Short Romance Stories & Novels

After my parents died in a car crash, my cousin stole the compensation money and moved overseas to start a business. My aunt begged me on her knees not to call the police. Then, she locked me in a dark basement for three months. I was close to breaking down and ending my life when Julien Lawson, the neighbor’s son, broke down the basement door and saved me. “Joyce, what they did is unforgivable! They stole the compensation money for your parents’ deaths. You were going to use it to open your own studio! “Marry me. I’ll protect you.” He was the only person who cared about me after my parents died. I was so grateful that I married him and had his child. I worked three jobs during the day to help support the orphanage that Julien ran. At night, I took care of our child and created design sketches. But no matter how hard I tried, none of my work was ever accepted. Even though Julien told me to keep at it, I felt discouraged and thought of giving up on my design career to focus on our family. One day, our child was sick. I went to take over the shift from Julien when I overheard him talking to my aunt on the stairs. “Julien, it’s been ten years. Joyce’s designs are getting better and better. She even passed the first round of the national competition. Are you really not going to tell her about the next round?” my aunt asked. Her voice trembled. Julien said coldly, “For years, I’ve been sending Joyce’s design sketches to Mindy to copy and enter in the competitions or publish as her own. “To help Mindy’s career, I can’t let Joyce move on to the next round. “Joyce has talent. If people notice her, she’ll be a threat to Mindy’s career!”

My first reaction when I encountered the landslide was not to run, but to immediately call Ethan. After all, Ethan always nagged at me, and I can almost hear him saying, "You can't do anything right; I always have to come to help." The phone rang for ages before it finally connected, and by then, the landslide had knocked me to the ground. "Yes? What is with you? Calling eight hundred times a day… Don't you ever get tired of it? I told you I'm working; I don't have time. "Hello? If you're not going to say anything, I'm hanging up. I've got other things to do." Beep, beep! Before I could say a word, Ethan impatiently scolded me. Typical. That had been Ethan Lang's attitude five years into our marriage. He might not have to put up with me anymore after this, though, because I might never see him again......

It's considered public knowledge that the CEO of Nextronics, Spencer Ford, is totally and utterly smitten with his wife, Nikita Young. Case in point: the very first digital voice assistant that Nextronics launched was called Nikki. Nextronic's newest launch, a smartphone that would revolutionize the tech industry, was to be named the Niko Ultra. Spencer seemed born to be a perfect husband—loving, devoted, and affectionate towards her. That was until she caught him in bed with his assistant. Nikita snapped out of the haze and realized a startling truth—promises could be broken, no matter how sincere the person who made them appeared. "I want to terminate this pregnancy. I don't want to bring this child into the world." "Give me ten days, and I will leave him."

I'd spent an entire year preparing for my son Tristan Pascall's spot at a top international school. By the final admissions review, I had every single document ready. All that was missing was the original copy of Richard Pascall and my marriage certificate. Once we handed that in, it would be official. But when we got to the admissions office, Richard turned on me, accusing me of arranging this without telling him. Before I could clap back, the admin frowned and said, "Ma'am, according to the system, Mr. Pascall's spouse isn't you." My whole body went cold. And then Iris Poole—who had been standing behind Richard this whole time—stepped up and slid her marriage certificate across the counter. The staff checked it, nodded, and said, "Mr. Pascall, Ms. Poole, your registration date is June, four years ago. Everything looks fine. You may proceed." June, four years ago. That was the exact month Richard held my hand in front of all our friends and family at our engagement party and promised I was his one true love. He had lied to me about that for the past seven years.

A year ago, when Bailey Knight's side girl, Lucy Day, showed up in front of me, causing a scene, he had his people beat her until she lost the baby and tossed her out. Then he groveled before me for three straight hours, begging me to forgive him. Looking at the man I'd loved for ten years, looking so pitiful and broken, I eventually caved. Later, I caught Lucy sneaking around Bailey's villa in the suburbs, so I had her thrown out again. Three days before our wedding, Bailey grabbed me by the neck and shoved me up against the railing on the second-floor balcony, yelling so hard that his voice broke. "We already took Lucy's baby once! She can't handle it happening again. She's fragile. You're a woman—how can you not understand that? "I've given you the title of Mrs. Knight. I'd give you my life. Isn't that enough? Why can't you just accept her?" The next second, his secretary ran up to say they'd found Lucy. He shoved me down the stairs. The pain when my arm snapped made me feel like my whole body was being torn apart. But he didn't even look back. Staring at the cold, heartless man in front of me, I felt something inside me go completely dead. I picked up my phone and called Arnold Greenwood. "I don't wanna marry him anymore. Come get me."

My name is Greta Ellsworth. In my past life, my best friend, Poppy McKellen, and I both married into the Lockwood family. They are a prestigious household with a long-standing legacy in alternative medicine. Poppy marries the eldest son, Bruce Lockwood, while I marry the younger son, Owen Lockwood. Poppy gives birth to three children with Bruce. They each grow up to be prodigies in medicine. Meanwhile, I have only one daughter with Owen—Wendy Lockwood. Sadly, Wendy struggles with even the most basic math and isn't very bright. Owen's pride takes over, and he is left feeling utterly embarrassed. Years later, I take Wendy to a medical symposium. When she shyly whispers, "Dad," the crowd erupts in laughter. Enraged and humiliated, Owen stabs Wendy to death. Before I can react, he turns my way and strikes me down as well. When I open my eyes again, I realize that both Owen and I have been reborn. I take in the scene of our families' matchmaking event once more. This time, Owen reaches for Poppy's hand and says, "I like you. Will you marry me?"

My newlywed husband forces me, a late-stage liver cancer patient, to drink hard liquor just to please his secretary. When the secretary later stages a setup, pretending to take a knife for him, she loses too much blood. In a panic, he demands that I give her a blood transfusion. I name my price—ten million dollars. He sneers. "Your blood really is worth its weight in gold, huh?" Of course it is. A liver cancer patient's blood doesn't come cheap. Later, when his precious secretary crashes into my car, he mocks me again. "You caused the accident on purpose, didn't you? Stop pretending—you just want more money. Wendy Yaeger, you disgust me." I'm done. All I want now is to get that divorce certificate before I die, but he looks down at me with disdain. "Don't use such pathetic tricks to get my attention. You're not even qualified to negotiate with me." Fine. Once I'm dead, the marriage will end on its own.

When my best friend died, his wife, Mia Lewis, was eight months pregnant. Mia said she didn't want her baby growing up without a father. I owed my best friend my life. He saved me, literally pulled me from death's door. So I stepped up, marrying Mia and raising their son as my own. Mia loved her career, so I quit mine. Traded my job for diapers and school runs. For seven whole years, I cooked, cleaned, folded laundry, and handled the housework. Rain or shine, sickness or health, I was there—every single day. Mia, though? She stayed cold, distant. Her warmth only surfaced in the bedroom—and even then, it was a flicker, never a flame. Just soft sighs and breathy murmurs, like she was playing a role she couldn't wait to finish. Afterward, she would quietly check the condom, as if she couldn't trust me. Then came New Year's Eve. A snap. A tear. A broken condom. Her fury struck like a thunderclap. She locked me out on the balcony, left me standing in the freezing rain, soaked to the bone as the wind howled like a wounded beast. Teeth chattering, I shivered as I watched the door like a dog, waiting to be let in. Then I saw him. Our boy, Ethan Bailey. Six years old. My son, at least in name. He came running with an umbrella in his hand. For a second, my heart leapt. 'Maybe, just maybe…' But he didn't even look at me. Just walked past in silence and handed the umbrella to the nanny heading out. Right then and there, something inside me cracked. I knew it was time to go.

My mother fell critically ill and was rushed to the hospital. Desperate, I knelt before my fiancé—the department's chief surgeon—and begged him to take charge of her operation. But outside the ICU, he was carefully tending to a scraped knee. Lucy Wendell's scraped knee, to be exact. Just as I was drowning in hopelessness, Cameron Mitchell—the hospital director and my childhood friend—pushed open the operating room doors and handed me a marriage proposal. "Marry me, and I'll personally perform your mother's surgery." With trembling hands, I signed my name, clinging to the last shred of hope that she could be saved. But she never made it through that stormy night. Cameron handled all the funeral arrangements himself, and our wedding proceeded as scheduled. Seven years later, in the hushed silence of the hospital archives, I overheard Cameron speaking with the deputy director. "Cameron, why did you transfer your mother-in-law's organ to Lucy's mother during that surgery? Weren't you afraid of getting caught?" "I owed Lucy," he replied. "If I hadn't hesitated back then, Lucy never would've chosen medical aid work in Africa… and her mother wouldn't have fallen ill from the grief."

My name is Hazel Falken, and I am the only daughter of the Base Commander during the apocalypse. Even though it is the apocalypse, I am still spoiled left and right by my family and raised to be their little princess at home. My dad, Ernest Falken, is worried that I will marry into a family that will mistreat me. So, he decides to choose four husband candidates and bring them up in our own home for me to pick from when I'm older. In my past life, I chose Curtis Granger, whom I have liked for a long while, when Dad asked me to pick my husband. However, not long after our marriage, Curtis volunteers himself as a guard to be stationed outside the base perimeter. He never returns home after that, and I am left living as a widow in the safety of the base's inner district. 30 years later, when my hair has turned fully white, I decide that I can't wait for him anymore and go out to find him. I then realize that he has formed another family outside the base without my knowing. It then dawns on me that Curtis never liked me. He had also only married me because he wanted to repay Dad for bringing him up. Not long after that, a wave of zombies attacks us. Curtis pushes me down and shields me under his body. "Hazel, I know that I never should've lied to you. I'll give up my life to repay the kindness that Commander Falken has shown to me. "But if there is a next life, I hope that you won't pick me again." When I open my eyes again, I find out that I have travelled back in time to the day when Dad asks me to pick my husband. "Hazel, these four people are my right-hand men. Whom would you like to pick as your husband?"

Seven years into our marriage, my husband, Lucas Thorne, is hailed as a legendary astronomer in the field of astronomy. It is no secret that he absolutely adores me, his wife. He always keeps a polite, distant demeanor with those around him. Even when his new assistant, Serena Cox, asks for his number, he coldly turns her down. In the year he proposed to me, he named a star "LAW", which was an acronym for "Lucas Adores Wilma". Since then, every asteroid he discovers is named with initials that hold a special significance only the two of us know. To others, they might just be scientific achievements. But to me, they are unspoken love letters. This goes on until this morning, when I stumble upon an unfamiliar phone. I unlock it easily with my middle name, thinking it's yet another quiet gesture of his love. But to my horror, I find a string of explicit messages between him and another woman. The person who was at the receiving end of those messages was none other than… Serena, his assistant.

My boyfriend, Zayne Jefferson, is particularly gifted in certain ways. Every time we're intimate, he insists on trying something new. More than once, he gently coaxes me, saying, "Once you graduate, we'll get married." And I believe him. I throw myself into my studies, pushing hard to finish my credits early. At the same time, I secretly watch all kinds of videos at night and read up on techniques. I want to keep his body satisfied. One night, I stay up too late studying and miss curfew. I run to the bar to find him, where I overhear him chatting with his friends. "Zayne, is your girlfriend really that wild in bed?" one guy asks. "Of course. He trained her himself!" another guy says. "What about Yasmin?" Zayne exhales a stream of smoke, his eyes soft. "She's different. She's pure." In that moment, I begin to hate him. Back on campus, I make a call to my professor. "That secret program you mentioned… I want in." From this day on, my life belongs only to my career.

The pills I keep by my bedside have been swapped with vitamins. I almost die after getting a heart attack. After the stent surgery, I ask my husband, Evan Whitmore, to find out who did it. I just want the truth. However, he doesn't even look up and just brushes me off. "It was just a mistake. Cecilia probably grabbed the wrong bottle. She bought those vitamins for me. "Don't push this. She has asthma. She can't handle stress." I stare at him in shock, my chest tightening. I can't tell if the pain is from my healing heart or from the words he just threw at me. Cecilia Monroe is his secretary, and he always takes her side. That moment is when I realize that our five years of marriage mean nothing to him at all.

The golden boy of high society once stopped a plane for me. And I? I once ran away while pregnant, disappearing for three years. We got married. Nine years later, a younger, stunning woman appeared by his side. She was vibrant and fearless, joining him in all his wild adventures. Meanwhile, I had become a stay-at-home mom, spending my days making sure our daughter didn’t eat junk food. My husband said in disappointment, “Elaine, you’re not the woman you used to be.” Even our daughter complained. “Miss Snow is smart, gorgeous, and makes her own money. But you? You just rely on my dad.” The next morning, I grabbed my ID and filed for divorce. They must have forgotten that at twenty-two, I had the guts to jump off a cliff into the ocean just to break free, and at thirty-five, I would still have the strength to start over.

Nissa Sullivan was born mute, yet by chance managed to marry rich, becoming Mrs. Jules, wife of Benjamin Jules. However, she knew full well that Benjamin held no love for her. Naturally, Benjamin got together with his first love, Charlotte Quinn, when she returned to the country. Nissa, knowing full well that it was time she left, chose to hide her pregnancy result and make room for Charlotte.

My stepson pushes me down from the second floor, all because I accidentally break a bowl. He stands over me, looking down with a cold, emotionless gaze. "You're just a stand-in my grandfather forced on us. Don't even think about replacing my mother!" I stare up at the boy I've raised for eight years, and his indifference cuts deeper than any wound. Blood slowly trickles down from my forehead. Fighting through the pain, I dial a number. "Whatever debt I owed has been paid. It's time for me to leave." Coincidentally, I already have the divorce agreement that his father has signed.

While I was bleeding heavily from my miscarriage, the hospital needed a family member to sign some documents urgently. The nurse frantically called my husband on my phone. After more than ten rejected calls, he finally answered, his voice a frustrated yell, "I'm busy! Don't bother me with these little things!" When we tried calling again, I realized he had blocked my number. Despite the pain, I forced myself to sit up and sign the papers. Tragically, our baby couldn't be saved. Later, I saw a viral video of my husband kissing his childhood sweetheart under fireworks. "It was just a silly joke," she said, "but he surprised me by lighting up the whole city with fireworks as a present!" Seeing their matching wedding rings, I wordlessly slipped off the simple ring I'd worn for five years and threw it in the bin. After coming so close to death, he was now insignificant to me.

Commander Samson Gardner was my fiance. In his family was an iron-clad rule—no divorces. Before my brother died, his last wish was for Samson to marry me. So, even after falling in love with his childhood sweetheart, Samson still decided to marry me as promised. However, everything changed the day said childhood sweetheart destroyed the only watch my brother left me. When Samson sided with her again, I didn't argue. I simply reached out to my mentor overseas and started preparing to become a foreign correspondent. Before leaving, I gave myself ten days to put things in order. On the first day, I quietly hid the marriage application I was supposed to submit. On the third day, I turned in my resignation to the military. The day I was to leave, Samson finally remembered the watch and promised to take me to buy a new one on his next day off. Right after that, he ordered me, "Celia is inviting friends over for dinner tonight. Make sure the food is ready before you go." I agreed with a smile—and then never showed up in his world again. Afterward, Samson would stare blankly at the marriage application inside his drawer every time he saw my name in the news. There, within his drawer, were the memories of an autumn not yet fully arrived, the lover he could never win back, and the watch he could never give...

The day after we set our wedding date for the tenth time, my fiancé reached past me to kiss his adopted sister. He presented crimson roses to her as she descended from the stage. "My princess, in this lifetime, I'll only ever be your protector." I stood quietly beyond the cheering crowd, then turned and walked away without looking back. After five years of engagement, this was the moment I finally gave up hope.

On Children's Day, the most popular social media post is about me. The caption is: "Mr. Shane Norton spends his birthday with his son David Norton and his first love, Ruth Feynman. Has he finally decided to divorce Ayla Sanderson?" I quietly press the "like" button. When my phone rings, I'm in the midst of taking down the balloons I put up for our wedding anniversary. "Honey." My husband sounds anxious as he tries to explain himself. "David suddenly insisted that we go to a theme park, so I—" In the background, I hear David laughing. "Dad, Ruthie says that I can sleep with her tonight!" I look at the mess in the house. The balloons are drooping, and the cream on the cake is congealed. "You don't have to explain," I hear myself say. "I understand." It's just that this time, I don't want you or David any longer, Shane.