Gilbert Blythe Novels & Stories

At my dad's funeral, Dawn Arnold pushes my wheelchair from behind. Suddenly, she speaks up. "I heard you screaming for help the day you and your dad got roped into that tragedy." I stiffen up instantly before looking up at her in disbelief. "Didn't you tell me that you weren't home at that time?" Dawn's gaze falls on Dad's portrait on the altar. She replies coolly, "It was a lie. At that time, I had just finished having sex with Felix. My legs were awfully limp, so I didn't open the door for you." I remain rooted to the wheelchair, my throat closing up from shock. "After you went through the amputation, you suffered from the phantom limb pain so much that you had to take sleeping pills in order to be able to sleep. So, Felix and I keep screwing on the spot next to you in bed. "We aren't exactly quiet, you know. But you've never woken up. Isn't it thrilling, Shane?" I can only stare at Felix Tanner, who's quietly wiping his tears a short distance away. He's the survivor of the break-in case from ten years ago. Back then, Dad was the one who helped him throw the killer behind bars, only to get murdered in cold blood by said killer, who had just gotten out of prison. In fact, that killer is also the one who chopped off my leg…

Clara Shawn wasn't one to regularly attend parties, she was a simple human girl that preferred to stay in and read a reasonable romance novel. However her roommate, Lydia, was quite the opposite and when she dragged Clara to this mysterious party outside campus, it brought Clara to the extremely handsome Nicholas Young, a 200 year old vampire with an ego as huge as there can be. Nicholas saved Clara when no one else even noticed that she needed help, but they soon discovered that they were immensely attracted to each other in a way that was beyond explanation. At first Nicholas was just curious as to what was so special about this human girl so he pursued her, little did he know that they would end up falling hopelessly in love with each other.

Tragedy struck for Katherine Paul, whose life has always been one rollercoaster of unfortunate events. Now she has to accept the help of the infamous Shawn Blackwell, a man she knew about a little too well. She knew she should say no, for his help came with conditions too cruel to imagine, but who could refuse the Blackwells? Shawn Blackwell had always lived to serve the Blackwell name, but he could not bear agreeing to an arranged marriage, so without thinking he did the exact opposite... grab the closest poor girl he could find and make her his, creating a forbidden love, but his plan didn't turn out as simple as he thought.

Via suffers from the disease of a visual hallucination; unable to distinguish the difference between the reality and hallucination whenever she was on its period. On the positive side, she was able to perform artistic talent on the stage and created a number of masterpieces based on what she sees in her hallucination period. Struggling with her disease, she became an ambitious painter since her childhood, has developed an extreme obsession with her talent in creating lifelike paintings as her only source of recovery. She had won numerous art competitions in various places enough to land her on a list of respected artists in her country of origin and popularity among her peers. However, this was not supported by her parents who lacked the proper knowledge in mental illness. She had been socially isolated for the twenty years of her life, as commanded by her helicopter parents. Determined to escape from the forced solitude and to treat her disease, she joined a prestigious art competition to achieve financial and emotional independence.

Vivian Grant lost her memory and forgot everything about me. Her memory stopped in the year when she loved her ex-husband most. No matter how the people around her tried to explain it, she still believed I was the third party who had come between them. The doctors said her amnesia might be treatable, so I held on to that hope and refused to let go. For three years, we got divorced and remarried over and over again. We became the biggest joke in the city's elite circles. Some people even started betting on us. They bet on when I would finally give up, and when Vivian would finally remember. Then news of our eighth divorce hit the trending charts again. Reporters rushed into the law firm with cameras on their shoulders. They shoved microphones in my face, their questions full of provocation. "Mr. Sterling, as a divorce attorney, how does it feel to have been divorced eight times yourself?" The firm's sign was smashed. The commendation banners clients had given me were trampled underfoot. Before I could respond, my supervisor fired me for damaging the profession's reputation. "Julian Sterling, let me give you some advice. Have some self-respect. Stop clinging to Ms. Grant." I clenched my trembling hands and suddenly felt exhausted. They were right. This time, I really should give up.

My college roommate, Miranda White, adored romance novels. She would always fantasize about being the protagonist of such novels. She dreamed of being loved by a rich, handsome man and eventually marrying rich. Although her allowance only came to a hundred a month, she insisted on buying a wool coat worth a thousand. She would put on the most dazzling makeup and put on a fake persona. She vowed to make every man around her love her. "I will only marry a rich hottie. My Prince Charming will find me," she proudly proclaimed. I was kind enough to caution her, warning her to protect herself and work hard to improve her life. Instead, she thought I was just jealous. "You're the kind of person who wants everyone else to be as miserable as you, aren't you? What rotten luck to have you as a roommate." Fine, then! It wasn't as if I'd be the one who'd become bankrupt by her online boyfriend!

On the day I had acute heart failure, the hospital issued several critical condition notices in a row. While I was still conscious, my attending physician told me to call my family and say my last words. On instinct, I dialed Julia Mars, but no one picked up for a long time. It wasn't until later that I found a "private arrangement" contract posted on her alt social media account. The terms spelled out her decade-long friends-with-benefits relationship with her childhood friend, Ken Cohen. Her best friend commented under the post with congratulations: [Not bad, Counselor Mars, finally ready to go public with your little childhood buddy. If your husband finds out, you think he'll have a heart attack from the shock?] Julia replied, completely unfazed: [He won't die. And even if he finds out, so what? The doctors didn't dare tell him that his heart is useless. He needs a transplant. That requires a fortune, and he can't get by without me.] I spent a full week in the ICU clawing my way back from death's door. And in those seven short days, every last bit of love I had for her burned away to nothing.

Every time Anthony Slim and I tried to get our marriage license, something went wrong. For three years, we tried thirty times. And every single attempt ended in an accident. The first attempt ended with a vagrant that went berserk and stabbed me four times. I nearly died outside the city hall. The second attempt ended with a speeding motorcycle crushing the bones of my hand. The third attempt ended with a burning mall, and I was trapped inside for three whole hours. … Everyone told me to cancel the engagement, but I stubbornly refused to give up. And then the 31st attempt ended with me getting rushed into the ICU. A billboard that fell from up high crashed right into me. I was rushed into the ICU with a severe head injury. The doctors issued one critical notice after another. For two months, I hovered between life and death before barely pulling through. Then on the day of my discharge, I overheard Anthony talking to his best friend. "If you really love that underprivileged student and want this marriage canceled, you can just tell Melissa. Why set up all those accidents? She nearly died." Anthony did not answer for a long time. When he did, his voice was filled with gloom. "I don't have a choice. Her family saved my life ten years ago, and her parents died in the process. This marriage contract is repayment of that favor. "But I only love Lily. I won’t marry anyone but her.” I looked at the bruises and wounds that decorated every inch of my skin and let out a broken cry. All the accidents and near-death experiences I went through were the machinations of another man, not actual mishaps. If Anthony was feeling stuck, I was more than happy to make that choice for him.

On the day after my twin brother, Jonathan Sander's death, I've married Natania Gilmore, my widowed sister-in-law. That day, Natania prints a thousand copies of Jonathan's death report and announces to the world that I'm the actual killer. Because of that, everyone despises me. Even my parents sever all ties with me on the spot. After our marriage, Natania keeps getting into romantic scandals. She's also brought countless men home with her. She makes me stand outside her room while listening to their debauchery every time. I'm also required to take photos of her and her boytoy with my camera once they are done with their lovemaking. I can only stomach everything quietly. My only plea is that I get to have a child with Natania. But Natania just scoffs at me. "Just how much of a filthy wuss are you, Leon Sander? If you need a woman's touch that badly, go ahead and find yourself another woman out there. Doesn't the idea of kneeling by my feet while begging for my touch like a mutt disgust you? "What, you really think having a child with me can tie me down? I'll have you know that I will never settle down with you for the rest of my life!" In order to shatter my hopes, Natania even goes out of her way to be cruel to me by spending a fortune on building a horse ranch. Each horse stable is taken up by her lovers. Even the people in the elite society claim, "The group of stallions that Natania keeps in her stables are a lot better than the simping mutt who wags his tail at her at home." Three years later, my mother-in-law, Wendy Gilmore, suddenly texts me a reminder. "Remember our promise, Leon. Three years are up. You have one more week to tie up all the knots in your life."

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.