Short Romance Stories & Novels

After I discovered I was pregnant, I slammed the pregnancy test report down in front of my playboy boyfriend. Alan Rivers lit a cigarette and blew smoke rings at me, his tone casual and cruel. "Seeing as you've kept me company for seven years, I'll give you two choices. "First, you can abort the baby. I'll compensate you with a million dollars, and you can stay by my side. Second, keep it, take the kid, and disappear. The farther, the better." Why did I have to choose? I wanted both, so I took the million dollars and vanished from his world without a trace.

One of Ethan Sterling's closest friends got drunk and humiliated me. Called me a nobody orphan who married above her station, said I'd never be accepted by the Sterlings, that I wasn't fit to sit at their table. Ethan smashed a bottle over the man's head. He announced in front of everyone that if anyone ever disrespected me again, he'd make them pay. When I was pregnant and the morning sickness was so brutal I couldn't keep anything down, he went and scheduled a vasectomy. He didn't want me to suffer through another pregnancy. This was a man who loved me like I was his whole world. And yet — when I was lying on the operating table about to give birth, he was standing right in front of me with his arms around Iris, putting on a show for anyone watching. Iris was the daughter of another old-money family and she'd donated bone marrow to save Ethan's mother's life. The night before her own engagement, her fiance betrayed her, and the trauma wiped her memory clean. Now the only thing she knew for certain was that Ethan Sterling was her husband. In her world, I was the homewrecker — the scheming woman using the bastard in her belly to force her husband into a divorce. Ethan promised me it was all an act. Just repaying the debt for his mother's life. Once Iris recovered, he'd walk away from her immediately. But when I picked up the surgical consent form for him to sign, and his first instinct was to pull Iris behind him — to shield her — I knew. His heart had already drifted off course. The fairy tale of a Cinderella marrying into high society was over. Time to wake up.

I helped my wife, Kim Carey, rise from obscurity into stardom, only to discover that she was having an affair with a rising young actor who looked like me. When I asked for a divorce, she cried and begged me not to leave. In the end, I caved in. I gave her three chances. The first time, she stayed up all night to post a public statement clarifying all the rumors between her and Emmett Stone. She canceled all her work and stayed with me for an entire week. The second time, on my birthday, she publicly announced that Emmett was her soulmate. She even released intimate photos of the two of them. She buried herself in my arms and said righteously, "Emmett is depressed. I'm only doing this to comfort him. You're the only one in my heart. This is the last time. Please believe me." Then, she abandoned me in the wilderness, just because Emmett had suffered a minor injury on his hand. The final time, my father was critically ill and urgently needed a huge sum of money for surgery. She refused to even transfer a single cent to me. "All the money has been invested in Emmett's new drama," she said coldly. "Your father won't die that quickly." That night, my father missed the best window for treatment and died on the operating table. My heart was completely shattered. When Kim finally returned home late that night, I asked for a divorce once more.

After my husband, Brice Decker, gives me a cold shoulder, I end up dying after getting stabbed three times in a row by a robber who tries to rob me. My twin sister, Indigo Humphrey, specifically dresses up as me and gets close to Brice in order to clear her gambling debt. She begins kissing up to Brice like a total simp. No longer does she get jealous over Brice's first love, Amber Warner. Even when Brice and Amber are caught sleeping with each other on our bed, Indigo will deliver them a pack of contraceptives in time. Brice can't take it anymore. He asks Indigo where my jealous side has gone. That's when I laugh. Can't he tell that I'm already dead?

I manage to drag Jared Sheppard from death's door. Since then, I've accompanied him from his poorest times all the way to the current moment, when he's now worth tens of millions of dollars. On the day his company goes public, he gets engaged to another woman. "Gabrielle, she's different from you. She's an actual princess of the elite. I need to give her an official title, so I can't fool around with you anymore." I never bothered defending myself. It's time for this farce to end, anyway. After all, there's still a man waiting for me at home, who's been calling me his princess since I was a little girl.

The day I land a hundred-million-dollar deal for the company, my girlfriend—Paisley Needham, the CEO—finally agrees to marry me. The next day, I wait at the city hall until it closes. She never shows up. Instead, what I get is her official announcement with her assistant, Jude Grayford. In the photo, she nestles in his arms. A crisp marriage license sits in her hand, impossible to miss. The caption reads, "My CEO, Ms. Paisley Needham, couldn't bear to see me going on blind dates, so she just went ahead and got the marriage license with me today. I'm so happy!" My colleagues gossip, assuming I'll be jealous and furious. I don't. I just like the post and comment, "So, when's the ceremony? Don't forget to invite me!" Paisley calls immediately, cursing me out. "I just didn't want to see him being pressured into blind dates by his parents, so I agreed to get married on paper to keep them off his back. It's not like we're actually married. Do you really have to be so petty? "Delete your comment right now and get on your knees to apologize to Jude. If you don't, I'll never marry you." I laughed bitterly. "Even better," I say. "I hope you two have a long, happy life together… and have lots of kids."

Three years ago, I broke up with my girlfriend—Audrey Hades—while she was on the verge of going bankrupt. Immediately after, I got engaged to her biggest rival, Clara Sterling. Later, she turns into a celebrated and adored rising star of the business world. She allows people around her to mock and label me as a gold-digger who leeches off rich women. But what she doesn't know is that I've been dead for three years.

When I first met Thomas Hilton, he was still a street punk covered in blood. The only good thing about him was the clumsy sincerity when he tattooed my name on his chest. Later, when he rose to power, with a wave of his hand, he gave me half of Bronze Bay as a wedding gift. Everyone in Harborwood knew that I, Jessica Shaw, was more important to him than his own life. That was until today, when the celebrity Thomas kept finally walked into our house. With a big belly, she said to me with a smile, "Ms. Shaw, are you going to leave with dignity now, or wait until my son grows up and throws you out of this place?" I just raised my hand and ordered a subordinate to help her "give birth". When Thomas saw the pool of blood beneath her, he flew into a rage. He pressed a knife to my neck and said, "Jessica, you should know when to be satisfied!" I laughed softly and pressed the muzzle of a gun against his heart. "You really had a change of heart. Good thing my heart didn't change. My truest self is my ambition." Bang! A gunshot rang out.

At the company's year-end awards ceremony, just as it is supposed to be my turn to go on stage and officially announce the relationship between my wife and me, my wife's first love suddenly proposes to her in front of everyone. Angela Reed does not refuse. Instead, she laughs brightly and promotes Samuel Hayden to the new department manager. Employees throughout the entire company cheer loudly for their romance. Seeing that I have no reaction, someone beside me cannot help but ask, "Ronald, you've worked for Ms. Reed for nine years. How can you show no response at all?" I smile as I walk onto the stage, take off my wedding ring, and toss it to Samuel. "How can you propose without preparing a ring? Here—it's yours."

The day my husband, Lucas Maxwell, helps his childhood sweetheart—Cecilia Brown, who has cancer—lose her virginity, I leave behind a divorce agreement and walk away. Before I leave, I drop a comment beneath a photo of them on his social media. Their fingers are tightly interlocked in the photo. "Let's get divorced. I wish you both a lifetime of happiness." A minute later, he calls me. "How did I end up marrying someone as selfish as you, Fiona Sinclair? Do you really have the heart to let her die without leaving anything behind?" I sneer, "You're no longer my husband. How is that my problem?" That's when he panics.

By six, Amelia had whipped up a six-dish dinner with soup—Chad Felton's favorites, of course. By seven, she'd prepped his bath, complete with rose petals and candles. By eight, his slippers were perfectly lined up by the door. At nine, Chad finally strolled in. Amelia stepped up, taking his suit jacket. "Eat first or bathe?" she asked, setting the slippers in front of him and hanging the jacket. "Bathe," he muttered, eyes glued to his phone.

The day my mother brought her childhood sweetheart back to the villa, my father—who had already quit smoking—stood on the balcony and smoked through the entire night. Back then, his colleagues at the research institute all envied him for having a wife who was a CEO. They said he should have stayed home and enjoyed life—why work so hard outside when all he needed to do was keep a firm grip on the household finances? But my father never agreed. "Those things are all external," he would say. "As long as the feelings are still there, we'll be fine whether we're rich or poor. And if one day she no longer loves me, I'll leave with nothing and walk away alone." He never expected his words to become prophecy. My mother truly did stop loving him. Later, when she appeared before the media, arm in arm with that man, my father didn't look back. He boarded a flight overseas and disappeared from our lives. And as I stared at the photo in my social feed—my fiancée's hand entwined with someone else's—I knew it was time for me to leave too, just like my father had.

Benedict Cole’s undercover mission had failed. Only his twin brother, David Cole, returned. I was devastated, nearly driven to madness over losing my husband. Holding Benedict’s police badge, I tried to slit my wrists nine times, but I was always rescued just in time. As my consciousness faded on my tenth attempt, I overheard a conversation between my mother-in-law, Helen, and David. “El has tried to commit suicide for you ten times now. How long are you going to keep this act up? This woman is head over heels for you. Just stop lying to her already!” David’s expression hardened as he flatly refused. “David took a bullet for me. It is only right that I take care of his wife.” “El’s from the countryside. She’s tough. Once Melissa becomes pregnant and has a child to live for, only then can I reveal that I am actually Benedict.” The bathtub was dyed red with my blood, but the pain in my heart was far greater than the sting of my wound. It turned out that it had all been a lie, a deception meant only for me. My grief-stricken suicide attempts for love were nothing short of a clown’s tragicomedy.

I've gone to the church to pray for my son, Robert Scott. On the way home, my carriage is overturned because the horses suffer from a shock. When I wake up, I look at my family gathering around my bed. Then, I decide to pull a prank on them. "Sorry, but who are you?" I do my best to suppress the smile that threatens to appear on my face. I want to see how my family is going to comfort me now that I have "amnesia". Will Mom and my husband, Jeremy Scott, take my hands comfortingly? Or will Robert lunge at me while crying out to me? What I don't expect is to see my family breathing sighs of relief after their initial shock has faded away. Mom is the first one to speak up with a hint of relief coloring her tone. "Since you've already forgotten all about us, then it's fine. Maisie, you're actually the adopted daughter of the Liddell family. Amber is the actual heiress of the Liddell family." Jeremy points at me while telling Robert, "Robbie, you must address her as Aunt Maisie." Before I can recover from my shock, I see my own son, whom I'm willing to sacrifice my life to protect, running over to hug Amber Liddell, the fake heiress, happily. "Mom, I've spent the whole day playing outside! Oh, I miss you so much!" So, it turns out that my case of amnesia is exactly what this family wants. In that case, I might as well abandon this farce of a family.

By day, I was a maid in Chester Graham's household. By night, I was nothing more than a way for him to satisfy his desires. After one encounter, he dragged me from the bed, indifferent to my pain. "You don't have to come back," he said flatly. I collapsed to the floor in terror. "Did I do something wrong? Please don't send me away." The man who had murmured comforts to me only moments earlier now gazed down with icy detachment. "Wendy has agreed to marry me. "She's afraid of pain. You were nothing more than a tool for me to practice on. Once used, you're thrown away. "You've always been obedient. You know what you're supposed to do."

I've been married to my wife, Stacy Howard, for 12 years now. She doesn't let me sleep with her unless it's on the 5th or 20th of the month. I thought she was just uninterested in physical intimacy. That is, until I accidentally witness her walking together with her first love, Devin Fisher, on the street on Thanksgiving Day. Stacy, who's always cold and aloof to me, is actually smiling softly at Devin. Our daughter, Tammy Gilbert, tags along with them as well. She holds Devin's hand while calling him "daddy" in the sweetest tone ever. Instead of demanding answers from Stacy, I turn around and head home. There, I dig out the divorce agreement that I've already prepared in advance.

A blizzard is approaching. Yet my mountain guide girlfriend, Clover Ainsley, insists on waiting for her childhood sweetheart, Elliot West, to return to the group before leading everyone down the mountain. In order to save everyone's lives, I keep pleading with her to take us down the mountain first. Finally, she reluctantly agrees to my pleas and takes us home. Unexpectedly, Elliot is trapped in a cave afterward. He ends up freezing to death because help never comes to him. Clover claims that she doesn't regret saving me and the rest of the group. In fact, she even proposes to me afterward. But on the night of our engagement, she poisons me and drags me to the snow mountain. "If it wasn't for you demanding me to leave the mountain, Elliot wouldn't have died! He was the billionaire's son, you know! You can't even compare to him at all! "He had died naked, and his stomach was filled with snow! I want you to suffer the same way he did!" After that, Clover strips me naked and pushes me into a snow mound. When my body goes all stiff from the cold, she drags me to a high ledge before throwing me off the ledge. Just like that, my body shatters into pieces because of how brittle I've become. When I open my eyes again, I've returned to the day the blizzard is about to come. If Clover wants to wait for Elliot, who's taken on my identity as the billionaire's son, then she can go ahead and do that. I'm not going to meddle with their fate this time.

My wife, Caroline Bailey, was a forensic pathologist. For her first love, Ian Lawson, she was willing to break every rule she held sacred and allowed him into the autopsy room to observe. She even let him throw acid onto a corpse's face. That was, until Caroline took on a new case. As she stood over the disfigured body on her operating table, she began to fall apart. The acid-burned face was starting to look more and more like mine.

My wife's first love broke into our home and killed me. Yet my wife, one of the world's top defense attorneys, stood in court to secure his acquittal. She insisted that the entire incident was nothing more than an act I had staged myself—a desperate attempt to win her attention. She even appeared at my funeral. Pointing at my coffin with open disgust, she sneered, "You'd stoop this low just to get my sympathy? Stop pretending and come out right now to apologize to Marvin."

At six in the evening, Allen Bennett prepared a perfect dinner, with each dish carefully chosen to match Sarah Foster's preferences. By seven, he had run her bath, adding lavender essential oils and rose petals to the warm water, filling the bathroom with a calming fragrance. By eight, he placed her comfortable slippers by the entrance, awaiting her return. At nine, the front door finally opened. Sarah walked in, and Allen immediately went to greet her. With practiced grace, he helped her out of her coat and placed her slippers before her feet, then hung the coat in the entryway closet. Turning to her with a gentle smile, he asked, "Would you prefer to have your bath first or would you like to eat?"