Cerita Pendek & Novel

The 99th time I caught Sarah Burton cheating, she slept with my foster brother, Lucas, just to get back at me. When I walked in on them in bed, there wasn't a trace of guilt on her face. If anything, she looked unapologetically smug. "Jason," she said, "your brother's a hell of a lot better than you." In my past life, those words broke me completely. I lost my mind. I leaked their sex photos to the entire world. Sarah couldn't take the humiliation. She divorced me. My parents were so disgusted that they kicked me out for good. I thought I'd bounce back. I was wrong. I'd spent the first eighteen years of my life growing up wild in the countryside. Even after the Robinsons brought me back, I had no real-life skills. I didn't know how to survive in their world. Then Sarah's family came after me. I went years without a proper meal. By my early thirties, I died of cancer. Meanwhile, Lucas married Sarah and climbed straight into high society. And me? I was just the ex-husband who became a joke to everyone. Now, I open my eyes again. I'm back on the day she slept with him.

The day I won the eight-million-dollar East Harbor renovation bid, I handed the lead role to Grace Whitman, Ethan Hale’s childhood sweetheart. Ethan thought I had finally learned to be sensible. He happily told me he was taking me to the Maldives for our wedding anniversary. Grace found out that night. She pretended the pressure from work was too much and cried uncontrollably. Ethan panicked so badly that he canceled a board meeting, stayed with her for three days, then called our anniversary trip an emergency client visit and gave Grace the second ticket. When he called me, his tone was still calm, almost entitled. “Sofia, we can talk about emotional stuff later. The company comes first right now. Grace has never handled a project this big on her own. I need to be there with her.” “You’re my wife. You should understand.” I sat alone in our empty apartment and looked at the photo Grace had just posted. In the private airport lounge, Ethan had draped his jacket over her shoulders. Their knees almost touched. Her caption read, [Some people never have to say love. They just show up first, every time.] I didn’t question him. I didn’t cry. I only replied, [Okay.] Ethan probably thought I had finally learned my place. Satisfied, he promised that when he came back, he would give me an even better anniversary. What he didn’t know was that I had already submitted my resignation to Hale Creative. And he didn’t know that the document he had signed three days ago wasn’t a project authorization form. It was our divorce agreement. By the time he realized what he had lost, I was no longer Mrs. Hale. I was Sofia Bellandi again. And Bellandi women do not beg for seats at tables they built.

I was the one who broke Kane Blackwood's heart. He was the Alpha heir, my boyfriend since we were kids, and I pushed him so hard that I drove him all the way to the Northern Stronghold. He stayed there for seven years. Now he was back. He had a new woman with him, and they were going to hold their bonding ceremony here, in our pack. That same week, the pack witch told me I had three months left to live. When my mother wheeled me outside to see him, Kane's mouth curled into that cruel, mocking smile I remembered too well. His dark eyes swept over me from head to toe, taking in the wheelchair, the thinness of my arms, the paleness of my face. "Well, well," he said, his voice low and sharp. "Seven years and you look like hell. Can't even walk anymore?" I tugged my sleeve down, hiding the scars—the silver tracings left by years of failed treatments. I kept my voice steady. "I fell. Broke something. It's nothing." He let out a short, cold laugh. "Right. Anyway, my bonding ceremony's coming up. You should be Vivra's maid of honor." I smiled back at him. I had gotten good at smiling through pain over the years. "Sorry, but I'm leaving soon. Somewhere far away." Then I patted my mother's hand. She didn't say a word, just gripped the handles of the chair and pushed me back toward the house. I didn't look behind me.

My sister was autistic. The doctors called it "severe sensory overload." The rule was simple: No sudden noises. Ever. So my whole life was set to mute. I never wore heels. I never raised my voice. I wasn't even allowed to laugh. It was all to keep her from having a meltdown. My father, Victor, the Don of the Castellano family, would grip my shoulder. His face was a mask of apology. "Sera, you're my good girl. Protecting your sister is our duty. You're healthy and strong. You can sacrifice a little for her, can't you?" That day, I was on the second-floor terrace and accidentally knocked over a pot of white roses. The sound of it shattering sent my sister, who was sunbathing in the garden below, into a meltdown. For the first time, Victor glared at me like I was the enemy. He roared, "Can't you just be quiet? Do you want to drive her insane?" My sister backed away in terror, right into a glass table, and let out a piercing scream. Victor charged past me, a blur of rage and panic. He slammed into me on the stairs as I was running down to help. I lost my footing and crashed chest-first into the sharp corner of a wrought-iron banister post. Pain exploded in my chest. I opened my mouth to scream, but only silence came out. My family swarmed around my shrieking sister. No one even glanced at me. My lungs filled with blood. I was drowning on the floor. They all thought my sister, the one with autism, needed the family's comfort. They thought I just took a fall. That I could wait. They were wrong.

At my mom's funeral, my lecturer wife, Vivian Carter, decides to have a rendezvous with her student, Noah Myers, with ten packs of condoms in her bag. Once they are done with their passionate lovemaking, Noah uploads a photo to his social media feed. It features a red-faced Vivian lying on his bed. Meanwhile, the clothes of mourning that she's worn to the funeral are strewn all over the floor. The caption reads, "The only who's not loved is the actual homewrecker here. My relationship has finally borne fruit!" His feed goes wild with comments. Everyone mocks me for being a shameless simp for Vivian, and that I've been ruining Noah's relationship with her this whole time. My mentor, Avery Sanders, is sick with worry. But I, on the other hand, merely brew myself a cup of coffee. Then, I say lightly, "Since he likes uploading his intimate photos that much, I might as well upload photos of his and Vivian's bastard child as well as their paternity tests. Here's the caption—I, the legal husband, am now defending my pride as a married man. "Now, I'd like to see if Noah and Vivian are capable of bearing the consequences of pissing off my prestigious and wealthy family!"

We had been married for five years, but Chuck Gorman spent more than half his time at the condo opposite the river. He claimed that his older brother, Calvin, had passed away at a young age, leaving behind his widow, who had no one to depend on, and that as Calvin's brother, he was responsible for taking care of both families. This was a Gorman family value of upholding loyalty and kinship. I had believed his words then. To help him uphold his loyalty and dignity, I tolerated it whenever he was absent during important holidays and said nothing when he split his time between his sister-in-law and me during Christmas dinner. I even had to hold back my tongue when others mocked me for being a weak woman who was willing to 'share her husband'. However, Chuck had always been gentle yet distant when he spoke to me. This continued until we were involved in an accident with several collisions. The car we were in was wrecked. As I shielded my heavily pregnant belly, I broke out in cold sweat from the pain. I kept hitting the window while shouting, "Chuck! Save the baby…" Chuck climbed out from the driver's seat and glanced at my bleeding body, only to turn away to pry open the car door of the back seat. He shielded Sandi Lemming tightly in his arms, holding her against his chest despite her suffering only minor scratches on the forehead. "Don't look, Sandi. It's okay. I'm right here." He patted her gently on the back while comforting her over and over to calm her nerves. As for me, I was stuck inside the car due to the dented car door. I realized that it was not loyalty and kinship he was practising. He was just unable to see Sandi come to harm at all.

My husband, Dante, the Consigliere of the Falcone family, and I hated each other more than any two people on earth. He hated me for tearing him away from the woman he loved. I hated him because his heart had never been mine. We shared a bed for seven years, but the words we exchanged most were not of love, but of venomous curses. But on the night a rival family's motorcade stormed the estate, everything changed. I remember the firefight lighting up half the city. Dante threw himself in front of me, shielding me with his body. "Survive," he said, his voice as steady as ever. He drew his gun. As he turned to face them, a hailstorm of bullets erupted. As armor-piercing rounds tore through his vest and slammed into his body, he turned to look at me. It was the only time in seven years he had ever looked me in the eye. His large frame barred the doorway, stopping any gunman from crossing the threshold. "If there's a next life, promise me this, Principessa. Let me protect the one I was always meant to." That night, the glory of our family turned to ash, and the streets ran red with blood. As our enemies closed in, I triggered the explosives in the car. The flames consumed everything. When I opened my eyes again, I was walking into my father's study. "The family in Ashpoint needs a bride to seal a truce," I said, meeting the gaze of my father, the Don of the Falcone family. "I'll go." In my past life, he died believing he had failed my half-sister, Sofia. This time, I wouldn't let that regret haunt him. I would take Sofia's place and board the flight north. Let Sofia stay. Let Dante protect the woman he was meant to protect. But why, when he lifted the white veil of the woman he loved in this life, did he regret it?

Three months after my liver cancer diagnosis, I found out the only contact Evelyn Pritchard had pinned was one of her male students. Suddenly, all those cute reaction gifs she had been using made sense. I didn't spiral. I gave Evelyn two choices. "Divorce me, or cut him off." Evelyn said nothing. She locked herself in the study for the entire night. When she came out the next morning, her eyes were red, and she looked at me like she already knew she had ruined something she couldn't fix. "He doesn't know anything. I'm the one who crossed the line. It won't happen again." We had been together for six years. I couldn't bring myself to end everything over what I kept telling myself was one mistake. Then, during my surgery, Evelyn answered a phone call. "My parents are trying to force me into a marriage. Please, you have to come help me!" Her hand slipped out of mine. And then, she ran for the door. Pain tore through my abdomen, but I gritted my teeth and shouted, "Evelyn, if you walk out of this operating room today, we're getting divorced when you come back!" She stopped for half a second, but still left anyway. The heart monitor began to shriek. Evelyn never looked back. That was when I finally understood. This three-year marriage should have ended a long time ago.

The day my parents divorced, I turned my back on the mother who loved me and clung desperately to my cheating father. In my previous life, I chose my mother without hesitation. Because the family never accepted me, she spent the rest of her life suffering for my sake, enduring endless scorn and hardship. This time, as I looked into her heartbroken eyes, I walked away without a backward glance. Five years later, I was scraping by at a seafood market, spending my days gutting fish amid the stench of saltwater and blood. Just as I expertly sliced open a fish's belly, my mother appeared. Her heels clicked across the damp floor as she navigated around puddles left by melting ice and approached me. She covered her nose in disgust, looked me up and down in my stained, shabby clothes, and let out a cold laugh. "No matter how hard you wash, you still reek of fish. This is the life you chose when you picked him over me. “The Cooper family's notorious young heir is about to form an alliance with our family through marriage. “As long as you kneel and beg me, I'll give you a chance to live a better life. What do you think? “You know I always mean what I say.” The contempt in her voice was unmistakable. I swallowed the metallic taste rising in my throat, flashed a carefree grin, and stepped closer. “Not only am I not kneeling, but you’ll have to kiss me first if you want me to go.” Just one kiss would be enough to get me through the last month of my life.

I've always been one who doesn't express many emotions. That is, until I've married Vanessa Tate. But the happy life I look forward to living doesn't come to me. Instead, all I see is Vanessa cheating on me with other men to her heart's content. When she brings another man home for the seventh time and fills the guest room with loud moans, I walk over to the door and knock on it gently. Even my tone is soft and tender. "My bedtime is between 10:00 pm to 8:00 am the next morning. As long as you keep the noise level down and don't disturb my sleep, I can pretend that this never happened." The door is opened from the inside, and Vanessa struts out. She casts me a nonchalant glance. "Got it." Her languid voice is tinged with impatience. "I'll keep it down. You should rest in your room instead of standing in the corridor in the middle of the night." The young man, who's a new boy toy of Vanessa's, leans against the bedpost. He leaves his collar open purposefully as he says to me in a taunting manner, "You really are composed. No wonder Vanessa keeps claiming that you're the most gracious husband in the whole wide world." I merely smile wanly, not bothering to give the boy toy an ounce of my attention. After returning to the master bedroom, I take the liberty to send the photo I've just taken to my mother-in-law, Evelyn Sinclair. "Mom, I already told you that Vanessa will never be able to control her urges, and yet you refuse to believe me. "We already made it clear that you'll have to pay me 100 million dollars every time she cheats on me with a man. I hope that you can stick to your end of the bargain."

The night before the wedding, the effects of the drug wore off. I woke up in the master bedroom of the estate to the sound of laughter. The moment I opened my eyes, I saw my custom-made suit being cut into strips by Jessica Solomon's male best friend, Chris Johnson. As he twirled a pair of scissors in his hand, he joked with the viewers on his livestream. "Man of the house? Please. He's lying there completely helpless. Anybody could do whatever they want to him." Jessica's friends burst into laughter and chimed in. "Jessica put sleeping pills in his milk herself. Anybody would've been knocked out cold." The livestream chat flooded with comments ridiculing me as the pathetic man marrying into a wealthy family, but Jessica simply watched with amusement and reached over to ruffle Chris' hair. "Feeling better now? Be good and end the livestream. If he wakes up and causes a scene, tomorrow's wedding will be a mess." Only after everyone left did Jessica sit down beside the bed and pull the blanket over me. "Chris is depressed. He can't handle being upset. We'll deal with this later. "I've already arranged for a replacement suit to be flown in overnight on a private jet. Honestly, that one suits you better anyway." My fingers tightened around the bedsheet. Silently, I sent a message to Katie Everton. [I'm not getting married. Does what you said before still stand?]

Jessica Morrison had been divorced from her ex-husband, Mark Tatum, for five years, yet they still shared a joint bank account. She made over six figures a year, but every time her salary hit her account, she transferred every last cent to him. "Even though we're divorced, we still have a child together. I can't just turn my back on him." For years, she used that as her excuse. She went to take care of her and Mark's son while her own water had already broken. Because of that, our daughter, Emma, was born with health issues. Later, when Emma had a medical emergency and needed surgery, Jessica gave all the money to Mark's son instead. That time, I asked for a divorce. But she begged me through her tears. "They're both my children. You have to understand—I'm a mother. I promise it will never happen again." For the sake of our young daughter, I gave in. But this time, Emma got sick with a high fever and was diagnosed with acute leukemia. When I went to pay the bill at the hospital, I was told the card had been declined. The bank account that should have had hundreds of thousands of dollars was completely empty. That's when I found out Jessica had transferred all the money again. Our daughter was delirious from the fever, holding my hand. "Daddy, does Mommy not want me anymore?" I comforted her as best I could, but deep down, I knew—maybe it was time to find my daughter a new mother.

For ten years, I have stayed by Maren Hale's side without her formally acknowledging me as her boyfriend. Thus, I become the oldest kept man in Harborfield. After I turn 30, I have asked her to marry me more than 30 times. Each time, she smiles and kisses me. "Reid, I'll marry you when I'm ready," she says. When I'm 31, a car accident nearly kills me. Still shaken, I propose to Maren. She tells me to wait a little longer. By the time I'm 33, a doctor warns me that my kidney function is declining. I wave the diagnosis report in front of her and press for marriage. Yet, she still tells me to wait. While I wait for her, the sun rises and sets over Mount Carlisle more than 3,600 times. Finally, I think she is ready. Holding back tears, I promise my seriously ill father that he will live to see me get married. What I don't know is that Maren is not opposed to marriage. It's just that the ten years she spends fooling around with me are nothing more than an act of rebellion against her mother, who has driven away her former fiancé. Before the banquet, I see the ring I give Maren inside her handbag. I think she is finally going to accept my proposal. Nervous and hopeful, I wait the entire evening. But just moments ago, during a game of dare, she casually tosses the ring to a male model she has just met. "The kid is turning 20. A pink diamond suits him perfectly. Next time, I'll have an emerald one made for us." The entire room bursts into laughter. I laugh along with them. "Don't bother," I said. "Someone else already has a rock waiting for me, and I said yes."

It was the day of my wedding. Wendy Halton huddled up to me and whispered, "I slept with Joe." She pointed at the big screen, a smile curling her lips. "Summer dumped you so she could have Joe. I swore I'd make her drink from the well of betrayal. So, I slept with the man she loves." My eyes went wide with disbelief. It was then that I realized the screen wasn't showing our wedding photos. Instead, they were showing something far raunchier, filthier. It was Wendy, and she was going at it with Joe Noelson. Three years ago, I caught my then-fiancée, Summer Shaw, cheating with Joe, who happened to be the underprivileged student that I sponsored. That single moment snuffed out all hope I had for the world, but Wendy barged in like a beam of angelic light. Now, she had gouged open my chest with the same weapon Wendy destroyed me with. Tears fell before I could stop them. A frown creased Wendy's forehead. "Stop crying. I got revenge for you. You should be happy."

My mother was critically ill, and I drove five hundred miles back to my hometown alone. At a rest stop, I saw a video online. A young man had posted: "First day driving long-distance as a nervous beginner. My ex followed me for three hundred miles, all the way until I got home safely." In the video, a familiar black Mercedes followed a white car the entire way. The top comment came from a burner account: "I'm the driver's ex. No other meaning. I just couldn't stop worrying. "He's timid, but always tries to act brave. I was afraid something would happen to him. "Please don't overthink it. Don't bother him. I'll feel bad." The internet exploded. "What kind of once-in-a-lifetime devoted ex is this? Get back together already!" I stared at that Mercedes. The plate number was GB-8860V. It was my fiancee Vanessa Tomlinson's car. That morning, she had canceled the plan to drive home with me. She said her company had an emergency project and she could not get away. I had sent her dozens of messages, and she had not replied to a single one. Yet she had time to escort the man she never truly let go of for three hundred miles. My phone buzzed. Vanessa had finally texted me: "Is the interstate jammed? Drive safe."

On New Year's Eve, I went to court for the last time. The judge asked if I still wanted to file for custody of my daughter. I shook my head and said, "I'm here to withdraw my case. I'm going to stop fighting for custody anymore. I agree with the divorce." Vivian and I had been married for nine years, and the divorce had dragged through six hearings. I spent six New Year's Eve in court. There had been no joy, only hysterical accusations. I was tired. My daughter was tired, too. So, I finally stopped holding on. I had already booked my flight home for the year.

I'm a good luck charm to my wife by nature. After marrying me, Heather Seymour, who's crippled because of a car crash, miraculously stands up on her own and gets to ditch the wheelchair. On top of that, her business is booming as well. In less than half a year, she successfully establishes her own company. After Heather's company goes public, she tells me with a smile that she wants to give me a huge gift at the celebration party. I'm filled with anticipation, thinking that Heather finally wants to fulfill her promise of having a child with me. But instead, Heather is seen lacing fingers with her subordinate, Lucas Mallard, at the celebration party. Not only does she announce her relationship with Lucas, but she also tosses me a divorce agreement. Her expression remains icy as she says, "Randall Grahm, if it wasn't for the fact that I got into an accident when Lucas was studying abroad, I wouldn't have married you, to begin with! "Now that my legs have recovered, my company is listed, and I'm pregnant with Lucas' baby, it's high time for you to return the position as the CEO's husband to him! Our family of three will finally be whole again!" It turns out that Heather married me just so I can take over the responsibilities of taking care of her back then. Everyone thinks that I'll go ballistic from rage, so they can't wait to see me humiliate myself. But I just agree with the divorce with a smile before dropping my signature on the paperwork. What Heather doesn't know is that I'm only a good luck charm to her simply because of the system I'm bound to. Once the divorce is official, the things that I've given to her—that are exchanged from the system—will be taken back one by one!

On the day I married the most feared woman in the underworld, words suddenly appeared before my eyes. [Marry her and you're dead! She's actually in love with your stepfather. This whole thing is a trap to make him swoop in and steal the bride! [Run now while you still can. Otherwise, she'll auction off your virginity tonight in front of everyone and let her rich girlfriends have their turn with you! [Three days from now, after she's had you beaten within an inch of your life, she'll tell everyone you died of a sudden illness and dump your body in the outskirts for the wolves!] Last time around, I bolted the moment I saw those messages. That was a mistake. I got grabbed by Yvette Sinclair's enemies and brutalized. Meanwhile, my stepfather took my place in the wedding car and became the crime boss's pampered husband. After narrowly escaping death and finally making it home, he was already standing in the doorway with tears in his eyes. "I know you hate me," he said, "but why did you knock me out and throw me into another woman's bed?" My mother didn't even let me explain. She said I had humiliated the family, and she threw me out without a second thought. Told everyone she'd never had a son like me. My sister, the one who had always doted on me, stood there and watched me burn alive. Then she locked the door and walked away. It wasn't until after I died that I found out the truth. My stepfather had written those messages himself. Then I opened my eyes again, and I was back to the day of the wedding. The same words were already floating in front of me. I watched my stepfather fuss over my tie with a warm, satisfied look on his face. I grabbed the kettle and poured boiling water all over him. This time, I was going to give him a taste of his own medicine!

The battery on my front door smart lock died, so I called a locksmith to come over. While he was working on the lock, he made small talk. "Dude, this lock comes with six spare keys. Did you lock all of them inside the apartment?" I froze. I've lived in this apartment for three years. My wife and I each have one spare key. The other three were always kept in the hallway drawer. That makes five total. So where's the sixth key?

Two weeks before I stopped waiting, Ethan Hayes gave my island invitation to another woman. Her name was Mia Lawson. Twenty-six, pretty, soft-spoken, and always close enough to him that people had started pretending not to notice. That night, everyone at our table went quiet. Ethan didn't. He placed the envelope in her hand and said, "You've been working too hard. Take a break." Mia blushed like he had given her roses. I looked at the envelope, then at the man I had waited eight years to marry. That island was supposed to be ours. The beach, the villa, the ceremony site facing the ocean. All of it. Maya gripped my hand under the table and whispered, "Claire, say something." But I only smiled, because if I opened my mouth, I was afraid I would beg. And I was done begging. Two weeks later, on that same island, my phone kept lighting up with Ethan's name. I didn't answer. I was already wearing the white dress he had told me to return.