เรื่องสั้นแนว Melodramatic Romance และนิยาย Mistress ในฉาก Regret

Kristy Simpson sees the photo I post of us, and right there on the street, her face turns cold. She reaches over and forcibly pushes my phone down. "Adam, I don't like putting my personal life on display for people to gossip about. Delete the post. Don't be so immature." Under the gazes of the pedestrians, I silently delete the post right in front of her. Only when the photo disappears from the screen does some of the chill leave her. She sighs, then reaches out and pulls me into her arms. "Be good. All that matters is that we live our lives well. We don't need to post stuff online just to prove things to other people." For the next three years, not a single trace of her appears on my social media again. When my friends ask if I'm single, I just smile and tell them she's a private person. Even for our wedding invitations—a wedding scheduled for next month—I use a lone landscape photo. Then, last night, I happened to stumble across her on the recommendation page of a pet influencer's account. In the video, she's got her arm around another man, her eyes crinkling as she smiles at the camera. There are over ten thousand comments in the comment section, and all of them are gushing about how sweet Kristy and her boyfriend are. I scroll through the entire feed, post by post. The earliest one was uploaded eight months after we got together. Pinned right at the top is a "complaint" from that same man. "She insists on filming every single day. It's so annoying." As it turns out, she doesn't hate being on camera. She just hates it when I'm in the frame with her. I calmly exit the page and send a text to the wedding planner. "Cancel the wedding."

When my father succumbed to a brutal illness, my world shattered. The day before his funeral, my fiancé abandoned me to marry his first love, which added to my grief. When I confronted him, his irritation was palpable. "Megan's dad is dying of cancer," he snapped. "His last wish is to see her get married. I did something good. Can't you see it?" That night, I called him, desperate for answers, only to hear that woman's smug voice. "Blake is in the shower. Can I help you?" I hung up without a word, my heart sinking. Later, he called back, exhausted and dismissive. "I'm swamped with wedding plans. Don't bother me with irrelevant things, okay?" Silence was my only response. I tossed the engagement ring into the trash and canceled our wedding plans, severing the ties that bound us.

During my wedding, someone suggests that we play the game "one dollar and 50 cents". The host will call out an amount that the players will have to match by forming groups. I draw the 50-cent straw, and so does my best friend, Rebecca Cross, who is also the group favorite. My fiance, Ian Chilton, his childhood friend, Richard Price, his older sister, Anne Chilton, and my stepsister, Chelsea Whitmore, all draw one-dollar straws. For the first round, we need to make up a total of 1.50 dollars. I make a beeline toward Ian, but he gazes distractedly at Rebecca. It isn't until he is assured that she won't be eliminated that he finally loosens his painfully tight grip on my hand. Before I can truly feel my disappointment, the second round begins. This time, we need to make up a total of five dollars. Everyone instinctively surges toward Rebecca. I don't pester Ian this time, and he naturally fails to notice that I've been left out. It isn't until the host reminds them that they're 50 cents short that they reluctantly let me into their group. For the third round, we need to make up 2.50 dollars. It's clear that the six of us can conveniently form two groups of said amount, yet they debate heatedly over who gets to be in the group with Rebecca. As time is running out, Richard and Chelsea finally walk reluctantly toward me, having lost in a game of rock-paper-scissors. In the final round, we need to make up 4.50 dollars. As soon as the whistle is blown, they crowd together merrily. Ian even considerately wraps his arm around Rebecca's shoulders out of fear that she'll be jostled. Meanwhile, I'm knocked to the floor by the crowd, my palms digging deeply into splinters sticking out of the wooden floor paneling. From start to finish, nobody spares me a glance. In that instant, everything feels pointless to me. When we played hide-and-seek as children, they only realized I hadn't been "found" after nightfall. When we visited the amusement park as adults, they would always forget to buy my ticket. All things considered, it simply isn't polite to keep trying to fit into a small group that doesn't have room for me.

For ten years, I have stayed by Maren Hale's side without her formally acknowledging me as her boyfriend. Thus, I become the oldest kept man in Harborfield. After I turn 30, I have asked her to marry me more than 30 times. Each time, she smiles and kisses me. "Reid, I'll marry you when I'm ready," she says. When I'm 31, a car accident nearly kills me. Still shaken, I propose to Maren. She tells me to wait a little longer. By the time I'm 33, a doctor warns me that my kidney function is declining. I wave the diagnosis report in front of her and press for marriage. Yet, she still tells me to wait. While I wait for her, the sun rises and sets over Mount Carlisle more than 3,600 times. Finally, I think she is ready. Holding back tears, I promise my seriously ill father that he will live to see me get married. What I don't know is that Maren is not opposed to marriage. It's just that the ten years she spends fooling around with me are nothing more than an act of rebellion against her mother, who has driven away her former fiancé. Before the banquet, I see the ring I give Maren inside her handbag. I think she is finally going to accept my proposal. Nervous and hopeful, I wait the entire evening. But just moments ago, during a game of dare, she casually tosses the ring to a male model she has just met. "The kid is turning 20. A pink diamond suits him perfectly. Next time, I'll have an emerald one made for us." The entire room bursts into laughter. I laugh along with them. "Don't bother," I said. "Someone else already has a rock waiting for me, and I said yes."

Every code Charlotte Henderson gave me for her front door was valid for exactly three hours. After that, it would expire. Every time I went to her place, she would send me a new code in advance with the same message. Charlotte: [Let me know when you get here. I’ll change it again.] We had been together for three years. We lived less than half a mile apart, yet getting into her apartment felt like a game of luck. Somehow, I could never seem to win at this game. One day, a torrential downpour hit. As usual, she was late to send the code. My phone got so soaked that it stopped working. I crouched outside her door and knocked for three hours. When the door finally opened, Charlotte frowned. “Didn’t you check your phone? I sent you the new code ages ago.” I opened my mouth, about to explain. Then a man’s voice came from inside the living room. He was wrapped in her blanket. “Who’s that?” She shifted sideways, blocking the gap in the door. “A coworker. He got caught in the rain.” She had always been like this. To avoid raising suspicions, she never mentioned me on social media or introduced me to her friends. Whenever we went on dates, she would choose places and times when hardly anyone else would be around. Even when we walked outside, she always kept six feet between us. She called it having ‘healthy boundaries’ in a relationship. Through that narrow gap in the door, I saw Hugh Fenwick reach out for the door handle. Click! The lock snapped back into place. I stood outside in the rain for three hours, and all I got was another six-digit code as an afterthought. At that moment, I finally understood. Charlotte was not guarded with everyone. I just was not someone she was willing to make an exception for. Three hours was all it took for me to give up on her and stop loving her.

Everyone knew I, Isabella Marino, was Vince Moretti's greatest weakness—the one thing the mafia boss would never tolerate being touched. Years ago, when I was kidnapped, Vince disarmed himself at gunpoint, risking death to get me back, even paying his entire fortune for my ransom. To keep me from harm, he walked a razor's edge, navigating danger at every turn. After I got pregnant, he waited on me hand and foot, barely letting my feet touch the ground. There were rumors that he kept a pampered mistress outside—some woman he spoiled rotten. I never believed them. But then she flaunted herself in front of me. To beg for my forgiveness, Vince cut off his own finger. The next day, that woman slapped her pregnancy test results in my face, sneering, "Vince wanted a baby with me so badly, he just couldn't help himself!" I was already frail. The shock and rage sent me into a miscarriage.

Dakota Stelter and I tumbled down that steep ravine together. I lay there bleeding and broken, only to watch my boyfriend scoop her into his arms and walk away without a backward glance. He left me. In that moment, in every way that mattered. While everyone fussed over Dakota's scratches, no one even checked if I was still breathing. When I was finally rescued and recovering at the hospital, my boyfriend didn't even visit. I was hurt. So I moved on. Piece by piece, I rebuilt myself without him. But then he became distraught. Suddenly, he was sobbing, telling me he had always loved me.

Today is Morgan Franklin's 30th birthday. It also marks the day he brings up divorce in front of me for the 99th time. He doesn't sound guilty and tentative anymore, unlike his demeanor when he mentioned divorce for the first time. Instead, he has a cigarette dangling between his lips while looking at me mockingly. "I've already called the ambulance for you, Milana. Have you thought about how you're going to commit suicide this time? Are you slitting your wrist or overdosing on pills?" Everyone in the private room bursts out laughing. "I bet she's going down the sleeping pill route! She did that the last time, and she had to get her stomach pumped for three hours!" "Hell no! She's definitely jumping off a building this time! But she'll just wait for the firemen to lay out the safety mat before pretending to jump! She's not going to die at all!" "Nah… Ms. Brook is very creative when it comes to suicide. Every time she commits suicide, she always uses a different method!" Everyone is curious as to which suicide method I will use in order to get Morgan to stay this time. But when I notice the smiles on everyone's faces, I suddenly feel exhaustion weighing down on my soul. The anger that has been sustaining me for so long finally dissipates. I lower my gaze before stating calmly, "I'm not doing any of that. This time, I shall grant you your freedom."

After four years with Killian, I got pregnant. I took the pregnancy test and my ID to a private hospital to set up a file, but when entering insurance information, I was stopped by the blonde administrative specialist. "Mrs. Smith, the system shows there is a problem with your marital status." She looked at me awkwardly. "Your marriage to Mr. Killian is not legally effective." I was stunned and instinctively retorted, "That's impossible. We registered in Las Vegas, all the procedures were..." "There is only an application record, no final signed effective document." The specialist turned the screen around and tapped the keyboard a few times. "Moreover, Mr. Killian's legal wife... shows another lady's name." That name was like a thorn, piercing fiercely into my retina. Elena. Killian's personal secretary, and also publicly recognized as the benefactor who saved his life in the Alps avalanche five years ago. I felt all the blood in my body flowing backward. How could it be her?

The house was on fire. My husband–a firefighter–rescued our son first. And the kitten his first love had left behind. Then, to comfort the frightened woman, he rushed off without a second thought. When his colleagues asked my son if anyone else was still inside, he glanced in my direction… and shook his head. "There's no one else." I was later found screaming for help, barely alive. Outside my hospital room, my son looked at me with disappointment. "Why didn't you just burn to death in there? "If you were gone, Aunt Maya could be my mom."

At the bachelorette's party before the wedding, Juliet Stone's best friend speaks with her in their hometown's dialect. "The video that's posted in our group chat was taken in your and Hugo's new home, right? Doesn't that mean you've been cheating on him blatantly this whole time? You go, girl!" Juliet shoots her a mysterious smile. "Yeah. You know that I've always had a bad heart, so I couldn't carry out strenuous exercises. After undergoing the heart transplant surgery, I think that if I only get to sleep with one man for the rest of my life, it'll be dull and boring." A pause later, she adds, "I plan on unlocking 100 locations with my lover before the wedding starts. But once I've gone through the wedding, I won't sleep around anymore and choose to stay devoted to Hugo instead." I can only clutch my chest tightly, where an artificial heart beats silently. Juliet has no idea that I've specifically learned her dialect in order to bond with her family even better. Of course, I've already discovered the fact that she has been cheating on me with our wedding planner for a very long time. That's why I decide to hide something from her as well. I've already booked the euthanizing service that's provided overseas. On the wedding day that Juliet has been greatly anticipating, I'll have disappeared beyond the ocean. Later on, even if Juliet does track me down using all of her resources, all she can find is nothing but my ashes.

"If you could start over, who would you date?" That night, one of my fiancé's friends threw a party. We were playing truth or dare when the spinner landed on Julian Hale. All eyes in the room turned to Julian, who sat beside me. Then everyone turned to me with knowing, slightly envious smiles, ready to tease. Just yesterday, Julian had proposed to me with a three-million-dollar drone light show and a nine-million-dollar diamond ring. Glass in hand, my smile froze before it could fully form. Julian toyed with a metal lighter between his fingers. His gaze passed right over me and settled on the girl in white sitting in the far corner of the room. "Summer Lowe." His voice was flat. He didn't hesitate for even a second. The teasing in the room died instantly. A few of the guys across from us exchanged awkward looks. Someone coughed, then quickly tried to smooth things over. "Julian's joking. Everybody knows he's marrying Nora next month." Summer's head snapped up. Her eyes immediately welled with tears, and she twisted her fingers together nervously. "Julian, stop joking around. Nora's going to be upset." Sitting beside Julian, I felt my blood run cold.

At our company dinner, my girlfriend, Katherine Hale, makes a detour to get some treats. She hands a glass of juice to my childhood friend, Mark Langley, who is sitting opposite us. Then, she sets down a cup of yogurt in front of me. Mark thanks her with a smile. "How thoughtful of you! You remembered I can't have iced drinks because of my gastric issues." I stare at the cup of yogurt with mango bits in it. Then, I nudge it further away from me, my expression blank. "What's the matter?" Katherine asks casually. I respond, "I'm allergic to mangoes. Did you forget that again?" She freezes for a moment. Then, she smiles and shrugs. "Come on, it's no big deal. Just pick out the mango bits." But she never forgets that Mark doesn't want any cilantro or onion in his food. Also, he only accepts chilled juice without any ice or sugar. Meanwhile, I have difficulty breathing if I take even a single bite of mango, but she thinks it's fine as long as I pick them out. Turns out, if one is biased enough, they can overlook even matters of life and death. On our way home, I sit in the back seat as usual. I look at the two people in the front, who seem perfect for each other. All of a sudden, I feel relief washing over me. Katherine can't even remember my allergies, so what am I holding onto this relationship for?

As Dad lies on his death bed, he rasps to me that his only wish is to watch me get married. I keep crying to the point that my sobs come out silent. My entire family turns to look at Whitney Pearson, who stands behind me. She lets out a small sigh before wiping my tears away for me gently. Then, she leads me out of the ward. But as soon as the door is closed behind us, Whitney's expression turns icy. "Joseph, we've been dating for seven years. You of all people should know very well that I hate getting coerced into doing something the most. "Love is all about going with the flow. We shouldn't let others determine how our relationship should progress." Then, she caresses my cheek reassuringly. "Let's not rush our marriage. We'll talk more about this once things settle down after my company goes public. What do you think? "Anyway, I still have a meeting to get to tonight. You should deal with your family as you see fit. I'll bring a gift for you when I come home later." Before I can say anything, Whitney spins on her heel and leaves with her secretary, Kaiden Xavier. The moment both of them disappear into the elevator, I witness Kaiden bending over slightly to brush Whitney's hair from her face for her. She makes no move to stop him at all. After drying my tears, I return to the ward and take Dad's hand with a smile. "Don't worry, Dad. I'll get married in three days. In fact, I'm still waiting for you to do my tie for me before the start of the ceremony."

Rachel Winters and I have held 99 weddings, and all 99 times, she played the runaway bride. She always makes a run for it right before the vows, leaving me alone in the awkward silence of the venue. "Felix Hampton, you have to forgive me for my impulsiveness. I promise that I won't run away again on our 100th wedding," she says. "I will hold your hand and grow old with you. I will be yours forever!" To prove her sincerity, she decides to hold our 100th wedding on a cruise ship in international waters. "We'll hold the wedding at sea. That way, even if I wanted to run, I wouldn't be able to." Yet, just as we are about to exchange our rings before the vows, Rachel strips off her wedding gown, revealing a wetsuit underneath. "I'm sorry, Felix. I still can't bring myself to marry you." With that, she plunges into the open sea. Someone is waiting for her at the side of the cruise ship. They embrace tightly, their lips meeting in a passionate, lingering kiss. Some time later, she gets tired of her own games and holds a 101st wedding with me. This time, she voluntarily handcuffs her own wrists together. "Honey, I won't run away anymore now that I've handcuffed myself like this. I'm giving you the key. I'm willing to give up all my freedom for your sake!" However, I take the key from her and toss it straight into the trash can. "I don't want your love or freedom anymore." I've already played the foolish groom a hundred times, waiting for a bride who would never arrive. And now, it's finally my turn to run at our 101st wedding.

On our wedding night, my wife, who almost never drank, got wasted because she was supposedly too happy. Just when I didn't know what to do, my best friend sent me a long message explaining how to take care of her. I blushed, but I still followed his instructions and soothed her the way he described. Natalie, who had been making a scene, miraculously quieted down. But just as I was about to call my friend and thank him, Natalie suddenly hugged me from behind. Heartbroken, she whispered, "Ashton Hawke, you're the one I wanted to marry." As she said it, the tattoo near her heart slipped into view: a hawk with its wings spread wide. My mind went blank. Ashton Hawke was my best friend of twenty years. Natalie hadn't gotten drunk because she was happy. She had gotten drunk because she hadn't married the man she truly wanted.

My girlfriend, Natalie Whitcombe, was the heiress to a wealthy family. Yet, she still took my salary and insisted that we save every penny together so we could eventually run away and start a new life. She bought me only discounted items close to their expiration dates, picked up clothes her neighbors no longer wanted for me to wear, and bought me the cheapest version of everything. Meanwhile, I turned down a high-paying out-of-town job assignment just to stay by her side. I even secretly worked part-time at a restaurant after my regular shifts, hoping to earn a little extra just to save more money. Unfortunately, I eventually ran into Natalie at that very restaurant. The woman who was always telling me we needed to save money had just spent tens of millions to reserve the entire restaurant for her childhood sweetheart, Ewan Somerset, to celebrate his birthday. Then, she even announced that Ewan was her fiancé in front of everyone. Ewan smiled. "If I'm your fiance, what does that make Sylvan Joffre? I heard he's been working himself to the bone at all sorts of part-time jobs every day, saving money so he can elope with you." "I'm just fooling around with him," Natalie said nonchalantly while withdrawing every last cent from my salary account. "It's not my fault that he was stupid enough to take it seriously. This is everything he saved over five years. Consider this a tip and split it among everyone." I received a hundred dollars from my own savings before the cheering crowd pushed me aside. Then, my phone pinged with a text notification from Natalie. "Babe, I'm standing in line to buy discounted goods right now. I'm sorry you've had to struggle alongside me. Once we've saved a million, we'll run away together." However, I would never believe her lies ever again. So, I texted my supervisor, "I'll accept the assignment. I don't care if I never come back."

During a classmates' reunion party, the villa unexpectedly collapses, trapping both Priscilla Hobbs, my husband's true love, and me beneath the fallen ceiling. My husband is a member of the rescue team. To keep Priscilla alive, he chooses to lift the ceiling from her side. He says, "Pris is an actress. She can't be crippled." The ceiling crushes my legs as it's lifted from the other end. My husband seems to have forgotten that I have a congenital blood clotting disorder. Without my legs, I'll die…

Everyone in my fiancée Marianne Kirby's phone has a contact name. My best friend, Jeremiah Cochran, is saved as Jerry, whereas I'm just a string of numbers with no name attached. I've asked Marianne why before, but she simply reaches up to straighten my collar. "I know your number by heart, so why would I need to save your name? I'm marrying you, after all—of course I've got to get on your best friend's good side early." Jeremiah even reassures me, "Marianne just loves you so much that she extends that love to the people around you, so I'm only benefiting from being your best friend." I tell myself that Marianne doesn't need to save my name because it's already etched into her heart. But that belief starts to crack when I'm burning up with a fever of 104 degrees, and Marianne replies to my WhatsApp messages with just two sentences. "Drink plenty of warm water. I'm working late tonight." Yet, I run into her at the pharmacy across from the hospital. She's anxiously comparing medication ingredients for Jeremiah, who's having an allergic reaction. Standing outside the glass window, I shiver with cold as I call her. The phone in her pocket lights up, displaying the string of numbers she claims to know by heart. Without a moment's hesitation, she declines the call, then smiles at Jeremiah. "It's probably another telemarketer. Just ignore it." As I listen to the dial tone on the other end, I delete the chat I've kept pinned for years. After all, I've never had a name in Marianne's world. No one will notice if a number without a contact name simply disappears.

Eleanor Beaumont and I absolutely loathe each other. She detests me for killing my elder brother, Valerian Ashford, and I abhor her for sleeping with him while carrying my child. Later, consumed by guilt, she petitions the king to make Valerian her prince consort and has the children I raised myself acknowledge him as their father. Heartbroken, I petition for a divorce and curse her to never find the love she longs for. In a fit of rage, she orders her men to break both my legs. She imprisons me in the rear courtyard, where she humiliates and torments me for 30 years. But on the day the city falls and the palace goes up in flames, Eleanor helps me, frail and emaciated, to my feet and supports me step by step as we flee the palace, despite having taken seven arrows in her own body. Even as death approaches, she shields me with her own body and begs through bloodstained tears, "Luke, I have wronged you. If there is a next life, I hope you'll give Val and me your blessing. Let's not torment each other anymore." … When I open my eyes again, I find myself back on the day of the Princess's Choosing. This time, Eleanor walks straight past me and places the pendant symbolizing her choice into Valerian's hands. I bow, smile, and offer my congratulations. "Your Highness, I wish you and Valerian a lifetime of love and happiness." This time, I will fulfill her lifelong wish. Be it in life or in death, I will never see her again.