Short Romance Stories & Novels

When I propose to Hailey Morgan for the 18th time, she turns me down for the sake of her childhood friend, Eric Dawson, once again. We've been dating for eight years. So far, I've proposed 18 times to her. But whenever the proposal takes place, Hailey keeps saying that Eric is depressed, so she can't leave his side. As I look at the ring, I can't resist asking, "If Eric is depressed for the rest of his life, does this mean you won't marry me in this lifetime?" Hailey gets mad at me right away. She snatches the ring before throwing it at the floor. "He's my childhood sweetheart! I can't just ditch him, can I? Besides, you've already endured my rejection 17 times! Can't you just keep enduring it for my sake?"

I was nine months along and ready to give birth, but my husband, Sean Conner, had me locked in the basement storage room and told me to hold the baby in. He said it was because his late brother’s wife, Quinn Faber, was also due today. Years ago, Sean and his brother had agreed that the first child born to the Conners would be raised as the heir and inherit the family inheritance. “Quinn’s baby must come first,” Sean said as if it were nothing. “She lost her husband and has nothing. You already have my love. It’s only right that the inheritance goes to her child.” The pain from the contractions folded me over, and I cried, begging him to take me to the hospital. He wiped my tears with a dangerously calm voice. “Stop the act,” he snapped. “I always knew you didn’t love me. All you care about is money and status. You forced labor to happen early so you could steal my nephew’s place… How can you be so cruel?” White-faced and shaking, I managed to whisper, “I can’t control when a baby comes. It’s a coincidence. I swear I don’t care about the inheritance. I love you!” He let out a cold laugh. “If you loved me, you wouldn’t have pushed Quinn to sign that contract relinquishing her child’s inheritance. Fine. Once she has her baby, I’ll come back for you. After all, the child in your belly is my blood.” Sean stayed outside Quinn’s delivery room. Only after the newborn arrived did he remember me. He ordered his secretary to take me to the hospital, but the secretary’s voice trembled as he said. “Madam… and the baby… They’re both gone…” At that moment, Sean lost his mind.

I accidentally break the glass that my husband's true love gave to him. As punishment, he sends me to a place where the upper crust groom their playthings. He wants me to go there as an apology to his true love. I suffer inhumane treatment there. Later, I manage to escape and am brought to the hospital. That's where I find out I'm pregnant.

We had been married for three years, yet my husband, Richard Thornton, who suffered from touch deprivation syndrome, still refused to consummate our marriage. Every time his condition flared up, he would only press his forehead tightly against the curve of my neck. I assumed he was saving himself for his first love, the woman who had left years ago. Then, I overheard him talking to his friends. "Stop teasing her next time. It makes her tense up every time." "Got it, Richard. But if you care about Valeria so much, why won't you touch her? It's been three years. Aren't you worried she'll leave you for someone else?" Richard shook his head. "You don't understand. The longer we're together, the harder it is to control myself around her. She's so delicate. I'm terrified I'll hurt her. As long as she's mine, I wouldn't care even if she slept with someone else first." His friends burst out laughing. "Richard, you're all talk. If you could really handle her being with another man, you wouldn't keep running to the hospital. You think we don't know what you're up to?" The next day, I found Richard's medical records. Visit after visit, he kept asking the same question, "How can I be gentler in bed? I don't want to hurt the woman I love."

My girlfriend and I were reborn, returning to the cramped basement apartment we rented right after graduation. We silently walked out the door together, neither of us mentioning staying together. She went abroad with her childhood sweetheart to further her studies while I stayed behind, grinding away at my company. Seven years later, she became a rising young designer with a bright future and a happy family. I was still grinding away at the same company. When we met again, she clung to her childhood sweetheart's arm, looking down at my slightly disheveled state with a mocking smile. "Long time no see. How did you end up looking like a beggar?" I ignored her. However, later, when the powerful, world-renowned CEO of a top design firm clung to my arm, acting sweetly, her face twisted with panic. "Alex Prescott! How can you be so close with another woman?!"

My husband, Matthew Lorenzo, dies unexpectedly. Soon after, my in-laws come to me with an outrageous suggestion. "Why not let Matthew’s twin brother take you in and look after you? After all, your child needs a father." My sister-in-law, Felicia Dare, furiously calls me a shameless woman. I turn to look at Matthew's brother, Michael Lorenzo. It's like staring at Matthew's face all over again. The grief hits me hard. Just as I'm about to talk my in-laws out of this ridiculous idea, I overhear a conversation behind the door between them and "Michael". "Michael was the one who died. Why did you lie and let everyone think it was you?" Matthew sighs. "The one I love is Felicia. Faking my death was the only way I could be with her openly. And as for this nonsense about taking Luna in and looking after her—drop it. "As for Luna, I gave her a child and a respectable marriage. I don't owe her anything." I turn around and see my daughter standing there with her eyes red. She asks, "Mommy, does Daddy not want us anymore?" I kneel down, gather her into my arms, and hold back the ache in my chest. "Sweetheart, your uncle just wants to protect the person he loves. We shouldn't disturb him; it's time we start our new life."

My husband's beloved lover suffered from menstruation complications. A traveling doctor claimed that a fresh placenta was needed to cure her. His gaze fixated on my seven-months-pregnant baby bump. And thus, I was pinned down on the bed as they ripped the placenta from my body. My son was carelessly tossed aside. He didn't even get the chance to cry before his tiny body fell silent forever. My husband pinched his nose in disgust, frowning as he looked at me—bleeding out, feebly reaching for my child. “It’s just a premature baby. He'll be fine after a few days of care. Why are you making such a fuss? Sandra is waiting for her medicine." He left and locked the door behind him without looking back. He claimed it was a lesson I needed to learn. By the time he finally remembered us, my son and I had long since bled dry, our bodies cold and stiff.

The day our daughter had a high fever, Matt was at a parent-teacher meeting for his first love’s son. I called him, only for her to pick up. Through sobs, she apologized, but Matt quickly grabbed the phone, his tone impatient. "She’s a single mom with a kid. What’s wrong with me looking out for them?" So, I turned to my daughter, who was quietly receiving her IV, and asked softly, "How about it, sweetheart? From now on, it’s just you and me."

I was born with a strange condition. I couldn't recognize faces and could only identify people by their clothes. Vincent Lancaster, my boyfriend, never minded. He said it didn't change the way he loved me. That was, until our wedding day. He answered a phone call. His childhood friend, Grace Langley, was in labor, life hanging by a thread, and she demanded he come immediately. My voice shook with despair. "Vincent! If you drive away now, we'll never be husband and wife!" But he left anyway, not looking back. Grace had always loved seeing him in white, so he threw aside the black suit I had sewn for him with my own hands and changed into white. A year later, Vincent returned. By then, my belly was swollen with life, and I was holding onto another man while hosting a baby shower. And the man wore the black suit Vincent had thrown away. Vincent went mad, claiming he was my husband, but no one believed him.

On the same day I was admitted into the hospital for my pregnancy, my husband, Charles Page, received 108 missed calls on his phone. It was from Sue, his mentee, a girl who had cancer. I asked if he was going to pick up, and he replied impatiently, "All she does is call me all day! Doesn't she have any other family? She's so annoying." Later, that very girl posted a photo of herself on the hospital rooftop, wearing a white dress. The caption said: [If I jump down from here, will I become a butterfly in my next life? Maybe then, everyone won't hate me.] Charles only glanced at the post before chuckling mockingly. "What does she mean, turn into a butterfly? Is she delusional?" But after that, he grew visibly restless, before rushing out and not returning all night. That night, I hemorrhaged and was taken into emergency care. When the nurse asked if I wanted to keep the baby, I looked at the empty space beside me and answered calmly. "No, I don't."

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.

My best friend and I marry into the Xylander family at the same time. Everyone says we're lucky. My best friend's husband is a master negotiator, while my husband is a bomb disposal expert. Their enemy abduct us after we've just discovered we're pregnant. He ties bombs to our bellies. When our husbands negotiate with the abductors, they choose to save Melinda Sutton, a woman they grew up with. The bombs are detonated, and we're gravely injured. After surviving the explosion, we decide to get divorced together.

I'm in the middle of my pediatric shift when an emergency call comes in. A three-year-old boy arrives, hemorrhaging and unconscious from a car crash, but there is no matching blood type in the bank. Then, it hits me that my husband, Ethan Stone, has the same blood type, so I ask him to donate blood right away. When he arrives and stands frozen to the spot, I can no longer hold back my rage. "What are you waiting for? Saving his life is the priority here!" That's when the boy's mother sprints over and screams, "No! Close family can't donate! He's the boy's father!"

My billionaire husband suffered from chronic insomnia for years. Only the sleep balm I made could help him sleep. On the night of our seventh wedding anniversary, his childhood sweetheart poured a basin of scalding water over the old camphor tree in our garden. I wept and tried to save the tree as she apologized, “I didn’t know you used its leaves to make the sleep balm.” My husband gently comforted her and ordered his men to tie me to the tree trunk instead. “What a precious tree. You’ll spend the rest of your days with it!” With my wrist fractured as a result, I filed for divorce immediately. A month later, my husband was unable to sleep late one night. He stood in the garden and stared at the withered camphor tree.

My husband, Jonathan Rivers, was a notorious playboy in Polesburg's elite circles. Beautiful women surrounded him constantly, yet he claimed to have fallen for me at first sight, saying it was a love that would last forever. He dismissed all the other women around him for my sake. Everyone said I was his destined soulmate. Seven years into our marriage, I had seven abortions for him, simply because he said he did not like children. Then on Father's Day, I saw him on his secretary's social media feed. The same man who claimed to be away on business was there with a child beside him, calling him "Daddy" loudly. It turned out that when he said he did not like children, he meant that he did not like children with me. I dialed his number through tears. "Do you want another wife?"

Tamara Winslow stands amid the crowd while clutching two different documents in her hand. One of them shows a diagnosis report on her alexithymia, while the other showcases a divorce agreement. Three hours ago, she had specifically visited the Clerk's Office because the hospital's system had shown her marital status as "divorced". The city clerk looks up at her. "Ma'am, it's true that you and Mr. Braxton Merrick got divorced three years ago." Tamara's expression freezes on her face. "How could that be? We got married three years ago!" The city clerk checks the details once again. This time, he adapts a rather awkward tone. "The results are correct. It's true that you got divorced three years ago. In fact, it took place… on the seventh second right after you got married…"

Everyone knew William had turned his back on the entire Jamison family for me. He refused the marriage alliance with the Wyndham family in public, and the Jamisons locked him up for it. He even lost his right to inherit. When they finally released him from the cellar, he collapsed into my arms, pale and shaking. "Stephy, even if I die, I will never marry anyone else." Later, the Jamisons relented. Since I could not have children, they agreed to let us be together on one condition: William had to give Elvira an heir. From that day on, he repeated the same words to me: "Just wait a little longer." The first time, I caught him and Elvira in bed with my own eyes and broke down on the spot. He held me and said, "Just wait. She'll be pregnant soon." The second time, after she safely gave birth to a daughter, he said, "Father still wants a grandson. Just wait a little longer." Hence, I kept waiting. I continued to serve Elvira. I saw the marks on her neck every day and said nothing. By the third spring, she finally gave birth to a son. I thought everything was finally over. But at the baby's one-month celebration, he suddenly went into allergic shock. Everyone decided I was responsible. William locked me in the cellar with his own hands. Then he looked at me with cold eyes and said, "Stephanie, no matter how desperate you were, you should never have hurt my child." At that moment, I finally understood how ridiculous I had been all those years. Thus, when the cellar door opened again, I called his father, Brent Jamison. "Didn't you always want me gone? Fine. I'll leave. But I'm leaving clean. And when I'm gone, William will never find me again."

In the final second before the elevator crashed down, my husband finally picked up my desperate call for help. I begged him, who was in charge of elevator maintenance, to save me. "That elevator was just serviced. What game are you playing?" he snapped. "Wasn't your silent treatment so strong? Keep going and stop bothering me. It's Marina's birthday today." I never reached out to him again. I died. Later, he'd have given anything just to see me one more time.

I was once the best undercover agent in the police force. But during the final raid of my career, I was betrayed and killed by my husband's first crush. From that moment on, the world believed I was a traitor. My name, my honor, everything I had fought for, was erased. Now, even in death, I watched as they lived the life they stole from me. And I was left with one burning question: how had I ever fallen so far?

It was my twentieth birthday. My father presented me with the photos of many rich heiresses across the nation. He wanted me to pick the one to have a political marriage with. I told him I wanted to leave that in the hands of fate. Why? In my previous life, I picked Rachel Osborne, an heiress from Shampton. And I did that without hesitation. After we got married, I found out her true love, Zacharias Newman, had gotten himself drunk at a bar. The reason? He was heartbroken that we got married. And while he was drunk, a robber mugged him and cut off his hand's tendons. He tried to kill himself three times, and who did my wife blame? Me. She extracted my family's assets and gave them all to her beloved. My family was left as an empty husk. And she let him cut our brake lines. Thanks to him, my family and I died in a horrifying car crash. This was my second life. This time, I chose Seraphina Oliviera, an heiress from Fortunopolis. She was someone who couldn't care less about worldly matters and was a God-fearing woman. Eventually, I showed up at the engagement with Seraphina, but that apparently drove Rachel mad.