Contos sobre Feel-Good Story e Romances com Unattainable Love e Revenge

On Christmas Eve, my father got the man I had secretly loved for ten years drunk and sent him to my bed. When I woke up the next morning, Roy pulled away from my attempt at a good-morning kiss. His voice was cold and distant as he agreed to marry me. After the wedding, Roy wasted no time submitting a transfer request. He took an overseas post and left. He did not return for five years. I gave birth to our daughter, Eve, alone and waited for him to come back home. When I heard that Roy had finally applied to return to a domestic position, I was overjoyed. I spent days preparing, imagining our first reunion as husband and wife. But even when the clock struck midnight, he still hadn't come home. Our daughter, ever so thoughtful, placed her most treasured possession—a photograph of Roy—into my hands. "Don't cry, Mommy," she said softly. "Look, Daddy's right here." I tried to convince myself that his absence was due to a delayed flight. But later that night, while watching the news, I saw him. He was on a crowded city street, holding a young girl in his arms. Beside him stood a woman, her smile soft and warm. Facing the camera, Roy said, "Being with them is my greatest wish." At that moment, something inside me broke. I wrote up the divorce papers, packed our things, and planned to take Eve to change her identity. I didn't want him anymore. The day before we left, a man I had never met came to see me. He was Roy's father. "You could call me Dad," he said, a faint smile playing on his lips. "But I'd rather you call me Ryan." I told him everything about the past five years—how I had waited, how I had hoped. When I finished, he laughed softly, an unusual warmth in his voice. "If it was just business," he said, "perhaps your father should have tied a bow around me and sent me to your bed instead. But I hold my liquor well—if I ever end up wrapped in a bow, you can be sure it's by choice."

I put three hundred million dollars into building a business for my brother's first love. They were finally getting married. But two hours before the wedding, the maid of honor suddenly went AWOL. To keep the wedding on track, I dropped a major international deal, booked the next flight out, and flew back immediately. When I arrived, my brother hugged me gratefully and handed me the wedding ring along with a gift box — inside was a necklace, a token he'd promised Celeste. "Sis, I'm counting on you to take care of Celeste's side. I know it's a lot to ask, but could you step in as maid of honor today?" But the moment I walked into the bridal suite, my brother's bride slapped me across the face. "You've got some nerve showing up here, you homewrecking bitch." "You think you can steal my husband at my own wedding? Are you out of your mind?" "Celeste, I think there's been a misunderstanding. I’m Alexander’s sister…" I tried to explain. "Who the hell are you kidding?! My sister-in-law runs a billion-dollar empire. A tramp like you could never." "You want to steal my husband? Fine. Let's see how tough you really are." And just like that, I was tied up and thrown into a pen with a vicious dog. Celeste Davenport — if that's how you want to play it, then enjoy your one-way ticket to the hell.

My fiancé's childhood sweetheart could eat chili peppers like they were nothing, and she even claimed that they tasted sweet. The truth was, whenever she ate something spicy, the heat multiplied a hundred times in my stomach and shrank to almost nothing in hers. That was how she blew up online doing spicy food challenges, pulling in millions of followers in no time. As for me, I ended up with a wrecked stomach and a face covered in breakouts. I had no choice but to ask my fiancé for help. Not only did he refuse, but he also tried to have me committed. "Who still believes in this kind of nonsense? Either see a therapist or go check yourself into a psych ward!" Later, she entered a national spicy eating competition. After downing ten pounds of ghost peppers, she walked away just fine. Meanwhile, I died on the spot from a ruptured stomach. When I opened my eyes again, I was back at the moment Sally Wallaker had just started streaming. I reached out and snatched the utensil from her hand. "I'll take this whole bowl of extra-spicy Cajun wings."

My wife was eight months pregnant when she indulged her first love for the ninety-eighth time and let him run our child down with his car. My lawyer wife had promised me she'd bring him to justice, but in court, she suddenly changed her statement. "Mr. Quinn has a serious history of mental illness. His family will discipline him verbally, but he shouldn't be held criminally responsible." After the hearing, she shielded Caleb Quinn as he sobbed in public, then leaned close to my ear and said softly, "I promised you I'd only indulge him one hundred times. Let's just use up one chance. I can't watch him go to prison, can I?" I looked at my wife's flat stomach and felt calmer than I'd ever felt before. Then I nodded. She'd relied on that bet for six years, certain she could do anything. She'd forgotten there was only one chance left.

For our third anniversary, my boyfriend claimed he wanted to 'broaden my horizons'. However, he was just waiting for me to step into the restroom from the moment we arrived. He immediately shredded my passport and every piece of identification I owned. Before I could even comprehend what he had done, he dragged me into an underground casino. He strutted in like he belonged there, greeting everyone along the way. "This one's premium, fresh from studying abroad!" I blinked at the massive men closing in on me. The black rose tattoos on their arms… They looked like the insignias of the Lyon family, the mafia syndicate led by my ex-fiancé, who was also their newly crowned Godfather. He once loved me obsessively, pursued me for eight years, and nearly forced me into marriage under the weight of his family's power. It took everything I had to escape that life back then. What just happened? One vacation, and I somehow landed right back into their hands?

My husband tells me he's a wanted fugitive. He doesn't want to drag me down with him, so he turns himself in and tells me to marry another. My heart aches for him. I scrimp and save to raise our son while waiting for him to be released from prison. It's only when my hair has gone gray that I learn the truth—I see him holding his true love's hand as they go shopping. They buy luxury products like they cost nothing. Only then do I understand that he pretended to be thrown behind bars to be rid of me and our son. When I open my eyes again, I'm taken back to the day my husband pretended to be a fugitive. I immediately call the police and give them the evidence of his crimes. He likes acting like a fugitive, doesn't he? He can spend the rest of his life behind bars, then.

After receiving the report for an STD test, I went back to the barbeque restaurant, and there I ran into a young woman who was about three months pregnant. She asked me to let her cut in line, and, feeling sorry for her, I agreed to help her out. I quickly made arrangements for her and made sure she had a seat. But to my shock, after she finished her meal, she had a miscarriage. The girl posted about the incident online, and before I knew it, I was trending on social media, facing a wave of cyberbullying. The internet users went even further, digging up my health records and finding that everything came back positive. [She's positive for everything—she's clearly a woman with a messy private life!] [No wonder she caused the woman's miscarriage just by being near her—she's a biological hazard!] The cyberbullying got so bad that it pushed me into depression. Even my fiancé turned against me, accusing me of being filthy and breaking up with me. The emotional weight became too much, and in my pain, I drove straight into a reservoir. Meanwhile, the girl gained millions of followers online and skyrocketed to fame as a popular influencer. It was only after I died that I learned the shocking truth—this girl was my fiancé's first love. To boost her own popularity, she and my fiancé had come up with this entire scheme together. When I opened my eyes again, I found myself back on the day when she asked me to let her cut in line.

Everyone in our circle knew I had always been obsessed with Daniel Rothman. I followed whatever he did—went to school, learnt eight different languages, studied finance. After all, the Rothmans and Fosters were destined to merge through marriage—our intertwined business empires depended on it. However, on our wedding day, Daniel flew overseas to rescue his crush in distress. Our childhood bond, once the envy of everyone, became the biggest joke of all. There I was, wearing a wedding dress worth millions, standing alone as I completed the grand ceremony by myself. The headlines were everywhere. For the first time, my name came before his in the news. How foolish. Men were a dime a dozen. But there was only one well-established business empire. I did not just want his body. I wanted his money, too.

On New Year's Eve, my daughter was critically ill. As she took her last breath, she said she just wanted to see her father one last time. But I couldn't bear to tell her the truth that her father was with someone else's child, lighting fireworks and celebrating New Year's Eve together. Beside me, calls continued being made, but none of them went through. My daughter passed away with regret in her heart, and I followed her into despair, jumping to end it all. Now that I've been given a second chance to live again, I looked at the man in front of me whose eyes were full of guilt and helplessness. However, my heart remained calm. "Just this once, Mariah. Tonya is sick, and she really needs me—" I cut him off and went to pick up my daughter. "Get out of my sight."

After our daughter's death, my husband Josh Graham insisted that I play a game of confessions with May Lowe, his former flame. The first to confess was Mrs. Garcia, the maid I paid generously, who confessed that her negligence led to my daughter's burning fever. Before I could say a word, May was smiling magnanimously. "It's alright. Everyone makes mistakes—it's fine as long as no lasting harm has been done." And with that, she extended forgiveness in my stead. The second to confess was Josh himself. "I really regret snapping at Nana the day she died because I was stressed from work, and for not hugging her before I left the house." May shook her head with a tender smile. "As a breadwinner, it's impossible for you to balance work and family at the same time. And Nana loves you really much, so she'd definitely forgive her daddy." The third to confess was May herself, and she nestled in Josh's arms with a mournful gaze. "I have the most to atone for—I was overconfident in my professional diagnosis and injected her with too much sedative, stopping her heart." Then, turning toward me dolefully, she asked, "You'd forgive me right, Holly?" I smiled, pulling out the phone which was livestreaming the whole farce out of my pocket. Who cared about forgiveness? The game of judgment had begun!

When the flood hit, my husband, Patrick Holmes, who was part of the rescue team, stood between me and his first love, Victoria Clarke, torn with hesitation written all over his face. Without thinking twice, I shoved the only lifebuoy into Victoria's arms. In my previous life, Patrick had handed the lifebuoy to me instead and stayed behind with Victoria, choosing to die alongside her. Just before they both drowned, rescuers arrived in the nick of time and pulled him out, but Victoria didn't make it—she drowned that day. After that, he devoted himself completely to me, taking care of me in every moment of our daily lives. I had thought that the disaster made him cherish me more, but I was wrong—so terribly wrong. While I was hospitalized, Patrick unplugged my oxygen tank himself. He hissed, "If you hadn't insisted on going home to rest that day, I wouldn't have been torn on who to save, and she wouldn't have died. Now, you'll atone to her in the afterlife." I struggled helplessly as my vision blurred and death crept in. Then, everything went dark. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the very day the flood began.

I'm an elite animal behaviorist in the country as well as the only person in the world who has the ability to communicate with wild beasts of bigger stature. When my daughter, Harper Sheffield, falls into the tigers' enclosure at the zoo, I decline the SOS phone call that my wife, Madeline Cross, has dialed. Then, I start a livestream coolly and begin recording the thrilling scene. A few minutes later, my father, Randall Sheffield, calls me in a mixture of alarm and rage. "Harper will die at this rate! Where the hell are you? I order you to find a way to save her right now, or else you can kiss the inheritance right to my company goodbye!" I adjust the focus intensity on my phone calmly before replying, "I'm busy right now. Stop disturbing me when I'm trying to make money from my livestream."

A Feral Curse swept through the werewolf world. Those wolves touched by it become monsters that devour their own packmates; others die in agony as the infection burns through them. The survivors formed an Alliance to fight back. I fought alongside my mate, Alpha Liam, until the very end. Until rescue finally came. But our transport was seconds from takeoff. That’s when Liam's first love, an omega named Chloe, ran back. All for a beat-up music box. Liam insisted we wait. The feral pack was closing in. I had no choice. I forced the ramp shut. Chloe was torn apart by ferals. Back at the Alliance base, I thought we were safe. I was wrong. That night, Liam knocked me out and threw me to a captured feral wolf. The infection was pure agony. It felt like my veins were erupting from the inside out. I died alone in a cold, empty cell. His last words echoed in my mind through our link: "You let Chloe die. It's your turn to feel what she felt." Then I opened my eyes. I was back. Back on the airfield. On the day he refused to leave. I saw the feral pack in the distance, and a cold smile touched my lips. He wants to save Chloe so badly? Fine. This time, they can die together.

My son, Tim, was kidnapped by a group of rogues. My husband, Alpha Kieran, spared no effort, using every resource at his disposal to find him. Finally, he tracked him down to an pub training center nearby. But when Tim regained consciousness, he discovered that he was disabled. As the only son of Kieran, destined to inherit his father’s title, he couldn’t bear the reality of his condition. Despair consumed him, and in his grief, he attempted to take his own life by drowning himself in the lake within our territory. I arrived too late. By the time I pulled him from the water, my strength was nearly gone. Kieran rushed me to the pack hospital, holding me close as he whispered into my ear, "Please, Selene, stay with me. I cannot lose you too." But after my surgery, as I lay in bed, I overheard Kieran speaking to his Beta, Damon, in the hallway. "Alpha, sacrificing the rescue mission that could have saved Tim seemed… excessive. Finding another heart donor wouldn’t have been impossible. Using Tim’s—he was your only son with Luna Selene." "I allowed him to be born because I knew he could save my daughter. I’ve already raised him long enough. It’s only right that he gives me what I need now." "And the doctor said siblings have a better chance of surviving heart transplants. Ana is my most precious child—I won’t risk her suffering another heart attack." Kieran’s words shattered me. He was my fated mate, the love of my life. Yet he had sacrificed our son—our son—to save the bastard child he had with his mistress. The marriage I once cherished, the fated mate I once believed in, had now become my own personal hell.

When my mother-in-law has a heart attack, my husband, who's a heart surgeon, is busy preparing food for his first love's cat. I call him and urge him to return to save my mother-in-law. He says icily, "What is wrong with you, Esther? How dare you curse my mother just to make me head home!" After that, he hangs up. My mother-in-law dies in surgery, yet he's busy watching a concert with his first love. When he returns the following day to see me holding an urn, he's so angry that he throws the bag he's holding at me. "Look at how Lexie was considerate enough to buy clothes for my mother. All you know how to do is get Mom to pull these dumb acts with you!" I sneer. His mother is already dead—what use are those clothes?

At nine months pregnant, I suffered an unexpected miscarriage. My husband, Graham Pearson, fought back his own grief as he comforted me. He would whisper to me every day, trying to soothe my shattered heart, "Whitney, we will have children again someday. Our little angel was here for a while, and next time, we'll make sure we hold onto them..." Under Graham's careful care, I slowly began to pull myself out of the numb fog I'd been trapped in. But then, a month later, I overheard him talking to one of his friends. "If Whitney finds out the baby didn't actually die and that you've let Cassidy raise him, don't you think she'll flip out? You've worked so hard to get where you are; you can't let this mess it all up." Graham casually flicked his cigarette, his voice almost detached as he waved a hand dismissively. "Cassidy can't have kids, but she loves children. If this baby brings her joy, it's a blessing for the child, too. "I might never get the chance to be with Cassidy, but letting her raise my son, in some way, feels like a kind of fulfillment..." The truth hit me like a frozen wave, paralyzing me in place. It turned out this whole ordeal had been part of Graham's plan from the start.

A pack of Rogues holds my mother, Celia Hale, hostage and clutches an iron chest like it's treasure. Lillian Parker, my mate's first love, points at the chest through her tears. "That chest… It's all I have left of my mother." However, the boulder above my mother's head is already loose, and it could crush her at any moment. I desperately beg my mate and the Alpha of the Silvermoon pack, Ares Hamilton. "Save my mom first! Please!" He just glances at me with a frown. "Celia's a strong she-wolf. She'll be fine. Margaret is already gone. That chest matters more." With that, he gestures for most of the fighters to move toward the chest. Only two young werewolves, barely steady on their feet, reluctantly step toward Celia. I stare at him in disbelief. In the end, they recover the chest, but my mother is dead.

To help my "destitute" husband pay off his debts, I scavenged for scraps for five years. My son and I survived on expired canned food. That changed on my son's birthday. I saw him in a bespoke suit, spending millions to celebrate the birthday of the woman he truly loved. That was the moment I realized he was actually the most powerful billionaire on Wall Street. To please the love of his life, he let our child be injected with unknown drugs, leaving him on the brink of death. He even forced me to drain my own blood to save her son. Later, I became someone he could no longer reach. I linked arms with a man far more powerful than him and walked away. That once arrogant man ended up kneeling in the Arctic snow, clutching a photo I had burned, weeping like a stray dog.

My childhood sweetheart has aplastic anemia and desperately needs a bone marrow transplant. His brother agrees to help, but there's a catch. "I can save him, but you need to marry me." My lover ultimately dies because of medical negligence. I'm heartbroken but still marry Martin Steinfeld per my promise. During the wedding, he gets on one knee before me. His gaze is loving as he says, "I'll treat you well for life, Audrey Lynch. I'll be a thousand times better than Henry; I won't let you shed another tear." I look at his face, which is so much like Henry Steinfeld's. I believe him. Three years after our marriage, I'm five months along when I stumble upon Martin with his mistress. He wraps an arm around her and sighs. "She still can't forget about that dead guy despite us being married for so long. She's not like you, who only has eyes for me. "If not for her insisting on marrying Henry and ruining my future, I wouldn't have had to take my own brother down so much earlier than planned." My blood runs cold, and I tremble all over. Hatred consumes me, and I only have one thought—I have to destroy Martin!

My husband, Mark Thompson, and I went hiking. After eating some wild berries I picked, he was poisoned and died. When I got home, a woman named Sarah Miller and her son, Tommy Miller, showed up at my door. It turned out Mark had given them our house and car. On top of that, he owed them a huge amount of money. I ended up giving them all the savings I had. To care for my sick mother-in-law, Judith Thompson, I worked three jobs. I was surviving on basic meals like bread and butter. After years of exhausting work, I collapsed in the hospital. Judith told the doctors to stop my treatment. Just as I was about to die, Mark walked into the ward with Sarah and Tommy in his arms. He tossed five dollars at me. “Thanks for taking care of my mom all these years.” That was when I realized Mark had faked his death just to be with Sarah and their love child. When I opened my eyes again, I was back to the day we went hiking together.