What Are Common Challenges In My Boyfriend Relationship?

Over the long weekend, I went on a trip with my boyfriend, Henry Dolan. The second I got in the car, I saw another girl in the back seat. Henry smiled. "This is Jenny Edgar. She was a year behind us in college. She's headed the same way, so I figured we could use the company." Jenny turned and smiled at me. "Don't worry. I won't get in your way. I just needed a ride." I swallowed hard and said nothing. At the hotel, I was about to unlock the room when Jenny rolled her suitcase in behind me. Henry acted like it was no big deal. "It doesn't make sense for her to get her own room. The three of us can share and save money. She can sleep on the couch." Jenny was already sitting on the edge of the bed, looking up at me. "I'll take the couch. I won't bother you two." I stared at Henry's calm, casual face, and my stomach turned. "Fine. You two stay here. I'll get another room."

My boyfriend goes viral after uploading a video of him being lovey-dovey with a woman. Everyone praises him for being handsome and a good boyfriend, but I don't even have the courage to like the video. Why? Because the woman in the video isn't me.

Jordan Hayes never meant for one desperate lie to summon the devil himself. Disowned by his family for being gay, scraping by at a smoothie shop and dodging creeps at his night job, Jordan's life is already a nightmare. When a persistent harasser corners him, he blurts out the first thing that comes to mind: “He's my boyfriend.” The words summon Damien Voss—tall, lethal, and terrifyingly beautiful. The ruthless mafia heir doesn't just play along. He claims the title. Permanently. One fake boyfriend ploy becomes a dangerous game. Damien starts showing up everywhere: outside Jordan's apartment, waiting for his shift, calling him “boyfriend” with a smile that promises ruin. Every time Jordan tries to run, Damien pulls him closer—possessive, obsessive, and far too aware of Jordan's every fear, every scar. Jordan thought he was using a monster to scare off wolves. He was wrong. The monster wants to keep him. Now Damien has a plan: leverage Jordan to destroy his father's empire. And if Jordan fights back? Damien will break him. Or make him his—body, soul, and screams. In a city of neon and shadows, one lie binds them forever. Hi, boyfriend. Welcome to hell. Warning: 18+ Dark romance. Obsession, stalking, violence, power imbalance, trauma. Reader discretion strongly advised.

On the day my boyfriend gets engaged, I'm locked in the bedroom even though I'm supposed to be with him. By the time I make it to the venue, I see him passionately kissing his first love. When I confront him, he scoffs. "Kirsty’s a wealthy heiress who can help with my career. Isn't being my girlfriend enough for you?" With my answer loud and clear, I turn and call home. "Mom, Dad—about that arranged marriage you mentioned... I'm in." The day he marries Kirsty Bainbridge is also the day I marry my alliance partner. And the moment he sees me in a wedding dress, he completely loses his composure.

He almost never texts me first, and in person he barely says a word. In three years together, he's never remembered a single anniversary, and he's never once suggested we celebrate a holiday. But the second I message him first, he lights up, all "baby" this and "baby" that, fussing over me, coaxing me to sleep. Sometimes I'd get this strange feeling that there were two different Noahs. His explanation was that he was just bad with words face-to-face, and that texting or voice notes felt like less pressure. I kept telling myself that being together meant meeting each other halfway. He was quiet and reserved, so I'd be the one to reach out. He forgot anniversaries, so I booked the restaurant and reminded him to keep the night free. He had no time to schedule our engagement shoot, so I handled the whole thing with the studio myself. He was too busy with work to help us move, so I packed everything alone, booked the movers, and got it all done. When I was so worn out I was about to break, I'd send him a voice note, and he'd say, "I'm so sorry, baby. The lab was insane today. I couldn't be there for you, and it kills me to watch you run yourself into the ground." Hearing how guilty he sounded, all my hurt just melted away. And that's how I carried three years of this relationship on my own, running on the flawless tenderness he only ever gave me online. Until today, when I found a program on his laptop called Boyfriend Assistant. It analyzed every message I sent and generated the perfect reply, the perfect response, every single time. Cold snap? It sent: Bundle up, baby. Time of the month? It pinged an API and auto-ordered hot chocolate to my door. All those late nights he spent "working," the gentle voice notes that lulled me to sleep, every one of them was synthesized in Noah's voice. For three years, the person who'd been there for me, day and night, was never Noah at all. For three years, I'd been performing a one-woman show.

I had stayed up all night to get the merchandise. It was then callously discarded by my boyfriend. On that stormy day, I knelt beside a dumpster and searched through bags of trash. Yarden Scott stopped in his tracks. “What are you looking for?” “My merch.” I did not look up. “I reminded you three times. It was in the left drawer of the sideboard.” His shirt was soaked from the rain. He subconsciously said, “Yvonne’s car broke down. I went to pick her up. I forgot.” He forgot. Last week, he threw away the commemorative ticket stubs I had stayed up all night organizing because he thought they were scraps of paper. The month before, he threw away the brooch my grandmother left me because he thought it was an old button. Every single time, he brushed it off with the same excuse. I gave a mocking smile. “You always remember everything when it comes to Yvonne, don’t you?” Yarden carefully wiped the hair tie Yvonne Jordan had left behind and answered as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “She’s your best friend. That means I have to treat her very well. “If I keep her happy, our relationship will last. Isn’t it all for your sake?” I watched his practiced movements and felt completely drained. I could not say another word. I had reminded him countless times before not to touch the drawers in my study. He ignored me and threw away my collection of rare stamps. I told him again and again that I was allergic to mangoes. At a group dinner, he still ordered a mango shake for me. But when Yvonne casually mentioned that she had trouble sleeping, he started sending her music to help her sleep every single day. If Yvonne wanted to eat at her favorite restaurant, he would pull every string he could to get a reservation. To him, everything about me was a burden. Everything about Yvonne was worth his time. If that were the case, then I should not bother him any longer.