เรื่องสั้นแนว Feel-Good Story และนิยาย Scumbag Cheating

We're at a department dinner when Logan Gilroy tags me in the work group chat. We've been secretly dating for five years. "Everyone else already paid their share without me having to ask. Do I really have to chase you down for yours?" My best friend, Grace Hopkins, immediately posts a screenshot showing she's already paid. "Ashley, are you having money trouble or something? If you really can't afford your share, I can cover it for you." Within seconds, my coworkers start piling on. "I've never seen anyone so shameless. Mr. Gilroy actually had to call you out in the group chat just to get you to pay your share!" "If you can't afford to eat out, then don't come. She probably only showed up because she wanted an excuse to get close to Mr. Gilroy." "At least Grace knows what's appropriate. No wonder Mr. Gilroy always looks out for her." The boyfriend I've kept secret for five years is humiliating me in front of the entire department, and my best friend is right there backing him up. A new post pops up on my feed. Grace has posted a screenshot showing that Logan returned her payment. Her caption reads, "Dinner with him means I never have to split the bill." Logan likes the post almost immediately and comments, "You showed up, so there's no way I'm letting you pay." I swallow hard, my finger hovering over the screen for a long moment. Then Logan tags me in the work group chat again. "We're not close enough for me to be treating you to dinner, are we, Ms. Leith?" After a long moment, I open the shopping app and cancel the anniversary gift I ordered for him. Then I transfer him my share and post a screenshot in the group chat. Apparently, we're not that close after all. Our fifth anniversary hardly seems worth celebrating now.

Six years ago, when the Berlandi family accused Nico Valenti of leaking their financial records, I found the evidence that proved him innocent. When they still refused to take him back, I mortgaged my mother's restaurant and put everything I owned on the line for him. With my backing, Nico eventually became the person in charge of Saint Vito Port. He promised that at this year's council meeting, he would openly introduce me as his wife. But that night, I was stranded at Blackwater Docks. I called Nico for help twelve times. He never came. Instead, he was at the council giving my pin to my best friend, Bianca Rossi, and letting her take my seat as his wife. When Bianca finally answered my call, she smiled and turned the camera toward the crowded hall. "Alessia, you're good at handling things. I'm sure you'll figure it out." Then Nico accused me of being petty. "It's her first time at the council. Do you have to embarrass her in front of everyone?" I looked at the seven fresh stitches in my palm and laughed. Nico had built his career with my help. Bianca was enjoying a status she'd gotten through me. Yet somehow, I was still the one expected to step aside just because I could "handle it." I didn't argue. I called the registrar. "Strip them of everything tied to my name. Effective immediately." If Nico and Bianca truly believed they had gotten this far without me, it was time for me to take back everything I'd given them.

Ronan Blackwell was wrapping his arm around some girl as they stepped out of the hotel elevator. I was sitting right there on the lobby couch, snacking on nuts. The second Ronan locked eyes with me, his face went paler than a three-day-old corpse. The girl in his arms reacted first, shoving him away with a sharp gasp. "Miss West, wait, it's not what it looks like!" she squeaked. I rubbed my forehead. "Alright, drop the act. You're practically bursting at the seams trying not to laugh." Honestly, it wasn't just her. I was barely holding back a massive grin myself. Ronan getting caught red-handed cheating meant I was walking away with ten percent of the family company stock. Jackpot.

For our fifth anniversary, I planned to bid on a pink diamond ring. A young woman outbid me. I followed her outside to ask if she would consider selling it to me. She stood at the curb, showing the ring on her hand to the friend who had come with her. "I'm already tired of this one. "So my boyfriend told me to pick out something I liked for our first anniversary." I stopped. She would never part with an anniversary gift. Reese was busy handling the smuggling trade along the coast and could not come with me. He had only said he would not be home for dinner and told me to buy myself something nice to celebrate. When I heard her say her boyfriend had a candlelit dinner waiting for her, I smiled and envied their young love. My car pulled up. As I was about to get in, she turned around. I saw the ring on her hand, the one she was already tired of. My breath caught. Cold shot from the soles of my feet to the base of my skull. It was the ring Reese had given me last year, then discarded because it did not fit.

My CEO husband, Martin Gentry, finds out I volunteered to donate some of my brainstem tissue to wake Evelyn Stout, the woman he's never gotten over. He finally leaves the monastery where he's spent the past seven years praying for her. For the first time, he comes to see me at the office and asks what I want in return. Everyone assumes I'll use the opportunity to ask him for a baby and secure my place as his wife. Instead, I hand him divorce papers. Everyone thinks I'm just playing hard to get. Martin's expression turns cold. He removes me from every position I hold at the company. Then he promotes Evelyn, gives her a raise, and tells me to think long and hard about what I've done. What Martin doesn't know is that the surgery wiped out seven years of my memories. I'm no longer the wife who put up with everything just to keep the peace. I'm the woman I was seven years ago, full of dreams and never afraid to stand up for myself. And this time, I'm done putting myself last for anyone.

By the time my prenatal appointment is over, my legs are barely holding me up. I drag myself out of the hospital and text my husband, Ethan Mercer. "I've been at the hospital all day. I'm exhausted." It takes him half an hour to reply. "What's that supposed to mean? You want me to reimburse you for the appointment?" I stare at the message, unable to process it. Ethan's first love, Chloe Hart, walked out on him when he had nothing. She took every cent he'd saved and married a wealthy man instead. Ever since then, Ethan has despised women who care about money. So, for six years, I've gone out of my way to prove I'm nothing like her. We split everything equally. Dinner. Rent. The down payment on our house. Even after I got pregnant, I never asked Ethan to pay a cent toward my prenatal care. Then, I see Chloe's latest post. She's showing off a fresh manicure, along with screenshots of her conversation with Ethan. "Pick your favorite diamond." "Want naming rights? Better send me a nice big gift. Five figures minimum!" Below it is Ethan's transfer of 3,000,000 dollars. His teasing reply read, "If you hadn't left me six years ago, would you really have to ask me for pocket change like this now?" That's when it finally hits me. Ethan doesn't hate women who act spoiled. He doesn't even hate women spending his money. He just hates it when that woman is me. I slip my medical report into my bag and text my attorney. "Please draw up the divorce papers." Our relationship has been about splitting the bill since our very first date. It's time to settle the final account.

When I came home to begin my postpartum recovery, my husband Martin Summerland spent a lot of money on an android because he cared about me that much. He also programmed her to treat my orders as her highest priority. I frowned at the beautiful female android called "Ruby" standing before me and wanted Martin to return her at first. But he kept persuading me to try her for a month, promising that I would be satisfied. After watching her handle every task perfectly for a month, I finally agreed to keep her. But that very night, my baby son Samson's crying woke me. Ignoring the pain in my body, I went to the nursery and found Ruby mounting on Martin, her eyes hazy. "I've spent a month serving your wife. Do you have any idea how sick it made me whenever I cleaned up her afterbirth bleeding or changed the baby's diapers? You have to make it up to me." Hearing that, Martin casually grabbed a pillow and threw it into the crib. It landed squarely over Samson's crying face, and his cries instantly grew weaker. He clicked his tongue. "It's so noisy. Are you sure you want to do it here? Then I'll make sure you're satisfied." As I listened to the obscene sounds filling the room and Samson's cries growing weaker, I dug my nails into my palm and called Syntek Robotics. "Hello. I want to make a report. Your android's cognitive system is malfunctioning and refuses to obey her owner's instructions. If I remember correctly, you said androids like that had to be destroyed, didn't you?"

On my fifth birthday after getting together with Kimberly Rivers, I sit at a table filled with dishes that have gone cold, just like I have for the past few years. Much like she did last year, Kimberly promises to celebrate my birthday with me this year, but then she goes back on her word. This year, her excuse is that her childhood friend, Gregory Morales, has invited her and several of her best friends to appear in his glamor shoot. Hence, she stands me up once again and runs off to him without any hesitation. At 11:00 pm that night, Gregory uploads a photo onto his Instagram and sets it so that only I can see it. In the photo, four women in skimpy bikinis are partially kneeling around a man who stood with the unshakable confidence of truth itself. The attached caption read, "I want more than just your heart—I want your body too." I take a screenshot of the photo, then send it to the boyfriends of Kimberly's three best friends. Since they look down on me so much, they'd better hope that they won't need to come begging me on their knees in the future.

At a major press conference, my husband, Julian Winslow, is about to publicly introduce me as the love of his life when his young assistant suddenly walks onto the stage carrying a girl. "Go on, sweetheart. Daddy's calling for you." The room erupts. Reporters start firing questions about Julian's relationship with his assistant, but instead of correcting them, Julian simply takes the little girl into his arms and fastens the company's multimillion-dollar new necklace around her neck. "Yes," he says. "We have a daughter." As I stand silently in the crowd, the reporters turn their attention to me. "Ms. Aldridge, you've been with Mr. Winslow and the company for years. Surely you have something to say on such a special occasion?" I smile. Then I take the designs I spent an entire year perfecting and toss them straight into the assistant's hands. "You can have the designs too. Consider them my gift to your happy little family."

I had been able to see the labels above people's heads ever since I was little. When I was three, my grandpa held a family dinner at his house. Dad showed up with his secretary, Vivian Clarke. The moment she walked through the door, she went straight to Mom's seat. She rubbed her lower back and smiled sweetly. "Mrs. Lincoln, I hope you don't mind. Mr. Lincoln and I have been working on a project all day, and we're exhausted." I looked around the room. Above Eric's head was a glaring label. "Cheater." Above Mom's head was a dull gray label. "Loser." And above Vivian's head was a brightly shining label. "Ultimate gold digger." I immediately tugged on Eric's sleeve and asked loudly, "Dad, what do ‘cheater’ and ‘gold digger’ mean?"

At a private spa retreat, my husband’s assistant brought me a glass of iced coffee. I was parched and about to drain it when a stream of comments appeared before my eyes. [Drink it, you wicked villainess! The coffee is laced with enough sleeping pills to knock you out. Don’t ruin the leads’ big moment!] [I’m dying. The male lead is sleeping with his sister-in-law right under the villainess’ nose.] [The leads are all over each other in the sauna! This is getting spicy!] Suspicious, I lowered the glass, and the comment stream erupted. [Why isn’t the villainess drinking it?!] Were they calling me the villainess? I glanced toward the sauna, then walked straight over to it. I pulled a floor cushion over, sat down outside the steaming wooden door, and called to a staff member, “Excuse me, could you turn up the heat? I want to sit here and sweat it out.” [What?! No! Our precious leads are going to be cooked alive!]

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!"

I'm the most famous marriage-desperate woman in Merrowfield. But every time my fiancé, Gavin Northwood, and I try to hold a wedding, disaster strikes. The first time, his mother fell down a staircase and broke her leg. The second time, Scout, the dog Gavin had raised for eight years, died of poisoning. The third time, my mother was struck by a falling sign and critically injured. The fourth time, the fifth time... every attempt after that ended with someone close to us getting hurt. I hated that curse, and on my thirtieth birthday I dragged Gavin out to see a spiritual adviser and have it stripped off us for good. Before we left, I happened to see a group chat on his phone called "Operation: Protect Gavin and Serena." One name came straight into my head. Serena Colebrook. Gavin's first love, and my stepsister. I stared for a long time before I opened the chat with shaking hands. The pinned announcement at the top read: "Twenty-ninth successful operation preventing Gavin Northwood from marrying Maris Ellington." The members were my mother, Gavin's mother, my stepsister, Gavin himself, and my best friend, Paige Merrick. Everything came clear in an instant. My heart clenched hard, but I only opened my own phone, my face perfectly blank. It doesn't matter. Who says the man I'm desperate to marry has to be Gavin Northwood? I looked at the message that other man had sent me. "Didn't we agree that if you still weren't married at thirty, you'd marry me?" I answered calmly. "Yes. I'll be there."

Everyone in the Rossi family knows that their Don, Giovanni Rossi, loves me, Rebecca Costa, more than anyone else. Ever since we got together, he has stopped attending any social events that involve other women. We promised to marry once he returns from negotiating a dangerous arms deal in Aelfana. He was supposed to come back a week before the wedding, but instead, he returned on the eve of the wedding with Rosa Bianchi, his stepsister, in his arms. Rosa was unconscious, and traces of intimacy were visible on her skin. Giovanni kneeled before me, his expression remorseful. "Rebecca… I was drugged. I never meant to betray you. When Rosa threw herself at me, I thought she was you." And I believed him. At least, I did until I overheard a conversation in the changing room backstage at our wedding. One of his men asks, in disbelief, "Did you really mistake her for Rebecca?" "I did for the first night. But for the rest of the week… well, a man ought to have his bit of freedom before getting married." My fingers clench around my phone. In my inbox sits an unopened message—a marriage invitation from Angelo Calavaro, the most enigmatic Don in southern Ilya's underworld. I know what I have to do.

Maren Reeves, my best friend, suddenly told me she'd gotten back together with her ex. I tore into her for going back to a man who'd already hurt her, but she only gave me a bitter smile. "Maybe some people are just destined to keep getting tangled up with each other. Renee, I don't need your validation. I just don't want you to be mad at me." At the time, I didn't understand what Maren really meant. I thought she was only worried I'd get worked up over that jerk again. Seeing the conflict on her face, I couldn't bring myself to keep scolding her. I simply hugged her and told her not to settle for anything that made her unhappy. Then, a year later, I went to the hospital because of severe menstrual cramps and unexpectedly saw her leaving the maternity ward. Confused, I was about to approach her when a man hurried over, carefully helping her along and fussing over her every need. In an instant, I instinctively ducked behind the corner, my entire body trembling uncontrollably. Because that man was none other than Isaiah Cole, my husband of three years.

After Dad’s affair, Mom began sprinkling flour into his underwear every day. “That way, it’s clean, and I can see the truth,” she murmured. Her face was deathly pale. Dad always stood by the bed with his head lowered, letting her do as she pleased. When he left the bedroom, he would catch my worried gaze and give me a gentle smile. “Ellie, your mom’s sick. She’s just playing a game with me.” However, that day, Dad was leaving for an out-of-town business trip. While packing, he quietly pulled out the flour-dusted pair and replaced it with a clean one. The moment Mom saw it, she snapped. She rushed over and grabbed his suitcase. “Why did you switch it?” she shrieked. “Are you going to see that divorced receptionist from your company again? Even after I marked it with flour, you still want to fool around with her. Aren’t you afraid something will go wrong down there?” Dad stumbled as she tugged at him. At last, he shoved her away. “I’m going to the hot springs resort to meet a client. How am I supposed to show up like this? Can’t you stop being so paranoid all the time?” Mom staggered back into the wardrobe, and her tears instantly spilled out. “If you weren’t so desperate that you’d go after anyone, even a woman with a child, I wouldn’t be so paranoid.” Dad’s face flushed with anger. “At least Jocelyn’s child was her ex-husband’s, unlike you, who expected me to raise the spawn of the man who assaulted you. If I’d been pickier, I never would’ve married you!” A sudden clap of thunder cracked outside. Mom went still, and she slowly lowered her outstretched hand. I curled up in the corner of the couch as tears slid down my face. I knew then that Mom had truly reached her breaking point.

I was the odd one out in the Chicago mob. Other men's women spent their time fighting for affection, clawing for power, watching out for the homewreckers. Not me. I spent mine cleaning up after my boyfriend, Don Vincent Maro. His political rivals — I squared away. His brother's messes — I handled overnight. The women he kept on the side — I dealt with personally. Last month it got worse. He asked me to go chase off a man who'd been hanging around Sofia, his new girl. Sofia pouted. "Elena really can do everything." Vincent said, "That's why I keep her around." Sofia asked, "Won't Elena be upset?" Vincent paused. "Her? She's used to it." Seven years. No title in the Maro family. No public acknowledgment. Just one function — fixing things. This time, I was tired. I slid the last stack of documents across to Vincent. He signed them one after another without looking up. When he was done, he asked: Anything else? I said: No. It's all handled. What he didn't know was that at the bottom of that stack was the document terminating every identity I held inside the Maro family. The moment his pen touched that page, I no longer belonged to the Maros. And I no longer belonged to him.

At her lavish engagement party, Charlotte Ashford learns that her fiancé Connor has been cheating for three years with Sophia, the sister she loved most. When their betrayal unearths old lies, stolen memories, and the truth behind her parents' final moments, Charlotte cuts them out, rebuilds her life, and leaves Connor to face the regret he thought she would never make him feel.

The day before our wedding, my fiance, Brandon Foster, and his girl bestie pulled out their wedding certificate at the casino. Brandon shrugged as he said, "It's just a joke—we'll be divorced tomorrow, and everyone knows that Wanda and I are strictly platonic." Wanda Stiles, however, was smiling provokingly. "Come on—they say marriage is sacred, so you guys can quit gawking already and hand us our wedding presents!" Everyone around the table laughed, with someone saying, "Alright! I own a business in the West End, and you can have it for your wedding… if you beat me at the dice game. Table rules." I didn't argue and merely sat at the table, smiling faintly as I met Brandon's frown. "The dice roll decides the wedding gift, no? I'll play too."