Melodramatic Synonym Novels & Stories

The Northern Pack had one unbreakable rule: the Alpha heir could never bond with a human girl. Despite that, Alpha Kieran Wolfe still formed a mate bond with me. To be with me, he openly defied the Elders' Council. He endured 99 lashes and was forced to kneel at the altar for three days and nights. Even as blood soaked through his shirt, he smiled at me and said, "Elise, don't be afraid. I only want you." Eventually, the Elders' Council finally relented and agreed to let Kieran leave with me. However, there was one condition: he had to leave a pure-blood heir behind for the Pack. From that moment on, the phrase I heard most from Kieran was "wait". The first time, Kieran asked me to wait while he got another she-wolf to carry his pup. He slept with Cecelia Donati 33 times until she was carrying his pup. The second time, he told me to wait again because the first pup was a female, and the Elders wanted a male. So, Kieran slept with Cecelia 99 more times until she was carrying his pup again. Just when I thought our ordeal was finally over, their daughter, Tyra Wolfe, accidentally ate wolfsbane at her Meet the Pup Party. Everyone was convinced I had poisoned her. When they threw me into the freezing cold storage room, Kieran stood at the doorway with bloodshot eyes. "I told you to wait..." His gaze was ice-cold and cutting. "You know what wolfsbane means to our kind. Why would you hurt my pup?" The words "my pup" hit me like a knife to the heart. My fingernails dug deep into my palms as the pain tore through me. When the storage room door opened again, I loosened my bloodied hands. This time, I was not going to wait anymore.

My six-year-old son, Zac Quest, deliberately fed me almond cake, which I was allergic to, to make me miscarry. Standing in front of the hospital bed, he hid behind my husband, Sterling Quest, with a long face and refused to admit his mistakes, "Grandma said you won't ever divorce Dad once you give birth to my sister. I don't want you as my mom anymore. I prefer Ms. White!" Sterling said indifferently, "We'll have other children. Winona... is indeed more fit to raise Zac than you." Hearing those words, I gave up completely. The day I was discharged from the hospital, I went back home and cleared out all my belongings. All I left behind was a divorce agreement and a letter disowning Zac.

I married the same man nine times. And each time, he left me for his first love, divorcing me nine times as well. The first time we parted, I lost control and threw all his belongings out the door. By the fourth divorce, I begged him to leave his luggage behind out of fear he might never return. The eighth time, I had learned to obediently pack his things, careful not to upset him. My breakdowns, my pleas, and my obedience always brought him back to me. Each time, he honored his promises. And each time, we divorced again, just like before. Until this time. This time, I packed my own things and left without telling him. A month from now, I will be gone for good.

I sacrificed my legs to marry my cousin’s boyfriend, but they replaced me with a different bride on the wedding day!

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."

When Selena Sloane takes her assistant, Preston Jones, to the hospital in order to get his lower back checked out, her 18-year-old self is in the middle of making out with me while having me pinned against the wall. "Darling, how is it that you smell so good and your kisses are still this amazing despite being 30 years old? Oh, I love you so much, darling! "By the way, where did my 30-year-old self go? Why isn't she here to pick you up after work?" I push Young Selena off me sadly. That's when I happen to meet the 30-year-old Selena's icy gaze. "You already have a mistress of your own, and yet you still can't bear to get a divorce from me, hmm? Zack Holt, you really are pathetic." As I watch the older Selena supporting Preston and walking away, the younger Selena starts kicking up a fuss in my arms once again. "That idiot! How dare she speak to my darling so arrogantly? Why, I might as well kill myself right now so that she'll disappear from this world as well!"

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.

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.

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."

At my mom's funeral, my lecturer wife, Vivian Carter, decides to have a rendezvous with her student, Noah Myers, with ten packs of condoms in her bag. Once they are done with their passionate lovemaking, Noah uploads a photo to his social media feed. It features a red-faced Vivian lying on his bed. Meanwhile, the clothes of mourning that she's worn to the funeral are strewn all over the floor. The caption reads, "The only who's not loved is the actual homewrecker here. My relationship has finally borne fruit!" His feed goes wild with comments. Everyone mocks me for being a shameless simp for Vivian, and that I've been ruining Noah's relationship with her this whole time. My mentor, Avery Sanders, is sick with worry. But I, on the other hand, merely brew myself a cup of coffee. Then, I say lightly, "Since he likes uploading his intimate photos that much, I might as well upload photos of his and Vivian's bastard child as well as their paternity tests. Here's the caption—I, the legal husband, am now defending my pride as a married man. "Now, I'd like to see if Noah and Vivian are capable of bearing the consequences of pissing off my prestigious and wealthy family!"