Entdecke bezaubernde Romance-Kurzgeschichten.

On the eve of the wedding, Rosalie Bloom terminates her marriage with me before announcing that Evan Lockwood is the man she's in love with. So, I marry Noelle Lockwood, who has been pursuing me relentlessly this whole time. She holds a luxurious wedding of the century for me, which shakes the city to its roots. In the fourth year after our marriage, when I find out that Noelle has suffered from an unfortunate miscarriage, I'm so worried about her that I get into a car crash. That's when I accidentally overhear her conversation with her assistant. "Hurry up and withdraw Dominic's bone marrow while he's still unconscious so that we can save Ev's life." It turns out that Noelle is actually in love with Evan, her own stepbrother, instead of me. All the happiness and love I've felt in this marriage is fake…

Late one night, my wife called me, her voice carrying a hint of apology. "Drew, I'm sorry. I cheated." Everyone in our lives knew she loved me more than anything. So how could she possibly cheat? After realizing it was April Fool's Day, I replied with a smile, "I cheated too." She didn't sound surprised at all. Instead, she seemed relieved. "That's good. At least I don't feel as guilty now. "The divorce papers are in the second drawer of the study. Just sign them." I was about to tell her she was putting on a pretty convincing act when the call suddenly ended. Smiling, I opened the drawer and froze. The divorce agreement was real, with her unmistakable signature at the bottom of the final page. My eyes stung as I reached for my phone, about to ask whether this was really some kind of joke, when a message arrived from one of my wife's graduate students. [Mr. Jensen, so it turns out you cheated too. In that case, just step aside already. Then Ms. Jones and I can finally celebrate our first anniversary out in the open!]

Yesterday, my fiancé told me he didn’t have time to come home with me for the holidays, but secretly, he had booked a flight to my hometown. I couldn’t help feeling a quiet thrill. Justin Baker had always been good at surprises back when we were dating. I just didn’t expect that now, when we were practically like an old married couple, he’d still do something like this. I was just about to tell my dad the news when my stepsister suddenly dropped a message in the family group chat that she was bringing her boyfriend home for the holidays. The relatives in the family immediately started teasing her, wanting to see what he looked like. The next second, photo after photo of her and Justin’s couple pictures flooded the chat. “I told you he’s really handsome, right? And he’s the same age as me.” “Oh wow, you locked him down so young? Dawn, you’re impressive.” “Hmph, of course. He’s crazy about me.” I stopped breathing. So that was why, when he found out I’d be spending the holidays at my mom’s place this year, he suddenly said he didn’t have time to come with me. It was because he already knew we wouldn’t run into each other. My hands trembled as I sent him one last message. [I’ve returned the engagement gift to you. We’re done.]

At Opaline Corp, the lowest-performing employee had to eat a plate of pasta mixed with live worms. This time, Tristan Crocker lost three clients and landed dead last. To keep Tristan from feeling singled out, my wife, Wendy Kline, hit me with a nine-million-dollar performance penalty because I showed up one minute late while sick—even though I'd brought in three million in revenue. Just like that, I became the first employee in company history with negative earnings. Grinning, Tristan shoved the plate toward me. "Wendy updated the company rules last night to keep everyone in line. Anyone who's late gets penalized three times their performance. You always said mistakes deserve punishment. Now that it's your turn, you're not backing out, right?" Every eye in the room locked on me, waiting for me to lose it. Wendy quickly sent me a message: [The nine million is only on paper. It's not a real fine. With your talent, you'll earn it back in three months. Tristan's allergic to worms. If he ends up in the hospital over a punishment, it'll damage the company's reputation. And if people hear we punished an outsider, that'll look even worse.] [You're my husband. You're one of us. I love you, which is why I'm giving you the chance to show some leadership.] [Once this blows over, I'll give you an extra twenty dollars a month, okay?] When I didn't reply, she finally snapped. "Company rules apply to everyone, even the top performer. If you don't like it, you're free to leave." I nodded, unclipped my badge, and set it on the table. "Fine. I quit." I looked at her. "And while we're at it, let's get divorced."

Vera Quinn and I spent seven years tearing each other apart in the corporate world. When we first started, she sabotaged my presentation slides, hoping to watch me humiliate myself in front of the board. I retaliated by flagging her fraudulent expense reports to HR, making sure her name was dragged through every department in the company. When we were both up for the director position, she locked me in a supply closet to make me miss the final interview. The moment I got out, I poached a major client she had been pursuing for six months, leaving her at the very bottom of the year-end performance rankings. In our industry, we were fire and water—completely incompatible. Then three years ago, the endless scheming finally felt hollow. I handed in my resignation and walked away from the industry for good. The day I packed my desk and left, Vera was leaning against the elevator door, her eyes full of mockery. "Giving up already? Mylo, a cowardly deserter like you deserves to starve on the streets". I hit the "close" button, swearing I never wanted to see her face again as long as I lived. Three years later, we crossed paths again at the industry’s annual gala. Vera was now the youngest partner in the industry. She looked at me as I stood there, humbling myself to pour drinks for an executive, and let out a sharp laugh. "It’s been a few years, and you’ve fallen this far? Working as a glorified escort to scrounge up some investments? What happened to that pride you used to fight me with?" But I wasn't there to secure any investment. I was there to beg that executive for a few more days to pay off the predatory loans my father had left behind. I just needed enough time to sign the consent form for my stomach cancer surgery with a clear conscience.

At a company team-building dinner, my coworkers started a challenge. We had to call our husbands or boyfriends and compare how much money they sent us. The rules were simple. Whoever got the biggest transfer and the fastest answer won. As usual, I came in dead last. "Seraphina, don't take it personally. Mr. Brooks may not be very romantic, but at least he's rich." Everyone laughed and tried to smooth things over, carefully avoiding old wounds. Like how I had spent seven years helping Conrad build his business, yet he had never once brought up marriage. Like how Conrad had distributed company shares to the executive team, and I was the last person to find out. Or how, on the day I was diagnosed with stomach cancer, the only person sitting beside me in the hospital waiting for the test results was my best friend. I simply smiled and said nothing. Then my gaze landed on the new intern. She gripped her phone so tightly her knuckles had turned white, hesitation written all over her face. "I think I'll pass," she said quietly. "He's on a business trip. He's really busy." The mood in the room began to grow awkward. Trying to help her out, I leaned forward with a smile and tapped the speakerphone button as I dialed for her. I had expected the call to go unanswered. Instead, it was picked up instantly. The private dining room fell completely silent. Because the voice that came through the phone belonged to my quiet, unromantic boyfriend, Conrad, and his tone was impossibly gentle. "Babe, did you get the Valentine's Day surprise I sent you?"

The carousel malfunctioned unexpectedly. My daughter was pulled into the machinery and died on the spot. I survived by sheer luck, but my groin was crushed beyond repair. My wife, Jody Parker, tore apart the entire amusement park. After refusing any settlement, she dragged dozens of staff members who had mishandled the equipment to court. She even dug our daughter's grave with her bare hands and nearly cried herself blind from grief. To help me recover from both emotional and physical trauma, she spent a fortune hiring a well-educated male nurse to care for me. Six months later, I was discharged early, hoping to move on from the past—only to accidentally find her and the male nurse naked together on a swing. "Jody, you crushed your husband's manhood and forsook your daughter's life. Am I really that important to you?" "Of course. Only with her dead and Sam crippled will he love our child without limits. Once our baby is born, Sam can take care of it. He's so gentle and attentive—he'll raise our little one to be perfectly well-behaved." My mind went blank. My blood ran cold. My daughter's death. The nightmares that tormented me every night. All of it had been orchestrated by Jody. Since she hated my existence so much, I would make sure she never saw me again.

During a rainstorm, I wait at a bus stop for three hours, but Joanne Sanders never shows up to keep her promise to pick me up. Just as I'm about to hail a cab, I see her secretary post an update on social media. In the photo is a familiar car dashboard. The caption reads, "Thanks to my boss for driving me home!" In the past, I would have bombarded Joanne with calls and messages, demanding an explanation. But this time, I simply move my finger across the screen and like the post. After I leave without a word, carrying my luggage with me, she panics and searches for me everywhere. She says, "I can change. Please don't leave me."

As a world-renowned genius, I only gave up on the top universities' offer and went to the same community college as her because she asked, "Will you go to the same college as me? I'd love to see you every day." I thought I had met the right woman until her conversation with her friend suggested otherwise. "He's not my boyfriend," she said. "Think of him as a clever dog. I only keep him around because he entertains me." Her friend mentioned a name, Aidan Stewart. Her expression softened at the mention of Aidan. "Aidan isn't like him. Aidan is a blessing heaven sent to me." At that moment, I finally realized what I was to her. I didn't wait any longer. I called the professor who favored me and said, "Dr. Anderson, I'll take on the drug research."

Because of her first love's piano competition, my fiancee, Ashley Blake, postpones our wedding for the 17th time seven years into our relationship. On the eve of the competition, she chops off my ring finger just because Marc Tyson claims I injured his hand and ruined his ability to compete. The pain of losing my finger leaves me crying in agony, but she simply holds him in her arms and stares me down with indifferent eyes. She says, "Stop pretending, Troy Clinton. You're a grown man. What's all this fuss over losing a finger? Besides, you merely lost one finger. Marc has lost the dream he spent his whole life chasing! This is what you owe him." Her cruel words shatter my heart into tiny pieces. She has forgotten that my fingers are also meant to dance across piano keys. "The wedding next week is postponed," she says dismissively while covering Marc's reddened fingers. She adds, "This has nothing to do with Marc. It's simply because you can't wear a wedding ring with a missing finger anyway." Clutching my bleeding hand, I finally wake up to reality. From this moment onwards, we owe each other nothing.

During my dad's funeral procession, the hearse grinds to a halt when a wedding convoy blocks its way. I get out of my car and try to negotiate with the groom, only for him to grab a brick and smash it right into my head. "Who the hell do you think you are for blocking my way? Do you have any idea who I'm marrying?" In fact, the groom has the nerve to stomp down on the gas pedal and crash into the hearse, sending it—and my dad's body—flipping over the road. "What do you mean 'respect the dead'? As if! My wife is the chairwoman of Nexora Group! You should be honored that you get to make way for her!" But the thing is, Nexora Group is my family's company. I turn to look at the bride depicted on the wedding banner. That woman is Josephine Thornton, my wife who's supposed to be on an overseas business trip right now! So, I place a phone call and have Josephine dismissed from her job. This time, I'd like to see what Josephine and her new "husband" can do to make it up to my dad, a national hero who devoted his life to the country!

I accidentally recover my memories. I can't wait to tell my wife, Krystal Merrill, about the good news. But that's when I overhear her conversation with the doctor. "Ms. Merrill, are you sure you want to transform Mr. Stuart into a merman? That surgery only has a 0.01% survival rate. You've already mixed his family's ashes with his medication and made him swallow everything. Even if you're doing this to protect Theo, there's no need to go this far!" Krystal replies icily, "No way! Randy must become a merman! If not, what will happen to Theo? All Theo did was hit and kill Randy's parents by accident! I'm doing this just in case something happens to Theo! "Besides, once Randy becomes a merman, he will be able to fulfill the perverted clients' desires even more!" I can only tremble uncontrollably as I stand at the doorway. I can't believe that the woman I love the most is actually the culprit behind my parents' tragic death as well as my amnesia and disability. Since this is Krystal's choice, I should let her have her way, then.

My girlfriend, Kiara Sommer, gets one of her legs crippled in order to save me. Her adopted younger brother, Cain Fullton, suffers from heart failure after shielding us from harm. Since then, his heart becomes extremely weak, and he has to rely on the expensive imported medication just to survive. In order to gather enough money for their surgical bills, I take on a body-casting job in the black market. Not only are my limbs encased in scalding hot silicon, but I also have to endure it whenever a few female perverts cop a feel of me. I can't even move an inch when I'm doing my job. After all, I'll have to compensate for the damages if I ruin the mold. I can only grit my teeth and endure the agony, only to get slapped a few times in the face afterward. "You already have the guts to take on a job like this, and yet you're frightened of getting groped?" As I withstand the humiliation and the burning pain, I return to the hospital with the money in hopes of buying more medicine for Cain. When I walk past a VIP lounge, I hear familiar laughter erupting from within. "Kia, this is the 998th test, right? Once Shane passes 999 tests, are you really going to marry him?" Kiara frowns slightly at the question, though she soon replies coolly, "Yeah. The tests stem from my family's rules, and you're ordered to serve as the supervisor. But still, don't go overboard, yeah? Shane is the only one meant to be my husband." So, Kiara lies to me and torments me to this point just so she can marry me? As I stare at my broken and bruised reflection in the mirror, I feel my lips curling into a smile all of a sudden. With trembling hands, I dig out the old phone that I haven't used for the past two years. My eyes slowly redden as well. Then, I draft a text message. "I regret everything now, Winona. Please take me home."

On Valentine's Day, I wait for my wife, Nancy Curtis, to get off work after preparing a candlelit dinner for our date. But she only texts me at 9:00 pm. "I have something going on at the company. There's no need to wait for me." Soon, I see a Facebook post made by Nancy's secretary, Derek Jones. "I'm on a business trip with my female boss on Valentine's Day. The thing is, the hotel's fully booked. Oops, this is getting awkward…" The photo in the post features a feminine silhouette standing in front of a floor-to-ceiling window while draped in a bathrobe. Everyone in the comment section compliments Derek for being lucky, seeing as the boss of his has a smoking hot figure and is extremely charming. Derek merely replies with a cheeky emoji. So, it turns out that Nancy's "business" is having fun with her own secretary, eh? I take a screenshot of Derek's post before uploading it to my own social media feed. I even include a smiley as a caption. Immediately, Nancy calls me on the phone and starts berating me. "Derek was just cracking a joke! Why are you being so petty, huh? And here I thought you were mature!" I end the call immediately before texting her, "Let's get a divorce."

It was the day of my wedding. Wendy Halton huddled up to me and whispered, "I slept with Joe." She pointed at the big screen, a smile curling her lips. "Summer dumped you so she could have Joe. I swore I'd make her drink from the well of betrayal. So, I slept with the man she loves." My eyes went wide with disbelief. It was then that I realized the screen wasn't showing our wedding photos. Instead, they were showing something far raunchier, filthier. It was Wendy, and she was going at it with Joe Noelson. Three years ago, I caught my then-fiancée, Summer Shaw, cheating with Joe, who happened to be the underprivileged student that I sponsored. That single moment snuffed out all hope I had for the world, but Wendy barged in like a beam of angelic light. Now, she had gouged open my chest with the same weapon Wendy destroyed me with. Tears fell before I could stop them. A frown creased Wendy's forehead. "Stop crying. I got revenge for you. You should be happy."

My younger sister, Natasha Carter, is three months pregnant when she is delivered to a group of rich scions, who decide to play a special game with her that involves guessing her baby's gender. Unable to escape from them, poor Natasha chooses to commit suicide after suffering from a mental breakdown. Her naked body is later on discovered lying in a puddle of her own blood. I'm enraged, to say the least. My wife, Josephine Floyd, is equally furious, too. She claims that she will seek justice on Natasha's behalf. But when her childhood friend, Jacob Keller, flaunts the fact that he's the mastermind of that game, Josephine changes her tune instantly and advises me to be more gracious. "Jacob is a playful guy. Don't take what he did to heart, yeah?" Jacob remains nonchalant as ever. "Natasha got pregnant out of wedlock, after all. Yet, she pretended to be a chaste virgin." With reddened eyes, I sock Jacob in the face. I want him to pay the price with his own life too. But Josephine responds by smashing a wine bottle into my head. Then, she tosses a luxury watch she has intended to give to the winner onto my face. "Your sister is the shameless one here, Horace! Here, this watch should be enough to compensate for your loss! "Jacob is the heir of the Keller family, you know! A broke peasant like you should learn to be grateful with what you have!" With a sneer, I smash the watch into splinters. Trust me, this watch is incapable of saving Jacob and the other scions from the wrath of the family that has sired two generations of secret agents who've been carrying out classified missions for the nation.

Out of sheer boredom, I randomly clicked into a livestream titled "Taming an Innocent Housewife." In the stream, a woman in a silk chemise was lazily puttering around the kitchen. When the camera finally showed her face, I was completely stunned—it was me. Not only that, but on the public chat, the top donor was spamming gifts like crazy. [Make her drink that spiked milk.] Soon after, a man groveled in response: [Thanks for the gift, bro. She'll drink it right now. I promise you a hell of a show tonight.] I'd recognize that voice anywhere—it was my husband, Jake, who was supposedly on a business trip overseas. My own husband had turned our home into a hidden-camera setup, treating me like his personal reality show star. And now, he was trying to feed me illegal drugs just to rake in donations. Most people would've broken down or called the cops. But I'm what you'd call the ultimate pro at playing nice—everyone in our circle knows I'm the queen of manipulation. I picked up that glass of milk, looked straight into the camera, and gave a fragile, tantalizing smile. "Since my husband's not home, drinking this milk all alone feels so lonely... I wish some strong, capable guy would come take care of me." The chat exploded. Donations went through the roof. Later that night, Jake burst through the front door, ready to "discipline" me—but froze in his tracks. There I was, sitting in lingerie on the lap of the top donor, grinning at my husband. "Honey, you're back! I helped you hit your goals tonight!"

On the third year of our anniversary, the cruise ship Louise York—my fiancee—and I were on sank. I gave her the only life jacket we had before getting dragged under the currents and losing contact with the world. Three years later, after I healed from my injuries, I rushed back just in time to see her getting married to my adopted brother. Since she owed me her life, she was forced to marry me instead. That caused her to start hating me, because I had separated her from the man she loved. Even my parents accused me of being immature. They said that I was ruining my brother’s happiness. Their coldness and rejection caused me to become obsessive, and I fell into despair. Then, my family’s enemy came looking for revenge. To save my life, Louise ended up being stabbed right into her heart. Blood gushed out of her as she tried her best to drag me to a safe place. “Nathan, I’m returning the life I owe you. I just hope that you won’t bother me again. I just want… to be with Stanley…” I felt my chest twist in pain as I died full of hatred. When I opened my eyes again, I found myself back to the day I crashed their wedding.

My wife, Alayna Watson, is childish as ever even though we've been married for eight years. From time to time, she'll use her prank toys on me just to trick me. Oftentimes, I just toss the toys into the store without thinking much about them. A few days later, when I'm cleaning the house, I suddenly remember the box that Alayna has pranked me with, so I decide to throw it away. When I open the lid, I smell a foul odor wafting from within the box. A severed arm lies quietly there. I slump to the floor instantly out of alarm and shock. With trembling fingers, I manage to call 911. When the DNA results are out, the police officer shows a weird and conflicted expression. "Sir, the DNA we've extracted from this arm… belongs to Alayna Watson."”

I went to the bank to report a lost debit card. The teller casually asked, "Sir, there's a recurring patent royalty payment under your name. Would you like to link it to your new card?" Stunned, I froze. "What patent royalties?" The screen revealed that one of the accounts showed a quarterly deposit of $300 thousand in patent royalties. My mind went blank for a full three seconds. Then I remembered that, five years ago, my wife, Danica Pearson, had handed me a stack of documents, saying it was part of the company registration process. She said I "only understood technology, not business", effectively turning me into a figurehead consultant. I took a deep breath and told the teller, "Link it to the new card. From now on, transfer every payment directly to my personal account." That night, while Danica was overseas on a business trip, she booked the earliest flight home. At 2 a.m., she pounded on my bedroom door.