เรื่องสั้นแนว Tragic Love และนิยาย Scumbag Face Slapping

My boyfriend of six years, Liam Sherman, proposes to his long-time crush, Vivi Johansen, on my birthday. With that, the passionate love between us is a thing of the past. I come to my senses and distance myself from him, choosing to put our relationship behind us. As such, I decided to go along with the arranged marriage my family has planned.

I turned a nobody from the streets into a Mafia, and I defied my papa—a man who loved me more than anything—to do it. For five years, I cast aside the honor of being a Principessa, all for the dream of a life with him. I thought the man I loved was on the verge of becoming the next Don of the Moretti family. But then my papa collapsed during his prayers in the church, suffering a massive cardiac arrest in the one place he believed was most sacred, most safe. Robin was by my side day and night, whispering encouragement. "Isabella, you have to be strong. It's the only way your papa can rest in peace." I was planning our wedding, ready to marry the man I thought I could trust with my life, when I overheard him talking to his mistress, Ava. "We finally got rid of the old bastard." "Once I marry Isabella, half the Moretti empire will be ours.." The five years I had willingly dedicated to him had been nothing more than an incubator for his twisted ambition. I wiped my tears and became the Moretti family's princess once more. I swore I would make them pay in blood. So, on the night before my wedding, I picked up my phone and dialed my brother's number. "Brother," I said. "It's time to close the net."

The day before the Imperial Academy trial, my online boyfriend told me his friend had drawn me as his partner. Before I could even process what he meant, he dragged me into a group chat. "Congratulations, Liam! You drew yourself a 200-pound partner!" Right after that, someone posted a photo of me from three years ago for everyone to see. In it, I wore an XL ceremonial robe, my face so chubby my ears practically disappeared. The chat instantly exploded with laughter. "God, that's not a werewolf. That's a porcupine on two legs." "A bet's a bet, Liam. You drew her yourself!" "Who says his partner is useless? She could sit on the prey and crush it to death! Hahaha!" Before long, someone started a betting pool. They were betting on whether I'd dare show up for the trial the next day. My online boyfriend bet 10,000 gold coins that I wouldn't. "Don't blame me, guys. You drew her yourself!" Liam, the werewolf who had drawn me, didn't say a word. Then Claire, the girl everyone in the chat had crowned the prettiest girl at the academy, suddenly tagged me. "Sweetie, don't listen to them. You'll still come tomorrow, won't you?" I watched the insults fly across the screen and laughed. None of them knew I'd lost 100 pounds for this trial, dropping from 200 pounds to 100. For the past two months, I couldn't leave the house without some werewolf hitting on me. Without saying a word, I placed my own bet. 30,000 gold coins that I'd show up on time.

It's our fifth year together, and I accompany my fiance, Theo Montague, to see the aurora he has always yearned to see. Fortune favors us that night as vivid green lights stretch across the snow-covered plain. He wraps his arms around me from behind and suddenly murmurs, "It's beautiful. Too bad we're still one step short of perfect." I freeze for a moment and ask him what we're missing. He doesn't answer, and I don't press him, either. After all, I've heard this phrase far too many times. When I go to great lengths to get him the out-of-print book he has his sights on for ages, he sighs. "We're still one step short of perfect." When we move into our beautifully furnished house and finally have a place of our own in Northshire, he laments, "We're still a step short." Even when he becomes a professor, our wedding's set, and everyone envies us for having it all, he still tells me, "This is wonderful, but it's still one step short of perfect." I've heard it so often that I assume he's simply harder to please than most people. The "one step short" he always speaks of seems nothing more than the small imperfection a perfectionist can never let go of. Everything changes when his most prized former student returns from abroad. For the first time ever, the man who rarely posts on social media shares a photo of himself picking her up at the airport. The woman standing next to him looks eerily like me, sharing at least 70% of my features. The caption reads, "My life's complete now that I've reunited with an old friend." That's when it hits me—the one thing he's missing is a person. I'm merely someone he settles for because I happen to look 70% like her. Since I'm only 70% similar to the woman he truly wants, how can I possibly give him the perfect life he longs for?

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.

Three years ago, I casually created an Instagram alt account and followed my husband. On that account, we talked about everything. The weather. Our day. Work. Whatever was bothering us. We could talk for hours. But on my main account, and even in real life, we barely exchanged ten sentences in an entire year. I always thought it was just our little secret. A private game between husband and wife that neither of us needed to acknowledge out loud. And honestly, I enjoyed it. Then, just before our third wedding anniversary, a new message popped up on my second account. ‘I’m divorcing Joanna Simpson.’ ‘Jess, I want to be with you.’ That was the moment I finally realized the truth. My husband had never known that the woman behind that account... was me.

Seven years with Luke Bates, and he still can't remember that I have a seafood allergy. Yet he treats that faded lucky charm locket in his car like a sacred treasure. Inside lies a note that says, "May God bless that specific someone with top marks. If it works, I'll go vegan for three months." Luke calls it a prank by his high school buddy and tells me not to get jealous over nothing right before we register our marriage. I believe him, happily pouring my heart into planning our wedding. Then comes today. I accompany him back to his hometown for a banquet, only for a woman in a floral dress to burst through the door with tears pooling in her eyes. The elders pulled her over, their faces full of concern. "Phoebe, you must be exhausted from that pilgrimage. Come, sit next to Luke." A few drinks in, someone speaks, slurring their words. "Remember when Phoebe casually mentioned praying for a favor? Luke went vegan with her and ended up with a stomach ulcer." I take a quiet sip of juice, listening in silence. It turns out the charm locket that has hung in his car for seven years wasn't for a buddy at all. It's for his first love.

After eight years of dating my boyfriend, Zachary Corington, I finally can't take it anymore and suggest breaking up. Zachary asks, "You're breaking up with me just because I drove over to find you and called your name?" "Yes," I reply. He curls his lips into a mocking smile. "Go on. What do you want this time?" I shake my head and say, "Nothing. I just want you to stop showing up before me."

I used to be notorious among our friends for being clingy. I could call my boyfriend all day long just to check up on him. To teach me a lesson, Bastian Shaw laid down a set of rules. Every time I called him, he'd take a female intern from his company shopping for a piece of furniture. Every time I checked up on him, he'd spend the night with her in our new house. Eventually, I stopped checking up on him altogether. Bastian proudly bragged to his childhood friends, "See? You can't spoil women. Leave them hanging long enough, and they'll learn to behave." On the day of our housewarming party, I stood at the front door, trying to register my fingerprint. The system kept repeating the same message. [Verification failed. Please contact the administrator.] One of Bastian's childhood friends was doubled over laughing beside me. "Hey, future Mrs. Shaw, Bastian made a bet with us. He wanted to see if you'd lose your mind in front of everyone when you found out he'd registered Molly Lane's fingerprint for the new house. "He said if you don't make a scene today, he'll marry you." I stared at the glaring red light on the fingerprint lock and felt nothing at all. "No, thanks. I wish them a long, happy marriage."

Eight months into my pregnancy, my husband finally makes time from his police duties to go to a prenatal checkup with me for the first time. The moment we step into the hospital, his satellite-encrypted phone buzzes urgently. The caller ID flashes briefly, and just like that, the man who's always calm and collected panics. "Honey, it's a red alert. Another international fugitive just crossed the border. I… I'm sorry…" He's clearly anxious, yet his tone is firm, leaving no room for argument. After apologizing, he rushes off. As I watch his SUV speed out of sight, my fist clenches tightly, crumpling the prenatal checkup sheet. I flag down a cab, slide into the car, and swiftly instruct the driver, "Follow that car. Don't lose it." A Red Notice for a fugitive? What a joke. My father, who works at the National Security Agency, barely catches wind of a notice like that. Yet, somehow, a mere police chief who only assists with cases is suddenly tasked with catching a high-priority criminal. Fine, then. I can't wait to meet the superior who's given him such an urgent assignment.

Everyone in our circle agreed on one thing. I was beautiful. Unfortunately, I was also hopeless when it came to love. My billionaire father knew that better than anyone, so he made one rule for me. I wasn’t allowed to marry a man unless he was willing to put five million dollars into a trust in my name before the wedding. “Five million isn’t much,” Dad told me. “I didn’t spend my whole life giving my daughter the best of everything just to watch her struggle with some broke guy.” Because of that, I never let myself fall too easily. Then I met Xander Shaw. When he pursued me, he did it so publicly that everyone in our social circle knew. And once we started dating, he gave me almost anything I asked for. For the first time, I relaxed. Xander was worth well over a billion dollars. Five million would be nothing to him. Dad would finally say yes. People joked that Xander was raising a pampered little princess who couldn’t survive without him. He only laughed. “What’s wrong with that? She can stay right beside me and depend on me for the rest of her life.” The night he proposed, fireworks lit up the bay until midnight. I was so happy that I told him about Dad’s five-million-dollar condition. The people around us suddenly went quiet. The tenderness disappeared from Xander’s face. “Five million is nothing to me, Sienna.” His voice turned cold. “But there’s a difference between me choosing to give it to you and you asking me for it. Understand?” Then his female best friend threw a stack of papers documenting my past in my face. She sneered. “I’ve seen plenty of women like you. You think being pretty means you can hook a billionaire and walk away rich?” Xander left with her. I stood alone in the cold for a long time. Then I wiped away my tears and refused the driver he had left behind for me. There was one thing Xander had apparently never understood. A woman who knows how to cling to someone also knows when to let go. And once I let go, I never reach back.

I spent seven years drafting divorce papers for other people. I never expected that the ninety-ninth agreement would be my own. That night, my husband, Carter, lost a tabletop game during a live stream with his childhood sweetheart, Chloe. The penalty was to give up the thing he treasured most. Chloe smiled at the camera, tapping his wedding ring. "Lend me your marriage for a day." The comment section blew up. Carter looked at me like he was giving orders to an assistant. "Evelyn, you know the drill. "Sign a temporary divorce agreement. I’ll cancel it with you tomorrow morning." Chloe lowered her eyes, her voice trembling. "Forget it. She won't let you. You always choose her over me anyway." I reached into my bag and touched the positive IVF result. Seven years of hormone shots. Four miscarriages. I didn't even have the energy to tell him anymore. As the camera zoomed in on my face, I pushed the papers back across the table. "Carter, this time, I’m putting down a bet, too. “I bet the thing you lose tonight isn't just me.”

Ophelia Hart had been married to Rowan Cabell for five years. He had been cheating on her for four and a half of those years. His list of mistresses could probably stretch all the way from Merion to Freeka, and the condoms he had gone through could practically wrap around the entire globe. However, Ophelia never made a scene. Whenever Rowan brought another woman to bed, she would quietly prepare a cup of warm water and a box of his favourite lemon-flavored condoms. When they were done, she would calmly arrange for the maid to clean the room. It was all because of the first rule in the Hart family’s code for women—'A husband’s infidelity is never an excuse for anger or confrontation. Never make a scene. Never raise your voice. His comfort must always come first. Violate this rule, and you will pay the price yourself.’ Ophelia had once paid that price for six months. Those six months were more than enough to make the lesson unforgettable. Hence, when Rowan wrapped his arms around Lydia Beaumont and passionately kissed her in front of everyone, then loudly announced that he was going to marry her, Ophelia merely reached into her bag. She pulled out a pack of strawberry chewing gum, offered it to them with both hands, and said sweetly, “Kissing feels better when you’re chewing gum.” Everyone burst into laughter and started cheering. They thought she had finally learned her lesson. However, they had it all wrong, because she was about to leave…

While tidying the house, I discover that my newly bought pack of sanitary pads has been opened. Without any hesitation, I contact my lawyer to have him draft up a divorce agreement and send it to Lucas Gardner. It doesn't take long before Lucas calls me. "This again? What's your reason this time?" Biting my lower lip, I answer, "There's one less pad in my drawer."

Lena Fields was my best friend. When I found out her boyfriend had cheated on her, my mate and I rushed straight over to back her up. Lena and I clawed at that homewrecker’s face while my mate, Garrett Blackwood, held the cheating jerk down. On the way back to the pack, the three of us looked one another over. We were covered in claw marks, and we burst out laughing. Lena laughed until she started crying. “You two had better never break your mate bond. Otherwise, who am I supposed to tag along with?” Garrett rolled his eyes at her. “We’re fated mates chosen by the Moon Goddess. Only death can separate us.” After that, I helped Lena settle in the Windwolf pack. I stayed by her side through the pain of breaking her mate bond and encouraged her to start a new life. I was so busy helping her that I even neglected my mate. Every time Garrett got jealous, he’d pull me into his arms and complain, “Elise, do you even remember that I’m your mate?” Then Alpha Rowan Blackwood sent Garrett to the border for three months. When he came back, we couldn’t wait to throw our arms around each other. The moment I sank into his arms, I felt a sharp sting where he’d marked me. I also caught another werewolf’s scent on him. I shoved Garrett away, furious. “You cheated on me! I’m breaking our mate bond!” Then I grabbed Lena, who was standing behind Garrett. “Come on, Lena! You stayed in the Windwolf pack for me, so now you’re leaving with me!” But the second I said it, she shook me off. I turned around, stunned, and saw Lena step back to Garrett’s side, her eyes full of guilt.

Valentine's Day falls on the same day my boyfriend's company goes public. I spend one million dollars reserving an entire hotel, certain that Michael Cosby is finally going to propose. After all, he promised to marry me once he made something of himself. I wait for ages, only to receive a curt message saying he has something to take care of. Feeling crushed, I go on Instagram and unexpectedly come across a post from my best friend, Winona Ashe. "Back in Mr. Cosby's hometown for the wedding. Congratulations, Lylia! After everything you've been through, you're finally getting your happy ending!" The photos show a small-town wedding, with Michael as the groom and his secretary, Lylia Sutton, as the bride. Unable to believe what I'm seeing, I leave a single question mark in the comments, and that exposes everyone else who has been betraying me behind my back. Linda Cruz, the manager who personally got hired at the company, is the first to comment. "Holy shit, Winona. Did you forget to hide this from the golden goose?" The receptionist, who constantly fawned over me as the future Mrs. Cosby, joins in, "Great. Now the spoiled princess is going to throw another fit." Even an intern I've sponsored chimes in, "What if she gets petty and pulls her investment? Wouldn't we be screwed?" Finally, Peter Crane, the deputy CEO I personally mentored, reassures everyone. "Relax. Ms. Jenner only gave us the seed money. The company's already public, so even if she cashes out, it won't make any difference." How ironic. I spent six years helping Michael build himself up from nothing, only for him to betray me, and every person at the company I bankrolled all the way to its IPO betrays me right along with him.

I was preparing a gift for our six-year anniversary when my best friend sent me a photo of my Alpha boyfriend kissing another she-wolf. "Wait, when did you get to Chicago?" The she-wolf in the picture looked a lot like me, but it wasn't me. That's when I found out that my boyfriend of six years had been searching for replacements for his dead childhood sweetheart the whole time. I was number 5. The she-wolf in the photo was number 18. I rushed to Chicago and tracked down Lucas using his phone's location. "Dude, this number 18 really looks like Ally, even more than Sophia does!" "Nah man, Sophia still looks more like her. She's number 5 after all - if she didn't look so much like Ally, why would Lucas have stuck with her for six years?" Lucas flicked his cigarette ash, looking completely relaxed: "They both look pretty similar, but number 18's way better in bed. Sophia's too uptight." "I heard you had someone pick out a diamond ring. You planning to propose? To Sophia or this new chick?" Lucas leaned back into the couch with a cocky grin: "Haven't decided yet. Why don't you guys choose for me?" I turned around, my whole body shaking as a chill ran from my head to my toes. After calming down, I texted my best friend: "Your Alpha cousin, the one who had a crush on me and waited four years - is he still single?"

For six years, I waited to become Alpha Kael’s marked mate and official Luna. The first time, Lyra—his dead brother’s mate—called crying about a rogue attack. He left me at the altar and ran to save her, but it turned out that she had just gotten lost wandering in the woods. The second time, he never showed up because Lyra had threatened to commit suicide. Later I found out he had given her the Luna necklace because her wolf needed protection more than mine. The third time, I went searching for him and found him at her prenatal appointment, his hand on her belly. He didn’t know I was carrying his pup too. Heartbroken, I decided to leave. After I disappeared, he went crazy looking for me.

On my wedding day, I had just stepped onto the aisle when a ripple of laughter spread through the crowd. "Take it all off, and she's got a body on her! Look at her face, like she's enjoying it!" I turned toward the voices and saw my ex-husband's photos of me blown up across the giant screen. They kept changing, one after another, explicit and impossible to ignore. All around the room, phones were already coming up as people started taking pictures. My hands began to shake. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my mother collapse. Behind Leon Coleman, Allison Fleming slapped her thigh and raised her voice, loud enough for everyone to hear. "Oh, wow. Leon showed these to the guys yesterday, just messing around. Guess they accidentally put it on the big screen. Gemma, you're not gonna make a big deal out of it, right?" The groomsmen laughed. "Come on, Allison. Leon always lets you get away with anything. Gemma had to beg for this wedding. There's no way she'd dare complain." With all those eyes on me, Leon reached for my hand and held it, his tone easy. "Allison's one of my closest friends. We joke around like that. She didn't mean anything by it, so don't take it personally. It's just a few private photos. I'll have someone take them down. It's our wedding day, so just bear with it for now."

"Mrs. Sterling, are you sure you're ready to end this marriage of twenty years and give up the custody?" "Yes. File it. I’m done." I said calmly through the phone as I scrubbed at a stubborn grease stain on the granite island. For twenty years, I poured my entire being into this family. I managed the households, handled the children's education , and stood by my husband's side, supporting his rise in the syndicate without complaint. But my husband Alexander brought his young adopted sister Chloe to the interview, saying, "My success today is all thanks to my adopted sister." Even my own children looked down on me, calling me common and crude housewife. They had formed an alliance with his ever-present "auntie," the woman who seemed to think she was the true lady of the house. I signed the divorce papers and walked away, leaving them to become the "perfect family" they clearly wanted. But that when the family panicked…