Melodramatic

Waking up hungover next to my arch-nemesis – the city's most notorious fuckboy? Worst. Morning. Ever. I handled the walk of shame with icy dignity, but fate had a bigger curveball: one month later, two pink lines. My baby. My rules. His involvement? Zero. My flawless plan hit a snag when morning sickness ambushed me in the office restroom. He walked in. His eyes locked onto my still-flat stomach, darkening with something dangerous. Before I could blink, he had me pinned against the cold tile wall. "Who's the father?" he growled. I met his glare with a frosty smirk. "Wouldn't you like to know? Definitely not you." Then it happened: a hot tear hit my neck. His voice cracked, raw and desperate. "Don't... don't leave me. Please." Me: ...Dude. Seriously? THIS IS YOURS!

When my colleagues find out that I'm pretty good at cooking, they start organizing dinners at my place. Lucy Holt, one of the junior accountants, suggests that we split the groceries evenly between us. As a result, I don't think I can reject their request without being rude. On my last day of work, the group gathers at my place for one last meal. "You're such a good cook, Jess! We'll all be transferring you 500 dollars later. It's just a token of our appreciation," Lucy declares with a bright smile. But the very next day, she sends me a message. "Hey, Jess. You know it's illegal to operate an unlicensed catering business from your home, right? Your house will get sealed off for further investigation. More importantly, the value of goods has passed the threshold of 10,000 dollars, which means the fine you'll have to pay is probably going to be about 20 times that amount. "Since we worked together, we decided not to report you to the authorities. We'll just settle this matter privately. All you have to do is give us the fine you would've had to pay instead." This is how I realized that, combined with yesterday's meal, the total amount they've given me for groceries thus far is exactly 10,001 dollars.

My family has always considered me a harbinger of misfortune. It's all because I can see a countdown to my relatives' deaths. I tell them when my grandfather, father, and mother will die. It all comes true due to various accidents. My three brothers hate me to the core because they think I cursed my parents and grandfather. My mother actually dies after giving birth to my younger sister, but my brothers dote on her to no end. They say she's their lucky star because everything goes well for the family after she's born. But didn't Mom die while giving birth to her? On my 18th birthday, I see my death countdown when I look at myself in the mirror. I buy an urn I like and prepare a meal. I want to have one last meal with my brothers, but none of them show up even when the timer hits zero…

My firefighter husband had fallen from a great height during a mission and was rushed into the emergency room, covered in blood. As the only person capable of saving him, I stood just outside the operating room, calm and composed. Reaching for my makeup bag, I began carefully applying my makeup. Another doctor, panic-stricken, rushed toward me and shouted, "Dr. Warhol! The patient's kidney has ruptured! You're the only surgeon in all of Switzerland who can perform this life-saving procedure! If you don’t act now, he’s going to die!" I continued shaping my eyebrows with steady precision, not even glancing in his direction. "Quiet," I said coolly. "If you keep yelling, my brows might end up crooked."

My secretary replaced me on my wedding day, walking down the aisle in a white wedding gown. The man I had loved for ten years threw the bridesmaid dress in my face and ordered me to wear it instead. "She is the bride now. You'll be next," he said coldly. My grandmother was so furious that she fell ill on the spot. Meanwhile, he and the secretary smiled brightly as they completed the wedding ceremony. After the grand wedding, the secretary posted photos of herself in her wedding gown on social media. The comments were overwhelmingly congratulatory. [Today is such a beautiful day, I finally got what I wanted. I hope those who try to ruin someone else's relationship will wake up soon.] She wrote. Chester Morrison replied to her post: [It is a great day. Don't ruin your good mood by some trash.] When I returned home, holding my grandmother's photo, who had passed away, I found them tangled together on the bedspread my grandmother had lovingly sewn for me, the one with a pair of Swan that symbolizes eternal love.

Everyone in Oceanton knew that mob boss Jared Pierce was deeply in love with me. No one feared my disappearance more than he did. Even if bullets were raining down on him, he'd still find a way to contact me, just to make sure I felt safe. But on the night before our wedding, he didn't come home. When he finally returned, he dropped to his knees, a bruised and weakened woman cradled in his arms. "Rosalia! Melody took the drug just to save me! I can't just watch her die! So I had no choice but to sleep with her." Terrified that I wouldn't forgive him, Jared drew six wounds into his arm. Blood soaked through his shirt in an instant. As soon as the wedding banquet ended, I heard his men chuckling and teasing. "The boss didn't even take off his wedding outfit before rushing to see Melody. Just how seductive is his lover?" Jared’s low, sultry voice followed. "Last time I stayed with her, I didn’t come back for three days and nights. Take a guess." In shock and despair, I called out the system. "I want to leave this world!" The system's cold voice replied, "After your exit, this world will erase all traces of your existence. Counting down… Seven days."

Sophie, who deeply loved Dylan, had been enduring constant pain because Dylan was in love with a lowly maid. Dylan believed the maid was his lifesaver, and he forced Sophie to donate a kidney to her. Only then did he realize he had mistaken the wrong person—but by that time, Sophie had already left him forever.

A plane crash tore my husband and his twin brother apart. One survived. One did not. When I rushed to the hospital, I saw my brother-in-law, who had just survived the crash, locked in a passionate kiss with his wife. My husband? He lay lifeless in the morgue. Blinded by grief, I stumbled down the stairs…and lost the child I had spent three years longing for. Three years passed. Just as I was finally learning to breathe without him, I overheard a conversation between his closest friend and my brother-in-law: "How long do you plan to keep pretending to be your brother? Alicia is your legal wife." He adjusted his glasses, voice icy and distant. "I swore to my brother I'd protect Emily for the rest of my life. I am him now. As for Alicia… let her be the debt I carry into my next life." That's when I learned the truth. It was the brother-in-law who died in the crash. My husband, the man I had mourned all those years, had taken on his brother's identity to stay by Emily's side, the unattainable woman he had always secretly loved. So then what about me? The woman clinging to old memories, living in torture for three years. What was I to him?

The day I agree to marry James Hunt, he is eager to announce our love to the whole world. Later, when I get pregnant, he even acquires a hospital so that I can rest easy and focus on the baby. But during a checkup in my sixth month, I overhear a chilling conversation. "Mr. Hunt, the baby's developing well, but it's too large. The delivery could put the mother's life at risk." James only laughs, cold and unbothered. "So what if she dies? I only married her to give me children." The smile on my face freezes, and it feels like I have been plunged into ice. His next words cut me even deeper. "She pushed Natasha into the water, and now Natasha can never have children. This is nothing but her retribution." The perfect happiness I think I have is nothing more than a lie. So, I quietly register at another hospital and schedule an abortion. James, I hope you live to regret this.

We were on our way to celebrate our son’s birthday when we got into a car crash. When I woke up, I looked at my family gathered around my hospital bed and cracked a joke: “Sorry, but who are you guys?” I held back a smile, curious to see how they'd humor their "amnesiac" patient. Would my mother grab my hand in a panic? Would my husband look at me with worry? Would my son rush over, crying and calling me Mom? What I didn't expect was for them to freeze for a moment—and then, almost in unison, let out sighs of relief. My mother was the first to speak, her tone unmistakably lighter, as if a huge weight had been lifted. "If you don’t remember, it’s probably for the best. This is Lindsay—your sister, she’s my daughter. You were adopted." My husband then pointed at me and said to our son, "You should call her Aunt Wendy." Before the shock could even sink in, I watched the child I'd fought so hard to protect turn and throw himself into the arms of Lindsay. "Mom! I played outside all day. I missed you so much!" So that was the truth. My amnesia was exactly what they'd been hoping for. In that case, I didn't need this made-up life anymore.