Historias cortas de Tragic Love Romance y novelas con Mistress ambientadas en Regret

A week before Christmas, I received a year-end report titled "My Business with Your Wife." [Item one: this year's goal was to sleep with your wife a hundred and fifty times. — Exceeded.] [Item two: get your wife to buy me a mansion and a luxury car. — Done.] [Item three: get your son to call me "Dad" ten times a day. — Exceeded.] [Item four: stand right in front of you and claim what's mine. — Done.] [Mr. Wolfe, I've been taking care of your wife and looking after your son too. So, are you going to give me a bonus, or step aside like a smart man?] He'd attached a photo, labeled it "family portrait." In it, Allyson Fowler had her arm looped through his, and my seven-year-old son stood in front of them. This guy was my son's kickboxing coach. Allyson walked in just as I finished reading that special year-end report. Nervous, she said to me, "Don't go looking for trouble with him. I was the one who made the first move. It's not his fault. Take it out on me any way you want, and I'll make it up to you however you ask." My blood ran cold. I just looked into her eyes and said, "I just want you to go back to how things used to be." Back to when she was broke, stuck in the mud with nothing. She misunderstood and let out a relieved breath. "Even with him around, I won't neglect you."

When I found out my wife was pregnant with her lover’s baby, I thought I’d lose my mind just like the first time I caught her cheating, smashing up the whole house like a lunatic. Instead, I looked at our antique vase and realized it was far too expensive to break over them. It just wasn't worth it. Later, walking past a bakery, I thought seeing her buying baby supplies with Joseph would ruin my appetite. Yet, to my surprise, the cake I bought tasted better than usual. Before going to bed, that familiar dark urge to swallow a handful of sleeping pills crept up on me again. I thought I was about to lose my mind and take the most drastic measures to get back at that despicable couple when my therapist sent a message, reminding me once more to go outside and get some fresh air. So, I headed south to soak in the sun and feel the ocean breeze. For twenty-seven whole days, I didn’t think about them once. That was until my wife, Sarah, called. “There are three days left in our divorce waiting period. Don’t forget to come back so we can finalize the paperwork. “Don’t worry, Daniel. This is just temporary. After I have the baby, we’ll remarry. You know you’re the only one I love.” Only after her reminder did I remember the divorce was even a thing. This time, though, I was exhausted. I didn’t want to play their games anymore. So, with the ocean breeze on my face, I said almost without thinking, “How about this time, we end it for good?”

Shawn Bryant had touch starvation, yet he never let me touch him so much as accidentally. We'd lived together for four years, and every night he fell asleep with his arms wrapped around a goose plush toy. "Holding it simulates an embrace," he told me once. "It gives me a sense of security. It calms my nerves." I curled into his arms and pouted. "Isn't holding me the same thing?" He gently pushed me away and rolled over to hug the goose instead. "Don't start. Bebe's soft. It's comfortable to hold." One time I threw the goose in the washing machine, and Shawn lost his temper completely. "What if it's ruined now?" I didn't think much of it. "So we'll buy another one." "You don't understand anything!" He didn't speak to me for days after that. While he was in the shower, I snuck a look at his phone, hoping to find where he'd bought Bebe so I could replace it and make peace. His screen was still open to a chat thread. Every message in it had an exclamation point beside it, marking it as unsent. Shawn: [Holding Bebe is like holding you.] Shawn: [I can't sleep at all without you.] Shawn: [Cynthia, when are you finally coming back?] The last message had been sent the day before. The exclamation point beside it was gone, and a reply sat underneath it, glaring up at me. Cynthia: [This time it was a hug. What about next time?] My mind went blank. I looked at the goose lying on the bed and suddenly found the whole thing pointless. Shawn, if you were never going to let anyone actually touch you, then I'm done trying to be the one.

The day I discover that my husband, Nick Goldberg, is cheating on me, my severe depression drives me to climb up to the rooftop. My older sister, Natalie Swift, stabs him before dragging him over to apologize to me. From then on, Natalie moves in with us and becomes his strictest watchdog. Every time he so much as twitches, Natalie is even more anxious than I am. With Natalie keeping watch over Nick, he genuinely changes. He deletes all of the female contacts he has and comes back home on time. It's to the point that he even reports to me when he's just going out to throw the trash. Because of this, I think that this battered, broken marriage of ours is finally getting a fresh start. However, that only lasts until I receive a call from me ten years into the future. As I take in the gaunt, hollow-eyed woman in front of me, I ask tentatively, "It's been ten years. Is my depression still not cured?" Instead of answering, she curls her lips into a smile that was more a horrible grimace and shows me a video. The video she shows me is of Nick pinning Natalie to the closet wall. His eyes are filled with suppressed pain as he says, "For three years now, we've stayed under the same roof, yet we still can't openly be together. Just how long do you plan on punishing me?" Natalie shuts her eyes, tears trailing down her cheeks. "What we did to Lena was unforgivable. Only by being apart can we atone for our sins." I stiffen, feeling as though I've been plunged into freezing waters. As it turns out, the woman I've been searching the entire city of Hollerton for is none other than my beloved older sister. Nick truly is quite skilled at hiding her, to the point that she's been living right under my nose for three entire years without me being any the wiser. The screen abruptly cuts back to my future self, who leans in closer with a crazed smile on her lips. "You hear that? As long as you still breathe, everyone is suffering. Only with you dead can everyone be free."

My wife, Cheryl Sharpley, has a low sex drive. Every time we're intimate, she keeps a strict track of the time. Tonight is no different. We're only halfway through when the special notification on her phone goes off. It's a custom alert, reserved for one person. Her secretary, Henry Sadler, sounds extremely upset. "Ms. Sharpley, I dreamed about you. My chest hurts so much…" Without a second thought, Cheryl gets dressed and climbs out of bed. Pressing my lips together, I lower my eyes and reach out to catch her hand. "It's late. We haven't even—" "Henry is all alone in this city with no one to rely on. I'm his boss. I can't just ignore him." She doesn't even look at me as she says that. Calmly, she slips her hand free and stands before the mirror, applying fresh lipstick to her lips. "Today's task is complete," she adds. "I'll make up the time to you next time." My breathing falters. That's all I am to Cheryl—a task. Not long after she leaves, a message from Henry pops up on my phone. The attached photo shows him leaning against her shoulder. "Joseph, I'm really sorry. I was just so scared of losing her. I'll make sure she makes it up to you next time. You'll have to make do with your hand tonight." I read every word in silence. Quietly, I get out of bed, take a long shower, and strip the sheets from the bed, tossing them straight into the trash. I then change into a fresh set of pajamas. At that moment, I decide that I no longer want her in my life.

When I suffer a heart attack, I discover that my wife, Amelia Price, has given my private ICU room to her childhood friend, Norman Wallace, because an old injury of his has flared up again. Instead of a world-class medical team, I'm left on a hospital bed in the hallway, without even a curtain to shield me from the cold. Amelia is busy getting Norman a glass of water. When she's told about the mistake, she doesn't even bother turning around to look at me. "They booked it under the wrong name. He's already settled in, so just make do out here for one night," she says. I've been hearing that same excuse for five years. When I'm supposed to have my pre-surgery consultation with the specialists, Amelia books me into the wrong hospital. Instead, she spends the entire day at a private clinic with Norman while he undergoes physical therapy. When my chest pain is at its worst, she orders the wrong takeout, swapping the bland meal I want for Norman's favorite extra-spicy buffalo wings. Amelia even orders my expensive post-op support cushion in the wrong size, and it ends up as Norman's dog's new bed. To make sure she won't get it wrong again, I pay the ten-thousand-dollar deposit for my private hospital suite six months in advance. Then, I tape the confirmation paperwork to the refrigerator where she can't miss it. I even set three daily reminder alerts on her phone in the days leading up to my surgery. But when Amelia checks me into the hospital, she still gets it wrong. Seeing how pale I've gone, she only frowns. "Fine. This one's on me. It's just a routine surgery. Does it really matter where you have it?" She dismisses it as casually as she always does. But I'm done risking my life. I yank the IV from the back of my hand, remove my bloodstained wedding ring, and throw it into the trash. "You're right. It's just a surgery. But whether I live or die from this point on has nothing to do with you anymore."

The night the hurricane made landfall, the emergency alert had barely stopped sounding when my sister-in-law, Brielle Rourke, called again. I listened to her helpless sobbing, then calmly handed the phone to my husband, Caleb Rourke, who was busy boarding up the balcony doors. Whatever she said, he kept agreeing to it. He pulled on a rain jacket and gave me that practiced, guilty look. "Her window's broken, Lena. She's all alone over there. I'll patch it up and I'll be back before the worst of it hits, I promise." Once again, it wasn't a discussion. It was an announcement. Five years of marriage, and every storm had gone exactly the same way. The moment the thunder started, her call came right on schedule. I used to fight about it, but he always said, "My brother died young. Brielle's raising his son by herself. We help when we can." "You're a grown woman, and a strong one. You can look after yourself and our son, right?" The wind split the glass, and the shards opened my calf to the bone. I reached for the baby sweater I'd never finished knitting. Tonight, Caleb, I don't think your son or I need you anymore.

I stay behind to save a heart attack patient. So, I am unable to go and rescue Lucian Linton's dog. The very next second, I receive a message from my fiancee, Christine Stafford. It reads, "Because you stood by and did nothing, Lucian's dog ended up in the hospital! Let's postpone our wedding. Consider it your punishment." This is the ninth time Christine postpones our wedding because of Lucian's unreasonable behavior. This time, I don't want to play along with them anymore. Just then, floating comments appear before my eyes. "Hurry to the rooftop! Christine loves you. She saw through Lucian's tricks a long time ago." "She's postponing the wedding to surprise you. She's secretly planning the wedding of the century for you." I felt a pang in my heart. Filled with guilt, I rush to the rooftop to find her. But the moment I reach the door, I hear Lucian chuckle. "Do you think Maxwell will come beg for your forgiveness after seeing those messages?" Christine replies with a teasing smile, "Of course. That's our company's newest AR technology. Besides, he loves me so much that he won't question it, even if it's fake. This is his fault in the first place. He deserves to be taught a lesson." I freeze. So even those so-called comments claiming she loves me are merely a trick she has pulled on me just to humiliate me. Swallowing the bitterness that wells up inside of me, I turn and walk away. What Christine doesn't know is that after her fake comments disappear, the real comments finally appear before my eyes.

Auremont City's most prominent heir, Huxton Dunne, was finally back on his feet after three years of paralysis. His friends threw him a party at a private club. Margo Myer stood outside the door, clutching a gift she'd picked out just for him. Before she could walk in, she heard voices inside. "Dude, Margo basically got you back on your feet. You wouldn't be here without her." "For real. Three years of rehab, massages, barely any sleep because she was scared something might happen to you at night? You owe her forever." "She really is amazing," Huxton said. Margo's fingers tightened around the gift. Warmth filled her heart. Then one of his friends asked, "So... when are you gonna marry her?"

The first time Silvia Robinson undergoes ECT, she is all alone. Even Gregory Fisher, her fiance who loves her so much, is nowhere to be seen. After the doctor gives her a muscle relaxant, she starts to get drowsy. She is in a daze when she recalls what happened that evening. She has waited three hours in line for a special cake, which she is planning to surprise Gregory with. However, she comes home to see Gregory kissing her younger sister, Ella Robinson. The two are deep in a kiss as they hold each other tightly in an inseparable embrace. The cake in Silvia's hands drops to the floor, smashed beyond recognition as Silvia delivers a slap across Gregory's face. Then, she finds herself being pushed down the stairs by Ella. As she rolls down the stairs, Silvia feels like she has already seen this coming. Anyone close to her will eventually be taken away by her sister.

On the day of our road trip, I got up at four in the morning to pack my bags. The moment I opened the front passenger door, Patrick Farr grabbed me by the wrist. “Sit in the back. Dolly’s used to riding up front.” My best friend, Dolly Smith, immediately stood up for me. “Yuna came all the way from Southvale just to be with you. Don’t treat her like that.” Patrick cheerfully fastened her seat belt. “Relax. She cares about you.” Throughout the drive, they chatted about a new restaurant in Northvale and a mutual friend's wedding. I was the odd one out, having gone to college in Southvale, and couldn’t keep up with their conversation. Dolly suddenly frowned and said she felt carsick. Without even turning around, Patrick said, “Yuna, get the first-aid kit from the trunk.” I obediently got out and searched through the trunk. In the blink of an eye, the two of them were deep in conversation, and they drove away without me. I hurried after them, but my foot caught on something, and I fell hard. My knee struck the ground, and blood trickled down through the dirt. My phone buzzed, and I received a video call from Patrick—from five years in the future. He stared at my disheveled appearance, his eyes red-rimmed. “Yuna, I finally found you.” “Are you all right?” I said nothing and turned the camera around. On the screen, Patrick and Dolly sat side by side in the car before vanishing into the distance at the end of the highway. The smile instantly faded from the man’s face. A hand reached through the screen and gently placed a bandage over my wound. His voice was cold yet filled with concern. “Give him one last chance. Otherwise, I’ll take you away.”

After my 99th proposal, I finally convince Bridget Sherman to go with me to register our marriage at the city hall. Instead, all we get is a stern warning from the clerk. "Ms. Sherman, our records show that you're already married. If you register another marriage with Mr. Peterson, you'll be committing bigamy. That's a punishable crime that could throw you behind bars for up to two years. "I strongly advise you to respect marriage and the law. Don't treat marriage like a game or test the limits of the law." I stand there dumbfounded, unable to accept that the woman I've loved all this time has already become someone else's wife. Before I can even question her, Bridget loses her temper. She hurls the forms at my face. She fumes. "I told you not to come, but you insisted! Will you only be satisfied when I end up in prison? I've never met a man as clingy and pathetic as you!" Only then do I learn that, just to help her young intern, Keaton Joplin, put on an act, she secretly registered her marriage with him a month ago. Later, after discovering that Keaton only married her to scam her, she comes to me in tears, begging for forgiveness. "Channing, as soon as the 30-day divorce waiting period is over, I'll marry you! Meet me at the entrance to the city hall. Don't stand me up!" 30 days later, torrential rain pours down. Countless people see a young woman in a wedding dress waiting from morning until night in the wind and rain, shivering from the cold as tears stream down her face harder than the downpour. She's waiting for me to appear. But this is just like waiting for a boat that will never arrive at an airport.

My boyfriend, Ty Hyland, and I both had normal hearing, yet we communicated only in sign language. Our friends all praised Ty for being so kind. They thought he had encouraged me to change the way I communicated because he wanted to master sign language and help people with hearing loss. But they did not know that he did it for only one person. In the beginning, Ty suggested that we practice through complete immersion. We would avoid speaking or texting as much as possible. One day, I messaged him during a downpour and asked him to pick me up. He told me to video-call him and repeat the question in sign language. After I struggled through a few clumsy attempts, he hung up on me. In the end, I walked home in the pouring rain and developed a fever of 104 degrees Fahrenheit that very night. When I begged him aloud to take me to the hospital, he merely looked at my hands to imply that I should sign it. I was too sick even to lift my arms. He waited for only a few seconds before rolling over and going back to sleep. Eventually, I learned. When an old injury flared up, I broke out in a cold sweat and signed with trembling hands. “My stomach hurts. I need to go to the hospital.” Ty smiled and pinched my cheek. “Not bad. But I’m taking Luna to an exhibition, so you’ll have to bear with it for now.” Luna Winter was a deaf girl he had met while volunteering. A moan escaped me as the pain intensified. He remained unmoved. “I don’t understand. Use sign language.” Tears streamed down my face. He was not trying to teach me sign language. He just did not want to hear my voice. That was fine. I was leaving. After that, even if he wanted to hear my voice, he never would again.

For the fifth year of our secret relationship, Diego Barrett went on a blind date behind my back. I happened to catch him in the act. My gaze lingered on him for only a heartbeat before I looked away as though nothing had happened. A moment later, a text from Diego appeared. [My mom set this up. You know how she is. If I'd turned her down, she would've nagged me for days.] I watched the "typing..." indicator flicker beneath his name. Then I smiled and replied with my usual patience. [It's okay. I understand.] After all, I was only here because my parents had pressured me into going on a blind date too. My date had already been waiting in the private dining room for quite a while.

At the party, friends teased us, asking when Rosalie Diaz and I would finally get married. I looked at her, smiling. She said nothing, and stiffly changed the subject. The friend who'd started the teasing glanced at me awkwardly, apology in his eyes. My smile didn't waver. I took a sip of my drink. I've always been a bit of a procrastinator, though not a hopeless one. So I decided to let Rosalie go. And to let myself go, too.

It is New Year's Eve, so I fix a big spread of dishes for my girlfriend, Lily Heath. Lily doesn't even spare me a glance. She continues to pack her luggage, saying coldly, "I can't spend New Year's with you this year." I say nothing at all and simply eat my meal in silence. Lily's first love, Forrest Zimmer, posts a photo on his social media right as the clock strikes midnight on New Year's Eve. Lily is leaning affectionately on his shoulder in the photo, with dazzling fireworks lighting up the sky outside. He even has a caption that says, "She said that all I have to do is ask, and she'll leave it all behind for me." I refrain from throwing a scene or questioning her, merely giving the post a like. Lily calls me, her voice tense and frantic. "Please don't be upset, Ethan. I'll definitely spend next New Year's with you." I chuckle bitterly. "It's just a shame that there won't be a next year for the two of us."

On their wedding day, right as Elena Emerton and Kyle Fenton were about to exchange rings, a woman rushed Kyle with a knife. Elena moved on instinct, throwing herself in front of Kyle. The blade sank into her chest, and she crumpled into Kyle's arms. As the woman was dragged away, she screamed, "Kyle Fenton, we're not done! How dare you get married?" That was when Elena recognized her. Allison Smyth. Kyle's sworn enemy for the past six years. Before anyone could react, Allison broke free and held the knife to her throat. "Kyle, I'm tired. Let's end this." Kyle's eyes went wide. He dropped Elena and rushed to Allison, catching the blade with his bare hand. Elena hit the floor hard. Blood spread across her white wedding dress. Kyle held Allison tight, terrified she'd hurt herself. When Allison passed out, he scooped her up and rushed right past Elena. Not once did he look back.

My wife, Lani Fort, finally answered my calls only after my daughter, Anjou, stopped breathing. “Didn’t I tell you that Warren Stafford’s dog was having a difficult labor? I’m in the middle of saving a life right now. “You’ve called 108 times in two hours. What on earth is going on?” Two hours earlier, my daughter had suddenly developed a high fever, so I took her to the hospital. The doctor diagnosed her with acute myocarditis and said her only chance of survival was to use an ECMO machine. The $50,000 initial fee for the treatment had become an insurmountable obstacle for me. I called her 108 times, but she had rejected every single call. My voice trembled as I held my daughter’s lifeless body. “Anjou... she’s gone...” Loud cheers erupted from the other end of the line. Her childhood friend cheered joyfully. “They’re here! They’re here! Pudding gave birth to eight puppies in her first litter.” Lani’s voice also carried a note of relief. “I drove two hours to take her to the veterinary hospital. Spending $50,000 to save the lives of eight dogs was well worth it.” During the proposal, she said she would love me forever. After we got married, she said she could not give up her career. So, she made me quit my job to stay home and take care of the kids. The $50,000 treatment bill had cost my child her life. On the other hand, she had spent $50,000 to save Warren’s dog. Our marriage would not survive this.

The first time I was supposed to meet my boyfriend, Grady Cabrera's parents, he stopped me at the door. The reason? His childhood friend, Mallory Pierce, had just drawn a tarot card. According to the reading, I was cursed with bad luck today and shouldn't step foot inside the Cabrera family home. Before I could say a word, Grady reached for the gifts in my hands. "Wait in the car for a while. Once dinner's over, I'll drive you home." I didn't let go. "I've spent over a month getting ready to meet your parents, and you're not even going to let me inside?" His expression hardened. "Brenda, this is for your own good." Before I could protest, he shoved me back into the car and shut the door. Mallory smiled at me through the window. "Don't overthink it, Brenda. I'll go in and keep Linda Cabrera company for you." Grady stood beside her. From beginning to end, he never looked back. Because of a single tarot card drawn by his childhood friend, I—the woman who was supposed to be meeting his parents—had somehow become the one person who wasn't welcome in the house. In that case, maybe there was no point in joining this family at all.

When my water broke, I found out my husband, Damian Keats, had given away my private maternity suite to his childhood friend Sienna Lowe, because she had a stomachache. The top-tier medical team I'd arranged became an overflow bed in a drafty hallway without so much as a curtain around it. He was pouring warm water for Sienna when I said something about it, and he didn't even turn his head. "I got the name on the booking wrong. She's already settled in, so just make do out there for one night." I got it wrong. I'd been listening to that sentence for five years. He got the hospital wrong when I registered for prenatal care, and it happened to be the private clinic where he'd spent the whole day waiting on Sienna's cosmetic appointment. He got the food order wrong at the worst of my morning sickness, and the tart drink I could actually keep down turned into the ghost-pepper wings Sienna loved. He even got the crib size wrong, which is how it ended up as a bed for Sienna's dog. To keep him from getting anything else wrong, I paid the full twelve-thousand-dollar deposit on the private maternity suite six months early and taped the confirmation to the most obvious spot on the refrigerator. I set countdown reminders in my own phone, three times a day. He still got it wrong when he checked me in. Damian noticed how white my face was and frowned a little. "Fine, I got it wrong this time. But you're having a baby. What difference does the room make?" He waved it off the way he always did, and I decided I wasn't gambling my life on him again. I worked the IV out of the back of my hand and dropped my bloodstained wedding ring in the trash. "You're right. It's just a baby. But whatever last name this one carries, it won't be yours."