Melodramatic Synonym

Emma Blanton twists her ankle, and my fiance, Matthew Harrison, insists on becoming her personal chauffeur. When I voice my disapproval, he makes an even more outrageous decision. He moves Emma into my apartment at Bellemont District—the apartment I bought with my own money. He argues like he's the victim, "You're being selfish. She's injured, and living alone is too dangerous for her right now. I'm just being a decent human being. "And that place is sitting empty anyway. Having someone there helps with security." On the morning we were supposed to get our marriage certificate, he doesn't show up. I call, expecting apologies. Instead, I hear, "Emma had a fever this morning—101 Fahrenheit. I had to take her to urgent care. We can postpone getting the marriage certificate. Her health can't wait." To hell with postponing! I grab my phone and call David Rockefeller. "Do you want to marry me? Then get to City Hall. I'm serious—right now."

My childhood sweetheart tanked his startup and racked up millions in debt. He begged for my help, so I dropped out of college and sold liquor to keep him afloat. Ten years later, he proposed to me. I thought we'd made it through the worst until I saw his chatting records with his buddies. [Lorelei is pushing 30. Too old and too used up for you.] [Who knows if she earned that debt money by slinging drinks or something else?] [Besides, what about your kid with your secretary?]

I’m getting married, but my CEO fiancé, whom I had been engaged to for ten years, had no idea. Thanks to his new personal maid, the man has no time to spare for me. The two of them always shadowed one another, and they might as well be sleeping in the same bed. My fiancé even bought a yacht and brought her to the Arctic to see the aurora when she was in a bad mood, completely forgetting that we were supposed to be picking out wedding gowns that day. I spent the entire day waiting in that bridal shop, waiting for a man who would never show up. So I called my dad, “I’m marrying someone else.”

When I was three months pregnant, Stella Falcone, the principessa of an allied family, was also carrying another man's child. To preserve the alliance, my Mafia lover, Matteo Gallo, had to marry her. "Stella is Don Falcone's only daughter. In our world, alliances are worth more than sentiment." "Ava will understand." What Matteo forgot was that I had no one but him, and that the child I carried was the true Gallo heir. Later, as everyone mocked my unborn child, calling him a bastard who would taint the bloodline, Matteo stood by with his new bride and did nothing. That was when I learned that in this world of blood and secrets, love was the most worthless currency of all.

After I landed in the hospital—again—from working myself into the ground, Jacob swore he was done playing house stockbroker. "Starting tomorrow, I'll do anything. Haul bricks, deliver pizza, whatever. I'm not letting you carry this alone." His eyes were glassy as he stormed out of the exam room like he was about to save the day or something. Then the doctor walked in and handed me a report. I was pregnant. Again. Heart racing, I chased after Jacob... and froze. He was standing outside some super VIP room. The same guys who used to bang on our door for money were suddenly all respectful. "Mr. Klein, should we block her door again tomorrow?" Jacob twirled our engagement ring around his finger. "No need. She already lost one baby paying off those debts. The test's over. Time she knew who I really am." Then my best friend—Lillian Morvain—strolled out and wrapped her arms around his waist like she belonged there. "Jacob, don't go soft. Your tests usually last at least five years. What if she's just another gold digger? Plus... I'd miss you." He hesitated. Smirked. "Fine. We'll do it your way. She's not going anywhere anyway." I stood there, clutching my stomach, sliding down the wall like the air had been punched out of me. Later, I pushed open the office door. "Dr. Spencer, I need a termination. Three days from now."

My daughter accidentally scratched my husband's young mistress's face with her nails. For that, my husband had her fingers chopped off. Covered in blood, she came home seeking help, only to be assaulted by an intruder. I called my husband, crying, but his mistress's sweet voice answered the phone. "Stop using these lowly tricks to get Jack's attention. All you're doing is making him sick!" I begged my husband to take my call, but all I got in return was a barrage of insults. "Nothing is more important than Yvonne's face! I'm busy taking her to the hospital! I don't have time for your drama!" Later, my daughter's organs were removed by the intruder. Even in death, she was still tightly holding onto the birthday gift she had prepared for her father. My husband, a top lawyer, personally defended the criminal who assaulted our daughter. He let that man walk away scot-free after what he had done. On the day he celebrated his birthday with all our relatives, he finally knew that our daughter had died. He completely lost his mind.

In my seventh year of dating Elliot Sheppard, he pulls every string to save the exiled daughter of his imprisoned mentor—Margot Fairgrave—and gives her a wedding that makes headlines. "Professor Fairgrave was my guiding light and a man of integrity, who'd never yield to corruption. I owe it to him to protect his daughter," he declares. The Sheppard family, with their billion-dollar empire and strict family rules, will never accept a daughter-in-law like Margot. So, to secure her place, he demands that our son call her "Mom" and tells the world that I am just the nanny. He promises. "Just wait. Once I collect enough evidence to prove that Professor Fairgrave was framed, I'll return everything to the way it was." For three years, I waited and watched their picture-perfect family of three. My son no longer knows me as his mother, yet I remain their lowly nanny. Since I can't possibly wait forever, I've decided to stop waiting.

I was the second princess of the Phoenix Court. And I fell in love with a lowly black serpent. In my past life, just to be with him, I purposely picked that black serpent during the Sacred Bonding ceremony when we each chose our companion beasts. After that, we spent every night together. I didn't care what the whole clan thought. I was determined to marry him. But on our wedding day, that same serpent I'd given my heart to drove an arrow straight through me, killing me while I was three months pregnant. As I lay dying, I heard him hiss bitterly in my ear, "If it weren't for you, I'd have been with Seraphine by now. You should've died a long time ago." That's when I finally got it. All he cared about was power. And he'd been in love with my older sister all along—the sister who was next in line for the Phoenix throne. When I opened my eyes again, we were back at that same moment—the Sacred Bonding ceremony. Before everyone, he dropped to his knees and confessed he loved my sister. He begged not to be bound to me. The whole clan looked at me with pity. But I only smiled and pointed to a small white serpent resting quietly off to the side. That black serpent thought clinging to my sister would make him powerful. What he didn't realize was that only the one I chose would become the true heir to the Phoenix Court.

I'm one of the rare Omega healers in our pack. My soul essence can fix pretty much anything. Alpha Damian promised me: "Give me your soul essence to keep Isolde's soul steady, and I'll mark you. You'll be my mate, my one and only Luna." However, he drained my soul essence for three solid years, all for Isolde, his childhood sweetheart who pretend to have this soul-fading sickness. Until I got pregnant. And the pack's High Priestess told me my soul flame was about to go out. To save my baby, I secretly cut off the essence supply. Damian found it out. He slammed me against a rock wall. "How dare you to pregnant?! Your soul essence is for Isolde! That’s the only reason you’re even here!" When Isolde found out I was carrying the Alpha's pup, her "sickness" got way worse. She even faked falling into an icy river, making it look like her soul was about to shatter. Damian even dragged my ten-year-old brother, Liam, to the Moon Goddess altar, trying to suck out what little soul essence he had. Just because Liam's soul essence was like mine, but purer. And when I wanted to get rid of the baby to save myself, he locked me in a deep cave in the wolf keep, ordered the High Priestess: "Keep her soul stable. Cut the puppy out. I want her to watch everything she cares about turn to dust." My soul stone was smashed to pieces. When I woke up again, I was back on the day the High Priestess told me I had a pup in my belly. This time, I touched my flat stomach and whispered, " I want to abort this child." " This time, I won't let Damien bully me anymore."

To encourage overall development, the kindergarten had asked each student to create a hand-drawn poster. My daughter Holly refused my help and insisted on doing it all on her own. Little did I know, most of the other children had their parents do the artwork for them. In comparison, Holly's delicate strokes were quickly dismissed. Not only was her work discarded into the trash, but her teacher also called her out in the parent group, criticizing her for being careless with the assignment. As I racked my brain trying to figure out how to help Holly regain her confidence in drawing, I was surprised to see Holly's artwork among the winning entries in the state-level children's art competition. But the signature wasn't hers—it belonged to another student from her class.