Cerita Pendek Tragic Love & Novel Scumbag Awakening

Yvette Johnson did not learn the truth until her final moments: she had two husbands. One was Jordan Spencer. The other was his twin brother, Xander Spencer. They both loved Jade Harrison, the false heiress. But since they had no choice but to marry Yvette, the real heiress, they made a deal behind her back. They would take turns spending a week with her so neither brother would lose out.

In my previous life, Timothy Yance's female best friend, Selina Sunther, provoked me during my and Timothy's anniversary dinner. "Rosalie, Timothy got super drunk two days ago, and I was the one who helped him change his underwear. But we're really close buddies, so don't think too much about it." I completely lost my composure at that time, resulting in me hurling my wedding ring away and tearing the marriage certificate into pieces. Later on, I gave up on all of our joint assets just so I could stay away from the shameless pair. In the end, I died in a rehabilitation center located in another country. No one bothered to reach out to me at all. After I got buried, Timothy and Selina worked together to build their business empire. Everyone sang praises about their ethereal love for each other. While people were envious of them for being such a perfect couple, they showed nothing but disdain and mockery toward me when I was mentioned. "Timothy's ex-wife never knew how to appreciate him. No wonder she wasn't worthy of him." When I open my eyes again, I've returned to the night of the anniversary dinner. This time, I just smile serenely at Selina instead of breaking down. Then, I turn to link arms with my male best friend, Calvin Solt, whom I've specifically invited to dinner. I even rest my cheek on his chest. Timothy's expression changes drastically, whereas Selina's smile freezes on her face. Calvin merely smiles faintly before he raises his glass to Timothy as a toast. "Don't misunderstand our relationship, Timothy. Rosalie and I have known each other for 20 years, so we're used to taking care of each other. "Heck, I was also the one taking care of Rosalie the whole time on our first night together, be it in bed or the aftercare."

Moments after leading his team to win the Cup, my superstar hockey boyfriend, Grayson, announced an indefinite leave of absence on live TV. Twitter exploded instantly. The team's group chat was in absolute chaos. The captain sent a dozen furious voice memos, chewing Grayson out for treating the team's blood, sweat, and tears like a cheap joke just for some girl. Yet, in stark contrast to his teammates' blinding rage, Grayson's private PR team chat was celebrating. "Let's see how Blair, his glorified babysitter, cleans up this mess." "She spent ten years busting her ass for his career, and Grayson just drops it all for Cici. True devotion." A new junior assistant chimed in quietly: "But if he quits, don't we lose our jobs? I heard the captain just smashed a locker in rage..." Grayson's childhood friend and personal trainer sent a smirking emoji: "You're new. Blair is a top agent who's willingly played our nanny for a decade. No matter what Grayson does, she bails him out. She'll just go groveling to the sponsors and vets as usual." "Bet Blair is smashing her phone in a rage right now, hahaha." Amidst the rapid-fire texts, a voice memo suddenly popped up. It was Grayson's lazy, breathless voice. There was the sound of a party in the background: "Shut up, all of you. I'm busy. You guys are too loud." The group got even more riled up and started to egg Grayson on. "Cici adores you. Just kick Blair and her controlling vibe to the curb. She's thirty now anyway. Probably going deaf and blind in her old age." The chat erupted in laughter. I stared blankly at the screen. I logged directly into the agency's official Twitter account, typed up a statement, and hit send. "Our agency respects Grayson's decision to take an indefinite leave of absence. " "To compensate our brand partners, we are opening a dedicated refund portal today. We will unconditionally refund all prepaid endorsement and cancellation fees incurred during his leave."

Gavin Prescott always said he hated rushed, disposable relationships. So ours had to follow a strict progress chart. Three months into dating, I wanted to hold his hand. He pointed to the chart and told me not to skip ahead. I agreed. For three years, I followed every rule. Then someone broke into my apartment, and I called him for help. He was silent for a long time before answering. "According to the chart, I'm not supposed to enter your home for another hour. Just hang on until then." He hung up. The intruder broke into my bedroom, realized I was alone, and tried to assault me. I fought him with everything I had. An hour later, Gavin finally arrived with the police. He ignored my injuries. His eyes went straight to my torn, disheveled clothes. "Don't do that. We're not at that stage yet. Hurry up and get dressed." I couldn't stop shaking. I screamed at him. "I was nearly assaulted, and you're worried about my clothes?" He looked at me without a trace of emotion. "All I know is that I can't break the boundaries I'm supposed to keep." Then his childhood friend, Sylvie Locke, appeared behind him. She slipped an arm around his and teased him with a smile. "By your rules, doesn't me holding on to you count as skipping a stage?" Gavin didn't push her away. He even shifted closer to make it easier for her to hold him. "That's different. We don't have a progress chart." Only then did I understand: that precious chart had never applied to anyone but me. I booked a flight home for the next day without hesitation. I was done with his rules. As far as I was concerned, our love had reached zero.

On our third wedding anniversary, Kent gave me a gift. A black metal wristband. Cold. Sleek. He called it a new product from his company—a pain-sharing system. The other user was Violet. His "girl bro." The person he was closer to than his own sister. Kent brushed a hand over my cheek, his gaze soft. "Clara, you're too coddled. You should learn from Violet. She's tough." Then he snapped the wristband onto my wrist. So while Violet got a full-back tattoo and an entire sleeve, I felt every single needle. When Violet went wingsuit flying, I collapsed at home. Every bone in my body felt shattered. I threw up blood. While she soaked up attention online as the "extreme sports queen," I was drowning in nonstop pain. Kent sat beside me, holding my hand as he cared. "Just hang in there. Violet's just being herself. As my wife, you should be more understanding." To finally push me over the edge, Violet decided to livestream herself jumping into the ocean to make me die in her place. Their friends couldn't wait to watch. Later, I watched calmly from a hospital room as the system slowly drained the life out of her. Kent looked deranged as he demanded to know why I wasn't dead. Because I had already reversed the system. All her vitality had become the nourishment that sustained me.

My boyfriend returned from his volunteer teacher post with a quiet girl. She wore bleached clothes and always spoke timidly, calling my boyfriend's name intimately. Since then, everything in our house had an extra copy for her. Winona Chaucer had everything I had and didn't have. I could put up with that, but then came the day of the proposal. My boyfriend knelt on one knee and pulled out a ring box with two rings inside. He looked at me and softened his voice to the point I thought he was convincing a child to accept an unreasonable request. "Winona said she wanted one too. Don't take it to heart, alright? Will you marry me, Liliana Davis" I looked at the identical diamond rings but took neither of them. Chris Samson, my boyfriend, had no idea that the one thing I couldn't stand was sharing anything with someone else, not even the person who was supposed to stand by my side for the rest of my life.

It was common knowledge that the Marsh family was the family with the strictest household rules in upper-class society. They adhered to the rules unyieldingly, and there were so many of them that the rulebook was thicker than ten legal codices. One of the rules was: If any woman wanted a divorce, she had to roll on a bed of nails for half an hour before she was allowed to leave. In the past, Violet Stane insisted on marrying River Marsh and never thought about getting a divorce. After all, she had spent ten years pursuing this aloof ice prince. Once she married him, she gave up on her flourishing career, stopped being so aggressive, obeyed the ridiculous number of house rules, and became the perfect wife for River. But she no longer wanted to do that.

In the third year of Lynette Colt's secret marriage with Justin Oaks, she asks him to announce their relationship for the hundredth time. "I'm pregnant, Justin. Can you—" There isn't a trace of emotion in Justin's tone. "Lynn, I told you many times before that the divorce agreement is left on the nightstand. You can divorce me anytime, so stop coming up with excuses just to probe me." All the excuses Lynette has used in the past always result in the same outcome. This realization makes her heart sink to the pits of her stomach. She knows far too well that Justin is very certain she can't bear to end their ten-year relationship, much less leave his side permanently. Over the years, Lynette agreed to marry him in secret out of love. It's also the same love that makes her tolerate Justin's unilateral decision to enter into a sham marriage of convenience with Christina Jenkins for business purposes. Justin has already foreseen that Lynette will definitely suck it up and yield to his wishes unconditionally, just like how she did in the previous 99 times. But what he doesn't know is that she has gotten pregnant for real. This relationship has drained her to the point that she no longer has any energy to continue loving him. So, Lynette closes her eyes and nods. "Alright, then."

For three years, Quinn Walker had been engaged to Liam Grant. During that time, she'd chased off countless women he'd flirted with and buried more rumors about his love life than she could count. None of it had ever bothered her. Quinn had everything going for her: beauty, a great figure, and social standing. More importantly, she and Liam had grown up together, and their bond ran deep. She had never doubted that he loved her. He was simply angry with his family for trying to control his life. So whenever she dealt with another woman, she'd turn to her fiancé with a smile and ask, "Are you done being mad yet? When are we getting married?" Liam would always give the same lazy reply. "Just wait a little longer." And somehow, a little longer turned into three years. Then one day, something changed. Her friends began warning her to keep an eye on a girl Liam was financially supporting. This was a first. Never before had anyone felt the need to warn her about another woman.

Every time Austin Cole cheats on me, I'm quick to show up. I take photos, record videos, call the police on the mistress, and sometimes even make a public spectacle of her humiliation. On the 13th time he cheats on me, I'm rushing to the hotel when a message from my boss suddenly pops up, saying he needs me in Ardendale immediately to handle an urgent project. I've been working on that project for over a year. My entire career is practically betting on it. I stare at the screen. The next second, I turn the car around. After a month of nonstop work, when I finally drag my exhausted body home, Austin is lounging on the couch, casually watching TV. The moment he sees me walk in, a smile tugs at his lips. "Why didn't you come catch me last time? Ellie and I waited for you at the hotel for ages." I'm so tired that I can barely keep my eyes open. "My boss urgently needed me. I was working overtime in Ardendale all month, so I couldn't make it." A flicker of disbelief crosses his face. I turn to look at him and suddenly realize I don't have any energy left to keep acting in this ridiculous love-hate drama with him. "Austin, I want a divorce."

Five years ago, I threw Jase Prescott out of my mansion like a dog. Five years later, he'd become a renowned professor, while I'd been told my illness was incurable. He swirled the red wine in his glass, his gaze icy. "Why aren't you out making the big bucks, Audrey? What made you switch careers and start drinking with men for money?" Bitterness rose in my throat. I forced a smile. "Can't be helped. I'm buried in debt. Jase, would you be generous enough to lend me a hundred thousand?" He splashed the red wine across my face. "Same old story." His voice was as sharp as a blade. "You're still rotten with greed." Looking at the way he hated me to the core, I finally breathed a sigh of relief. Thank God. He had no idea that the heart beating in his chest was mine.

Graham Whitlock was leaving for the remote Northreach Research Station to work on a long-term research project. Before he left, he told me: “Audrey, the conditions out there are harsh, and the regulations don’t allow family members to come along. Our family needs you here, too. Please wait for me for three years. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” But three years became another three years. I waited for Graham for seven years. He still never came home. One phone call every five days. One video call a month. We saw each other only during the few precious days of leave he was allowed each year. Yet I never complained, not even once. I was afraid of getting in the way of his career. Then I became pregnant. Only then was my emergency family-visit request finally approved. After a grueling journey of thousands of miles, I arrived at the station and excitedly knocked on the door of his residence. A little girl answered. “Daddy, someone’s here! I don’t know her!” I thought I had the wrong room. But the next second, Graham’s indulgent voice came from inside. “Sweetheart, Daddy’s busy right now. I’ll have Mommy go see who it is.” His assistant, Mara Collins, came to answer the door. The moment she saw me, she froze, too shocked to speak. “Mrs. Whitlock, why are you here...?” I held a hand over my pregnant belly. After seven years of waiting, the heart I had kept suspended all this time finally died. It turned out Graham Whitlock hadn’t stopped caring about his family. He simply wasn’t caring about our family.

Neil Waller had a strange way of handling every fight between us. He called it a reconciliation mystery box. Whenever we argued, he would block me for three days. Then, as if nothing had happened, a link would suddenly appear on my phone. His message usually went something like this: "Open it. If you get 'Better Luck Next Time,' leave me alone. If you get a reconciliation coupon, maybe I'll forgive you." For years, I played along. The punishments changed every time. Sometimes, I had to put up with another week of being ignored. Sometimes, Neil made me apologize in front of other people. Once, I opened the mystery box while he was having dinner with another woman, only for him to casually tell me we could talk after he was finished. The sixth time I finally drew a reconciliation coupon, Neil wrapped his arms around me and gave me that relaxed, self-assured smile I knew so well. "See, Gabriella? No matter how unlucky you are, you still come back to me in the end." At the time, I told myself his indifference was only an act. I believed that somewhere beneath his arrogance and careless attitude, Neil still loved me. Then I discovered the mystery box he had made for the new intern, Shelley Vaughn. Hers had only one outcome: Neil's unconditional favor, and her chance of getting it was one hundred percent. One day, Shelley accidentally knocked over my coffee. Before I could even react, Neil immediately went to comfort her. The coffee had spilled across the back of my hand, leaving my skin red and stinging, yet Neil frowned. "You're not a little girl anymore. Do you really need someone to comfort you over every small thing?" That night, another mystery box appeared on my phone. It was the seventh one. Neil had left a message underneath it. 'Open it. If you get the Reconciliation Coupon, come back.' I stared at those words for a long time. This time, I did something different. I never opened the box. I blocked Neil instead. On the seventh round, I finally stopped waiting for him to choose me. For once, I chose myself.

For seven years of my marriage to Damian Moretti, my daughter and I were so poor that every night we collected empty bottles from the alley behind a bar. Every time Ella traded the bottles in for change, she would ask me, "Mommy, do we have enough saved to go to the aquarium with Daddy yet?" Damian always said we had no money. Then, on the day I finally saved enough for three tickets, I arrived at the aquarium only to find him at the entrance holding his ex-girlfriend's hand, with her son in his arms. A staff member stopped us. "Sorry, Mr. Moretti has reserved the entire aquarium for a private event tonight." A bodyguard in black stepped up beside Damian and bowed his head. "Don, the car is ready." The truth was that my supposedly penniless husband, the man who claimed he could not afford his own daughter's ticket, had reclaimed the Moretti Family long ago and become New York's new Don. It was not that he had no money. He simply refused to spend any of it on us. Later I took my daughter and left New York, and the Vitale Family found me. I inherited the family's ports, took control of the Atlantic Shipping Alliance, and became a Donna before whom countless mafia families bowed. Damian, eyes red, begged me to come home. I only pushed the divorce papers across to him. "Damian, I am already home. And you were never my family."

After taking care of my mother's ashes, I rushed overseas to attend my fiance's wedding to another woman. Preston Wallace had developed retrograde amnesia during a secret mission. He remembered everyone and everything—except me. His doctor said the most effective way to recover his lost memories was to continue the life he'd come to accept after losing them. In other words, he had to keep playing husband and wife with his female partner. So, for the sake of my unborn child, I personally handed Preston the wedding vows. That night, I came across a trending post online. "I feel awful about what I've put her through. For the past three years, whether she had a fever, caught a cold, or got into a car accident, she had to handle it all alone. How can I make up for what I owe her and still enjoy my life now without feeling guilty?" Someone replied in the comments, "You can't have it both ways. But you could switch from retrograde amnesia to situational amnesia—where you remember whoever you're with." Not long after, Preston messaged me. "Madeline, it's been three years. How have you and your mom been?" I stared at his message without replying. Preston had no idea that after what happened to him, his enemies came by our home, wanting to retaliate against my mother and me. My mother was stabbed 12 times while protecting me. After three years in a vegetative state, she finally regained consciousness. But when she heard that Preston had lost his memory and was going to marry another woman, she couldn't handle the news and died.

On the eighth day after being kidnapped, Serena Spencer still hadn't been rescued by Marvin Grant. She'd been reborn, only to find herself trapped in the same nightmare. Her body was covered in blood from days of torture. Even as one of her kidnappers grabbed her by the hair and slammed her head against a pillar, she gritted her teeth and held on. “Trust me.” “He'll come and save me. I know he will.” Serena was certain of it. After all, when the same thing had happened in her previous life, Marvin had dropped everything to rescue her. He'd thrown himself into danger without a second thought, willing to sacrifice his own life to get her away from her kidnappers. He'd even lost both his legs saving her. His love had been so extraordinary that everyone said Serena must have done something wonderful in a past life to deserve a man who loved her that much. But she'd never imagined that this time would be different. Eight days had already passed. And Marvin still hadn't come to save her.

Nathan Caldwell has a rule: anything he lends out has to be returned personally. So every item his ex-girlfriend left behind when she moved out, he returned himself. An old umbrella meant a three-hour drive. A book meant taking half a day off work. An earring meant a flight out of state. It's been five years. She still hasn't finished collecting what she left at my house. Then my mother is hospitalized after an asthma attack. I'm stuck working late, so I ask Nathan to stay with her overnight and keep an eye on her oxygen monitor. He says yes. At two in the morning, he takes a phone call and leaves. He doesn't come back until the next day. "Camille said she forgot a pair of glasses at our place," he tells me. "I dropped them off." I look at the alarm button on the oxygen monitor that nobody ever pressed. In his rules, whatever someone else leaves behind always comes first. My mother's life doesn't even rate as a stop on the way. Fine. If he can't let her go, I'll let him go back to her.

Olivia Hall was 18 when her parents died in a bloody gang war. Henry West, the city's most powerful crime boss, took her captive and forced her into a relationship. He kept her at his side, never letting her leave. Olivia fought him every step of the way, willing to risk her life rather than give in. But no matter how much she hated him or how hard she pushed him away, Henry lavished her with affection and made sure no one could hurt her. Over time, his relentless devotion wore down her defenses. Against her better judgment, Olivia fell in love with him. Everyone said she was Henry's greatest strength and the one weakness that could destroy him. The day Olivia agreed to marry him, Henry wiped out half the city's criminal world to make sure no one left could threaten her. Then he announced he was retiring. "Olivia, you're the only woman I'll ever love. There'll never be anyone else. I promise." Years later, Olivia discovered that Henry was secretly looking after another woman, someone he treated like she was too precious for the world to touch. "Olivia, I still love you more than anyone, but Grace is sweet and innocent. She reminds me of you when we first met, and I can't just walk away from her. Once this is over, I'll make it up to you. I swear." Olivia wasn't going to give him another chance. He had ruined what they had, and she had no interest in holding on to what was left. She burned every keepsake from their relationship and boarded a flight overseas, determined to leave Henry behind for good.