Short Romance Stories & Novels

Everyone in our circle knew I had always been obsessed with Daniel Rothman. I followed whatever he did—went to school, learnt eight different languages, studied finance. After all, the Rothmans and Fosters were destined to merge through marriage—our intertwined business empires depended on it. However, on our wedding day, Daniel flew overseas to rescue his crush in distress. Our childhood bond, once the envy of everyone, became the biggest joke of all. There I was, wearing a wedding dress worth millions, standing alone as I completed the grand ceremony by myself. The headlines were everywhere. For the first time, my name came before his in the news. How foolish. Men were a dime a dozen. But there was only one well-established business empire. I did not just want his body. I wanted his money, too.

My whole family only ever loved my younger sister, Carrie Brooks. Carrie had a crush on my fiancé, Josh Beaumont. On my wedding day, my mother pressed a knife to her throat, forcing me to give Josh to Carrie. "The fortune teller said Carrie's illness will get better if she gets married," Mom pleaded. "You're healthy. You'll find someone else." My brother, Nick Jansen chimed in. "Grace, don't be so selfish. Hurry up and take off the dress. Carrie's thinner than you. Make sure you don't stretch it out." Even Josh said, "Carrie doesn't have much time left. But Grace… we still have our whole lives ahead of us." They didn't know. The one who was truly dying… was me.

My mother-in-law gets into an accident and is taken to the emergency room. I call my attorney husband, but he only answers after over 20 missed calls. "What are you on about this time? Gigi has a bit of a problem, and I'm helping her. Stop being unreasonable." I suppress my grievance and say, "Mom's gotten into an accident. Transfer 100 thousand dollars to me." However, he believes Gigi Norris' lies and snarls, "What does your mother getting into an accident have to do with me? Don't even think of getting money from me to provide for your family. Now, leave me alone. I'm busy!" He hangs up, and my mother-in-law dies. Three days later, I see my husband in court. Gigi has been taken to court for driving under the influence, and he's there to defend her. He speaks eloquently and manages to get her off based on a lack of evidence. I lose hope in him and ask him for a divorce once the court is out of session. That's when he panics. "Think about how well my mother treats you! You'll break her heart by divorcing me!" I sneer. I throw the hospital bill and death certificate in his face. The idiot doesn't even know he no longer has a mother!

"You've undergone IVF six times to conceive this child, Ms. Caldwell. Are you sure you want to give up? Is Mr. Spencer okay with this?" "I'm sure he'll agree." Callista Caldwell's voice is hoarse after a sleepless night. She's never felt more awake, though. "I'll schedule the surgery for a week from now, then." It's Callista and Luther Spencer's wedding anniversary in a week. This is good—she can end things where they started. After booking her flight out of the country, she places her hand on her abdomen. There's a blossoming life in there. She's looked forward to this for the past five years. She never would've expected to give up on it before it could happen.

Three years ago, my father marries me off to Evan Blackwell, the CEO of Blackwell Group, for the family's interests. Everyone thinks I'm done for because Evan is known for being ruthless and cruel. Yet, he's nothing but gentle to me, and he never raises his voice at me. He even has my initials, SH, tattooed on his chest. Every year on our anniversary, fireworks bloom across the city right on the dot. They spell out my name and the loving words he dedicates to me. On our third anniversary, the fireworks suddenly replace my name, Selena Holloway, with Serena Harroway. Before I can ask about it, Evan immediately calls his subordinates and tears into them. "What's going on? How could you mess up my wife's name? Do you want to lose your jobs?" I hastily tell him it's fine and that the thought is what truly matters. In the end, he lets them off the hook. However, he pushes me until my legs are shaking and my voice is gone that night. When I wake from the night that leaves my whole body humming, he's already seated at his desk and buried in work. He asks me to grab a folder for him, yet I open the wrong drawer and stumble upon an old photo album. It contains intimate photos of him and a young woman who looks strikingly like me. There's a confession on the back of every single picture. "I miss you so much, Serena."

"Ms. Stout, please read the requirements carefully. Once you submit your personal profile and sign up, all of your information will be sealed. You must then enter the research institute within 15 working days. Until the research results are made public, you will not be allowed to leave." The response from the National Academy of Sciences Research Institute came quickly, accompanied by a form. Shermaine Stout stared at the screen, but the mouse in her hand suddenly felt as heavy as lead. The door to her room suddenly swung open, and Shermaine blinked, quickly closing the laptop without a trace of emotion.

For another girl, Lex Hamilton—my fiancé of several years—dumped me in the middle of nowhere and left me to fend for myself. Three years later, he showed up with her to bring me back. "It's been three years," he said. "Even a dog would've learned its lesson by now. I did this for your own good. If you don't fix that attitude of yours, don't expect to ever become my wife." They thought I'd crumble. They thought I'd beg, cling to him, and unload all the pain and humiliation I'd carried for the past three years. Instead, I smiled. "Sorry, Mr. Hamilton. I'm already married."

I once toyed with a college boy. When he fell in love with me, I ended things. Years later, after he made something of himself, he married me in front of everyone who thought I was lucky to have him. My family had fallen from grace, and to the outside world, I had won the jackpot. What they never saw was what happened behind closed doors. Every night, he brought a different woman home. I never cried. I never made a scene. That only seemed to enrage him more. So he went further. He got his first love, Natalie, pregnant on purpose. When I still stayed calm, he pinned me against the wall and demanded, "Stella, do you even love me?" Later, Natalie and I went into labor on the same night. I dropped to my knees and finally admitted I loved him, begging him to take me to the hospital. He held me tight, almost giddy with satisfaction. "I knew it," he said. "You liar." Then he shoved me aside, picked Natalie up, and walked away without looking back. "I'll take you to the hospital later. The pain of childbirth can be your punishment."

After being in love with Dylan for seven years, I planned to propose to him at his birthday party. But then I overheard him speaking to his friend in Italian: "You like Lydia? I'll give her to you. I'm tired of her anyway. Sarah is better—she's a dancer, young and sexy." He thought I couldn’t understand, but he didn’t know that I had learned Italian for him. I threw away the ring I had designed for him, tore apart the wedding suit I had sewn and left. Our friends were all speculating how long it would take before I came back. Dylan sneered with disdain, "She’s just an orphan with no family. Where could she go without me? Three days at most." But to his surprise, I never returned and found a new home.

I didn't think much of her during the interview but my boyfriend decided to hire her. Not only was her work substandard, but her attitude toward me was hostile. I found out later that she was his ex.

The day Eve Jones came back to town, Zac Gibson did not come home all night. The next day, I saw a post on her social media, showing a photo of two hands tightly intertwined, along with Zac’s peaceful, childlike sleeping face. When he finally came home, he threw divorce papers at me and said, "You’ve been standing in Eve’s place this whole time. Now that she’s back, it’s time for you to move on." It did not matter anymore. I was not going to live much longer anyway. Whoever wanted the title of "Mrs. Gibson" could have it. Later, I died. But Zac cried at my grave, kneeling, promising he would never hold anyone else’s hand again.

I found out I was pregnant in the middle of a fight with my husband. How should I tell him without embarrassing myself too much? I decided to ask the Internet, and the netizens gave me a ton of advice based on their years of experience reading novels. One, run away with your unborn baby. Two, pretend to gag over lunch. Three, put his number into the abortion registration form… When he came to me in a frenzy, I belatedly realized, ‘Crap, I think I went too far!’

Upon hearing about my husband's surgery, I braved a typhoon and torrential rain, driving four hours back to the city. When I arrived at the hospital, my husband, Xander Gray, was lying on the hospital bed, calling out loudly, "I want my wife! Get my wife here!" His buddies around him joked about how his wife had him completely whipped. Everyone said he loved me to death. Blushing, I walked over with a happy smile and held his hand, saying, "I'm here." To my surprise, he shook off my hand in disgust and snarled, "Get lost! You're not my wife! My wife is Beverly Long!"

I had been married to Adrian Foster for six years when I finally conceived his child. However, the doctor’s reaction upon hearing Adrian’s name left me frozen. "I clearly recall that Mrs. Foster already gave birth to a son here two years ago. She’s a famous actress, and she and Mr. Foster made the perfect couple." I stared at her in disbelief. "What are you talking about? We’re legally married. We have a certificate!" "There’s no mistake. Mr. Foster is someone notable, and he doted on his wife. He was always by her side." I stormed out of the hospital in anger, but my hope was shattered when the lawyer confirmed that my marriage certificate was a forgery. The world tilted into darkness. My ears rang, my surroundings blurred, and I could no longer hear a thing. At last, I understood. He had never been my husband. He had never once looked forward to the child growing within me. With shaking hands, I dialed my family’s number, and in my heart, I swore that this merciless liar would burn in hell.

On Christmas Eve, my father got the man I had secretly loved for ten years drunk and sent him to my bed. When I woke up the next morning, Roy pulled away from my attempt at a good-morning kiss. His voice was cold and distant as he agreed to marry me. After the wedding, Roy wasted no time submitting a transfer request. He took an overseas post and left. He did not return for five years. I gave birth to our daughter, Eve, alone and waited for him to come back home. When I heard that Roy had finally applied to return to a domestic position, I was overjoyed. I spent days preparing, imagining our first reunion as husband and wife. But even when the clock struck midnight, he still hadn't come home. Our daughter, ever so thoughtful, placed her most treasured possession—a photograph of Roy—into my hands. "Don't cry, Mommy," she said softly. "Look, Daddy's right here." I tried to convince myself that his absence was due to a delayed flight. But later that night, while watching the news, I saw him. He was on a crowded city street, holding a young girl in his arms. Beside him stood a woman, her smile soft and warm. Facing the camera, Roy said, "Being with them is my greatest wish." At that moment, something inside me broke. I wrote up the divorce papers, packed our things, and planned to take Eve to change her identity. I didn't want him anymore. The day before we left, a man I had never met came to see me. He was Roy's father. "You could call me Dad," he said, a faint smile playing on his lips. "But I'd rather you call me Ryan." I told him everything about the past five years—how I had waited, how I had hoped. When I finished, he laughed softly, an unusual warmth in his voice. "If it was just business," he said, "perhaps your father should have tied a bow around me and sent me to your bed instead. But I hold my liquor well—if I ever end up wrapped in a bow, you can be sure it's by choice."

When the earthquake struck on what should have been our fourth wedding anniversary, my supposedly devoted and family-oriented husband, Lionel Brooks, abandoned me and our children, who were trapped under the rubble. Despite our children's pleas for help, Lionel left without a second thought, carrying his former flame, Fiona Smith, and her daughter to safety. While Fiona and her daughter escaped with minor injuries, my precious children had their chests pierced by steel beams, leaving this world forever. It was such a twisted fate. What was meant to be a day of celebration turned into an annual day of mourning for my beautiful children. A week later, during my children's funeral, Lionel had the audacity to call and ask which hospital the kids were in. It was laughable—after ensuring Fiona and her child were comfortable and safe, he finally found time to check on his flesh and blood. I could only say, "You finally remembered your children after a whole week? Lionel, I hope you rot in hell."

The third year after I got diagnosed with intermittent amnesia, I happened to overhear my husband, Lucien Rook, chatting with his friends. “Lucien, Anneliese loses her memories every couple of months, and you keep making us impersonate you to live with her. Aren’t you afraid that one of us might take it all the way one day?” “What’s there to be afraid of?” Lucien laughed uninhibitedly, swishing the alcohol in his glass. “Annie is cold and distant. As long as you guys don’t tempt her, she won’t have any such desires. “But I’m warning you now. You can act all you want, but you can’t ever sleep with her. Once I’ve had my fun, I will be going home to her.” For three years, every time I lost my memories, Lucien was not the one who would hold my hand and embrace me, or even sleep with me in the same bed. In three years, I had lost my memories nine times, and nine men had pretended to be my husband. What they did not know was that my amnesia had been cured two years ago.

Caleb Lawson's childhood sweetheart, Yvette Grant, is pregnant. No one knows who the father is. Caleb decides to claim the child as his for the sake of her reputation. Meanwhile, my child turns into a bastard whose father is unknown. "Yvie has always been obedient—getting pregnant out of wedlock is too cruel a fate for her. She won't be able to accept the criticism and mockery." His simple explanation turns our five-year relationship into a joke. Later, my family bring me to the hospital for an abortion. Caleb stays by Yvette's side, caring for her like she's a precious treasure. By the time he gets home, I've already aborted the baby and left him.

It's my husband, Niall Luther's birthday. I take my son to the hospital to visit Niall since he's working late; I want to surprise him. However, we get into an accident on the way there. When I rush to the hospital with my bloodied son in my arms, I see Niall holding his first love's daughter. He coos at her and says, "This might be a small wound, but there's a risk of infection if it isn't handled well!" His first love, Chelsea Blanc, gives him a chiding look. "You treat Lulu so well that I'm getting jealous." Niall wraps an arm around her. "It's only because I love you. You're the one I love the most." I pull out my phone and call him. He keeps his arm around Lulu White and rejects my call. So, I text him, telling him our son is injured and has been taken to the hospital where he works. I tell him he needs to attend to our son. However, he berates me for lying. I have no choice but to take my son elsewhere for treatment. Before leaving, I see Niall kiss Chelsea tenderly and tell her he wants to take her to an amusement park. That's when I know he and I are over.

The princess of Oberlin City scorns the poor, and I'm the biggest thorn in her side—I live in squalor but am specially admitted by a prestigious college meant for the rich. "What right does a peasant like you have to study at the same college as me?" Nails appear on my seat, and the shampoo in my bathroom is switched to glue. Chantelle Gorman even daringly tries to ram me over at the campus entrance—all because I'm a poor young woman from the countryside. To survive, I set my sights on her father, a perfect gentleman. He's a domineering CEO who's never had a shortage of women in his life. It's too bad he has no other children besides Chantelle. Chantelle thinks I'm a piece of trash who'll get kicked to the curb after a night of pleasure, but she doesn't know how easily the women in my family conceive. I give birth to seven sons and a daughter for the domineering CEO. How can Chantelle possibly go up against me and my eight children?