Histoires Courtes Romance & Romans

On the eve of our ninth wedding, my fiance, Jasper Preston, develops a split personality after saving me in a car accident. One personality loves me down to his very bones. The other, however, is hopelessly in love with his junior, Wendy Upton. While I'm in a half-dreaming stupor, I hear the doctor sigh. "Mr. Preston's two personalities possess immense self-awareness. I'm afraid it'll be very difficult for them to merge. If Ms. Birch insists on marrying him, she must be willing to share her husband with another woman." Sighs ripple through the room, but I remain exceptionally resolute. After all, he had risked his life to save me in that accident. How could I possibly give up on the man I love so easily? However, the very next second, I hear another voice. "Jasper, you really outdid yourself this time. I can't believe you actually made up a split personality. Still, knowing Stella's temper, won't she drag you down to hell with her once she finds out the truth?" Jasper scoffs, "She loves me so much that she'd give her life for me; she'd never hurt me. I have to teach her a lesson because she fired Wen." My heart feels as though a blade has pierced straight through it. So, the disasters plaguing our weddings aren't coincidences. Everything—every single obstacle—has just been his twisted way of punishing me. Since he's willing to go this far for Wendy, I no longer want this forced marriage. Consequently, when I come to, and Jasper puts on his split-personality act, I simply look at his sworn rival, Mason Winslow, who is standing beside him. "Honey, who is he?" I ask calmly.

On the day I married Vera Barrymore, her precious first love got drugged and woke up missing a kidney. Vera disappeared for three days. When she came back, she brought Sebastian Cooper home with her, freshly diagnosed with depression. I swallowed my heartbreak and agreed to help her take care of him. I had to coax him to sleep every night and feed him one spoonful at a time. It wasn't until she asked me to give him one of our children that I finally snapped. That same night, Sebastian slipped me a fatal dose of sleeping pills. By the time Vera found me, I'd already stopped breathing. She held my body and sobbed, and still chose to cover for him. "This is what we owe him. If there's a next life, I swear I'll make it up to you." When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day Vera first asked if I'd agree to help her take care of Sebastian.

Right before bed, I stumbled across a post titled: [My wife has a second family on the side. What do I do?] Something made me click on it. According to the poster, his wife had grown busier over the past year, always traveling for work at the company's branch office. The money she handed over had grown too, and at first, it hadn't worried him. He'd just felt grateful that she was working so hard for their family. Then he saw a post about a man trying on a suit, and he recognized his wife's hand and the back of her figure in the photo at once. He was desperate, and he wanted to know what other people thought he should do. I scrolled further down, curious to see the true face of the woman he was calling a cheat. The next moment, my blood ran cold. Because even with the picture blurred out, I could tell it was the exact photo he'd used, the same one from my own post the week before.

When my best friend’s husband beat her, my boyfriend and I drove over a thousand miles through the night to get her out. We worked perfectly together. I threw the punches. He blocked the door. My best friend froze for a second, then jumped right into the fight with us. On the drive home, the three of us took one look at the bruises and scratches covering our faces and burst out laughing. But as she laughed, tears began streaming down her cheeks. “You two better not break up. If you do, who am I supposed to choose?” Ryan rolled his eyes from behind the wheel. “We’re doing just fine, thanks. We’re not breaking up. You should worry about yourself.” From that day on, Maya lived with me. I looked after her, helped her get back on her feet, and encouraged her to start a new life. Whenever Ryan saw me fussing over her, he’d jab a finger against my forehead. “Sophie, do you even remember that I’m your boyfriend?” Then I returned from a three-month business trip and found a pink beaded charm hanging in Ryan’s car. No matter how many times I asked, he refused to tell me who had made it for him. My expression hardened. “We’re done.” Then I turned to my best friend. “Come on. You’re leaving with me.” But her face went pale. Instead of coming to me, she walked toward Ryan.

I’ve cheated on my boyfriend, Julian, three times. The first time, I dumped him because he was broke and hooked up with his boss. The second time, I thought he was getting too old, so I went after a younger personal trainer. By the third time, I was just bored and wanted someone new. But right then, floating text flashed across my vision. “She has no idea he’s the missing heir to a multi-billion-dollar empire.” “Seriously. He gave her three chances to live in luxury, and she blew every single one.” I froze and looked at Julian. His fists were clenched and tears welled up in his bloodshot eyes. "Are you sure you want to leave me?" he asked. I shook my head, heart pounding. "What if I said... I'm mostly done cheating now? Would you forgive me?”

Gianna Connor and I make plans a month in advance to take my parents on a trip. My parents arrive in Havenport the night before the trip, worried they might miss our early departure and keep Gianna, their future daughter-in-law, waiting. The next morning, my parents and I wait downstairs early, but Gianna never shows up. Worried that something has happened to her on the way, I call her more than a dozen times, but she doesn't answer. On the 20th call, she finally picks up. "Everett's mom has a follow-up appointment today. I need to take her in for a full checkup. We'll have to do the trip another time." Before I can say anything, she hangs up. Dad smiles, trying to comfort me. "We'll just go another time." But Mom can't hide how much she's hurting for me. "Jayden, this isn't the first time she's stood you up for some old classmate. Are you sure you want to spend the rest of your life with a woman like that?" Dad shakes his head at Mom, then rests his hand on my shoulder and gives it a gentle pat. "Your mom and I will always have your back. We'll never stand in your way. Follow your heart and make the choice that's right for you. Whatever you decide, we'll support you." I look down at the engagement ring I've worn for eight years. Gianna, can I still trust you?

On the night I found out I was pregnant, I stumbled across a viral "Truth or Dare" challenge video online. In the comment section, my best friend had tagged my boyfriend. Erika McKnight: [Do you dare to tell her that the only reason you take off her hearing aid every night is that she won't hear you in my room next door?] David Frazier had replied almost instantly: [No. Erika, don't be crazy.] Erika: [Don't worry. I won't say a word, not since I'm dying. My only wish before I go is to see you two happy.] The comment section exploded with fury. What nobody knew was that years ago, a drunk caretaker at the orphanage targeted me as a kid. Erika had shoved me into a utility closet and locked the door from the outside. She had protected me that night. And David had turned down a famous university offer and given up studying abroad just to spend three whole years tutoring me so I could make it into college. I owed them far too much—so much that even after discovering they were seeing each other behind my back, hating them felt ungrateful. After closing the app, I received a phone call from the hospital, informing me that Erika was running out of time on the liver transplant list. As it turned out, I was a perfect donor match. I looked down at the other lab report resting in my lap. It showed that I was six weeks pregnant. I went to the hospital alone and signed the organ donation consent forms, alongside the paperwork to terminate my pregnancy.

My family is cursed. Every descendant is fated to die before turning twenty-seven. But the curse has a cure. If the person I truly love climbs Mount Elme and picks a stalk of the Everroot for me, drinking it will heal me completely. Mount Elme only reveals itself once a year. Keith Ryder had gone up five times to pick it for me. And I had waited five years for him to succeed. But every time I drank what he brought back, I collapsed almost instantly, foaming at the mouth and convulsing as I fell from my wheelchair. Each time, his eyes would go red as he looked down at me. "I'm sorry, Tori. I picked the wrong one again. But I promise, next time, I'll bring you the real Everroot." I believed him. This year, I turned twenty-seven. I drank the medicine with my whole heart set on it, and when I collapsed again, Mindy Bloom pointed at me and laughed. "Look at her twitching like that. It's like she's having a seizure! If it weren't for the weed Keith grabbed off the ground, I'd never have gotten to see a show this good." I stared at Keith, stunned. "What did she just say? A weed?" He looked back at me like I was the one in the wrong. "Mindy wanted to see it happen. What's the big deal?" My eyes went wide. My heart felt like it had been stabbed with a needle. "But you know I'm already," I started, only for him to cut me off. "Twenty-seven," he said, brow furrowing with irritation. "Isn't that exactly why you want me to marry you sooner? "Come on, Tori. Mindy's got depression. If I marry you right now, she'll feel insecure. "But I promise, once she's better, I'll bring you every miracle cure there is. Deal?" I looked quietly at his face while the wetness at the corners of my eyes dried on its own. He had no idea. I wasn't going to make it that long.

Everyone knew that whenever a daughter of the Holloway shipping dynasty got married, her family would launch a magnificent fleet of a hundred flower-decked ships to escort her to her wedding. The main ship carrying the bride was always decorated by her parents themselves. The more lavish the flowers, jewels, and ornaments, the more cherished the daughter was considered—and the more respect she'd receive from her husband's family. My bridal ship had been waiting for me for eight years. But over the course of eighteen wedding dates, every ceremony was ruined. Either my foster sister, Chloe Holloway, would "accidentally" smash a hole through the hull and leave it taking on water, or the sails would mysteriously snap just as the procession was about to depart. Before long, everyone believed I was nothing but a curse. After eighteen failed wedding dates, I decided to spend the night guarding the bridal ship myself. Instead, someone knocked me unconscious and threw me into the river. By the time I was pulled from the water and rushed to the wedding drenched from head to toe, the lead ship had already set sail. Chloe stood proudly at the bow while my parents raised the sails with their own hands, carrying her across the river to my fiance, Julian Sterling. The moment they saw me, my childhood friend, Mason Rowe, and my best friend, Natalie Hayes, blocked the entrance, refusing to let me through. Neither of them looked the least bit guilty. "We all planned the bride swap together," they admitted openly. "Make as much of a scene as you want. It won't change anything. "Chloe's parents died saving us. We owe it to her to fulfill her dream of getting married. Just be the bigger person." My brother, Ethan Holloway, looked at me with icy indifference. "Mom and Dad said that if you don't cause trouble today, we'll finally tell everyone you're not cursed. But if you insist on making a scene, don't expect to remain a member of this family. "And Julian made himself perfectly clear. If you ruin today's wedding, someone else will permanently be Mrs. Sterling." I clenched my fists so tightly my nails dug into my palms, refusing to let them see me cry. What Julian didn't know was that someone else had been waiting for me all along. He was never my only choice. And as for this family, I didn't want them anymore.

The first thing I do after regaining my memories and finding my family is share the good news with my wife, Christine Blackwell. However, I discover that the woman who has shared my bed for three years is already someone else's wife. The marriage certificate she registered with me three years ago is a forgery. The real marriage certificate is the one she secretly registered with Edison Whitman, the factory director's son. She tells me that Edison comes from a far better background. As a distant relative of the Carrington family in Regalton, he can provide opportunities that I never could. She tells me to stop making a scene. What she doesn't know is that the Carrington family in Regalton which she speaks of… is actually my family.

On the morning of my wedding, a man in a groom's suit showed up at my door. Before anyone could speak, he walked in and told my stylist to do his hair first. My groomsmen and I had no idea what was happening. When we asked who he was, he looked me up and down and smirked. "Meredith didn't tell you? I'm the groom today. You're not needed. You already got your name on the marriage certificate, right? Count your blessings and take the hint." I held it together and called Meredith Soames. Her voice on the other end was as gentle as ever, but it made my stomach turn. "I should've told you about Royce. But he was the one who was there for me when I had nothing. The marriage is yours. Your name's on the certificate. Just let him have the ceremony." That was when I realized that in the past five years, I had never truly seen her for what she was.

After I'd had one too many drinks at a work dinner, my wife sent the university student she was sponsoring to pick me up. It was the fifth time that month. Faith Cameron gritted her teeth through the smell of vomit I'd left all over her and got me into the bedroom before disappearing into the kitchen. Lying in bed, I pulled up a video that had just come through, bored out of my mind. In the dim light of the frame, my wife, Cassidy Solen, sat hunched over a glass, drinking away her irritation. Her voice was thick with annoyance. "Preston's flying back in two days, and I still can't shake the one at home. It's exhausting." A bitter ache rose in my chest, and I dragged a hand down my face. When I looked up, Faith had come in wearing a thin shirt, carrying a bowl of hangover soup. "Mr. Kempton, the soup's ready." I switched off my phone with a blank expression, then reached out and pulled her against my shoulder, chuckling. "You can finish the job tonight." The next morning, I posted to my social feed: [Turns out I've been way too hard on myself. Should've tried the sporty, full of energy type sooner.] The photo showed a bedroom in complete disarray. One minute later, my phone was ringing off the hook. My wife, who couldn't seem to shake me no matter how hard she tried, was calling nonstop.

I was a full-blown possessive psychopath, and so was the person I loved. By day, I worked diligently as his poker-faced secretary. By night, I used a burner account to flood him with messages, harassing him without restraint. After he rejected yet another one of my confessions through those texts, I took advantage of my position and impulsively installed 138 surveillance cameras in his home. I watched Cassian from every possible angle for an entire month. It was fun until I realized he seemed to be planning to imprison his crush. I was green with envy as I continued messaging him through my burner account. I even offered suggestions. "I once bought a set of incredibly practical chains. They're perfect for imprisonment. I guarantee that once your crush steps into your house, she'll never be able to leave. In exchange for sharing this great find, could you be my puppy for a month? Just one month." I waited for a long time after sending him the link to the chains. Alas, no reply ever came. Just when I thought Cassian would never respond to my alt account again, I woke up one day to find that I had been imprisoned. The chain bound around my ankle was exactly the one I had recommended. It didn't just end there, as I now had the dubious honor of being filmed by all 138 cameras I had installed in Cassian's home. I froze, completely stunned. 'What's going on? I'm the one Cassian wanted to imprison? I'm his crush?' As shock coursed through me, Cassian finally replied to my burner account. "Your chains work very well. Still, I'm sorry. I can't be your puppy. I only like my secretary."

In the fifth year of our marriage, my firefighter husband, Mike Anderson, who never had the time to have a wedding ceremony with me, suddenly found time to do so. On the day of the ceremony, I could not contact Mike at all. It all became clear when I saw the video that had been sent into the firefighter family members’ group chat. His junior, Mia Scott was holding his arm as he received a heroic award from the mayor. Everyone in the group chat was making envious remarks. [Chief Anderson’s wife is so beautiful. She doesn’t look like a regular house wife like my husband claimed to be.] [That’s right, she looks so elegant and poised. She must be a great wife to Chief Anderson.] My rough hands were trembling. I was just about to tell them I was Mike’s wife, when I heard a loud explosion from my kitchen. As the searing heat consumed me, I called him for help. However, he interrupted me impatiently. “Why are you bothering me? I lied to you about the wedding ceremony because I was afraid of you coming up with such nonsense. “Mia’s father died because he saved me, so I let her accompany me to receive the award as my wife. Isn’t that reasonable?” I was stunned. Then, he hung up on me.

A week before Christmas, I received a year-end report titled "My Business with Your Wife." [Item one: this year's goal was to sleep with your wife a hundred and fifty times. — Exceeded.] [Item two: get your wife to buy me a mansion and a luxury car. — Done.] [Item three: get your son to call me "Dad" ten times a day. — Exceeded.] [Item four: stand right in front of you and claim what's mine. — Done.] [Mr. Wolfe, I've been taking care of your wife and looking after your son too. So, are you going to give me a bonus, or step aside like a smart man?] He'd attached a photo, labeled it "family portrait." In it, Allyson Fowler had her arm looped through his, and my seven-year-old son stood in front of them. This guy was my son's kickboxing coach. Allyson walked in just as I finished reading that special year-end report. Nervous, she said to me, "Don't go looking for trouble with him. I was the one who made the first move. It's not his fault. Take it out on me any way you want, and I'll make it up to you however you ask." My blood ran cold. I just looked into her eyes and said, "I just want you to go back to how things used to be." Back to when she was broke, stuck in the mud with nothing. She misunderstood and let out a relieved breath. "Even with him around, I won't neglect you."

On the day of my wedding, my groomsman, Steve Hayes, asks my bride, Vera Johnson, three questions. Both she and her bridesmaids will get money and a gold necklace each if she answers the questions correctly. I assume that she's determined to win, but surprisingly, she gets the first question wrong. "What's Colin's shoe size?" "Size 9," Vera replies without hesitation. "What's Colin's favorite color?" "Blue." Everyone exchanges glances with each other, feeling a little awkward. Steve asks Vera the easiest question. "When did Colin graduate from university?" Everyone believes that Vera won't get this question wrong. After all, we are university classmates. "2013," Vera answers. "I gave him a protective charm from Mt. Cloudpeak as his graduation gift. There's no way that I'll forget that." Panic grips my heart at that moment. I glance at my best friend, Steve, who's dressed in a blue groomsman suit. There's a protective charm hanging on the necklace around his neck. Steve's eyes flash before he whispers, "Colin graduated in 2012. The one who was held back was me." I'm struck by a realization. The last hint of hesitation in my heart disappears. The corners of my lips curl up into a smile as I look down to send my family a message. "Mom, Dad, can you drive the car over? I'm not getting married anymore."

The night before our wedding, the planner suggested using AI to generate a personalized set of vows. He said that all it needed was ten years' worth of chat history between Lawrence Croft and me, and it would write vows that understood us better than anyone. I had been looking forward to it. Because over those ten years, I had written more than three thousand unsent notes. Notes about the cities I wanted to visit with him, the flowers I dreamed of growing, and the words I hoped to say on our wedding day. But when the screen lit up, the first line the AI read was, "Lawrence, thank you for always making me the most important person in your life." The signature at the bottom was Sienna Vane. Lawrence's childhood friend. The woman who, at every gathering over the years, had always been seated on his right. The room fell silent. With reddened eyes, Sienna hurried to explain, "I was just worried your wedding would feel too quiet, so I added a little of my chat history with Lawrence." Lawrence frowned and looked at me. "AI doesn't understand things like this. Don't take a machine so seriously." I did not say a word. Then the planner quietly asked him, "Mr. Croft… should I restore Ms. Lind's notes? You said they were too personal for the wedding, so I deleted them." A smile slowly spread across my face. So the love I had hidden for ten years had not even been worthy of being read aloud in his eyes. I slipped off my engagement ring and canceled the wedding livestream. I no longer wanted a love story trained on someone else.

My wife, Eira Primrose, has forgotten to disconnect the car's Bluetooth from her phone when she gets out to answer a call. A man's explicit, suggestive words echo through the vehicle. "Didn't you say you were coming over tonight? I bought some new toys. Are you sure you don't want to come over and try them with me?" I pause for a moment before reaching out and turning it off. The instant silence falls over the car, Eira teases the man on the phone without the slightest change in her expression. Yet, her gaze lingers on my face for a brief moment through the window. After hopping back into the car, she casually reaches over and straightens my collar. "I was actually planning to stay with you tonight. After all, you were just discharged from the hospital. Yet, you heard him too. He has many tricks up his sleeve, and he's super clingy, so do me a favor and drive yourself home, okay?" I nod. "Do you need me to drop you at his place?" Eira freezes for a moment. "Look at you, making progress. You're not causing a scene and giving me headaches like you did the previous eight times. However, you're my husband. Why would I make you do a driver's job?" Then, she leans in and pecks my cheek. The love bites just beneath her collarbone are faintly visible. "Forget it, babe. We're not heading in the same direction." I plaster a smile on my face. That's right. In the 30 seconds she spends answering that phone call, I accept a job offer overseas. For the rest of our lives, we won't be heading in the same direction.

Ahead of Thanksgiving weekend, my boyfriend of five years and I were getting ready to travel back to his hometown to meet his parents. While packing my bags, I stuffed every inch of room with carefully chosen gifts, pushing my luggage ten pounds past the weight limit. Remembering that Samuel Hogan's suitcase was still empty, I opened it up to transfer a few things over, only to find it already crammed with snacks, skirts, makeup, and tampons. I looked up at Samuel, who was playing online video games with his best friend, Serena Miller, wanting an explanation. I called out to him three times before he finally looked over at me. "Serena was going to be home alone and bored over Thanksgiving, so I invited her to come along with us," he said casually. "She had way too much stuff, so she stored it in my bag. If your luggage is overweight, just pay for the extra checked bag." Silently, I set down the gifts that had nowhere left to go and looked at the clueless man. He didn't know that those extra ten pounds were the final straw breaking us apart after all these years.

My camera could show what a person would look like three days in the future. When I photographed my parents, the picture showed them seated together at the wedding, hands clasped and pride shining on their faces. When I photographed my twin brother, he was bending down with a smile, arranging the train of the gown. When I photographed my best friend, Jessica, she wore a bridesmaid dress and recorded the ceremony through tear-filled eyes. Everyone looked radiant. The future seemed perfect. Thrilled by what I saw, I turned the camera toward my fiance, Mason Carter. The moment I pressed the shutter, everything inside me went still. I stopped breathing. In the photograph, three days from now, he was sliding a ring onto a woman's hand. It was not mine. The scar between her thumb and forefinger could belong to only one person. My adopted sister, Lily Reynolds. She was the bride at the wedding three days away. And everyone I loved had spent an entire year making a fool of me.