Melodramatic

My wife, Ivy Hart, is about to give birth to the baby she conceived with Toby Clayton, her first love. Her parents hire ten bodyguards to stand guard outside the delivery room. Cora Norris, Ivy's mother, takes Ivy's hand and remarks, "Don't worry, Ivy. We'll make sure he can't get within two feet of you! Your dad is standing guard outside with the bodyguards. If he dares to stop you from having the baby, we'll report him to the police!" Ivy nods, her complexion pale, but she instinctively looks toward the door anyway. She doesn't see why I can't be more understanding of her. All she wants to do is help Toby have a child to carry on his family name. The birth proceeds without me showing up to cause a scene. She smiles gladly when she sees the crying baby in the nurse's arms. She thinks to herself that if I visit her tomorrow, she is willing to forget all about our previous fights. She is even willing to let me be the baby's father. What she doesn't know is that I've already submitted my application to the Alliance of Nations. In seven days, I will be leaving the country to become a field doctor for the Frontline Medical Corp, a humanitarian organization. I won't be coming back ever again.

I’d just wrapped up a short trip with my daughter, Elara. On the way back, I figured I’d swing by the Hale, our family’s casino, to check in on my son, Cassian. Maybe grab dinner together. I didn’t expect to be mistaken for his latest fling. Correction: not mistaken—accused. Violently. “You think you can just waltz in here like some queen?” she hissed. “I’m the woman Cassian loves! What kind of whore are you? And is this your bastard daughter with him?” She locked us in the basement. No phone. No light. Just concrete walls and the stench of mildew and madness. Then came the fists. She slapped me across the face—again and again—until my skin stung and my ears rang. When that didn’t satisfy her, she pulled a gun and aimed low. The bullet tore through my knee. I bit back a scream, shielding Elara with my body. “You need to die, whore,” she spat. One of her men hesitated, “We should at least tell Mr. Hale first. If we are going to kill these two in his casino.” Lila of course said no. But that man brought Cassian anyway. My son stepped into this dark little room like it was any other Tuesday—until he saw me. His whole body went still. The blood drained from his face. And then, in the smallest, most broken voice I’d ever heard from him, he whispered, “Mom? What are you doing in my basement?”

My wife, Ariel Sweeney, would always buy me a new watch every time she cheated on me. We'd been married for four years, and I'd already collected 99 watches. That also meant I'd forgiven her 99 times too. This time, she went on a business trip for three days, and returned with a Patek Philippe watch worth ten million dollars for me. I then knew that it was time we got a divorce.

I was with Ivan Knowles for seven years. Despite the rumors that always swirled around him, he never gave me a reason to doubt his loyalty. He let me check his phone and even welcomed me to join him on business trips. I never found anything suspicious until our engagement day. The host had just shared how Ivan flew in my favorite white roses from abroad when the big screen, meant to play a video celebrating our seven years together, instead showed a hospital room. The cry of a newborn rang out. Ivan sat on the bed holding the baby. His secretary, Alba Lawson, leaned on his shoulder, wearing the same diamond ring as mine. Tearfully, she explained to me that it was a misunderstanding. "Alba is a single mom," Ivan excused. "I'm just helping her out as her boss. Don't make a big deal out of this." The room went quiet, everyone waiting for me to flip out. I didn't. Instead, I calmly slipped off my ring and handed it to him. "Of course not. I just wish you happiness."

Bertrand Callum was a well-known lawyer in our circle and my fiancé. We had agreed to go on our honeymoon right after registering our marriage. But he broke that promise again and again. He took his secretary to every place I had dreamed of visiting. On my birthday, he brought her to Saltorlini, the place we had planned to go together. Later, he gave up our marriage registration just because she had sprained her ankle. Even when I was in a car accident and on the verge of death, he hung up on my call for help because of something she said. After I recovered, I went alone to Acreatic, a place I had always longed to see, and moved out of the home we once shared. A week after I left, Bertrand called to scold me. "Annie, you need to stop overreacting. Are you really going to divorce me over something so trivial?" I wanted to remind him that we had never actually registered our marriage. But ultimately, I shut up and said nothing. After all, there was nothing between us anymore.

Right before I hit forty, my husband hit me with: "I want a divorce." For the past ten years, I had been driving a truck outside every day to support my family, while he had been cheating on me at home. Even our child was no longer close to me. "Bad Mom! You hit Jenny! Bad Mom!" Willy cried. "I don't want Mom. I want Jenny. I wanna stay with Dad and Jenny!" Jenny. The neighbor. Single mom. Her kid and ours were tight. Ten years of grinding, running myself ragged—for two ingrates? All right! Wish your family of four a happy life! I didn't want my husband or son anymore.

The new colleague at my company is a stingy mother. On her first day, she shows up with a huge pile of expired snacks that her son refused to eat and hands them out to everyone. Once we're done, she pulls out her PayPal and says, "These are all imported snacks for my son. I'll need 50 dollars from each of you." During a company team-building event, she refuses to participate, saying she has to go home to take care of her child. The day after, she comes over holding her phone and asks me for money. "I didn't eat with everyone yesterday. Since the company is footing the bill, just hand me the cash equivalent for my meal." Furious, I rejected her request immediately. What I fail to realize is that she would bear a grudge against me over it. One night, her son comes down with a high fever, so she calls me and requests a ride to the hospital using the company car. Once again, I refuse without a second thought. Because of the delay, her son suffers severe cognitive damage. She blames me for everything that happened. In a fit of rage, she ends up running me over with her car. As I open my eyes again, I find myself transported to her first day on the job.

After being forced to give my wife's first love my heart, I died in the hallway of the private hospital she had personally founded. My six-year-old son, Ash, had already begged her thrice by the time I had drawn my last breath. The first time was when he tugged on her hand, saying I was coughing up blood. Sneering, she claimed, "So he's finally learned something—teaching his kid how to lie." Then, she had the bodyguards throw him out of the room. The second time was when he clung to her sleeve, insisting that I rambled nonsense due to the pain. "It's just a heart transplant," she opined with a frown. "The doctor already said he won't die." At that, the bodyguards stepped in again and dragged him away. The third time was when he fell to the ground, clutching her pant leg with all his strength, crying that I had already passed out. She finally lost her temper by this point, grabbing Ash by the throat and hurling him out of the room. "I have already said it—Howard isn't going to die. Dare to disturb Skye's rest again, and I'll throw both of you out of this hospital," she warned. To save me, my son pawned the most precious thing he owned—his St. Christopher medal—to a nurse. "Ma'am," he said. "I don't need to live a long life. I just want my dad to live." She accepted the medal and was about to arrange for me to be transferred to the last available room. However, my wife's first love, Skye Whitley, had someone block the doorway with his pet dog. He mentioned, "Sorry, kid. Your mom's worried I'll get bored if I can't see my dog. This room is reserved for him."

I was the pack's chief healer and my mate was just an ordinary warrior. Everyone thought we were not a good match, but I didn't mind. I accepted his proposal without hesitation. But on my mating ceremony, my mate's ex-girlfriend Serena suddenly came in with a little boy. The little boy hugged Marcus' legs and called him daddy. I thought it was some kind of scam. But when Marcus saw the child's mother, his face went pale. Then he showed an expression I'd never seen before—pure adoration—as he scooped the boy into his arms. "Let's cancel our mating ceremony. I need to mark Serena first and raise the child with her. Don't worry. Even though I'm marking Serena, my heart belongs to you." He thought I loved him so much that I chose to be his second mate. He didn't expect that I would just calmly contact my childhood friend Alpha Dominic. "My mating ceremony is all set up, but I'm missing a male lead. Would you be willing to come mark me?"

Zachary Quinn suddenly develops a fondness for going to a massage parlor after I'm discharged from the hospital—I was in an accident. He excitedly tells me that the masseuse there has the best skills he's ever experienced. "They even have free food and fruits! I bring my laptop there with me to work when I get tired at the office." I don't know why he's telling me these things. He knows my father got caught cheating at a massage parlor. I hate those places. It's only later that I learn the relaxation he describes isn't what I imagined. He's long since gone bad in places that I can't see.