เรื่องสั้นแนว Tragic Love Romance และนิยาย Scumbag

Five years after their breakup, Lauren Scott signed a master-servant contract with Yale Sutton, the ex-boyfriend who had been penniless when they were together. Yale would pay off her debts, and in return, Lauren had to fulfill his every demand. "Lauren, take off one piece of clothing, and I'll knock a million off your debt." Yale spoke slowly, his voice dripping with mockery. Around the private room, the men hooted and cheered while the women laughed and made teasing remarks. Lauren gritted her teeth. "Fine. Just don't go back on your word, Mr. Sutton." Without a moment's hesitation, she unbuttoned her blouse and let it fall to the floor, baring her porcelain-white skin and most of her full, rounded breasts. The room fell silent for a moment before whistles erupted from every direction.

Josephine Ellery was dead, and everyone said Tessa Wrenford had killed her. "Tessa Wrenford, you have been found guilty of involuntary manslaughter. I sentence you to five years in prison." The judge brought down his gavel. Still dressed in her jail uniform, Tessa was led out of the courtroom by officers gripping her arms. From the gallery, Beckett Lockridge watched her with an icy stare. He was the man she'd loved for ten years. Now he was also the man who had put her behind bars. When their eyes met, she could almost hear the words he wanted to say: "Tessa, I'll make your life a living hell."

A year ago, when Bailey Knight's side girl, Lucy Day, showed up in front of me, causing a scene, he had his people beat her until she lost the baby and tossed her out. Then he groveled before me for three straight hours, begging me to forgive him. Looking at the man I'd loved for ten years, looking so pitiful and broken, I eventually caved. Later, I caught Lucy sneaking around Bailey's villa in the suburbs, so I had her thrown out again. Three days before our wedding, Bailey grabbed me by the neck and shoved me up against the railing on the second-floor balcony, yelling so hard that his voice broke. "We already took Lucy's baby once! She can't handle it happening again. She's fragile. You're a woman—how can you not understand that? "I've given you the title of Mrs. Knight. I'd give you my life. Isn't that enough? Why can't you just accept her?" The next second, his secretary ran up to say they'd found Lucy. He shoved me down the stairs. The pain when my arm snapped made me feel like my whole body was being torn apart. But he didn't even look back. Staring at the cold, heartless man in front of me, I felt something inside me go completely dead. I picked up my phone and called Arnold Greenwood. "I don't wanna marry him anymore. Come get me."

Everyone said Alvin Danford and I balanced each other out. We were meant to be. I'd always been lucky. I'd win free meals, score a phone in a drink promotion, or enter a drawing at the company holiday party and walk away with a four-figure cash prize. Alvin was the opposite. Bad luck followed him everywhere. His e-bike got stolen while he was making deliveries. Just when he'd saved some money, a family emergency hit. He finally landed a steady job, then got slammed with an unexpected expense. Every prize I brought home went toward one of his emergencies. I never minded. I believed we balanced each other out. My good luck made up for his bad luck. Then, five years into our relationship, I won my biggest cash prize ever: $20,000.

In Kieran Chase's eyes, I was not his wife. I was a non-performing asset waiting to be liquidated. When I got sick and asked for help, he became impatient. He said, "This is a minor problem. You can handle it on your own. No need to tell anyone." When I broke down in tears, he reprimanded me. "Losing emotional control shows weakness. It exposes the fragility of our alliance. I'll have the PR team teach you emotional management." Even when I called for help after a car accident, he hung up. "Nothing about you is important enough to interrupt a transaction worth hundreds of millions." I spent seven days in the ICU fighting for my life. On my first day home, I found Kieran leaning over another woman, his voice suddenly soft and coaxing as he convinced her to take her medicine. He opened his mouth to explain. I smiled bitterly and handed him the papers I'd prepared long ago. My tone mirrored his perfectly. "Mr. Chase, regarding our marriage project, the return on investment is unacceptably low after comprehensive evaluation. I'm formally proposing we terminate our cooperation. "Here's the divorce agreement. Sign it."

Quentin Yale gets together with me to get revenge on my mother. He grips my neck with one hand and keeps the other on my belly. Then, he snorts at Mom, who's pale. "Do you see this? Your precious daughter is pregnant with my child." I hear him laugh manically when Mom collapses. I stab myself in the belly as he watches. Then, I jump into the ocean. Later, he loses his mind. He tells everyone he comes across that I'm following him while carrying our child. When I see him at the asylum one last time, he lies on the bed and begs me not to leave.

My boyfriend's assistant, who also came from the same university as him but a lower grade, has an incredibly similar name to mine. While mine is Marissa Parker, hers is Melissa Barker. At the party our colleagues are throwing to celebrate the end of my unmarried life with my boyfriend, Liam Yarrow, Melissa once again mixes up our names. Everyone is cheering and joking around as they unfurl the banner they had prepared, and one person reads the wording out loud. "Congratulations to Liam Yarrow and Melissa Barker! May you two be happy and blissful forever!" In an instant, the originally noisy room falls silent. Melissa's timid voice then rings out. "Sorry, Marissa. I accidentally made a mistake again." Instead of answering, I turn to look at Liam. Liam's brow doesn't even wrinkle in the slightest as he subconsciously assures her, "It's just a minor matter. She won't mind." Following that, he gets up, walks to Melissa, and stops in front of her, placing me opposite him. With this action, his figure completely blocks her from my sight, and like many times before, he shoots me a warning look. "Marissa, it's just a banner. Mel didn't mean to mess it up. At the end of the day, everyone already knows that you and I are the stars tonight, so don't dwell on this, okay?" He calls me by my full first name, while Melissa gets an affectionate nickname. Can his feelings be any more obvious? I slowly release my grip on the balloon I was holding. "Alright, I won't." I will never dwell on anything to do with him again.

After catching my husband, Jaxson Larkin, cheating on me for the third time, I end up developing aphasia. Out of guilt, Jaxson spends a month teaching me to communicate using "One" and "Two". "One" means yes, and "Two" means no. No matter what Jaxson says to me, as long as it involves Sasha Fuller, I only answer with "One". When he says Sasha is in poor health and wants to borrow the amulet that my mother left behind to bring me blessings, I answer "One" without hesitation. When he says he wants to postpone our wedding anniversary to celebrate Sasha's birthday, I reply with "One". Even when he brings a pregnant Sasha into our home, I still answer with "One". I even thoughtfully pack my things and give up the master bedroom. It's not until I take the wedding photo off the wall that his eyes turn bloodshot. He grabs my hand tightly and says, "Charlotte, you said you'd never take down our wedding photo unless we got divorced. Are you saying you want a divorce?" Seeing that I'm about to reply to him with "One" again, Jaxson breaks down and roars at me, "Don't you fucking say 'One,' Charlotte! Your vocal cords are fine. You can talk! Just say something!" The next second, as if afraid of scaring me, he coaxes gently, "Lottie, say 'Two,' okay?" I pull my hand free and look at him, puzzled. Has he forgotten that back when he loved me the most, he had signed a prenup? After getting married, if he cheats on me, he'll be given two chances. If he does it again the third time, the divorce agreement will automatically take effect. A month ago, the agreement already went into effect.

I had been dating my boyfriend, Julian Hayes, for four years, yet my best friend Fiona Blake still looked more like his girlfriend than I did. Whenever the three of us went furniture shopping, the sales associate would hand Julian and Fiona a catalog for couples. Whenever we went out for fondue, the server would ask if Julian and Fiona wanted a photo together. At the beach, a stranger once handed me her phone and asked, "Would you mind taking a picture of your friend and his girlfriend?" I smiled, took her phone, and raised it to take the picture. On the screen, Julian and Fiona looked every bit like a couple. Fiona always brushed it off. "We just have similar face shapes. It's a coincidence." Julian always reassured me. "It doesn't matter what anyone else thinks. You're my only girlfriend." And year after year, I believed him. By our fourth year together, I started pushing him to finally set a wedding date. He said he was too busy and promised we'd set the date the following month. But when the next month came, he had another excuse. Fiona's visa was about to expire. She wanted to stay in the United States, and the easiest way to get a green card was through marriage. I stared at him. "And so?" He was silent for a long moment before finally answering. "I'll marry her first and sponsor her application. It's only a formality. Once she gets her green card, we'll get divorced." For a moment, I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "And what about me?" He answered without hesitation. "Just give me a few years. It'll be over before you know it." A week later, Fiona posted a photo on Instagram. She held up their marriage certificate and leaned against Julian's shoulder, smiling so widely that her eyes crinkled. The caption read, "As of today, it isn't a coincidence. It's fate." I went back through years of messages. That was when I finally realized the truth. Julian had never once told anyone I was his girlfriend. Whenever strangers mistook Fiona for his girlfrien

My boyfriend and I had planned to fly to LA to watch our favorite MLB team play at home. But on the day we were supposed to leave, I waited at the airport for three hours. He never showed. It wasn't until after dark that he finally called. “Sorry, Audrey. I forgot to tell you. Natalie found out we were taking engagement photos and got so excited she couldn't sleep. She insisted I fly out with her early to scout locations.” “You can make it here on your own, right? The three of us will meet at the stadium entrance tomorrow.” I stood frozen. Natalie Brooks was my best friend. She had watched Derek Sinclair and me go from high school sweethearts to planning our wedding, and always called herself our biggest supporter. Yet with one casual “fly out early,” Derek had left me, his bride-to-be, behind at the airport. “You two have fun.” I smiled faintly. “I suddenly don't feel like going anymore.” The next day, I saw Natalie's latest post. She had uploaded a photo of herself with Ryan Kane, my favorite player. The caption read: “Thanks to Derek for pulling strings to get me this photo. Location scouting complete. The things I do for my best friend!” I calmly liked the post. Then I called the wedding planner and canceled the wedding we were supposed to have in two weeks. Natalie never stopped talking about how much she cared about my happiness, yet she had already taken the trip and surprise meant for me. I was done sharing this relationship with a third person.

Dominic Fletcher and Sabine Mercer were high-society rivals known throughout the entire city for their bitter feuds. Yet by a twist of fate, the former was my childhood sweetheart and fiancé, while the latter was my best friend. Every time they crossed paths, teeth flared and claws came out. Now that I was pregnant, the two were locked in a relentless shouting match over who the baby would later address first. Hoping to ease the tension, I organized a road trip for the holiday weekend. Never did I imagine we would run into a violent landslide along the way. At the threshold of life and death, staring down at me as I lay pooled in my own blood, Dominic turned to scoop Sabine, who was suffering nothing more than a scraped elbow, into his arms. Just then, a massive boulder was about to crush down on me. He suddenly bolted back, wrapping his arms around me in a desperate, suffocating embrace. “The wedding we miss... I'll make it up to you in the next life.” I opened my eyes again to find myself alive again. I could hear the frantic bickering echoing clearly from outside the door. “You were willing to die alongside Elaine. Why didn’t you save her first? “Her baby’s gone! How on earth am I supposed to explain…” Dominic’s voice cut through, a restrained, low growl. “I couldn’t just stand there and watch the woman I love die, could I? “You know full well how indebted I feel...” I froze on the bed, half my body turning numb. Years ago, my father was hit by a truck and knocked off a cliff in an attempt to save Dominic’s life. I had always interpreted the look in Dominic’s eyes as affection, never realizing it was nothing more than guilt. Turned out I had been the villain breaking up the tragic lovers all along. It was time to step aside.

For the national championship final, I took time off work and flew halfway across the country to surprise my boyfriend. I'd barely settled into my seat when the girl beside me started gushing to her friend. "See his tie? I picked it out for him last night. Good taste, right? He even said I was the inspiration behind his entire Human Emotion Thesis for this tournament." Her friend gave her a knowing smile. "You actually landed Lucien Grant, the debate star. You should be thrilled." I froze. My boyfriend's name was Lucien Grant too. And the Human Emotion Thesis she claimed to have inspired? It had been born from seven years of pillow talk between Lucien and me.

At the wedding reception, every place card at the last table bore an online username instead of a real name. I turned to my husband and quietly asked who these people were. Before he could answer, a young woman at the table blinked at me and said playfully, "Hey, we're not strangers. I've been hiking with Zane for three years. Every time we go out, we sleep in the same tent." The others at the table burst out laughing. "Say it. Does Zane snore in his sleep?" I stood there frozen, wineglass in hand, utterly humiliated. To my surprise, Zane laughed along with them. "They're all my friends. I bought you tickets to Caldera Bay for our honeymoon, but I'm not going. I finally have some time off after the wedding, so I'm planning to hike the Blackridge Trail with them." I was about to demand an explanation, but the young woman had already pulled Zane into the seat beside her and started drinking with him. She playfully punched him in the chest as she laughed, her tone half teasing and half annoyed. I thought about all the times over the years he'd left me behind just to go hiking, and my heart went cold. I turned and walked away, leaving Zane with a single message. [Our honeymoon is supposed to be something we share as a couple. Since you're unwilling to go, I'll just find somebody willing to.]

Right before my wedding, my fiancé, Benjamin Gray, holds another wedding at an old settlement with his true love, who has lung cancer. He holds Jennifer Robinson close and smiles tenderly at her underneath the starry sky. "According to the local customs here, the woman whose wedding is held first is considered a man's actual wife. I might have already registered my marriage with Samantha, but she's more like my mistress." Everyone cheers and blesses them as they toast each other and enter their room for the night. I witness all of this, but I don't cry or kick up a fuss. Instead, I make an appointment for an abortion. I've loved Benjamin for 15 years, but I still can't compare to Jennifer, who is my stepsister. If that's the case, I'll let him go. Later, I join a geological exploration and research team in the South Isles and am cut off from the world. All I leave behind is a divorce agreement and a divorce gift. Benjamin has never cared for me, so it's odd that he loses his mind overnight after my departure.

My parents adopted a kid, and I treated him like treasure. Then he started looking uncannily like my husband, Brian. And I caught him whispering "Mom" to my sister, Ruby. Yeah. Plot twist: Brian had been cheating on me the whole time. With Ruby. They played house behind my back, smiling for family pics—with my parents' blessing. When the truth blew up, Ruby had the audacity to beg me to step aside. My parents told me to get over it. And that kid I loved like my own? Told me I deserved to die. But here's the kicker—Brian wouldn't even sign the divorce. Dude broke down, said he still loved me, swore the kid was a mistake. So I smiled and said, "Cool. You've got seven days. Prove it, and I'll forgive you." He went full simp mode. Emptied his bank account, treated me like I was gold. Even kicked Ruby down and yelled at her to apologize. Everyone thought I'd cave. Then the cops called, asked him to ID a body—and Brian totally lost it. He never knew I'd been dead this whole time. The Reaper gave me one last week to say goodbye.

With 30 days left until our wedding, Derrick Holmes suddenly decides to quit smoking and drinking. He tells me he doesn't want our future children picking up any of his bad habits. The following day, he checks himself into a rehab center in the suburbs and refuses all visitors. Worried about him, I make soup every day and bring it over, but Derrick insists that seeing me would make it harder for him to keep going. Instead, I leave the thermos at the reception desk. I make the trip for 23 days straight without missing a single one. Then, the results of my pre-wedding physical come back, and I discover that I'm pregnant. I buy the smallest pair of baby shoes I can find and head to the rehab center, planning to surprise him. After searching through the entire guest registry, the receptionist looks up at me. "Ma'am, no one named Derrick Holmes is staying here." I check the location on my phone. The blue dot isn't in the suburbs at all. It's at the Luna Confinement Centre, a postpartum recovery facility. I take a cab there and find Derrick cradling a newborn in his arms. "Daddy's right here. You're okay," he murmurs patiently. A nurse standing nearby smiles at him. "Mr. Holmes, you're one devoted dad." He grins. "What can I say? The baby and his mother both need me." I touch the pregnancy report in my pocket and remain outside the room for ten seconds without going in. At that moment, I finally realize that Derrick didn't refuse to see me because he's afraid he'll lose his resolve. He's simply too busy being a father to another woman's child. I leave the baby shoes by the door, turn around, and schedule an abortion.

When I stopped by the supermarket to pick out cookie gifts for our trip home, I took photos of three flavors and sent them to our group chat. [Which ones do you want? I'll get them all at once.] My best friend, Kendra Dougherty, replied: [Anything is fine. I'm good with whatever.] My boyfriend, Damon Compton, replied: [Then I'll get the same ones she wants.] In the end, I bought three boxes of salted caramel cookies. But when I finally carried the identical boxes home, he gave me a helpless look and exchanged an amused smile with Kendra. "When Kendra says she's fine with anything, she doesn't actually mean anything. Her dad likes salted caramel, her mom likes chocolate fudge, and Kendra's absolute favorite is white chocolate macadamia." "You should've gotten one box of each flavor." I looked at the three boxes of cookies on the table and said nothing. In the five years I'd been with Damon, he'd always understood what Kendra really meant better than I did. Whenever we went out to eat and asked whether she wanted to sit on the inside or outside, she'd always say, "Whatever." But Damon would wordlessly save her a seat farther inside. I always ended up sitting by the aisle. When we were planning our graduation trip and asked whether we should go to Belford or Silver Ridge, she said "Whatever" again. Before I'd even made up my mind, Damon had already booked the tickets and planned the itinerary for Silver Ridge, exactly where Kendra wanted to go. But when I was hospitalized with a perforated stomach ulcer, and he asked whether I needed him to stay with me, I sulked and said, "Whatever." That time, he took me at my word. Every time Kendra said "Whatever," Damon somehow managed to figure out the perfect answer. But not once had he ever understood what I really meant. So there was no need for me to go out of my way to tell him we were breaking up.

Simon Quinn was a man who clawed his way out of hell. Cold and ruthless, he feared nothing, except Yara Shaw. She was only fourteen when she took odd jobs and slowly raised him. Yara was the only person he believed in. Later, Simon gave Yara a love story the entire city envied. She believed in their love completely, until she lost three babies, one after another. The first time, a mysterious car accident caused her to miscarry from severe bleeding. The second time, a fire broke out in their home in the middle of the night. It left her disfigured and cost her another baby. The third time, a kidnapper stabbed her in the abdomen. When she was rescued, the baby was gone, and she had a divorce decree in her hand. On the night she was discharged from the hospital, she heard her husband say with a bitter laugh, "Cindy is the only one I love. Yara is family to me, nothing more. Why would I let her have my child?" Yara couldn't stop vomiting. In the end, she arranged to have her memories erased one month later.

Neville had set up a special wish jar just for me. Every month, I was allowed only three draws to claim his time and attention as my husband. If I drew Dinner, he'd grace me with his presence for a brief meal, as though he were doing me some enormous favor. If I drew a blank, I wasn't even allowed to see his face. I used to tell myself that this was simply his cold, overly analytical, STEM-brained way of expressing love. That was, until Thanksgiving night, when our three-year-old daughter suffered a sudden, severe asthma attack. It left her gasping for air, her lips turning purple. I grabbed Neville by the sleeve and begged him to let me use all my remaining draws if he'd just drive us to the ER. He frowned and violently shook off my hand. "Rules are rules. Stop using our kid to guilt-trip me." Terrified and desperate, I reached into the jar for my final slip. It read: "Don't disturb each other today." Relief washed visibly over his face. Without even glancing at our daughter, he grabbed his car keys and walked out. When our daughter's condition had stabilized, I stood alone at the hospital billing desk with her in my arms. That was when I spotted Neville in a VIP treatment suite in the ER. He was gently pressing an ice pack against his assistant's knee, which had barely a scrape on it. The girl blushed and cooed, "Mr. Murphy, I didn't even have to draw a slip. Why would you take time off work just to stay with me?" Neville's expression softened with a rare tenderness. "The wish jar is meant to keep ordinary people in line. You have unrestricted VIP access." I held our trembling daughter and struggled to keep my tears from falling. It turned out that only the unloved had to leave their happiness to chance. I turned around, tossed the wish jar straight into the trash, and called my lawyer to draw up a divorce agreement.

The year I lost my sight at five, I found Stellan Hale half-frozen in the snow. I told my mother I wanted a companion to guide me and begged her to take him in. Then I leaned close to his ear and whispered a promise. "I don't need you to be my guide dog. Just stay alive. Go wherever you want to go." Still, Stellan stayed. After Mom remarried, he became the only person I had left. He watched over me as I grew up, serving as my eyes and my cane year after year. He even gave up his extraordinary talent for painting to study medicine, all for the sake of my sight. Even after he became one of the most brilliant ophthalmologists in the country, I still could not see. On my 25th birthday, someone he had once been close to won a prestigious art prize. He shut himself inside the study, and I could hear pages rustling behind the door. He told me, his voice carefully even, that he was writing my birthday wishes. I smiled and moved toward him, wanting to kiss his cheek, when words suddenly scrolled across the darkness behind my eyes. "Wake up, you blind little fool. He's tearing every one of his paintings to shreds. On the back of each one, he even wrote 'Go to hell, Elara Langley.' "Stop walking. There's a wire on the floor ahead of you. One more step and you're dead." I froze. Then I smiled again and kept walking. "Stel, Stel, every wish you made for me is going to come true."