Short Romance Stories & Novels

On the fourth day after our son died, I decided to end my military marriage. Before that, I spent three days taking care of what remained of him. On the first day, I tricked my wife into signing the cremation papers. On the second day, I went to my son's school and collected the textbooks he never had the chance to use. On the third day, I prepared a table full of his favorite dishes and begged my wife to come home so we could celebrate his birthday one last time. She agreed. Then she turned around, claimed she had a mission, and spent the entire night setting off fireworks with her childhood sweetheart. That night, I sat beside my son's memorial photo and ate alone. The next day, she came home looking guilty and handed me a brand new backpack. She said it was a gift for our son to use at school. She did not know that our child would never live to see his first day of school.

During college, while we were dating, Elias Longheart would bring me breakfast every day. There would be two portions—one for me, and one for my dormmate, Winnie Romger. For me? It was always the same—buns and oatmeal. For her? It was always different—a meal that was nutritionally balanced with meat and vegetables. Even on my birthday, he gave out gifts in pairs. For me, it was just four simple greeting cards. For her, it was concert tickets, a handmade crystal collage photo frame, a dreamy white dress, and a promise ring. … It wasn't until our graduation trip, when the three of us arrived at the train station, that everything became clear. The two of them passed through with no issue after scanning their IDs—but I was stopped at the gate. Elias slapped his forehead in frustration, giving an awkward, apologetic smile. "I was so focused on booking Winnie's ticket that I forgot yours. Look, we've already passed through. Don't waste the money—next time, I'll take you on a proper trip. It'd be just the two of us." Winnie patted her chest and assured me confidently, "Don't worry, girl. I'll keep an eye on him for you." Watching the two of them walk away side by side, laughing and chatting, I let out a bitter smile. I didn't want to keep lying to myself anymore. I turned and bought a ticket home. "Dad? That requirement for me to marry after graduation? I'll agree to it. As for that internship candidate you suggested—Elias Longheart? Cancel it."

After the Ferguson family went bankrupt, I gave up everything I had and followed Ethan Ferguson to Stormbay. Five years later, he had fought his way back into the top three on the Forbes rich list. He rebuilt the empire everyone believed he had lost for good. He never mentioned marriage, no matter how much we had been through together. I did not understand the reason until the night before Memorial Day. I woke after midnight and saw Ethan standing alone on the terrace of our beachfront house. The cold ocean wind swept through the darkness while he lit three white candles one by one. Their flames flickered softly against the night. He faced the distant horizon across the sea and lowered his voice. “Mom, Dad… I’m sorry I couldn’t come see you again this year.” He paused, and his expression softened. “However, please keep watching over Vivi. Keep her healthy… and bless the two of us with a long, happy life together.” Warmth spread through my chest as I listened. My health had never been good, and every year near Memorial Day, Ethan refused to let me exhaust myself with the long trip home. He always went alone to visit his parents’ graves while I stayed behind in Stormbay. This year, when I saw the homesickness in his eyes, I decided to surprise him. I wanted to make the trip in his place. I never expected my entire world to collapse the moment I arrived at the cemetery. Ethan’s name was carved into the headstone. Beside it was the name of another woman. Olivia Ferguson. My gaze drifted lower. A framed family photograph sat at the foot of the headstone. Its edges had curled from the ocean wind. In the picture, Ethan held a little blond-haired boy in his arms. The child looked no older than three. Olivia stood beside him, smiling softly at the camera. A sharp pain cut through my chest. Only then did I understand the truth. The “Vivi” Ethan prayed for was never Vivian. It had been Olivia all along.

Cornton playboy Justin Swanson openly declares that he only keeps girlfriends around for one month at a time and never falls in love. Women hoping to marry into wealth line up from one side of the city to the other. After all, when he is in a good mood, he rewards them with a villa. Even when he isn't pleased, there is still a million-dollar breakup payout. I am a joke to everyone in Cornton. They say I'm the most humiliated rich man's wife in all of history. They all assume I will put up with him forever. That is, until Justin brings home a college goer named Kayla Holt. She looks pretty ordinary, yet she becomes the first woman to make him break away from his vow of only having one woman as a girlfriend for a month. Justin gives me two choices. The first is to accept an open marriage and let Kayla stand on equal footing with me. The second is to divorce him, take half the assets, and walk away with no strings attached between us. His friends stand nearby, enjoying the show. They are convinced I will stay and keep playing the patient, long-suffering wife for the money. But I choose the second option without hesitation. In my previous life, I choose to tolerate Justin's infidelity, only for Kayla to become more and more demanding. She forbids Justin from touching me, and she forbids him from giving me any property. In my old age, I can only watch with envy as Kayla is surrounded by children and even grandchildren. When Justin dies, his will does not mention me a single time. All of his inheritance goes to Kayla. I spend my entire life clinging to the title of Mrs. Swanson, only to end up completely alone. After getting a second chance at life, I am no longer hung up on him. I understand clearly that I should take the money and leave. From now on, he and I have nothing to do with each other anymore.

My girlfriend is the true heiress of a wealthy family, yet she suffers from severe paranoia. She's convinced that everyone is out to exploit her. She never believed in my love. In her eyes, I stayed with her only for status and money. To prove my sincerity, during our seven years together, I never spent a single cent of hers. I handed over every paycheck I earned. As for myself, I couldn't even afford a few dollars for a taxi. Every day, I walked five kilometers to work. Then one day, my mother was in a sudden car accident. The doctor called and told me to come see her for the last time. The hospital was thirty kilometers away. There was no way I could make it on foot in time. Left with no choice, I asked my girlfriend to transfer me thirty dollars for a taxi. She flew into a rage. "Simon, thirty dollars is your entire monthly living expense. How dare you ask me for that much all at once? I almost believed your feelings were genuine. But now I see—you're no different from those gold-diggers!" In the end, I never made it to see my mother one last time. When I returned home in a daze, I found my girlfriend throwing a birthday party for her childhood sweetheart. He was wearing the latest luxury watch, his face full of smug pride. "This is the one you bought at an overseas auction, right? Worth thirty million," he said. "You wouldn't even give Simon thirty dollars for a taxi. You're really generous with me." My girlfriend smiled indulgently. "It's only thirty million. It's not like I can't afford it. "Besides, how could Simon ever compare to you? Today, he dares to ask me for thirty. Tomorrow, he'll dare to ask me for thirty thousand. "I've always known it. He's been with me just to take my money." I stood there, frozen, my heart sinking into the abyss. 'It's fine. I don't want her money anymore. And I don't want her, either.'

At our seventh wedding anniversary dinner, I noticed something strange. My best friend, Darren Blackburn, who had always been single, had suddenly changed his profile picture to a couple’s photo. "So you’ve been hiding a girlfriend from me?" I joked with a grin. "When are you bringing her around? I should at least meet her and make sure she’s good enough for you." He just smiled and shook his head, brushing it off. "Not yet," he said. "It’s not the right time." Then Deanna Cunningham, my wife’s voice called out from the kitchen, "Babe, come help me tie my apron." I hadn’t even pushed my chair back yet when Darren was already on his feet, jogging over. He stepped behind her, wrapped his arms around her waist, and tied the apron strings for her. I froze where I stood. Seeing the look on my face, he quickly tried to explain, "I’m just used to helping out at home. My mom’s always bossing me around. It’s basically muscle memory. Don’t read into it." I didn’t argue or make a scene. I kept my expression neutral and carried on with the dinner as if nothing had happened. Only after all the guests had left did I turn to Deanna, who was clearing the table, and say calmly, "Let’s get a divorce." She slammed the dishes down with a loud crash and glared at me. "Seriously? Over something like that? Just because he tied my apron once?"

The house was on fire. My husband–a firefighter–rescued our son first. And the kitten his first love had left behind. Then, to comfort the frightened woman, he rushed off without a second thought. When his colleagues asked my son if anyone else was still inside, he glanced in my direction… and shook his head. "There's no one else." I was later found screaming for help, barely alive. Outside my hospital room, my son looked at me with disappointment. "Why didn't you just burn to death in there? "If you were gone, Aunt Maya could be my mom."

I booked a consultation with a renowned traditional medicine practitioner six months in advance to treat my surgeon wife's arousal disorder over the holidays. However, on the appointment date, Wendy did not show up. Just as I was about to call to question her, I noticed a photo her male friend had posted on social media. In the photo, my usually aloof wife was hugging the guy with a radiant smile. The caption read: [Only I can cure your problem.] But what caught my attention was my wife's flushed face in the photo, clearly displaying signs of arousal. With a cold smirk, I immediately liked and commented: [You must have magic fingers that work wonders!] The comment section exploded, with everyone speculating whether I would tear my wife's lover apart. What awaited my wife was our official divorce after the cooling-off period ended.

On the day before the Christmas holidays start, my wife, Irene Owens, intends to promote me and give me a raise in order to celebrate my feat of closing a hundred-million-dollar deal. But her assistant, Cody Harrington, purposefully feeds her some cake. Irene, who's known to be a germaphobe, doesn't show any trace of disgust as she subconsciously accepts the spoon, which is tainted with Cody's saliva, into her mouth. The employees begin cheering for them on the spot. Some ask if they are about to get married. Not only does Irene not refute those questions, but she also promotes Cody to a department manager on the spot. When a colleague next to me realizes how silent I've been, he nudges me in the side. "Hey Seb, you're the veteran employee who's stuck by Ms. Owens' side for so long. Why aren't you reacting to the news?" I merely sneer as I toss my share transfer agreement to Cody. "A promotion isn't enough, is it? You can have these shares as your wedding gift."

On the day I'm supposed to pick up my bride for the wedding, Tracie Mayer, my supposed wife-to-be as well as the heiress of the Mayer family, is replaced by Jayne Cooper, a widowed fishmonger. Everyone in the groom's party laughs and makes fun of me. "Since when are you this thirsty? You don't mind women who have already given birth before, huh?" "I can't believe the heir of the Reeve family is about to marry a widowed fishmonger! Everyone's going to be tickled pink once word gets out!" My family driver's son, Everett Huffman, provokes me on the spot. "This is for treating me like a lowly servant and ordering me to drive you around! That's why Adeline and Tracie decided to avenge me on your big day!" Realization dawns on me immediately. My older sister, Adeline Reeve, and Tracie are standing up for Everett by putting me down. As I turn to stare at Adeline with red-rimmed eyes, she replies nonchalantly, "It's just a wedding ceremony. Endure it like a tough guy you are. "You and Tracie will still get married. We won't let you marry a widowed fishmonger for real."

One day, shortly after I had experienced a miscarriage, Alan brought me a bowl of chicken soup—and a divorce agreement. "Sophia's pregnant," he had said. "So let's just leave each other like mature adults do." Chicken soup had never tasted so bitter in my life. I knew Sophia Mason—he had sponsored her education before. She was also the one who caused my miscarriage. I did not cry. I did not throw a fit. I just asked why. He looked relieved. Then, he looked at me blankly. "The truth is I can't stand you over these seven years. Every time we lie together on our bed, I just can't help but be disgusted by what your body has gone through. "I know you suffered that because of me. But I can't do it. I can't stop remembering how defiled it is. "Our kid is gone. We owe each other nothing now—so let's end it here, right now." So that was it, huh? Hilarious. He had no idea who the "defiled" one was—him. Seven years ago, I inserted a memory chip into his brain to save him. And now, in three days' time, the chip will cease to function. He will remember everything… and he will wish he were long dead.

My wife, Celina Buckley, is a violinist. I've wooed her for five years before she finally agrees to date me. After our marriage, Celina insists on staying child-free for the sake of her career. Left without a choice, I can only poke a few holes in the condoms. Finally, Celina gets pregnant, and with twins, too! Delighted, I make all preparations to welcome the new members of my family into my life. But I accidentally stumble across a photo of a pregnancy report posted on the social media feed belonging to Leo Kolcheck, Celina's senior at work. "Thank you for fulfilling my wish to become a father, Celina. I can't wait to meet my twins!" I feel as though I got struck by lightning. At that moment, I feel like a complete joke. While Celina is at Leo's birthday party, I begin packing up. I make sure that I've taken all of my belongings with me. All that's left is the divorce agreement on the table.

My fiancée, Diana, is the princess of a powerful New York Mafia family. She claims to love me deeply, yet a month before our wedding, she told me she wanted to have a baby with her childhood sweetheart, claiming it was a "family arrangement." I refused. But she brought it up every single day, pushing me into a corner as if my consent didn’t matter. Two weeks before the wedding, I received a pregnancy report from a private clinic. That’s when I found out she was already nearly a month pregnant. She never intended to wait for my permission. In that moment, I finally woke up. Our years of history were nothing but a fragile illusion. So, I canceled the wedding. I burned every single gift she had ever given me. On the day we were supposed to say "I do," I boarded a flight to Italy to pursue my advanced degree in clinical medicine. I officially accepted a mission with Doctors Without Borders and cut all ties with the Mafia family. From that day on, Diana and I were finished. For good.

My CEO boyfriend had threatened to break up with me 99 times. So when he found out I willingly handed a multimillion-dollar contract to his junior protégée, freshly returned from studying abroad, he assumed I had finally caved. He was so pleased that he proposed we get engaged. But the moment she caught wind of it, she lost it. She skipped the contract signing, stopped showing up to work, and threatened to resign. My boyfriend, who had always doted on her, completely panicked. He promoted her on the spot, then used a business trip as an excuse to cancel our engagement plans and flew to another city to throw her a lavish engagement ceremony instead. When he came back, he brushed it off like it was nothing. "It was just a ceremony. It's not like we're actually married. Why are you being so dramatic about it? "Anya's a top-tier talent with an overseas education. I did this for the company, for our future. You're going to be my wife, so I'd think you of all people would understand." I gripped my phone, staring at the photo she had just posted online. Two matching engagement rings sat front and center, his and hers. I did not argue. I just nodded. He lit up, convinced I had finally come around. He promised to throw me an even bigger ceremony once he was back from his trip. What he did not know was that I had already submitted my resignation. The moment he agreed to hold an engagement ceremony with another woman, I was done.

On one mid-autumn day, my national classified mission finally came to an end. I dug out the phone I hadn't touched for four years, planning to call my wife, Nora Christie, and tell her that I'd be coming home. But the moment my phone screen lit up, I saw a public court notice declaring me… dead. I froze. Then, I looked closer. The person who had filed the petition to have me legally declared dead was Nora. Frowning with confusion, I dialed her number. With a soft chuckle, she brushed it off, saying that it must have been a clerical error by some court intern. Then, she asked when I would be coming home. Just when I was about to answer, I heard a soft, restrained moan from Nora. "Ah, don't touch me there…" Realizing something wasn't right, I told her that I would be back in a few more years before hanging up. Then, I grabbed the medal I had earned from four years of service to my country, and took the next train home. Nothing could have prepared me for what I saw when I arrived. Right outside my front door, Nora was holding a wedding ceremony. The groom was Henry Crowley, the poor student I had sponsored!

When I took my five-year-old son, Ethan Drake, for a routine medical checkup, I noticed an additional renal function test listed on the report. “This is a mandatory item for kidney donor matching. Didn’t you know?” the nurse asked. Her explanation left me confused. “The checkup I booked didn’t include this test. Could there have been a mistake?” “There’s no mistake. The appointment was made by Ms. Serena Vaughn. She specifically added this item.” The Serena the nurse mentioned was my wife. At that moment, my sharp eyes caught another form in her hand: [Diagnosis: Polycystic Kidney Disease. Patient: Noah Vaughn. Family: Serena Vaughn.] I immediately called Serena. “The nurse said you scheduled a kidney donor matching test for our son. What’s going on?” There was a three-second pause before she spoke. “The nurse must have made a mistake. I’ve been busy lately. Don’t call me if there’s nothing important.” I smiled and told her I’d do that. Then I turned to the nurse and asked, “Which ward is Noah staying in?”

Bradley Fry, my CEO husband, loves bringing his friends home for meals the most. He claims that this makes them feel like an actual family. As they drink in the feast I've whipped up for everyone, one of Bradley's friends comments smilingly, "I knew that you were a virtuous one, Emily! Now this is how the legitimate wife should act!" My expression doesn't falter as I ask in a half-joking manner, "Oh? Does Bradley have a spoiled and pampered mistress by his side, then?" His friends are stunned by my question. A trace of panic crosses their eyes simultaneously. But Bradley just wraps an arm around my shoulders with a smile. "Don't listen to their nonsense, Emily. Who else is worthy as my wife but you in this world?" As I look at Bradley's nonchalant expression, I just shoot him a smile. But when I leave the room, I dial a number. "Philip, Bradley has cheated on me with another woman. I want him to be locked behind bars for the rest of his life."

I'd just put the condom on when someone started pounding on the door. My wife, Jocelyn Gill, shoved me aside, panic all over her face. I shot a glare at the door. Her adopted brother, Calvin Tyler, stood there, flushed, staring at her. The bulge in his pants wasn't subtle. "Jocelyn, please help me. I feel awful. I think I'm having an episode!" Seeing him like that, nothing like before, my temper snapped. "Then go get treated. Why are you barging into your sister's room? You got no shame? You can't even get married because of this, so now you're wrecking mine?" Jocelyn rushed over and slapped me. "Finley, how can you say that? Calvin's still a kid. How could he think something that disgusting? Before his parents died, they asked me to take care of him. I'm a psychiatrist—if I don't treat him, how do I face them? You're acting nothing like a brother-in-law. Apologize to Calvin right now, or we're getting divorced!" In two years of marriage, I'd lost count of how many times she'd pulled that card over Calvin. Back then, I'd risked my life just to win her. She thought I'd never leave. She was wrong. This time, I was done loving her.

Before Christmas Eve, all of Nowevik was betting. Not on money. On me. Would I finally pull the winning lot? Would Leon Fabian finally take me to his family estate for Christmas? The Fabians had a rule. A new bride had to attend the Christmas Eve dinner with the whole family before she counted as one of them. I'd been married five years. Five years. The lot never landed on me. I'd become Nowevik's favorite joke. This year, the winning ticket went to a nightclub hostess. She lounged on Leon's lap and flicked it onto the table in front of me, smiling like she'd already won. The room went silent. Everyone waited— for me to lunge at her like I had the last four years. Claws out. A scene. But I didn't move. "Congratulations." Leon leaned in, breath warm at my ear, smiling like he'd just proved something. "Wynne, you're finally learning how to behave. Keep this up and you might actually become a proper lady of my house." I lowered my eyes and tore the ticket in half. My face stayed blank. Leon had no idea the five-year deal between my brother and me was already over. Soon, he'd come take me home.

At our wedding, Toby Webb, the impoverished student my fiancee, Elvira Britton, has been sponsoring, barges into the venue while wailing at the top of his lungs. "Elvira, a wasp has stung me down there! Does this mean I won't be able to…" Elvira doesn't hesitate to ditch all the guests and me in favor of whisking Toby away. I quickly grab her wrist and suggest to her that we should finish the ceremony first before finding a doctor to save Toby. But she reacts by shoving me to the floor instead with an enraged look on her face. "Wallace Cochran, if you truly loved me, you wouldn't stop me at this time!" After that, she quickly takes Toby to the lounge in the wedding venue. By the time I arrive at the lounge, I witness Elvira straddling Toby. The very same woman, who had once promised me that she'd preserve her virginity for our wedding night, can be seen glaring at me angrily. "Toby's condition is very severe, you know! How am I supposed to sit by and watch him suffer? It's just virginity, isn't it? Since you want it that badly, I can just get myself repaired and let you try again, can't I?"