Short Romance Stories & Novels

When Sylvia Reed postponed our wedding for the fifth time, I found a pregnancy test report in her bag and decided to force the issue. Then I saw a trending local post. A woman rolled up her sleeves, baking cookies. Beside her, a man bent down to tease a child. One look was enough. I recognized the scar on her wrist. It was in the exact same spot as the one Sylvia got years ago when she took a knife for me. The scarf draped over the man's shoulders was one I'd custom-made for Sylvia. Our initials were stitched into it. The sight burned. I thought about how Sylvia had been glued to her phone lately, and how I'd heard a baby crying through it. Ten minutes ago, she'd sent me a voice message. "Luke, something urgent came up at the company. I can't make it back to try on the suit with you. Maybe we should postpone the wedding again? Next year. We'll definitely do it next year." But I'd already waited seven years for this wedding. I took off my groom's suit and cut it to pieces. Then I wiped my eyes, pulled out my phone, and dialed a number I hadn't called in seven years. "I'm short a bride for my wedding. Interested?"

My mother was critically ill, and I drove five hundred miles back to my hometown alone. At a rest stop, I saw a video online. A young man had posted: "First day driving long-distance as a nervous beginner. My ex followed me for three hundred miles, all the way until I got home safely." In the video, a familiar black Mercedes followed a white car the entire way. The top comment came from a burner account: "I'm the driver's ex. No other meaning. I just couldn't stop worrying. "He's timid, but always tries to act brave. I was afraid something would happen to him. "Please don't overthink it. Don't bother him. I'll feel bad." The internet exploded. "What kind of once-in-a-lifetime devoted ex is this? Get back together already!" I stared at that Mercedes. The plate number was GB-8860V. It was my fiancee Vanessa Tomlinson's car. That morning, she had canceled the plan to drive home with me. She said her company had an emergency project and she could not get away. I had sent her dozens of messages, and she had not replied to a single one. Yet she had time to escort the man she never truly let go of for three hundred miles. My phone buzzed. Vanessa had finally texted me: "Is the interstate jammed? Drive safe."

When my wife's childhood friend's depression flared up again, she handed me divorce papers. I signed them without a fuss and told her I was leaving the country. She looked surprised, then seemed to figure it out. "So you're finally behaving? Realized your little tantrums won't work, so now you're trying something new to get me back? Fine. Go abroad. Stay out of Asher's sight so you don't trigger him. When he gets better, I'll come get you." I slipped off my wedding ring and handed it to her. My gaze fell to the jagged scar on my wrist. "No need," I said. "Let's just let each other go. Stop holding on."

I've placed a no-limit bid just so I can buy Eloise Kane, the best underground boxer, from an underground boxing ring. Without even sparing me a proper glance, she's already naming her conditions with a sneer on her face. Apparently, she wants a deluxe apartment that's located in the heart of the city, a monthly allowance of ten million dollars, and most importantly, I mustn't interfere with her social circle. Everyone thinks I've gone nuts for buying myself a mistress just so I can cater to her whims and needs. But I don't mind at all. I just point at her left chest and tell her, "Just maintain a regular lifestyle. Don't let anything happen to your heart." I even go so far as to offend the heiress of the most prominent family in the elite society in order to defend Eloise. That is, until I heard Eloise gets stabbed for her jealous antics in a bar. By the time I arrive at the private room, I see her embracing a male escort while laughing at the top of her lungs. "Oh, I'm the one who hired someone to hit his sister with a car! It's best if she dies, though! That way, his assets will be mine! "Besides, he's just an idiot whose only purpose is to give me money! Who does he think he is, anyway?" Amid the eerie silence, I snatch up a wine bottle and smash it into Eloise's head. Then, I slam her head into the pile of blood-stained glass shards. After that, I dial the hospital's number. "Her heart is in top shape, and it's a perfect match. Tonight, you can wheel my sister into the emergency room. Time to prep for the heart transplant surgery."

Yvonne Foster, my wife from an arranged marriage, is a control freak who loves me to her core. From business operations to the smallest details of daily life, she takes charge of everything herself. If someone dares to target me in business, their company is shut down for investigation the very next day. Women who set their sights on me always disappear without a trace. Yvonne always acts as if she can't stand me, but I know she is the kind of person who acts tough on the outside but cares deeply on the inside. This goes on until my parents find their true biological son, and I turn out to be the fake heir. The real heir, Fabian Madden, has spent his whole life in the countryside. I hear that he has an honest, simple personality. But when every bone in my body is shattered, and I'm thrown into an abandoned factory with my mouth stuffed full of blood-soaked dirt, he stares down at me haughtily. "You darn parasite living off a woman! You stole more than 20 years of wealth and privilege that should have been mine. Die! Just die already!" He buries my body in the garden and uses it to nourish a vast bed of roses as a birthday gift for Yvonne. Pointing at the sea of roses, he says ingratiatingly, "Yvonne, do you like this field of roses?"

The battery on my front door smart lock died, so I called a locksmith to come over. While he was working on the lock, he made small talk. "Dude, this lock comes with six spare keys. Did you lock all of them inside the apartment?" I froze. I've lived in this apartment for three years. My wife and I each have one spare key. The other three were always kept in the hallway drawer. That makes five total. So where's the sixth key?

On the night I get dismembered, my girlfriend, Victoria Hewitt, announces her marriage to the world. Clad in the wedding dress that I've personally designed, she soon marries her first love, Joseph Danford, happily. When Victoria receives the news of my death, she merely smiles before claiming that I'm a pathological liar. But what she doesn't know is that I've died for her sake. Later on, Victoria constructs a sculpture out of my bones. She develops a habit of hugging it every day since then.

I've always been one who doesn't express many emotions. That is, until I've married Vanessa Tate. But the happy life I look forward to living doesn't come to me. Instead, all I see is Vanessa cheating on me with other men to her heart's content. When she brings another man home for the seventh time and fills the guest room with loud moans, I walk over to the door and knock on it gently. Even my tone is soft and tender. "My bedtime is between 10:00 pm to 8:00 am the next morning. As long as you keep the noise level down and don't disturb my sleep, I can pretend that this never happened." The door is opened from the inside, and Vanessa struts out. She casts me a nonchalant glance. "Got it." Her languid voice is tinged with impatience. "I'll keep it down. You should rest in your room instead of standing in the corridor in the middle of the night." The young man, who's a new boy toy of Vanessa's, leans against the bedpost. He leaves his collar open purposefully as he says to me in a taunting manner, "You really are composed. No wonder Vanessa keeps claiming that you're the most gracious husband in the whole wide world." I merely smile wanly, not bothering to give the boy toy an ounce of my attention. After returning to the master bedroom, I take the liberty to send the photo I've just taken to my mother-in-law, Evelyn Sinclair. "Mom, I already told you that Vanessa will never be able to control her urges, and yet you refuse to believe me. "We already made it clear that you'll have to pay me 100 million dollars every time she cheats on me with a man. I hope that you can stick to your end of the bargain."