قصص وروايات قصيرة من فئة Romance وعن Melodramatic وتضم Mistress وتدور في Regret

My boyfriend, Yale Carter, was famously frugal. Everyone knew him as a world-class cheapskate. A five-cent price hike was enough to get my favorite chicken legs permanently crossed off the grocery list. If I got sick, his solution was hot water. And when we decided to get married, he refused to pay the small fee for our marriage license because it was apparently money we couldn't afford to waste. So we waited. When the fee was finally waived, I put on the dress he'd bought me only because it was on sale and showed up at City Hall two hours early, ridiculously excited to finally make things official. That excitement lasted until I saw him by the lake with Yvonne Chandler, the assistant he'd hired six months earlier. They'd been stopped by a street photographer charging $20 a picture, which should have ended the conversation immediately. This was a man who'd stopped buying me chicken over five cents. I fully expected him to tell her the price was insane and walk off. Instead, he turned to Yvonne. "You know, we never took any pictures together back in school. Want to get one?" "At $20?" Yvonne waved a hand. "Forget it." When the photographer mentioned a discount for multiple shots, my boyfriend took out his phone and made a transfer of $2,000. "No discount necessary. Just take a hundred pictures of us. We'll make an album." I watched the whole photo shoot from a distance. A hundred pictures of the two of them standing close, posing together, completely at ease with each other. By the time they were done, the two hours I'd spent waiting were up. It was officially the time my boyfriend and I had agreed to meet. My phone lit up with a message from him. [I checked. The license is free, but there are still ten bucks in processing fees. Why waste the money? We could put that toward dinner. Getting married is just a formality anyway. We don't need a license to spend the rest of our lives together.] I quietly typed out a reply and hit send. [Okay. Then let's not get married.] I didn't want him anymore, either.

I had been married to Adrian Foster for six years when I finally conceived his child. However, the doctor’s reaction upon hearing Adrian’s name left me frozen. "I clearly recall that Mrs. Foster already gave birth to a son here two years ago. She’s a famous actress, and she and Mr. Foster made the perfect couple." I stared at her in disbelief. "What are you talking about? We’re legally married. We have a certificate!" "There’s no mistake. Mr. Foster is someone notable, and he doted on his wife. He was always by her side." I stormed out of the hospital in anger, but my hope was shattered when the lawyer confirmed that my marriage certificate was a forgery. The world tilted into darkness. My ears rang, my surroundings blurred, and I could no longer hear a thing. At last, I understood. He had never been my husband. He had never once looked forward to the child growing within me. With shaking hands, I dialed my family’s number, and in my heart, I swore that this merciless liar would burn in hell.

My fiancé, Skeet Fadley, stood with me at my dress fitting when his phone rang. "Skeet..." Her voice came through on speaker. That was all it took—I knew today's bridal photos weren't happening again. Skeet glanced at me, guilty. "Babe, something came up with Norah. I gotta go." Not a question. A notice. I stared at myself in the mirror, already in the gown, and gave a small nod. "Go." It's fine. My groom's about to change anyway.

Three years of marriage, and I'd become known in our social circle as the ultimate doormat. My husband staying out all night, his silent treatment, bringing his first love home to flaunt in my face—through it all, I'd smile and make him hangover soup, keeping the house spotless. Everyone thought I loved him to the point of madness. Even he believed it. Until the day of the divorce, when he begged me with tears in his eyes not to leave—and then watched "me" collapse rigid to the floor after a power outage, revealing a charging port on the back of my neck. He lost his mind. Meanwhile, the real me was lying on a beach in the Maldives, running my fingers through the hair of a gorgeous twenty-something with a six-pack, cheerfully pressing the "factory reset" button.

Jay Cooper, Giselle White's assistant-slash-sugar baby, accuses me of stealing his mother's personal effects from him. That night, my mom, who's severely ill, gets dangled from a helicopter. Impatience is written all over Giselle's eyes. "If you refuse to return the cross pendant to Jay, your mom will pay for your willful act!" I do my best to suppress the throbbing pain coming from my heart as I beg hoarsely to Giselle to let my mom go. But my seven-year-old daughter, Valerie Walker, jabs a button on the remote control with an icy expression. "This is what you get for going against Mr. Cooper time and again!" I can only watch as Mom falls from a high altitude, soon smashing into the ground heavily. Sorrow fills my heart as I plead in a humble tone, "Please, I'm begging you… Please take my mom to the hospital…" "That's enough, Dylan Walker! The one dangling from the helicopter is a dummy, not your actual mom! Why are you still putting on an act?"

After Halle Anderson cheated on me and came back to me, I gave her three chances to cut ties with her lover. She grabbed the opportunity and spent those times with him. They had dinners together, did crafts, and she even spent whole nights with him. After that, she threw everything that was related to her lover away and held my hand again. “Believe me, I’ll never betray you again.” One day, I got into a car accident with an energetic young man. He angrily gave someone a call, and I heard my wife’s best friend’s voice coming through. “Halle, I’m telling you to not go. You’ve used up all three chances. Grant will definitely divorce you if you do so.” Immediately after, I heard Halle say fearlessly, “Grant’s an orphan. He’s been deprived of love his whole life, so he’s even more terrified of divorce than I am. “Just keep this a secret. I know where to draw the line. This is going to be the last time.” I lay in a pool of my blood and felt cold. It turned out that this confident young man standing before me was the lover Halle was protecting. Twenty minutes later, Halle, who had promised to come back to me for good, arrived at the hospital in a rush.

I could see everyone’s loyalty score above their head. Anyone whose score fell below 60% would leave. The day Mom cheated, her loyalty score dropped from 71% to 20%. The day my brother ran away from home, his score fell to 13%. So, whenever I fell in love after that, I always knew when to walk away. Then I met Natalie Farr. Her loyalty score for me stayed at 100%. I thought I’d found true love. But she broke her promise on our son’s third birthday. When she came home that night, the score above her head had plummeted from 100% to 88%. I knew it was time to start planning my exit again.

At my best friend Grady's wedding, the bouquet landed right in my arms. Grady slid over, eyebrows bouncing. "Do you know how hard I worked to get Amanda as a bridesmaid? Dude, you've been into her for seven years. Go confess already." I froze, bouquet in hand. The thing Grady didn't know? Amanda Sheffield and I had been secretly dating for a year. I'd thought my years of pining had finally paid off. Then I told her we were done unless she bailed on the date her family set up. She just smiled, totally unbothered. "Ryder Reed, you've loved me for seven years. You really think you can walk away?" The memory cut out. Then Amanda came over, yanked the bouquet from my hands, and handed it to the guy beside her like it was nothing. She took one look at my face and lifted a brow, smug as hell. "See? You can't leave me."

On the way to our wedding, my fiancé got a hysterical call from his ex-wife. "Gavin, he's having another episode. He keeps crying for his daddy." This was the third time it happened. Each time we were about to get married, her son would have another psychosomatic episode. Gavin Grant looked at me hesitantly. I knew what he was thinking, so I nodded. "I'll get out. Go ahead." He clasped my hand gratefully. "I'm sorry, Vivian. I'll make it up to you." Before I could even steady myself, he was already telling the driver to turn around. Still in my wedding dress, I stood by the side of the road and hailed a cab. Then, my phone buzzed with a message from Gavin—he'd given me $100 million. He hadn't forgotten to compensate me. He'd just forgotten what I'd told him. "Gavin, three strikes and you're out." I took the money. After all, a gold digger had to respect the money. But as gold diggers, we had another rule. Everyone was worth pursuing, Gavin included. But after three strikes, he simply wasn't worth the trouble anymore.

On my birthday, my husband, Adrian Grant, suddenly showed up with my adoptive younger sister, Bella Reed, and her child, Tia Reed. When it was time to head out, he naturally arranged for Bella to sit in the front passenger seat. Then he turned to me and said calmly, "Tia gets carsick easily. The back seat is full of stuff. Since you're healthy, just take the bus." Our friends immediately chimed in, one after another, "You're the older sister. Taking care of your niece is only right." Four cars were heading out, yet not one seat was left for me, the supposed main character of the day. I sat on the bus, swallowing my grievance, and saw Adrian and Bella interacting ambiguously in the group chat. They were even talking about topics I knew nothing about. When I opened the newly sent video, nothing except leftovers remained on the table prepared for me. Adrian even treated the birthday cake I had carefully prepared as dessert, spoon-feeding it to Bella and her daughter. Someone finally couldn’t stand it anymore and asked whether this was appropriate. Adrian, who was carefully wiping Bella’s mouth, didn’t even look up. "We’re all family. Julia won’t be angry." At that point, our seven-year marriage came to its end.

After I landed in the hospital—again—from working myself into the ground, Jacob swore he was done playing house stockbroker. "Starting tomorrow, I'll do anything. Haul bricks, deliver pizza, whatever. I'm not letting you carry this alone." His eyes were glassy as he stormed out of the exam room like he was about to save the day or something. Then the doctor walked in and handed me a report. I was pregnant. Again. Heart racing, I chased after Jacob... and froze. He was standing outside some super VIP room. The same guys who used to bang on our door for money were suddenly all respectful. "Mr. Klein, should we block her door again tomorrow?" Jacob twirled our engagement ring around his finger. "No need. She already lost one baby paying off those debts. The test's over. Time she knew who I really am." Then my best friend—Lillian Morvain—strolled out and wrapped her arms around his waist like she belonged there. "Jacob, don't go soft. Your tests usually last at least five years. What if she's just another gold digger? Plus... I'd miss you." He hesitated. Smirked. "Fine. We'll do it your way. She's not going anywhere anyway." I stood there, clutching my stomach, sliding down the wall like the air had been punched out of me. Later, I pushed open the office door. "Dr. Spencer, I need a termination. Three days from now."

After saving money with Justin Pierre for five years, we finally went to view a house. My best friend, Maria Houston, came along too. "The master bedroom needs a walk-in closet. Can we knock down this wall?" she asked Justin while pointing at the floor plan I had been looking at for the past six months. "I'll get a designer to take a look tomorrow. You can change it however you want." The two of them discussed everything, from the direction the apartment faced to the tiles, from the floor-to-ceiling windows to the bathtub. Meanwhile, I stood in the corner, unable to get a word in. When it was time to sign the papers, he seemed to suddenly remember I was here and said, "We'll put this place under Maria's name for now. She's here all by herself, so consider it a company benefit. The company is a little tight on cash lately. You can keep renting for another two years." However, I had also left my hometown behind to build a life with him from nothing five years ago. Back then, we had squeezed into a tiny apartment without even air-conditioning, and he had made me a promise with absolute certainty. "Once the company takes off, the first thing I'll do is give you a home." Now that the company had finally succeeded, the first home he bought was for someone else. I stared at the two signatures side by side on the contract and realized there was no place for my name. Since he had already planned a future that did not include me, I was not going to wait for him anymore. Thinking about it, I opened the page to terminate my lease and confirmed it.

The day I remarried Caitlyn Sullivan, the fake heir set my adoptive mother on fire and left her face burned beyond recognition. The moment I called the police, I was knocked unconscious. When I opened my eyes again, Caitlyn had personally replaced my face and made me take the blame for the fake heir. Three years later, on the day I was released from prison, Caitlyn's legal team was on standby around the clock. If there was even the slightest sign of revenge from me, they were ready to send me to a psychiatric hospital for another three years. My daughter even used money I had given her to build a 99-story safe house to hide the fake heir on the top floor. She named it Mason Tower. The fake heir was Mason Sheppard. They were terrified that I would hurt Mason in the slightest. But I disappeared from their lives as if I had never existed. The next time we met was in front of my food cart where I sold gourmet burgers. I lit the gas stove, casually wiped my oily hands on my apron, and skillfully sliced open buns. In a calm voice, I said, "A dollar for an extra egg, and two dollars for a spicy patty." Caitlyn's fingers trembled slightly. Her voice turned hoarse. "I'm allergic to eggs. Our daughter can't eat spicy food." She paused. "Did you forget?" I didn't need to remember. I only needed to remember that after selling 33 more burgers, I would have enough money to pay off the remaining balance for the grave next to my adoptive mother's.

My husband, who's a negotiation expert, allows his intern to recklessly anger some criminals. It causes me, the hostage, to suffer severe injuries in the explosion, and my right leg breaks because of it. Yet, my husband once again issues a letter of forgiveness for her. "My wife, as a reporter, ignored warnings and forced contact with the criminals to get the scoop. The main responsibility lies with her. Kimberly, being a newcomer, should not bear major fault." I don't cry or make a scene. I simply pull out a divorce agreement. However, he sneers at me. "I know you're just jealous and want me to comfort you, but don't cross the line." For the past three years, I've brought up the topic of divorce 47 times, and each time, he treats it like I'm just throwing a tantrum. But it's different this time. His name has already been signed on this divorce agreement. As long as I add my signature to it, it will take effect immediately.

The divorce battle between Adrian Mercer and Claire Bennett dragged on for an entire year, becoming the talk of their social circle. Over the course of that year, they went through three rounds of mediation and court proceedings. Everyone assumed Claire was deliberately dragging things out because she couldn't let go of their marriage. At the first mediation session, she demanded all the original design sketches, patents, and copyrights belonging to their jewelry brand, along with every custom jewelry boutique they'd established together. Adrian knew those designs were the lifeblood of the company. Still, he reluctantly agreed to give her half the stores and half the design copyrights. At the second hearing, Claire suddenly changed her demands. She refused to accept the luxurious riverfront home they'd shared and instead demanded an entire commercial office building worth a fortune that Adrian owned. Even her lawyer advised her that the demand was unreasonable. But he remained patient, promising to compensate her with other assets of equivalent value. During the third round of pretrial negotiations, Claire raised the stakes again. This time, she demanded that Adrian permanently withdraw from managing their jewelry brand and stay out of the jewelry design industry for the next ten years. Everyone thought she was making outrageous demands just to force him into giving in. Yet he refused to turn hostile. He merely explained that he needed time to sort out the company's ownership structure, remaining accommodating throughout the negotiations. At every stage, Adrian had given ground. No matter how unreasonable her demands became, he patiently negotiated each one, acting as though he still cherished their past together and was willing to accommodate her every wish. Some of their industry peers even joked that if the divorce proceedings dragged on much longer, they might eventually turn into reconciliation talks instead.

I was three months pregnant when my fiancé left me to marry his first love, Isabella Thompson. Soon after, I was in a car accident. I survived, but our baby didn't. My childhood friend, Daniel Smith, found out and insisted on marrying me despite his family's objections. He spent a fortune on the best doctors to ensure I recovered fully. Later, he arranged a grand proposal, confessing he had loved me for years. I was touched and agreed to marry him. But three years later, I overheard his conversation with his friend, Mike Perez. "Remember years ago when Isabella stole Jessica's fiancé? To avoid any future trouble for Isabella, you married Jessica and even caused that car accident, which killed the baby she was carrying. Now, can she even get pregnant anymore?" Mike asked. "No, I love Isabella," Daniel replied. "I just didn't want to have any babies with Jessica, so I put birth control in her water." I trembled, unable to believe what I had heard. It turned out Isabella was also Daniel's first love. I figured it was time for me to leave.

"Are you sure you want to change the bride's name to Jasmine Shaw, Quinn?" Quinn Sullivan's voice was resolute. "Yes, I'm sure. Do as I say." She sat in silence for a long time after hanging up. She recalled what she saw after her engagement party. Her fiancé had his arms wrapped around another woman in a swaying car. He whispered sweet nothings into her ear, looking like he couldn't bear to leave. Quinn didn't understand. She and Nicholas York had gone through so much to get to marriage. How could he cheat on her? Well, it didn't matter. She was willing to give him her blessings since he was in love with another woman. He could marry someone else, then. She would give him the wedding of his dreams.

My family has always seen me as a lunatic. The day I catch Tiffany Egan cheating on me, I jump from the fifth floor with her in my arms. She survives, while I become a coma patient. From then on, that man makes a point of getting intimate with her right beside me every night, all to get back at me. In the first year, whenever Tiffany mentions me, her voice will catch with resentment. She says dying together would've been letting me off too easily. In the second year, she bites down on him in the heat of the moment and says she wants to set the three of us on fire and let us all burn to death. By the third year, they barely talk about me anymore. They spend most of their time calculating her ovulation cycle and picking a date for their wedding. The day they finally get married, I wake up. Under the harsh sunlight, Tiffany, visibly pregnant, rises onto her toes to accept a kiss from my best friend, Dominic Green. I lift my thin, frail hands and clap along with my old friends. The applause is so out of place that it startles everyone. My older sister, Sophia Young, is the first to rush over and block my way. She warns me coldly, "Don't start going crazy again, Zachary. Tiffany and Dominic registered their marriage years ago. If it weren't for you, they wouldn't have had to wait until today for their wedding." Dominic is Mom's prized student. She has always favored him. "Zachary, just think of Tiffany as having died three years ago when you jumped with her. Please, let them be happy." My eyes pass over Tiffany's anguished face, and I slowly nod. But the moment Dominic speaks, my empty stomach clenches on instinct. I grab the knife from the cake beside me. Three years of suffering is more than enough. I want something sweet for a change. I'm ready to let them go this time, but unfortunately, they don't believe I'm sane.

Just before the end of my shift, the last patient I see is my wife, Tracy Montgomery. Her prenatal test report clearly states that she is three weeks pregnant. She is the mother, and the father is her lover of five years, Max Lockwood. Calmly, I slide the report across the desk and say softly, "Congratulations. You finally got what you wanted." Tracy pauses for a moment before frowning hard. "That's it? Are you just congratulating me? Don't you have anything else to say?" I stare at the piece of paper and at the child who isn't mine. I initially think I would react the way I always do, which entails throwing away my pride and causing a huge scene in front of her. But in the end, I don't even have the strength for that anymore. Her fingertips brush gently across her stomach as she says, "I've had my fun over the years. Once the baby is born, I'll settle down." Hearing those words, I lift my head and meet her eyes. I say evenly, "Tracy, our contract has expired."

The girl my family sponsored was a manipulative opportunist. She had my childhood friends wrapped around her finger. I helped her out of pity for her poor background, but she climbed her way up, slowly taking my place. She faked innocence in front of the brothers while sabotaging me behind my back. When they found out, they called me petty rather than blame her. I got fed up, married my college crush, and moved on. But they flew in overnight, begging for forgiveness.