Tragic Romances

Pitong taon na kaming kasal ni Zackary at sa wakas ay nagkaroon na kami ng unang anak. Ngunit nang makita ang resulta ng pagbubuntis, naghinala siyang hindi kanya ang bata. Dahil sa galit, nagpa-paternity test ako sa kanya. Noong araw na lumabas ang resulta, si Zackary, na dapat ay nasa ospital, ay nagpakita sa aking pintuan. May hawak siyang litrato. Makikita sa litrato na nasa bahay ng kaibigan niya ang underwear ko. Sinipa niya ako ng malakas kaya nawala ang baby ko. Sumigaw siya, "You bitch, ang lakas ng loob mo na lokohin ako. Hindi ako magpapalaki ng anak ng ibang lalaki, alam mo ‘yon. Go to hell!" Nang maglaon ay nalaman niya ang katotohanan at nakiusap sa aking patay na anak na bumalik.

My newlywed husband forces me, a late-stage liver cancer patient, to drink hard liquor just to please his secretary. When the secretary later stages a setup, pretending to take a knife for him, she loses too much blood. In a panic, he demands that I give her a blood transfusion. I name my price—ten million dollars. He sneers. "Your blood really is worth its weight in gold, huh?" Of course it is. A liver cancer patient's blood doesn't come cheap. Later, when his precious secretary crashes into my car, he mocks me again. "You caused the accident on purpose, didn't you? Stop pretending—you just want more money. Wendy Yaeger, you disgust me." I'm done. All I want now is to get that divorce certificate before I die, but he looks down at me with disdain. "Don't use such pathetic tricks to get my attention. You're not even qualified to negotiate with me." Fine. Once I'm dead, the marriage will end on its own.

Remi Sloan had been married to the top scion of the elite circle for five years. To outsiders, their marriage looked like a fairy tale. Everyone said he adored her—that he would even give his life for her if she asked. However, because she could not get pregnant, a few hints from her in-laws became outright demands. The man who had held her hands and promised to protect her for the rest of her life on their wedding day cried in front of her. “Be good… I can’t hold on anymore.” So this was how short a man’s promise could be, because less than two months later, she saw him supporting a pregnant woman in the hospital's obstetrics department, his movements gentle.

On our third wedding anniversary, I received a cake from my husband. It had the names Clarisse Burke and Antonio Carey written on it, along with Happy Third Anniversary. But I felt like I'd been plunged into ice. That wasn't my name. Clarisse was his secretary. Sure enough, I saw my cake in Clarisse Burke's latest post, labeled Iva Grant and Antonio Carey. [Three years, and someone's already treating me like his wife.] Below, there was a comment. [Delete that post! The cakes got mixed up. Don't let Iva find out.] That was when I realized he had planned every romantic surprise in pairs. Holding my phone, I laughed at his pathetic attempt to cover it up. But I was done. I started planning my exit.

The one I've loved for ten years hates me to his core. He comes up with various ways to hurt and belittle me. He even deliberately lets me hear him having a steamy night with someone else. "You're the unsightly blemish that marred my otherwise perfect life," he says. The thing that he regrets the most in his entire life is getting to know me. In the end, I die. However, he regrets it dearly.

For three consecutive years, Nate Jackel had a wedding dress customized each year and gifted it to the woman he loved most. When reporters asked me how I felt, I looked at the trending headlines filled with this so-called "true love" hype and sneered. “What’s there to praise about an affair between a cheating husband and his mistress?” That night, Nate rented out a rooftop restaurant and had ten thousand drones launched into the sky to celebrate Grace Lawson’s birthday. In his way, he was telling the entire world that he loved her. That was fine by me. As long as I stayed married, Grace would forever be a mistress.

Upon my returning from the special ops mission I took on three years ago, I open the door to see my fiancee, Erica Lewis, pregnant and holding a child. "This is your son," she declares as she passes the kid to me. I freeze in shock. My parents chuckle and explain, "You were gone for so long. Erica had to carry on the family name without you, so your older brother decided to help you with it. Isn't that great?" Just like that, I'm forced to be the officiant at the wedding ceremony I spent the last three years eagerly anticipating. I'm expected to stand beside Erica and my brother, Alex Sherman, to watch them exchange wedding rings and to see them kiss each other passionately. They have lied to all our friends and family, claiming that I couldn't have children. They humiliate me in public. They've also spent all of my savings and moved into the villa I bought using the monetary reward I got from the army after completing a deadly mission. Erica and Alex even lie on the bed I'd picked out myself and take intimate photos of themselves to send to me. "Don't be so sensitive. We're just helping you carry on the family name. Our kids are going to call you dad anyway." I give up. "Don't bother. It's over between us, Erica." After that, I call the army on the phone.

A flash flood swept down from the mountains, causing me to become caught in a car crash. As five steel bars pierced through me, I could feel my blood pouring out in torrents as my life hung by a thread. My husband rushed to the scene. Instead of coming to me, he cradled his true love from the passenger seat and walked away. He didn't even glance in my direction. I was in and out of the ICU three times, clinging to life. Not once did he visit me. His attention was wholly fixed on the girl, who only had a mild concussion. After nearly ten years of deceiving myself, I couldn't keep playing the fool any longer. The day I was discharged, I asked my husband, Dominic Davis, for a divorce. I had survived by sheer luck, and I wasn't about to waste any more time with a husband who didn't love me.

On the Goldman heir's wedding day, I take a small bite out of a piece of cake because I am hungry from waiting too long at the ceremony. But my fiancee, Sheryl Wilson, slaps me in the face immediately. "You really are shameless! How could you eat in an occasion like this?" Dazed from the slap, I look at the other guests, who are staring at us at the moment. Having tasted copper in my mouth, I turn on my heel and approach the heir with a plate in my hands. "The cake's pretty delicious. Do you want a slice?" Sheryl started to panic. She's about to drag me away when the groom of the wedding takes a small bite out of the same slice. He remarks coolly, "It really is tasty. I'll have my men prepare 100 slices of cake for the woman who slapped you just now."

On our wedding day, Carter Hall's father took his own life in our new home. He left a suicide note, blaming me for his death. From that day forward, Carter despised me to the core. He said, "Lindsey Thomson, you deserve to rot in hell, atoning for your sins for the rest of your life." Eventually, just as he wished, I wandered the streets, mute and half-insane, living a life worse than a stray dog. But then, he regretted it.