Short Romance Stories & Novels

On my seventh wedding anniversary, I personally whip up a nice feast. But my husband, Davis Stark, only takes a few bites before telling me that he has something urgent to deal with at the company. I trail behind him the whole time, only to witness him walk into a fancy banquet hall, where a banquet is being held for his newborn fraternal twins. Davis even produces a black card and gives it to his secretary, Sonia Robertson, in a solemn manner. "Thank you for your hard work, Sonia. In the future, I will give all of my assets to the children." Sonia's expression lights up immediately. Then, she presses her lips against Davis' happily. "It's an honor to be able to give birth to your children, Mr. Stark." I let out a cold chuckle as I open the banquet hall's door. I want to see how on earth is Sonia capable of giving birth to Davis' children when he's already infertile, to begin with.

Six months after our divorce, my ex-wife, Shanon Reich went viral with her new influencer boyfriend, Tobias Hunt, gaining over ten million followers. One day, by sheer accident, I scrolled into their livestream and saw my three-year-old daughter, Ginny Herbert, trapped inside a car. She was crying so hard she could barely breathe. Her little face was flushed, her eyes wide with fear and confusion. She looked utterly helpless. Shanon didn't smash the window, nor did she call the police. Instead, she laughed brightly at the camera. "Thank you to our top fan for the moneybag gift!" Then she grinned and said, "Send another moneybag! I'll smash the window once I get it, okay?" I lost my mind. I raced over like a madman and wrenched the car keys out of her hand. "Leomund Herbert! Are you insane?" she screamed. "Do you know how much this stream is worth? It's just a little heat! She's not going to die!" I held my daughter in my arms. Her tiny body was limp, and she was barely conscious. With reddened eyes, I pointed at her and shouted, "Shanon Reich! You will pay for this!"

On the day of the wedding, my fiancee, Bianca Newton, approached me with a bright smile, handing me a glass of wine. I drank it down in one gulp. Suddenly, her male best friend, Xander Lynch, raised his phone and burst out laughing. "See! I told you this idiot wouldn't even notice that it was my piss! Pay up, everyone! Don't forget to follow my account! Pay up!" I started puking uncontrollably, but Bianca merely looked at me with disgust. I demanded that Xander apologize, yet Bianca placed herself in front of him and stopped me. "It was just a joke! Why are you taking it so seriously?" At the same time, Xander said smugly, "Come on, say hello to the views in my livestream! Tell them how it feels to drink piss!" I smashed a wine bottle right on his head. Bianca demanded that I kneel and apologize to him. Then, she hurriedly escorted Xander to the hospital, still in her wedding gown. Looking at the wedding venue in utter chaos, I calmly took my phone out and dialed a number. "Are you interested in marrying me?"

When I get reborn, I quietly change the name of the man I want to marry the most to the hedonistic playboy in the neighborhood. My dad, who's a political officer, is quite surprised to see the change, but he still accepts my choice. In my previous life, when Dad asked me who I liked the most among the young men of the military housing office, I uttered Judd Garrison's name with scarlet cheeks. Dad nodded. "Judd is your childhood friend, not to mention our families are compatible in terms of social standing and wealth. You two have grown up together since you were kids, so I believe he will treat you well." Later on, Judd and I got engaged and married. Our wedding was a fancy and high-profile one to the point that even the political leader gave us his blessings. But Judd was quick to submit an application to help defend the border half a year into our marriage. He claimed that he wanted to contribute to the country with his efforts. Not only did he abandon me, leaving me to take care of my in-laws on my own, but he also cut off contact with me when Dad was falsely accused of being corrupted. Just as I thought I couldn't function anymore after suffering from the pain wrought upon me by Dad's death, I received the tragic news that Judd had died in a mountain flood as well. Thanks to the devastation caused by both pieces of bad news, I ended up taking my own life by hanging myself. What I didn't expect was that a gray-haired, elderly couple would visit my grave to pay respects to me 40 years after my death. Judd, who should've been dead, had an arm wrapped around my cousin, Megan Whitlock, as they stood before my grave. "It's my fault for faking my death and lying to you, Julie. Back then, I had to marry you in order to fulfill my parents' request. Megan has always been the woman that I truly love. "This is all my fault, Julie. I just hope that you can stop pestering Megan from now on. If you really are resentful, you're free to direct your resentment at me." To think that they loved each other to this extent… Judd was willing to give up on his identity and fake his death in order to get out of his life with me so that he could stay with Megan forever. He even clung to the superstition that my postmortem resentment was the reason behind Megan's cancer. Having found out about the truth, I let go of my obsession and faded into nothing. When I open my eyes again, I've returned to the day Dad asks me who I like the most.

My husband's cold, distant secretary, Ruby Kuntz, was so busy chasing a multimillion-dollar deal she hadn't even touched her food. Eric Tyler casually peeled three shrimp for her. Right in front of him, I called my lawyer. "Caleb, draft the divorce papers. I'm done." Eric looked at me like I'd lost it. He'd barely slept for days because of the contract. "You're divorcing me because I peeled three shrimp for Ruby?" "Yeah."

On the week before Valentine's Day, I want to buy my husband, Grayson Strickland, who works as a university professor, an electronic toothbrush as a gift. That's when I see a review with over ten thousand likes on a particular online store. "I recommend buying from this store! This store's electronic toothbrush is super durable! I've never had to charge this toothbrush for half a year!" Three days later, an additional response is made to that comment. "I'm sorry for misleading everyone. It turns out that my husband has been charging this toothbrush this whole time. It's my fault for being such a doofus! I even pestered him for a long time before I finally found out that he has done a lot for me! "I never have to add toilet rolls to the bathroom. All I thought is that the same toilet roll is extremely thick. The membership that I have on the TV app is often paid for and extended, and yet I thought there was a bug in the app software somehow. Some time ago, the peeling dry skin on my lips miraculously healed. It turns out he was the one who kept applying lip balm onto my lip at night. "He's a university professor, you see. In the past, I often blamed him for not knowing what being romantic was like. But now, I finally realize that those who love you will have a way of showing you how it's done." The rest of the comment section is filled with wailing complaints. They all complain that Valentine's Day isn't even here, and yet they are already sick of the lovey-dovey atmosphere. Amid the Internet users' constant requests, the poster finally uploads the handsome side profile of her husband. Feeling rather envious, I tap on the photo, only for my smile to freeze on my face. That photo actually features Grayson! As I stare at my mother-in-law, who has been paralyzed in bed for the past six years, I recall the fact that Grayson lives on the university campus all around the year. That's when uneasiness begins plaguing me. As expected, when I bring my marriage certificate to the County Clerk’s office and ask about it, the clerk points at the stamp and says, "Your marriage certificate is fake. Mr. Grayson Strickland's spouse is another woman named Callista Whitman." My fingers go slack subconsciously, causing the fake marriage certificate to fall to the floor. A chuckle of despair escapes my lips. Everyone knows that Callista is Grayson's student. She's his most prized student as well as the person who knows him the best. As for me… I'm just a free caretaker whom he has "hired".

Three years after my death, my wife’s first love was hanging onto life by a thread, and only my system could save him. To force me to show up, she cut off my father’s medical payments. My sick mother was forced to beg her out in the summer heat until she collapsed. She even threw my beloved little sister into a bonfire to be eaten up by the flames. As she waited for me to show up, apologize to her, and use the system to save her first love, my sister finally stopped hiding the truth. “He died three years ago! Three years ago, he traded his life so you would survive that car crash!”

One year after I was confirmed to be a fake heir, all my friends said I was like a completely different person. I was no longer spoiled or entitled. I no longer desperately sought even a passing glance from my parents. And I no longer exhausted myself trying every possible way to win Jane Fraser's love. The harsh reality of financial hardship left me running ragged every day. It also made me understand, with painful clarity, that affection and romance were the most useless things in this world. As they wished, I stopped fighting. I stopped competing for anything at all. Later, when Jane brought the real heir back home, I simply went quietly to the guest room and waited in silence, ready to give up everything that once belonged to me. But those who had long wanted me to be obedient and well-behaved were suddenly driven mad. They asked me, over and over, why I had stopped fighting back.

As floodwaters rushed into the garage, I called my boyfriend. "Wade, help me... I'm trapped in here! The emergency exit's locked!" He sounded annoyed. "Tia, stop. Mandy's cat is stuck in a tree—we're handling it!" Then he hung up, taking the rescue team with him. My last hope was gone.

After five years together, my fiancée Selene—a surgeon—canceled our wedding forty-nine times. The first time, she was in the middle of makeup when Kaelen, her male intern, messed up a patient’s chart. She rushed back to the hospital and left me waiting at the altar all day. The second time, just as we were about to exchange rings, she heard Kaelen was being bullied by another doctor. She went back to rescue him. I stayed behind, facing a roomful of smirking guests. After that, every time I tried to reschedule, that intern had some new emergency. Always needed her. Always right when the wedding was supposed to happen. I finally decided to end it. The day I left New York, she searched for me like a madwoman. But I was already gone.

I am the eldest son of the prestigious Swain family in the capital. To test Snow Wardle's sincerity, I hid my identity and started from the bottom alongside her. Five years later, upon my return to the country, I was confronted by her lover, Chad Foreman, at a mall called "JesseSnow" which was named after me. Chad forced me to kneel and lick his boots and even asked his lackeys to beat me and my nanny, May. When Snow showed up, not only did she refuse to apologize, she defended Chad. She even cut off my finances and had her lawyer file a lawsuit against me for damages. I could not hold back any longer and called in the power of the Swain family. When the truth was revealed, Snow grovelled for mercy, but she could not mask her greedy nature. In the end, I reclaimed everything and made the traitors pay the price. I finally realized that this misplaced love needed to end, once and for all.

I had been secretly married to Vivian Grant, my CEO wife, for six years, yet she never once let our son call her Mom. After she missed his birthday again because of her male assistant, I finally put the divorce papers in front of her and walked away for good with our son. The woman who had always seemed so controlled finally fell apart. She stormed into the office demanding to know where I’d gone. But this time, neither my son nor I were coming back.

The day I was released from prison was New Year's Eve. My fiancée had promised to pick me up. Instead, she was busy ringing in the New Year with the man she had always loved. By the time I found my way back home from memory, she was in the middle of a cheering crowd, wrapped in his arms. "Nancy, Samuel's getting out today. Aren't you going to pick him up?" someone asked. Nancy Wheeler let out a soft laugh, her red lips curling slightly. "Pick him up? What's more important, him or New Year's? He's been in there for years. One more day won't kill him." "Aren't you afraid he'll be angry?" Colder than the wind and snow outside were Nancy's indifferent words. "He's the one who made a mistake. What right does he have to be angry? The fact that I was still willing to be with him was already a mercy." As the words left her mouth, she lifted her gaze, only to meet mine. The smile froze on her face. The cold light from inside fell across me, and something in my heart froze with it. She said she was still willing to have me. However, I no longer wanted her.

My wife’s new assistant recently celebrated his birthday, and she splurged on a villa as a gift to him. On the day he moved in, the assistant, Zachary Shaw, bragged on Instagram with a post and captioned: [Bagged myself a sugar mommy, just FYI.] My wife, Ivy Bennett, commented on the post: [Happy birthday, my dear Zacky! 🫰] The photo was Zachary wrapping his arm around my wife’s slender waist, looking incredibly intimate. The work group chat blew up at once. Everyone expressed their envy toward Zachary, singing his praises for being so promising at such a young age. Then, my childhood friend, Autumn Sinclair, tagged me in the group chat and teased, [Love is a blinding green light. Your wife’s cheating on you so hard it glows. Congrats, Julian!] I smiled wryly and stubbed out my cigarette. Slowly, I typed my reply, [Want a house, Autumn? I’ll get you one too, better than her gift to him.]

“Ma’am, there’s no marriage record between you and Mr. Mark Henderson in the system.” My fingers tightened around the pregnancy report as my legs nearly gave out beneath me. Five years ago, Mark was recruited by a top law firm abroad with a high-paying offer. Without hesitation, I followed him across the ocean. He had told me, “Once I’m settled, I’ll take care of your status.” However, five years had passed, and my lawful permanent residence was still “in process.” Meanwhile, his assistant, Tonya Irving, who followed him abroad, had secured hers under his sponsorship. Back then, I made a scene, insisting on a divorce so I could return home. For the first time, the ever-composed Mark, an attorney, lost his calm. He grabbed my hand and said, “Tonya’s all alone out here, and it hasn’t been easy for her. Helping her is just the right thing to do. You’re my wife. Your status is only a matter of time. My work is sensitive right now, and I need to avoid any complications. You understand, don’t you?” But I had understood him for five whole years. My phone suddenly rang. Mark’s voice came through, light with laughter. “Tonya’s permanent residence was approved today. We’re celebrating tonight. I need you to get home early and cook up a feast.” I stared at the marriage license in my hand—now nothing more than a worthless piece of paper. A cold chill spread down my spine. As it turned out, I was never his legal wife. I had no legal status and no protection, much less rights secured for the child I was carrying. After hanging up, I scheduled an abortion and booked the earliest flight home. This time, I wouldn’t look back.

On the day I found out I was dying, Evan Buck, my husband, came home with a “dating contract” he had signed with his assistant, Cherry Mello. “She threatened to kill herself if I didn’t agree to date her for three months.” He continued with a sincere gaze. “But don’t worry. It’s just indulging a young girl’s wish. You’re the one I love. I promise you, after three months, she’ll resign, and we’ll never hear from her again.” I knew that when Evan made up his mind, there was no talking him out of it. Just like how I had long seen the unmistakable longing in Cherry’s eyes when she looked at him. However, he said I was overthinking and refused to dismiss her. Looking at the man I had loved for ten years before me, I quietly slipped the terminal diagnosis behind my back. Three months. What a coincidence. That was exactly how much time I had left.

My usually cold and distant wife shared a bowl of soup with her newly joined colleague. Surprisingly, I felt calm, even as I brought up divorce. She sneered at me, "Don't be ridiculous. I'm exhausted. He's just a colleague of mine." "Even if we're married, you have no right to interfere with what I do with my colleagues." "If that's what you think, then I can't help you." When I actually put the divorce papers in front of her, she flew into a rage. "Ryan, do you think the Wagners were still what they used to be? You're nothing without me!"

When I'm paying the pension for my jobless wife, Lilith Ingram, I accidentally find out that she's had a job this whole time. She's paid a salary of two thousand dollars, which is wired into her personal bank account. Every month, the money will be transferred elsewhere, leaving her without a single cent. I've never seen the money before. Back when our daughter, Maisy Ingram, was severely ill, we were 200 dollars short to pay for her hospital bills. I was so poor that I had to sell my blood and beg everyone around me just to get them to lend me money. But during that time, Lilith never thought of sharing the burden with me. She merely comforted me with empty words before transferring two thousand dollars to her first love, Hayden Grant, the next day. Our marriage of 30 years is reduced to nothing but a laughingstock. I place the divorce agreement that I've printed out in front of Lilith. It's a silent confrontation between us. "Must you really resort to this method?" Lilith snaps impatiently. "It's just two thousand dollars! You have an annual salary of 200 thousand dollars! Why care so much about chum change?" Even Maisy takes her side by calling me a petty, stingy geezer. "Everyone has an unattainable first love when they're still young! You should be grateful that Hayden has been holding back his urges without crossing the line for so many years!" I feel as though I got struck by lightning at that moment. It's then that I belatedly realize I'm the only outsider in this family. "Getting a divorce is fine by me. Hayden's getting on with the years. I just want to take care of him and send him off when his time eventually arrives." Maisy adapts a righteous tone. "As compensation for me, I get the house, the car, and the savings. You're leaving this marriage without a single cent under your name."

After the young officer Edward Shaw took first place in a high-profile shooting exhibition attended by senior officials, his family adopted a rather peculiar tradition. At the annual family banquet, he would perform a blindfolded shooting. Whichever woman's token his bullet struck was taken as a sign that she would become his fiancée. Determined to marry him, I placed the handkerchief I had carefully chosen as close to him as possible. Yet, for three consecutive years, his shots hit nothing at all. I told myself the handkerchief must have been too light, too easy to miss. So each year, I replaced it with something more refined, more eye-catching than before. That illusion lasted until the night before my eighteenth birthday, when I happened to overhear him speaking with a friend at a reception. "Miss Jasmine's handkerchief is right in front. Even blindfolded, you should be able to hit it. How do you keep missing every year?" Edward swirled his glass, his tone casual. "Tracy's still young. The moment she hears I'm getting engaged, she starts crying. "I promised I'd wait until she's a little older. As for Jasmine, she's waited for me all these years. It's not like she's going anywhere." With that, he casually tossed his glass into a metal bucket in the corner. It rang out with a sharp, hollow clang. I lowered my gaze and thought of my younger sister, only a year younger than me. So it had never been about the token. It was about the person who placed it there. In that case, there was no reason for me to keep holding on. After all, my father had already arranged a marriage for me. Three days later, at that same family banquet, I would be formally engaged.

During the holidays, my husband, Andrew Hartwell, flakes out on the vacation trip we've planned in advance once again. He has to go on a business trip in another state at the very last minute. But the next moment I know, I stumble upon a social media post uploaded by his assistant, Chloe Miller, that features a photo of them lying on the beach side by side while sunbathing. The caption reads, "Mr. Hartwell watched the moon with me last month, and he's now watching the sea with me on this vacation. Everyone, please help me brainstorm which location he'll have to take me during the next holiday! P.S. That location has to be super pretty for photo-taking sessions. After all, Mr. Hartwell looks super handsome in the photos!" Everyone begins throwing out ideas and suggestions in the comment section. I pause for two seconds before leaving behind a comment calmly. "Why not the city hall? Not only is it a nice place, but you two can also receive a marriage certificate of your own." The colleagues, who know about my marriage with Andrew, are stunned, to say the least. Soon, they quickly text each other and start harboring guesses on the way I'm about to get jealous and start a fight with Andrew. Meanwhile, Andrew is quick to call me on the phone impatiently. "Why are you this petty? What's wrong with me sunbathing with Chloe? Can't I take a break on my business trip? "So what if I skip out on spending time with you? Must you kick up such a ruckus? I want you to delete your comment right now! Otherwise, others might view Chloe differently! "Besides, we're already married! There are so many holidays in the future. I'll just spend time with you on the next one!" As I listen to Andrew's stale excuse, I can't help but scoff. There's no more next time. Once the holiday is over, we'll have already received our divorce decree.