Cerita Pendek Melodramatic Romance & Novel Mistress

The day we announced our marriage, Anastasia Hawthorne's vlog, which recorded her romantic relationship, played on a loop on the screen. It captured moments such as her and her beloved travelling around the world to chase the aurora and kissing under the starry sky. But somehow, through every scene, the shifting light and shadows perfectly blurred the man's face. The twenty-minute video concluded with her making a heartfelt proposal to the camera. The audience's envious cheers echoed throughout the room. A friend threw his arm around my shoulder and teased me, "You two are so sweet it's giving me a toothache. I came here to congratulate you on your marriage, man. I didn't expect to sit through all your lovey-dovey moments too." My gaze stayed fixed on the screen, and I did not say a word. The lights and shadows danced across my face. Finally, I looked away and dropped the truth with a calm expression. "That isn't me in the video."

I've planned seven wedding ceremonies in total, and not once has my fiance, Zachary Gardner, ever shown up for it. The first time, his adopted younger sister, Louise Foster, bursts into tears because she lost her passport at the airport. It was the dead of winter, but he dumped me by the side of the road and left me. The second time, Louise's dog sprained its ankle. Zachary stuffed the ring back into its box and rushed to the animal hospital to accompany her. Every time I argue with him about it, he declares nonchalantly, "We can get married anytime, but I can't let Louise be upset." Everyone around us agrees with him, saying that we're all family anyway, so I shouldn't be so petty. None of them has seen Zachary and Louise kissing fiercely on the dance floor. Today is the seventh wedding ceremony. Once again, he turns to leave after getting a call. I grab the corner of his shirt and say in a choked voice, "If you leave this time, Zachary, I won't marry you anymore." He stops in his tracks and peels off my fingers. "Wait for me," he says before rushing off. What he doesn't know is that this time, I won't be waiting for him any longer.

Late at night on a business trip, my phone chimes with an alert from our family health app. "New weight logged: 176.8 pounds." I stare at the digits, oblivious to the hot ash falling onto the back of my hand. My wife, Jayda Cohen, is notoriously strict with herself. Her weight is locked at a steady 132 pounds. None of her friends push past 150 pounds, either. So who on earth is standing on that scale right now?

The day my husband, Cameron Gray, died unexpectedly, I swallowed an entire bottle of sleeping pills. His best friend and my sworn enemy, Alfie Crawford, kicked the door open with bloodshot eyes and dragged me back from the brink of death. "You have to live, even if it's for Cameron's sake!" For the next three years, Alfie reins in his temper completely. Even when I step outside just to take out the trash, he insists on coming with me. I thought I'd finally moved past the pain. Somewhere along the way, I even fell for him. In the second year of our relationship, I hold a positive pregnancy test, ready to surprise Alfie, only to find something buried at the very back of his drawer. It's a printed marriage certificate, registered in Koaland five years ago. The groom is Cameron, the man whose death I've thought was an accident. The bride is my best friend, Tessa Stone, who swears she would never get married. The date is the very day I tried to end my life. Beside the marriage certificate lies a phone. On it is a message from Tessa, sent just yesterday. "Thank you for keeping her under control for the past five years and making sure she never found out. Cameron and I are very happy together now." I clutch the pregnancy test. At that moment, it feels like I've fallen into a frozen abyss. As it turns out, the man I thought had saved me has actually been colluding with them and deceiving me all these years.

After the college entrance exam, Zac and I went on a graduation trip together. I never expected to run into my best friend, Keira, on the airport shuttle. Before I could even process the surprise, Zac started explaining next to me. "Keira's never been on a plane before. I happened to have some points, so I used them to get her a half-price ticket." Keira smiled and took my hand. "You don't mind having one more person with you, do you? I promise I'll try not to get in your way." I forced a smile. Once we arrived at our destination, the three of us went sightseeing together. They always seemed to gradually drift closer to each other while leaving me behind. Only after walking for a while would they suddenly remember I was there. They would then turn around and complain that I was walking too slowly. When I suffered from heatstroke and was taken to the hospital by a kind stranger, neither of them even noticed. "Where did you go? Did you get registered? Keira's starving." Zac called to question me. That was when I saw the message he had sent. He instructed me to go line up at a popular restaurant. I also saw the hundreds of photos of Keira he had sent in our three-person group chat. It was obvious who he paid more attention to. Since I was already out of the picture, I decided to just give up on him.

Before we're transferred to the branch office, the headquarters holds a farewell party for everyone who's leaving. When it's time to take the group photo, I quietly make my way toward my secret girlfriend, Claire Brooks, hoping to get a picture with her that we can look back on someday. But just as I'm about to take my place beside her, Claire frowns and hurries over to stand to the left of my close friend, Charles Lawson. Seeing that, everyone else subtly shifts away from me, leaving me alone in the corner. I swallow my hurt and take the only spot left without saying a word. After that, we don't speak to each other again for the rest of the party, all in the name of maintaining professionalism. It isn't until we get home and I check the company group chat that I notice something strange about the transfer announcement. My name is nowhere on the list. I immediately message her to ask why, but her reply is the same as always. "It's to avoid any suspicion." Those few words have become her excuse for everything. Whenever she goes on a business trip, she always chooses Charles to accompany her. In every group photo and on her social media, he's the one standing by her side. She's even handed me off to someone else when I'm drunk so she can drive him home instead. I know she's the one who established the department's strict no-office-romance policy in the first place, but whether this relationship continues is ultimately my decision to make. I let out a bitter, self-mocking laugh, realizing there's no longer any reason for us to keep our distance. After all, this time, she's the one who's pushed me away with her own hands.

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.

After getting remarried, I started renting out my husband. Whenever his “one true love” called, he’d leave my side without hesitation. I stopped begging, stopped crying, and started charging by the hour instead. Daytime rates: $15,000 an hour. Evenings: $30,000 an hour. Holidays: triple rate. Three months later, my account had grown by nearly $3 million. He promised to help me pick out a gown for a formal dinner, but then she called in tears because she’d nicked her hand while cooking. I didn’t argue. I just held out my payment QR code. One night, I spiked a high fever. On the way to the hospital, she called again, saying the thunder was too loud and she was scared to sleep alone. I quietly took out an umbrella and told my husband to drop me off at the next corner. When he looked at me like he wanted to say something, I only smiled. “Don’t forget to send the money.” Then came the day our daughter was due for a follow-up appointment at the hospital. She called again. “Hugo wants to go to the amusement park. Those big rides really need a man around...” After hanging up, he turned toward our daughter, about to crouch down and explain. But before he could speak, our daughter copied me and held out her hand. “It’s okay, Daddy. Just send the money. Today’s a holiday, so that’s triple.”

After eight years of loving him in vain, my boyfriend, Gilbert Hughes, finally proposed. The wedding is set for a week from now. However, just as I'm happily preparing for it, I accidentally overhear a conversation between him and his friends. "I have to give it to Gilbert. The moment he proposes, his first love, Cheryl, gets restless." "But now that Cheryl's back, what are you going to do with your girlfriend?" Gilbert pauses for a moment, then replies casually, "It's fine. I'm not actually going to register my marriage with Jennifer. At worst, I'll just hold a wedding and play along." At the party the next day, he wraps his arm around me dotingly and socializes with our guests. Yet, the moment Cheryl Manning runs out in tears, he instantly lets go of me and chases after her in a panic. I follow quietly and watch them embrace tightly in the dark, kissing each other deeply. With my heart completely shattered, I turn away and dial a number. "Want to get married? I need a groom."

Victoria Graham told me we'd have to postpone getting our marriage license again just as I was picking up my fork. Victoria set down her cutlery, her tone as casual as if she were commenting on the weather. "Next time." I took a bite, chewed, and swallowed. "Okay." She glanced at me, then lowered her head and reached for another bite. Before taking it, she looked up at me again. "You're not angry?" I took another bite and answered calmly, "I'm not." We'd been engaged for six months, and this was the 17th time she'd postponed getting our marriage license. She was used to it. So was I. I ate slowly and finished my meal, one mouthful at a time. She didn't touch her food again. After taking my last bite, I got up to clear the dishes. As I passed her, she grabbed my wrist. "Lucas, next Monday. I'll definitely be free next week. We've already had the engagement party anyway. A few more days won't make a difference. Don't worry. I definitely won't stand you up this time." I lowered my gaze to the hand wrapped around my wrist, then looked back at her and smiled. "Okay." Over the past six months, she'd said "next week" 9 times, "definitely" 13 times, and "don't worry" 16 times. Even so, we had still never gotten our marriage license. And next week wouldn't be any different. Because this time, I was the one who was going to stand her up.

After I exposed Scott Brophy's emotional affair online, I was ordered to post an apology video every day for fifteen days straight. [I should not have made your explicit chat logs with Ms. Kelsey Rowe public, and I should not have forgotten to blur them out.] [I should not have secretly recorded your flirty voice messages with Kelsey when I knew about them, and I should not have spread those recordings everywhere.] To show my "sincerity," I even included photos of the two of them along with their real names. ... Scott was furious and humiliated. Every time I posted a video, we'd end up in a huge fight. Then my thirteenth video went up. This time, I tagged his assistant, Kelsey, and offered her a "formal" apology. He stormed off in anger, yet to my surprise, he didn't lash out at me. I naively believed he was finally ready to admit his mistake and come back to our family for good. The next day, I cooked his favorite dishes and brought them to his office. The moment I pushed the door open, I was hit by the sound of intimate gasps and panting. Scott had his little assistant pinned down as she tried to get away, a nasty grin on his face. "Since we're already under suspicion, we might as well go all the way. Otherwise, the two of us are getting a raw deal." Seeing my eyes turn red, he sneered, "Who's to blame for this? You drove me to it." I stood there, frozen. It wasn't just Scott who was dirty now. Our seven-year marriage had been tainted too.

We'd planned a dream elopement photoshoot in Montana, but just before the trip, I came down with a severe case of acute gastroenteritis. My fiancé, Wallace Romano, looked at me with concern. "Then we'll all stay home. What's the point of going without our leading lady?" My best friend, Wallace's younger sister, and the rest of our friends all agreed. I thought I'd found my fairy-tale romance and a circle of friends who would stand by me for life. Then, while borrowing Wallace's tablet to watch a show, I accidentally opened a shared cloud album. The latest photo showed Wallace passionately kissing his ex-girlfriend, Emma Berry, beneath enormous flags in the Alps. All the friends who'd insisted they couldn't enjoy the trip without me were right there, cheering them on. "Wallace and Emma finally got their happy ending. Talk about a perfect romantic finale." "Without Miley around to ruin the mood, Emma has been so much happier." "She probably still thinks we're all staying home. We didn't even book her a plane ticket. Emma's the one who got one." "And that stomach bug? Apparently, Wallace left a glass of juice sitting out for two days just so she'd drink it." Their familiar voices washed over me, and my blood ran cold. If I wasn't the leading lady in Wallace's love story, it was time for me to find a leading man of my own.

My girlfriend, Madison Carter, claims that men's hearts will rot when they start gaining wealth. Out of love toward her, I give her all of my money. But on my birthday, my severe illness has relapsed due to me not bearing to spend money on medication. So, I can only borrow money from Madison, who's also a CEO. But she begins berating me without asking me the reason why. "You really are an ingrate! I've been sustaining you for so long, and yet you never pledge your loyalty toward me! All you care about is money!" Naturally, Madison refuses to lend me even a single cent. But the next day, she doesn't hesitate to give her first love, Lucas Whitfield, a few million dollars just so he can start a business of his own. I feel my blood turn into ice as I stare at the woman I've loved for ten years. Only now do I realize that she has never loved me before.

Every year on my birthday, Yale Jensen would find some excuse to disappear into his study and write a letter in secret. The first time I caught him, he refused to let me read it. He only smiled and said, "After we're married." So I assumed the letters were for me, some grand romantic gesture he was saving for our future together. And every birthday, as another letter joined the rest, I kept waiting for the day he'd finally hand them over. That day came sooner than I expected. The night before we were supposed to get married at City Hall, Yale came home drunk from a business dinner. Barely coherent, he murmured, "The letters... have you read them yet...?" I took that as permission. It wasn't until I opened the first envelope that I realized I'd been waiting all those years for letters that had never been meant for me. [Yana, does it really not bother you at all that Tessa and I are together?] The second was worse. [Yana, I made Tessa a birthday dinner today. Thinking about you being overseas and missing out on all of this made me feel awful.] Then the third. [Yana, what am I supposed to do when I keep thinking about you every time I kiss Tessa?] ... I was Tessa Sinclair. Yana Cater was my best friend. The most recent letter had been written two months ago. Unlike the others, it contained only a single line, heavy with regret. [I'm sorry. I'm going to marry Tessa.] The paper crumpled in my fist. Then Yale's phone rang, and I picked it up. "Yale Jensen! You said you used a condom! How the hell am I pregnant?" Yana's hysterical voice came through the phone. I looked down at the letter still clenched in my hand. "He's asleep," I said. "You can call back tomorrow. Unless there's something you'd like me to pass along?"

The day my parents traveled all the way from home to discuss the wedding arrangements, the Miller family—led by Grayson Miller—showed up late. After my third call went unanswered, my mom forced a smile and tried to comfort me. "Maybe they're stuck in traffic. It's no big deal. Your dad and I don't mind waiting." And wait we did—for three hours. Their expressions slowly shifted from eager excitement to quiet sorrow. My dad kept tugging at the stiff, ill-fitting suit he rarely wore. Finally, he couldn't hold it in anymore. His eyes reddened, and his voice trembled as he asked, "Sweetheart… does it have to be him? "I'm not trying to break you two up. It's just—you'll be thousands of miles away from us. If you ever get hurt, your mom and I… we won't be there in time to wipe your tears." My nails dug into my palms. Still, I smiled, helped my parents to their feet, and said: "Dad, Mom, let's go home. Forget the engagement. I don't want it anymore."

Everyone knew Amber Sherry was hopelessly in love with me. She would even risk her life for me. I got into a severe car accident to save her. My health never fully recovered. Because I had a rare blood type, she was terrified that something else might happen to me. She found someone with the same blood type and kept him on standby. He would donate blood to me whenever I needed it. I was also hopelessly in love with her. After she gave birth to Aria, I did not care what people thought. We gave her Amber’s last name—Aria Sherry. I did not want her to go through another pregnancy, so I got a vasectomy. Every socialite in our circle was jealous of what we had. On the day of Aria’s baby dedication, I went back on a whim to the house I had bought when Amber and I got married. However, the security guard stopped me at the gate. “This villa is Ms. Sherry’s private property. No outsiders are allowed.” I smiled and said, “I am her husband.” To my surprise, the guard gave me a look of disdain and said, “Mr. Jones is Ms. Sherry’s husband. Who might you be? You should’ve checked before trying to impersonate your way in.” I stood frozen. Cyrus Jones was my living blood donor.

After an argument with my wife, Joan Newman, I momentarily stepped out of the car to pick up a package. When I returned, our son, Jimmy Newman, was gone. From that moment, I searched for him like a madman. Each waking hour was consumed by guilt. My mother-in-law blamed me. My mother cried herself to sleep. Joan jabbed a finger at my head and screamed, “Why are you still alive? If you don’t find our son, I’m divorcing you!” From that day forward, for four long years, I gave up my career and my life. I traveled across the country almost a hundred times searching for my son, only to be met with disappointment every single time. My body became covered in scars from self-harm. I fell into severe depression. By the hundredth trip, I could no longer summon the will to face another defeat. I swallowed an entire bottle of sleeping pills. As death closed in, I heard Joan talking to her childhood friend, Randy Kilk. “Joan, you’ve tormented him long enough. When are you going to tell Steven that the boy was never missing? I can’t wait to see the look on his face.” Joan laughed and casually said, “There’s no hurry. He forced me to abort our child, so now, he is suffering the consequences. When he finally understands his sins, I may consider telling him.” So, the inhuman torment I had endured for four years had been nothing more than her punishment. As a final tear rolled down my cheek, my soul left my body. Joan, you got exactly what you wanted.

My husband's true love developed acute kidney failure, and I was the only matching donor. To save her life, he forced me to terminate my pregnancy at six months. Despite his gentle tone, he said the most heart-wrenching words, "Can't you be a little kinder? You're just losing a child, but she's losing her life." I resisted with every fiber of my being, but he threatened his own life to force my hand. On the operating table, both my child and I died. Meanwhile, his true love's transplant was a success, and she lived. Although the outcome was exactly what he wanted, he spiraled into madness upon hearing news of my death.

My fiancé dumped me the moment he found out about my rare blood type. "That condition of yours? Yeah, it'd just drain my wallet." I was spiraling when Vincent showed up—like some knight in shining armor, pulling me out of the wreckage. He didn't care about my blood type. We barely dated before he proposed, and for a while, married life felt perfect. Until a year later, when I overheard him talking to a doctor. "Vincent, you already took 400 milliliters of Sophia's blood last month, and now you want another 200? Are you insane? Even if you love Emma, you can't just drain an innocent woman dry for her!" "A little more won't kill her. Stop overreacting." My head spun. My whole body went cold. That's when it hit me—our perfect marriage had been a lie from the start.

Josie Collins and I were supposed to get married during the upcoming long holidays, but she suddenly wanted to postpone our wedding for another month, and she asked that I wait a little longer. As I had nothing else to do during the holidays, I took up a job as a wedding driver. What I did not expect was that the bride I was picking up was Josie. She wore the wedding dress my mother made for her as her ex-boyfriend, William Locke, carried her in his arms. Everyone started yelling, "Kiss her!" Josie smiled and kissed him on the cheek. When she saw me sitting in the car, she panicked. "What are you doing here?" However, she frowned almost immediately and started blaming me. "William's grandmother is suffering from dementia and thinks that we're still together. She has always wanted us to get married, so I'm helping her to make her wish come true. "Why would you come after us all this way? Can you stop being such a schemer and wipe those dirty thoughts from your mind?!" William helped her lift the heavy skirt. "Don't be mad, Sam. I'm just the groom for one day. Josie will still be yours in the end." I stared at her wedding dress. Every thread on it was sewn by my mother before she died, and she had always wanted to see Josie put it on to marry me. However, Josie made me wait, and I did. I waited until my mother breathed her last, and still, she did not witness my wedding. Now, Josie was using the wedding dress my mother made to fulfil someone else's wish. This time, I no longer wanted to wait for her.