Mga Maiikling Kuwento at Nobelang Scumbag Romance

Ever since the couples' account Sean Deaver and I run together has gone viral, my biggest dread has been filming our daily videos. On camera, Sean and my best friend, Jodie Steele, act like the perfect couple. They're always over each other, while I'm not even allowed to show so much as a hand. In the first year, Sean wipes the cream from the corner of Jodie's mouth, then pops his finger straight into his mouth. When I confront him, he simply pinches my cheek and flashes me an indulgent smile. "Aw, someone's jealous," he coos. "It's all for the cameras, babe. Don't make a big deal out of nothing." The following year, Sean takes on a challenge to sneak ten kisses on his girlfriend while they eat without getting caught. When I question him about it, he answers so smoothly that it's as though he's rehearsed his excuse in advance. "Babe, this challenge is huge right now. It'll bring tons of traffic to our account." This year, they've promised to finally set the record straight. But just as we are about to put an end to the charade, they sign on for a dating reality show. When the host eggs them on to kiss, Sean leans down in front of everyone and plants a very real kiss on Jodie's lips. Afterward, they come to comfort me. "Sasha, it was all ed. Don't let it get to you." I've always believed that getting married would finally put an end to this suffocating life. But Sean hesitated. "The show's getting great numbers now," he says, holding up his phone. "The producers want us to ride the hype and stage a fake wedding over the next few days. It'll make our account even bigger." I look at the countdown I've been keeping track of. It was day 1,825. I nod in silence, and Sean reaches out to ruffle my hair. "I knew you'd understand. Once filming wraps, I'll marry you for real. I promise." "Forget it," I say, simply brushing his hand away. "Sean, I'm done with you."

My fiancé was drugged at a party and spent the night tangled up with Isabelle Parson, the housekeeper's daughter. Afterward, Isabelle turned up pregnant, and Adrian tore up our engagement right there at our engagement party. "Leah, Isabelle is carrying my child. I have to marry her. I know you still love me. After I marry Isabelle, you can keep being my lover." I agreed to break off the engagement on the spot, then turned around and married Gordon—the man I'd once refused in a family alliance. At my wedding, Adrian stood before the guests and mocked me with an icy smile. "So this is what you've sunk to without me—marrying a pauper on the verge of bankruptcy. I'm the richest man in Jeffolton City. All you have to do is beg, and I'll let you come back to me." I looked at him with a thin, distant smile. He still didn't know—whoever I marry would become the richest man in Jeffolton City.

After getting laid off, I come across a post when I'm looking for a new job. "What sort of job is the most lucrative these days?" There's a comment with the most likes in the comment section. "Find yourself a sugar daddy, duh! My sugar daddy is already the CEO of a company even though he's only in his 30s! He gives me 100 thousand dollars every month. Not only is he handsome and caring, but he's also amazing in bed! Hoo boy, we can keep going around seven times every night!" Someone asks the commentor, "How did you find such an amazing daddy?" "Last May, he was at a bar drinking his sorrows away after an argument with his girlfriend. I consoled him for a bit. That's how we ended up being together. "He kept complaining that his girlfriend was like dead fish in bed, so he was already sick of her a long time ago. You know what men are like, always going for excitement in life." My fingers curled around my phone slightly. Last May, I did get into a huge argument with my boyfriend, Brian Dicht. He never came home that night. The next morning, he returned while reeking of alcohol. I continue scrolling down the comment section, only to see the commentor posting a photo. "See? I was acting all cute and whiny to him just now by telling him that I cut my finger when I was preparing a meal for myself. He agreed to drop by my place to keep me company tonight." In the photo, there's a diamond ring adorning the ring finger that has a plaster wrapped around it. That ring looks exactly the same as the set of engagement rings Brian and I have. At the same time, my phone starts ringing. Soon, Brian's voice drifts from the other end of the line. "Bella, something came up in the company at the last minute. I'm not coming home tonight."

After Heath Renwick abandons me and our daughter for Celeste Worthing's dog for the seventh time, we finally learn our lesson. He parades around with Celeste and the dog, trending online, landing magazine features, and I don't say a word. He even tears up our daughter Maisie's favorite sketchbook to line the dog's bed, and she doesn't cry or make a fuss. Then the dog chases Maisie down a flight of stairs. She hits her head and ends up in the ER with a concussion, and only then does Heath bother to show up. "Raven! Why didn't you tell me? I'm Maisie's father too!" I spend the whole night sitting outside the emergency room. I look at him, my voice perfectly calm. "It's nothing serious, just a mild concussion. She'll be out in a couple of days. We know you're busy, so Maisie will understand." Heath freezes. "A concussion is serious, and you're telling me it's nothing? What kind of a mother are you?" He wants to blow up, but the whispers around him stop him short. "Mr. Renwick really is better suited for Ms. Worthing. If she hadn't gone abroad back then, a small-town woman like Raven would never have had a chance." "Exactly. She can't even keep her own child safe." Heath frowns. "There's nothing going on with Celeste. She's like a sister to me!" I nod. "I believe you. "Maisie fell down the stairs because Prince chased her. I know that dog means everything to Celeste, so I didn't bring it up. I didn't want to put you in a difficult position." A flicker of shame crosses Heath's face. "I'll find the best doctor for Maisie. Prince is everything to Celeste, you know that. She has mental health issues." "Mr. Renwick, I understand. Maisie doesn't need to call you Dad anymore." He panics. "If you're upset, just say so! Stop putting on this act and dragging the kid into it!" I nod. "Okay. I got it." I'm not planning to make a scene. I already have plane tickets to Eraly. In five days, we'll have nothing to do with each other anymore.

Jameson University's biggest scandal this year was the leaked video of Joy Quinn losing her virginity in the campus group chat. The video was taken in the presidential suite of a five-star hotel. Completely naked, Joy Quinn was pinned against the floor-to-ceiling window by a man a head taller than her. The rhythmic sounds never ceased...

My CEO husband, Clayton Lockwood, was convinced I was a gold digger. Every time he went to comfort his first love during her depressive episodes, he would buy me a limited-edition bag. After half a year of marriage, my walk-in closet was filled with them. After giving ninety-nine bags, he noticed I had changed. I no longer cried my heart out or argued until I was hoarse when he visited his first love. I also did not brave the storm and cross the city anymore just because he said he wanted to see me. I only asked him for a rosary for our unborn child. When I mentioned our child, Clayton’s gaze softened. “Once Ruby’s condition improves, we’ll go to the hospital for a checkup first, then get a rosary.” I obediently agreed. Little did he know that I had a miscarriage ten days earlier. I had also prepared a divorce agreement that was ready for his signature.

At the party celebrating the multimillion-dollar deal I've landed, my husband, Nick Ferguson, is about to announce my promotion and raise, but Ruby Holm, his secretary, deliberately interrupts him by feeding him her drink. My germaphobic husband doesn't even flinch. Without thinking, he puts the straw she has just used into his mouth. The employees immediately start teasing them, asking when they're getting married. Instead of denying it, Nick promotes Ruby to department manager. A coworker nudges my elbow. "Chloe, you've been with Mr. Ferguson for ten years. You're really not going to say anything?" I let out a cold laugh and toss my equity transfer agreement to Ruby. "Mr. Ferguson, don't be so stingy. A promotion isn't enough. Take these shares too. Consider them my wedding gift to the two of you!"

On the day of my abortion, my best friend tried to stop me. "You and your husband have been married for seven years. You finally managed to get pregnant. Why does the baby have to go?" I answered calmly, "Because of a glass of water." Aaron Jefferson had a severe germphobia. He never shared everyday items with me. If I had already drunk from a glass, he would not touch it. Then I found a video on his student's social media. In it, the girl held up her half-finished coffee and brought it to his lips. Aaron leaned down and took a sip straight from her hand as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He frowned slightly, but a smile still touched his lips. "That sweet, huh? Careful, or your teeth will start hurting again." That night, I sat alone in the living room and watched the video hundreds of times. When Aaron woke up, I poured myself a glass of water and took a sip in front of him. Then I held it out to him. "Drink up." He stared at me as if I had lost my mind. "Tessa, I don't drink after other people." Seven years of marriage, and to him, I was still just one of those other people. I pulled myself back to the present and walked into the operating room. Then I lay quietly on the table. Outside the window, cicadas sang at the height of summer, and the sun blazed overhead. Suddenly, I no longer wanted to hold on to Aaron or that glass of water.

On the day of our daughter's full-month celebration, Harvey McKinzie walked onto the stage holding the hand of his widowed, heavily pregnant sister-in-law. "Honey, to be honest with you—my sister-in-law's baby is mine." His parents followed behind, looking completely unapologetic. "We're the ones who made it happen. We drugged them. Our oldest son may be gone, but the family can't be without an heir. "Harvey is taking on the responsibility of carrying on both family lines—it hasn't been easy for him. From now on, you need to take good care of Lydia and the child she's carrying." The sister-in-law, now eight months pregnant, glanced at me shyly. "Jennifer, we're sister-wives now." I stood there frozen, holding my daughter, my voice trembling. "Why are you doing this to me?" Harvey frowned and let out a long sigh. "You're always saying how hard Lydia has it, right? Isn't it better if I just take care of her openly and properly? "I promise—you'll be the first wife, and she'll be the second. On paper, you're still my only legal wife." In that moment, my blood ran cold. Then, for the first time in a long while, I heard the system's alert in my head. [Host emotional fluctuation detected. Would you like to use all remaining points to exit the current world?]

Just before going to bed, I happen to come across a post titled, "What should I do if my husband has another family on the side?" I click into the post, driven by some strange impulse. It seems like the original poster's husband has been really busy this past year, frequently traveling to branch offices for work. He has been giving her more money for living expenses, though, so she suspects nothing at first, feeling grateful that he works hard to support the family. Everything changes when she comes across a post of a woman trying on a wedding dress. She immediately recognizes the man's hand and back in the photo as her husband's. She feels completely helpless about the whole situation, so she wants to ask the online users for their opinions. I scroll down, wanting to see what the scumbag she's talking about looks like, but a second later, I feel my blood run cold. I can tell that they're the exact photos I posted on my social media the week before, even with the mosaic filter applied.

My boyfriend, Patrick Thorne, and his childhood sweetheart, Sierra Lynch, share a strange connection. They can feel everything the other feels. One night, just when things between us are getting heated, he pushes me aside and calls her. "Sierra! It's 10:00 pm. Why are you still drinking cold beer? You know that messes with your stomach, and I'm the one who has to suffer too!" "You have some nerve lecturing me. Can you two ease up on the kissing? My lips hurt! If you keep this up, I'm just going to kiss someone else!" Hearing that, Patrick panicked "You wouldn't dare!" In the end, they make a deal. As long as he doesn't touch me, Sierra can't hook up with anyone else. "Lettie, I really don't want to feel another man kissing and holding me like that," Patrick says. "You understand, right?" I love him too much, so I give in. As long as we truly love each other, I can live without anything physical until I catch Patrick making out with Sierra, her lips swollen from kissing him. "You can have as many girlfriends as you want. But I'm the only one you get intimate with." Patrick reassures her, "Don't worry. You're the only one I have feelings for." "Of all your girlfriends, this one might be the dumbest yet. She actually bought the whole story about us being able to feel what the other feels. You'd better hold on to her. You don't want to lose a girlfriend this good." My ears ring, and my mind goes blank. I can't believe I've become nothing more than a piece in someone else's game. What Sierra doesn't know is that I've always been the kind of woman everyone falls for.

Sebastian Morrison was the most famous fireworks designer in the world. We'd been together for seven years, and countless times, I'd hinted that I wanted a fireworks show that belonged only to me. Every time, he just ruffled my hair. "Next time it's your birthday," he'd say, "I'll design you the most beautiful one yet." The night of my birthday, I rushed to the beach, my heart full of anticipation. Instead, I found Sebastian standing under a sky full of fireworks, his arms wrapped around Victoria Grey. The fireworks burst over the water, dazzling, like a dream. Just not one that belonged to me. I stood frozen at the edge of the crowd. Someone nearby laughed and said, "I heard this designer puts on a show here every year for his old flame. A single show costs a few million. Now that's devotion." I stayed at the very back of the crowd, watching the two of them swallowed up in that river of light. A sudden, aching pain settled into my chest. When we got home, Sebastian handed me a beautifully wrapped box. "Happy birthday. I got you a robot vacuum. Leave the housework to it from now on. Your back won't hurt anymore." I looked down at the vacuum in my hands and smiled, calm and steady. So that was it. Seven years of loving Sebastian Morrison. And letting him go only took a second.

My husband, Harrison Knight, was a workaholic. When stomach pain landed me in the hospital, he had his assistant send me medication. When my mother underwent surgery, he was abroad negotiating an acquisition. In seven years of marriage, he'd missed three of my birthdays and five of our anniversaries. He always said, "The company's still getting off the ground. I can't afford to slow down." I understood. Years ago, his first love, Celeste Foster, had left him because he was poor. Afterward, he'd sworn he would make something of himself. He went on business trips, had late nights, and worked himself to the bone. For seven years, Harrison had pushed himself relentlessly, going from a penniless nobody to a CEO everyone looked up to. I'd grown used to him always being in a rush. I'd grown used to work coming before everything else. Until the day I returned from negotiating a billion-dollar deal and saw Celeste's latest post. In the photo, Harrison stood outside the airport terminal. He'd canceled his three o'clock board meeting to pick her up himself. He was even bent down in front of her, tying her loose shoelace. Her caption read: [After all these years, you're still the best.] I stared at the photo for a long time. Then suddenly, I almost laughed. So it wasn't that Harrison couldn't slow down. He just wouldn't do it for me. That night, he called. "Celeste just got back. I'm not coming home tonight. Don't read anything into it. She's just an old friend." "Okay," I said quietly. Then I opened my laptop and messaged my attorney: [Send me the divorce papers tonight.] If he could stop for an old love, then it was time I stopped too. After seven years of running myself ragged for him, I was done.

Someone replaces the eye drops with industrial cleaner, causing my patient to go blind in both eyes and jump from the 20th floor. As the attending doctor, I am arrested for intentional harm and sentenced to five years in prison. After my release, my husband, Sebastian Lester, and son, Carl Lester, come to pick me up and bring me home. While everyone else treats me like trash, the two of them stay by my side without abandoning me. I am deeply grateful for that. So, I obey their every word without complaint. But one night after a banquet, I accidentally overhear Sebastian talking to Carl when I am bringing him some hangover remedy. "Dad, Ms. Short really wants to win the top photography award, so I switched the eye drops Mom prepared for her patient. But Mom went to prison because of it. And now, all my classmates call me the son of a murderer." Sebastian quickly covers Carl's mouth and sternly warns him, "Never mention this again. Back then, Jolene's competitor was too talented, so that was the only way I could help her. Your mom's prison term serves as a lesson for her that she shouldn't side with outsiders." So, the five years of darkness and suffering I endure in prison is the doing of the people I love the most.

Eleanor Sutton was in love with Harrison Luther since she was 20 years old. She married him when she turned 22. Five years into their marriage, they had yet to have a child together. Harrison kept protecting Eleanor from his family while enduring the pressure they kept inflicting on him. At that time, everyone claimed that Eleanor was Harrison's weak spot. But everything changed once news of Harrison having an illegitimate child was leaked. He kneeled in the downpour for the whole day afterward as a form of punishment. Then, he explained to Eleanor that it was just an accident, and that he vowed to love her and her only. So, Eleanor accepted the outcome of the illegitimate child being kept in the family, while the mistress was exiled far, far away. But despite Harrison's promise, his mistress, Winona Birch, still ended up moving into Eleanor's home, where she'd be cared for during her pregnancy. Harrison began skipping meetings for her sake, and he'd also ditch Eleanor just so he could go on strolls with Winona. In fact, he'd even abandon Eleanor halfway during their dates in order to be with Winona. The first time Eleanor brought up divorce, Harrison slit his wrists in the bathroom. He left a suicide note, claiming that he'd rather die than not being able to grow old with Eleanor. When divorce was brought up the second time, Harrison hurriedly pleaded to Eleanor to not leave him. But after multiple conflicts, his attitude toward her became wishy-washy. After their 100th argument, Eleanor ran away from their home. Harrison no longer went after her, thinking that she'd eventually return to his side. But she died in that rainy night. When Eleanor opens her eyes again, she finds out that she has returned to the day Harrison's illegitimate child is exposed. This time, she dials a number. "I shall accept the offer of becoming a war correspondent." Her editor reminds her that she won't be able to get in touch with the outside world once she embarks on this journey, and that she needs Harrison's permission in order to accept the offer. Eleanor merely replies, "I'll divorce Harrison soon. I'll depart on time in a week." She wants to make sure that Harrison will never be able to find her anymore.

I was away on a business trip for a week, so I hired someone to come by and feed my cat. The next day, though, I happened to check the security camera in the living room and saw Rachel Sullivan, Frank Horton’s childhood friend, let herself into my house using the door passcode. Then she tossed a grape into Pipi’s food bowl. Rachel stuck her tongue out playfully at the camera. “Your Pipi is pretty smart and knows not to eat grapes.” Then, unbelievably, she unplugged the security camera. My heart went into a panic. I immediately called the person I’d hired to come back and take care of Pipi. Then I called Frank and confronted him. “You gave Rachel our door passcode again, didn’t you? Do you have any idea she fed Pipi a grape and unplugged the security camera in our house?” Frank answered impatiently, “But nothing happened to Pipi, did it?” “Rachel just likes to joke around. She didn’t mean any harm. Besides, she apologized and said she only knocked the camera loose by accident. “You’re making a mountain out of a molehill. “She and I grew up together. We’ve been inseparable since we were kids. What, after we get married, am I supposed to stop seeing her? “Rachel is right. You’re just way too controlling.” That made thirty-eight times. I changed the door passcode thirty-eight time, and Frank gave Rachel the new code every single time. Suddenly, I didn’t want to change it a thirty-ninth time anymore.

Three months had passed since my husband vanished while hiking in the fjords. Then I spotted him in a VIP room at a Manhattan strip club, one arm wrapped around my adopted sister's waist, looking like he didn't have a care in the world. "Thank God you came up with this idea. I'd almost forgotten what it felt like to be free of that control freak." His friends raised their glasses and cheered, asking how much longer he planned to play dead. Alex swirled his drink as he considered the question. "Next week. Once the guilt and panic drive her crazy, I'll show up and give her a nice surprise." I stood in the shadows, watching him enjoy his newfound freedom. Then I called a friend who worked at the courthouse.

I came home late one night to find another woman in the apartment I shared with my boyfriend, Alistair Westwood. She was wearing my silk slip, which barely covered her thighs. Barefoot, she pressed herself against him. His hand was wrapped around her bare waist. "Nika isn't feeling well, so I told her she could stay here for now." Nika peeked out from behind him. "I'm sorry. I didn't know this was your place." "Where is she going to sleep?" I demanded. "And why is she wearing my clothes?" Alistair frowned. "Nika is sick. Obviously, she'll sleep with me so I can look after her. Can't you just let this go for once?" "It's fine. I can sleep on the couch," Nika offered. Alistair cut her off at once. "No. You're too sick to sleep there." I stared at the two of them for a moment. Then I grabbed a pillow and a blanket. "I'll take the couch." As soon as the bedroom door closed, I opened my laptop and reached for an invitation on the table. Half an hour later, I typed my answer. By the next day, Alistair's company had lost one of its biggest partnerships.

There's an unspoken rule in the high-end society—married couples who are bound by marriage alliances are allowed to branch out romantically. But if they ever buy anything for their side piece, they must buy the same gift for their legal spouse. Raymond Johnson is a very particular person. That's why he continues sticking to the rule and gives Melanie Strickland the respect she deserves by showering her with gifts that are 100 times more than his mistress', even after the Stricklands have gone into bankruptcy. If his mistress gets 100 thousand dollars' worth of allowances every month, Melanie's bank account must receive ten million dollars in return. When Raymond gifts his mistress jewelry that's worth a million dollars, he'll go for the main highlight of the auction. After that, Melanie will receive an antique emerald ring worth 100 million dollars. The rich wives, who are too used to seeing wealthy men immersing themselves in booze and beautiful women, can only sigh wistfully whenever they witness Raymond and Melanie's lovey-dovey relationship. But at the same time, they can't resist dropping Melanie words of advice—mainly to tell her to appreciate what she has now. Appreciate, huh? Of course Melanie appreciates everything she has right now. That's why on the day Raymond gives a house of very little value that's located in the suburbs to his mistress, Melanie decides to ask him a question while receiving the land deed of Villa No. 1 that's located in Northshore. "I've grown tired of this marriage. Can we get a divorce?"

After discovering Lydia's existence, I didn't argue with Alex. I simply handed him a divorce agreement. He sat there with his head lowered. After a long moment of hesitation, he tore it in half. "Please give me ten days. In ten days, I'll send Lydia somewhere far away. She'll never appear in our lives again." Without waiting for my answer, he got up and left the house. During those ten days, he took Lydia whitewater rafting, climbed snowy mountains with her, went bungee jumping and skydiving, and shared every thrilling adventure imaginable. He also watched the sunrise with her by the ocean, prayed together in a church, and did all the romantic things that lovers do. On the night of the ninth day, after I had packed all my luggage, I accidentally received a video call from myself ten years in the past. She looked full of life and asked excitedly, "Are you really me from ten years in the future? Then Alex and I must be married by now, right? Do we have kids?" Heartbroken, I walked onto the balcony and pointed my phone's camera toward Alex and Lydia, who were tightly embracing each other below, unable to let go. "This is your answer." She stared at the screen with wide eyes, unable to believe what she was seeing. "That's impossible..." My voice was weary, as though every last bit of strength had been drained from me. "Charlotte... Please. Don't marry him."