of blood, I beg her in a quivering tone to call 911. But Giselle steps over my blood as she bolts over to the police. "Officer, this man is a human trafficker! I don't know him! Please arrest him!" Thank goodness I've already developed the habit of bringing my marriage license and Giselle's medical records with me all the time over the years. After clearing the misunderstanding with the police, I deal with the damages and get my injuries treated before going home. That's when Giselle blocks me at the front door while glaring at me vigilantly. "Why are you here again? I don't know you! Please leave right now!" When I'm about to explain, Giselle's childhood friend, Jasper Langley, steps out and wraps an arm around her shoulders. "He's your husband, Giselle. Calm down now." As I watch the pair hugging each other, I suddenly let out a soft chuckle. We've been married for three years, and yet this is the 677th time Giselle doesn't recognize me. The thing is, she can recognize Jasper every time and always listens to him. In that case, I might as well let Jasper take care of her from now on.