Cerita Pendek Mistress Romance & Novel Regret

I was shopping for a crib when Xavier Davis came home with a three-year-old boy. One look at the child was enough to make me pause. He had the exact same eyes as Xavier's first love. "She just moved back and isn't in a position to take care of him," Xavier told me. "He'll be living with us from now on." There was no room for discussion in his tone. The decision had already been made. Then his gaze dropped to the slight curve of my stomach. "As for yours… Terminate the pregnancy. He's sensitive. A new baby would be too much for him right now." My fingers tightened around the ultrasound printout in my hand. For a long moment, I said nothing. Then I gave him the answer he expected from me. "Okay. Whatever you want." … The next afternoon, I walked out of the clinic alone and returned with the abortion paperwork. I placed it in front of Xavier. He glanced at it once before tossing it casually onto the table. "The penthouse at Astoria Heights will be transferred into your name tomorrow." I nodded. "Thank you." His eyes lingered on me, as though he were waiting for me to cry, accuse him, or finally lose control. I did none of those things. The faint crease between his brows told me that was not the reaction he had expected. What Xavier did not know was that the procedure had been fake. The penthouse, however, was very real. There was one golden rule every woman in a marriage like mine learned sooner or later. Make the tears convincing. Never let the feelings become real. And whenever a man felt guilty, make sure he paid for it.

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.

Naomi Henderson, my girlfriend, makes three wishes on her birthday night in front of the birthday cake I have baked for her. Her first wish is for Bryan to stay safe and well every day. Her second wish is for Bryan's project to win an award. Her third wish is for the cat she and Bryan raise together to grow up safe and healthy. Bryan Green is none other than my best friend. I stand by the table, still holding the candles I haven't lit yet, while everyone in the room laughs and joins in on the fun. Bryan turns to Naomi with a playful smile. "How come you didn't make a wish for Julian? He's your boyfriend, you know." Naomi smiles with absolute certainty. "Do I even have to guess what his wish is? He obviously wants to marry me." She takes out a men's ring from the bottom of the cake box a moment later. If this were before, I probably would have nodded along to everyone's cheers, but now I merely watch as she puts the ring on my ring finger. It is so loose that it can slide right off. It is two sizes too big, which fits Bryan perfectly. I chuckle softly. I have loved Naomi for seven years, but moving on from her only takes this split second.

Ethan Shaw is dead. His face has been destroyed and his limbs severed. When his body reaches the morgue, the person who performs the autopsy is his own wife, Dr. Vivian Sullivan. She is a cool, rational professor of forensic pathology, and she is the woman Ethan loved for more than a decade. Six years ago he lost his voice saving her life, and she married him because of it. In all the years that followed, she remembered every one of his follow-up appointments yet never once remembered his birthday. She tended his injuries, but gave every ounce of warmth and favor she had to his younger brother. Right up until the moment he died, Ethan was calling her, over and over. And she hung up on his last plea for help so she could film a meteor shower for his brother. Afterward, Vivian finds a scar she knows on the body, a red mole behind its ear, and the ring he died protecting--the one he'd meant to give her. She finally recognizes him.

At our class reunion, my so-called best friend, Shannon Drew, pulled out a box stuffed with folded notes. A line was taped across the top— [Draw one of Mia Martinez's hopeless-romantic quotes.] The room burst out laughing. Someone pulled a love letter I'd written to Damien Byford senior year. "Damien smiled at me today. I want to give him all my tomorrows, too." Someone else grabbed one from college. "It's okay if he doesn't text back. He'll think of me when he's not busy." Damien had never replied to a single letter. I'd always figured he'd tossed them years ago. Then Shannon drew letter No. 99. Leaning against Damien, she laughed as she read, "If you ever decide you don't want me anymore, I'll still wish you happiness." Damien snatched it from her. "Don't go too far. She embarrasses easily." He told her to stop, but that grin said otherwise. He wanted to see me humiliated too. As Shannon kept reading, she accidentally knocked the box sideways. I bent to pick it up and spotted two tiny lines taped underneath: [Updated monthly. For entertainment only.]

After Graduation, I Married Lucas Bellmont, the Hottest Star Captain in American Hockey. Three years into our marriage, he suddenly became obsessed with my body, a complete 180 from his usual cold demeanor. He wanted me night after night, saying he wanted us to have a child. Despite the ache in my body, my heart swelled with sweetness. I thought he'd finally accepted me. At a gala, I shared the news with my best friend—Lucas's adopted sister, Clara. She ran off in tears. Lucas, usually so composed, went pale. He lashed out at me for saying such things in front of Clara, then left without a second thought. I followed, worried, and found them locked in an embrace. "If it weren't for you, I'd never have married her. If it weren't for your pregnancy, I wouldn't be touching her now." "Everything I'm doing—making her have the baby quickly so we can swap it with ours—it's all for our future. So our child can be the rightful heir." "Clara, just hold on a little longer, okay?" Lucas's voice was softer than I'd ever heard it. All for another woman. His adopted sister. My so-called best friend. I didn't cry. I didn't make a scene. I turned around and called my lawyer for a divorce agreement. Since he'd never loved me. In seven days, I'd be gone from his life for good.

Every time my foster sister, Lindsay Hartley, and I disagreed, Carl Curran and my brother Mark Hartley would settle it with a vote. When Carl and I were choosing our future home, I wanted somewhere in the southern district, close to our parents. Lindsay wanted the busier northern district instead. Neither of us would budge, so we put it to a vote. Carl was the first to raise his hand. "You're being so narrow-minded. You don't understand anything about actually living your life. Go with Lindsay's pick." Mark patted my head. "Don't be so selfish. The north side is close to Lindsay's office, so she can come stay with us whenever she wants." Three to one. I was forced to give in again. Then came the renovations. I wanted the big south-facing room as the master bedroom, but Lindsay wanted to turn it into a walk-in closet instead. Carl stepped in. "Let's just vote on it, so you can't say we're playing favorites again." No surprise: Lindsay won again, unanimously. And the room left for me, the actual bride, was smaller than half the size of that closet. Looking back over the hundred-some votes we'd had. Carl had sided with me: zero times. Mark had sided with me: zero times. Watching the three of them huddled together, deep in discussion over how to decorate the closet, it suddenly hit me. The so-called votes were never anything but a convenient excuse for them to openly favor Lindsay. If that was the case, then I was done playing a game on a scale that would never tip in my favor.

On the day of our graduation photo, the class started sorting everyone into groups. I'd barely taken my place beside my boyfriend, Evan Brooks, when someone started shouting. "Put Claire next to Evan!" "Right? Claire's the prettiest girl on campus. She belongs beside the campus heartthrob!" Before I could react, my childhood friend Liam took my arm and gently traded our positions. "Nina, switch with Claire. "It's only a graduation photo. Don't be petty." Evan smiled and didn't refuse. He only stepped half a step aside, opening a space for Claire. I froze where I stood and touched the barrette in my hair without thinking. It was the first gift he'd ever given me. I'd stood in front of the mirror for ages getting it right, because I wanted one proper photograph with him. Right before the shutter, Evan called to me. "Nina." My heart lurched. The next second, he reached up and took the barrette out of my hair. "Claire's hair is a mess. Let her borrow this." The teasing started up again. Claire lowered her head and smiled. Evan didn't explain. The photographer called out. "All right—happy graduation!" When everyone shouted it together, I was standing at the very edge. At that moment, I finally understood that I had never belonged there. Since I had no place in your graduation photograph, you would have no place in my future.

After three years in a long-distance relationship, I went straight to the courthouse as soon as my flight landed, ready to marry Willow Payne. Instead, she showed up holding a newborn baby. Without a trace of guilt, she placed the baby in my arms. "This is Rachel, my daughter with Preston. You can raise her from now on." My mind went blank. Standing beside her, my childhood friend, Preston Webb, burst out laughing. "Willow and I got drunk one night, and one thing led to another. We ended up sleeping together. Your time working out of town is finally over, and now you get to come home and be a dad. Hell of a surprise, right?" I stared at them. "Do you seriously think this is funny?" Preston only grinned wider. "Willow and I made a bet about whether you'd cry when you found out she had my baby. I said you wouldn't. So I won. Willow promised to travel the world with me until I get bored and feel like coming back." Willow gave him an amused look, then turned to me like she was doing me a favor. "My daughter is your daughter, too. Take good care of her. When I get back, I'll marry you." She took Preston's hand and walked away with him. I looked down at the baby in my arms. Her skin and the whites of her eyes were so yellow that even I knew something was wrong. I called after them, but neither one looked back. Three years later, Willow showed up at my workplace. "Michael, I'm here to keep my promise. Let's get married. "But Preston and I have a daughter together. We thought it would be better for her if her parents were legally married, so Preston and I got married. "I can't legally marry you anymore, but I can still give you the wedding." She pulled out a wedding band and reached for my hand, trying to slip it onto my finger. I knocked her hand away and stepped back. "I already have a wedding ring. My wife gave it to me."

A typhoon warning had been issued. I drove out to pick up my mother, who lived by the coast. My car broke down halfway there. I called my boyfriend fifty-eight times, and every single one was declined. The rain kept getting heavier. No rescue services were available, and the water was rising. My hands were shaking so badly that all I could do was get Mom to a nearby bus shelter. That was when I scrolled past a Facebook post from my boyfriend's assistant, Megan. "Derek is such a sweetheart. Spent two hours searching, and the little stray finally has a home." In the photo, Derek was at Megan's place, giving a stray cat a bath. I looked at my mother, soaked to the bone, and a wave of hurt washed over me. By the time evening fell, my boyfriend finally called back, but the wind was so strong that the signal kept cutting in and out. I was about to ask him to come get us when his voice crackled through the receiver, broken up by static. "Don't let your mom... the seafood... mess up the car." Before I could say a word, he hung up. The rescue team arrived. As we climbed in, Mom was still shivering, fretting over the seafood that had spoiled during the delay. I picked up the bag and tossed it into the trash. If it's spoiled, there's no point keeping it. Same goes for people.

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.

On the day of my mother's funeral, I sat outside the chapel, crying so hard I could barely stand. Three days earlier, my father had told me she'd died in a car accident. He said her body was so badly damaged that I shouldn't see it. I wouldn't be able to handle it. I believed him. I put on a black dress and sat beside her casket all night. Ten minutes before the cremation, my phone buzzed. A notification popped up for a hotel livestream. I opened it and froze. My mother was on the screen in an evening gown, smiling as my younger sister, Nina Whitmore, handed her a glass of champagne. My father sat beside her, his eyes red. "From now on, Nina doesn't have to live in Evelyn's shadow or suffer in silence." My brother smiled and dropped a set of keys into Nina's hand. "The condo is yours now. Adrian is inside waiting for you." My whole body went stiff. Adrian Cole had been my fiancé for eight years. He was supposed to be here with me, mourning my mother. The camera shifted, and there he was, standing in the condo doorway and brushing a hand over Nina's hair. I'd sold the little cottage my grandmother, Rose Bennett, had left me just to afford the down payment on that condo. Only last night, Adrian had held me and said, "Once your mom's funeral is over, we'll move in." Now he was holding my sister and telling her something else. "Don't cry. This is our home now." Then I heard footsteps behind me. I turned around. My mother stood in the chapel doorway, still wearing the same evening gown from the livestream. The smile on her face hadn't even fully faded. "Evelyn, I had no other choice. Your sister has loved Adrian since she was little. Adrian already gave you eight years. Can't you let Nina have him now?" I looked at the black-and-white portrait surrounded by flowers. The woman in that photo had such a warm, gentle smile. But the woman standing in front of me had just buried me alive.

My boyfriend proposed to me when we graduated from high school, but I made a deal with him instead of giving him an immediate answer. "We'll get married when we've collected 500 train tickets." In the first year, Marcus could hardly wait to come see me every day. Before long, our collection had grown to 280 tickets. He even laughed and said that he'd be able to take me home as his wife before graduation at the rate he was going. In the second year, we met each other halfway. Soon, the number of tickets climbed to 400. But in our third year, Marcus told me that his advisor had taken on a new project and that a junior who had just joined the research team needed him to show her the ropes. He became swamped, so I ended up visiting him most of the time. Meanwhile, he only came to see me occasionally. By the end of the year, we had barely managed to collect 460 tickets. In our fourth year, he said he was too busy with internship interviews, leaving me no choice but to pull several all-nighters to finish my assignments so that I could spend a weekend going to see him. We finally collected 499 train tickets just before graduation. I secretly put on a white wedding dress, slipped on the ring he'd given me when he proposed, and boarded a train. I wanted to surprise Marcus. I wanted to tell him that we had finally reached 500 tickets. I wanted to tell him that I was ready to marry him. But when I arrived at the foot of his dormitory building, my heart full of anticipation… I saw Marcus holding another girl tightly, surrounded by a large heart of flickering candles. He lowered his head and kissed her on the lips amid the cheers and teasing from the crowd.

When I was ten years old, I suddenly gained the ability to see red threads connecting people’s heads. Only those who had actually slept together would be bound by this unavoidable red line. Over the years, two extra red threads popped up over my father’s head, driving my mother to threaten to file for divorce again and again. Because of this, loyalty became the single most important thing I looked for in a partner. In the end, I chose Jasper—a modest, reserved man whose head was completely clean. On the night before our wedding, my bridesmaids hosted a bachelorette party. We played a game where whoever lost had to hand over their phone for the rest of us to snoop through. When it was my maid of honor Jean’s turn, she clutched her phone tightly, her face flushing red as she bashfully giggled. “Don’t look at mine! He wore me out so late last night. Those photos are definitely not fit for public viewing.” Everyone teased her for keeping her relationship so secretive, since no one had ever met her boyfriend. I was just about to step in and smooth things over when I suddenly saw a bright red thread stretch straight out from the top of her head. It wove right through the crowd and anchored itself directly onto my fiancé, Jasper. Yet, when he dropped me off at home last night, his head had been entirely clean. In fact, just half an hour ago, he had sent me a text. [Aria, I’ve saved myself for you for twenty-five years. On our wedding night tomorrow, I can finally have you. I love you!] I looked over at Jasper standing outside the door, staring at me with deep affection, and then back at Jean, whose face was glowing with passion. I raised my glass and clinked it gently against hers. “Jean, is your boyfriend’s last name Cook?”

In the second year after we decided on a destination wedding, my fiance, Nicholas Shipley, still had not finalized our travel plans. Unable to wait any longer, I confronted him once more. He finally took out his tablet to show me the travel itinerary he had prepared. “Honey, I just want the trip to be as perfect as possible.” Two years of frustration had been building up, and I could feel it boiling over. Just then, his phone buzzed with a notification. He stood up and walked away. He had forgotten to sign out of WhatsApp on his tablet. A pinned conversation with the young assistant intern, who worked for the manager, Annie Croce, popped up. He had marked it as urgent. [Nick, you’re amazing! You put together the whole itinerary in just two months. As a thank-you, I went ahead and bought us both tickets!] [This is a singles’ trip. So, no bringing your wife, okay?] The chat showed Nicholas’ elaborate travel plans in full detail. The itinerary he showed me had all been made for Jocelyn over the past two months. In contrast, I had waited for two whole years. Then, I heard his voice from behind. “Honey, the views aren’t great this month. How about we push it to next month instead?” “Don’t bother.” I was calm, but my body was as tense as a rock. “Nicholas, let’s break up.”

The young woman Royce Drayton has his eye on is fierce. He throws 200 million dollars at her, but she still refuses to leave her broke boyfriend. In a rage, Royce locks her away in his Crescent Shores villa for seven full days and nights. The staff whisper that Royce has his ways, that he can turn even the most defiant woman soft and willing. Afterward, he comes to me with the same easy apology he always gives. I can't even count how many times he cheats on me. Just like right now, I'm still giving him the cold shoulder over the secretary who crawls into his bed the month before, but he's already over her and on to someone new. It makes my jealousy feel pointless and a little pathetic. At some point, he stops even bothering with excuses and just tells me, "You're my only real wife. Isn't that enough?" I even start convincing myself that no man can resist temptation, especially not one who owns the entire city of Grayport. He's just playing around, and his heart is still mine. That's all that matters. But when I find out this young woman gets Royce to add her name to the Drayton family registry in just ten days, something I spent ten years trying and failing to earn, I know he's truly fallen for her. Later, I bring the terms of an old wager to Royce's mother myself. "I lost. I'll leave Grayport." "Sweetheart, love isn't something you win or lose." There's pity in her eyes, but she doesn't ask me to stay. She only asks, "Will you come back?" I beg the Draytons for their blessing to marry Royce. I cut ties with my own parents, give up everything, and swear never to leave this city. Now, standing at the waterfront one last time with the harbor wind on my face, I know I'm never coming back.

The day my husband, Ramsey Collins, completed his classified deployment, I brought our daughter to the local elementary school for registration. The administrator looked up from her screen, visibly confused. "Ma'am, your daughter's father is already registered in our database as a parent, but for a different boy. Did you mistype his details?" My forehead creased. "That's impossible. Let me check." I unlocked my phone. An update popped up from my husband, who had forgotten to hide his private posts from me. [Seven years in secret. Now I can finally tell the world that you are my wife.] The attached photo showed my best friend, Evelyn Reed, resting her head on his shoulder, smiling gently as she held her young son. In their hands were marriage certificates. Identical to the one sitting in my purse. My mind went completely blank. My thumb scrolled down the screen on autopilot. The comment section was packed with congratulations. Mutual friends. My own coworkers. At the bottom, there was a message from his mother, Juliet Collins. [She hid her marriage for seven long years. You need to make it up to them both from now on.] [Make sure you hide this from Clara. If she finds out her own marriage certificate is a fake, it will destroy her.] My husband replied with a quick nod emoji. [I will.] My hands began to tremble. For seven years, I looked after his mother. I raised our child. Meanwhile, he was playing family with someone else. Everyone knew. Every single person helped him keep the lie alive. My chest tightened until I couldn't breathe. A tiny tug pulled at my sleeve. My daughter pointed toward the door, her eyes wide and cautious. "Mommy, the rain is getting heavy. Are we still waiting for Daddy?" I opened the umbrella and took her hand. "No, sweetie. We're not waiting. We'll never wait for Ramsey Collins again.”

At eight months pregnant, Esther Rivera went to the mall to buy a duffle bag and stock up on supplies she would need when she went into labor. She was once again mistaken for a mistress and was assaulted by Summer Moreno. To protect the baby in her belly, she could not fight back at all. Summer grabbed her hair and slapped her several times, even nearly tearing off her clothes. At her wit’s end, Esther called the police. Both of them were taken to the police station. Each of them claimed to be Jasper Clarke’s wife The police officer, John Hayward, called Jasper to verify the truth. When Jasper learned about this, he went to the police station. Summer swiftly took out a mirror to touch up her makeup before looking at Esther smugly and saying, “Esther, do you think Jasper will say I’m his wife just to protect me? “I bet he will.”

Evan Shaw was famous for sticking to his principles. He was punctual, followed every rule, and never made exceptions. Yet when it came to going to City Hall to get married to Roxie Foster, he had stood her up eight times. The first time, his former underclassman, Sylvia Young, was returning after eight years abroad, and he had to pick her up from the airport. The second time, Sylvia accidentally burned her finger while cooking. The third time, Sylvia's son got sick. ... This was the eighth time. Once again, Evan didn't show up. He only called in a hurry and said, "Something came up. I'll be there." Roxie watched their number get skipped again and again until the clerk behind the window tapped on the glass. "Miss, is your boyfriend not coming again? We're about to close." Roxie was about to call him when a message from Evan came through first. "I'm still tied up. We'll get married another day." A bitter ache spread through her chest as she stared at the message. She was about to put away her phone and leave when a new post on Sylvia's social media feed caught her eye. Roxie froze. In the photo, Sylvia was smiling brightly. Beside her, Evan held Sylvia's son, Severin "Seven" Young, in his arms while gazing at her with unmistakable fondness. The caption read: "Seven wanted to go to the amusement park today. Thanks to my favorite senior for spending the whole day with us!" Looking at that picture, Roxie's throat tightened, heavy and raw. So this was the important matter that had kept him away. He had skipped their marriage registration to take Sylvia's son to an amusement park. Pain twisted through Roxie's chest. Hurt and anger burned through her so fiercely that her entire body began to tremble. She was about to call Evan and demand an explanation when she noticed the comments underneath the post. Several mutual friends had already started teasing them. "All these years later, Dr. Shaw still has the same soft spot for his favorite girl."

I had no sense of direction. Even after five years on Avenmore Island, I still could not tell north from south. Isaac Norwood always set up my GPS ahead of time. He said he would guide me for the rest of my life. On our wedding day, the bridal car reached Summit Pass Road when he suddenly said the bouquet had been left in the trunk. The moment I stepped out, the car door clicked shut behind me and locked. I saw the driver glance at Isaac through the rearview mirror, like he had known all along. The next second, the motorcade disappeared into the fog. Isaac sent me a voice message. "Walk 999 steps forward and you'll hit a fork in the road. Sabrina says you can't even find the ceremony hall without me, but I don't believe her. Wren, don't let me lose." Sabrina Montrose was his ex‑girlfriend. I was wearing heels, and my ankles were rubbed raw and bleeding. By the time I had walked 2,000 steps and was completely lost, I finally reached Isaac's phone. Sabrina answered. "She can't tell north from south on a good day, and you sent her off alone? She's going to wander the hills for 3 hours. What are you going to do when she misses the ceremony?" Isaac sounded unbothered. "Then start the reception. You handle the photos and toasts for her. She'll find her way eventually." A photo appeared in the wedding group chat. Sabrina stood beside Isaac, holding the bouquet he had told me was left in the trunk. The 999 steps had never been meant for me. They had been paved for her. I pulled off my heels and threw them into the ravine.