Short Romance Stories & Novels

Keaton Rourke and I get in a car accident. My liver ruptures, and I'm drenched in my blood. Teresa Bellamy, my wife, leaves me to die and runs off to save Keaton, who only has a scratch on his forehead. I'm unconscious and clinging to life in the emergency room, but Teresa fusses over how to keep Keaton's forehead from getting a scar. I wake up feeling nothing but disappointment and toss the divorce papers right in her face. She rips the divorce papers to pieces like a lunatic and makes it clear that divorce will only happen over her dead body. I used to bend over backward to make her happy. Now I'm ready to divorce her, no matter what it takes.

After the cruise ship strikes a hidden reef, panicked passengers shove me and Kristen Langford into the sea. My boyfriend, Elijah Jensen, is the ship's captain, so he plunges into the water. But instead of saving me, he grabs Kristen and boards the last lifeboat. I thrash and cry for help, but he slaps my hand away. "You can swim. Stop pretending for attention!" Elijah snaps. "Kristen's body temperature is dropping. I have to get her to a hospital!" The waters around me are pitch-black, and his words feel like a death sentence. When the tracking bracelet I always wear is discovered inside a shark, Elijah dives alone into shark-infested waters, searching for three days and nights. In the end, the brilliant captain who once ruled the oceans can never sail again.

The company had just taken off when a project my wife, Lenora Peterson, was in charge of ran into trouble. To ease her mind during her pregnancy, I went overseas in her stead, spending ten perilous years abroad before finally returning home, barely alive. Instead of the joyful reunion I had imagined, she greeted me with cold detachment and thinly veiled disgust. "Why are you back?" Lenora asked. "Today is Nathan’s housewarming party," she added. "Let’s head there first—we’ll talk later." We rode in silence the entire way. When we arrived, a ten-year-old girl came dashing over and clung to Lenora affectionately. “Mommy, why did you take so long? Daddy’s been waiting for you forever!” Daddy? My eyes burned with rage—until I saw my old friend Nathan Grant stepping out to greet us with a smile. "Lily, come to Daddy. Mommy’s tired—don’t bother her now." When I met Lenora’s eyes, the guilt I saw there told me everything I needed to know. I turned away and texted my assistant, Morgan Williamson, to begin acquiring the company that, by right, had always belonged to me. He soon reported back. "Mr. Brooke, the acquisition process will be completed in three days."

Before our wedding, my fiancée, Sarah Hargrave—a professor of medieval history—held a private ceremony in a secluded chapel in the countryside. But not with me. Under the glow of candlelight, she cradled Benjamin Wheeler—her first love, his face gaunt from the cancer consuming him—in her arms. Her smile was soft, almost reverent, as she murmured, "In the eyes of God, vows made before the altar are the only ones that matter. Even if the law says I belong to Daniel, my soul was never his." And so, to the faint echo of hymns and the scent of old incense, they drank from the same silver cup, exchanged rings, and stepped together into the dimly lit sacristy—their makeshift bridal chamber. I watched. Silent. Motionless. No outbursts, no demands for explanation. Just the quiet dialing of a clinic to undo the vasectomy I'd gotten for our future. From fifteen to thirty, I had loved Sarah for fifteen long years. But in all that time, there'd never been room for me. That space had always belonged to Benjamin, my stepbrother. So I let her go. Afterward, I joined a geological research team bound for the isolation of Antarctica—a land cut off from the world, quiet and clean. Before I left, I handed Sarah a divorce agreement…and a final gift to mark the end. I never anticipated that Sarah, who'd always met my devotion with frosty detachment, who'd never once glanced back as I walked away, would look ten years older overnight.

Tiffany's soul hovered overhead. She watched them rip her heart out—still dripping—and stuff it into a cooler. Destination? Velmont City, Dalvona. For the same girl who'd sold her to traffickers in Nyamara. Outside the OR, Hector stood there, eyes all soft. His assistant called. "Mr. Coxon, we've located Ms. Talwyn. Want me to send someone?" Hector didn't blink. "Don't bother. A girl like that deserves to die." The surgical light flipped green. A doctor strolled out. "Congrats, Mr. Coxon. Surgery went smooth. Ms. Pusey and the baby are doing great!" Hector started crying happy tears. This was the man she had loved for ten years.

The dying heir to Silverbay's showbiz empire suddenly announces he'll select a bride at random from the city's prominent families, hoping the marriage can bring some luck and save his life. On the night before my own wedding, his men arrive and inform us that the Simmons family has been chosen. My parents have just three days to deliver a daughter to him. As soon as my sister, Roxanne Simmons, hears the news, she breaks down in tears and rushes to my fiance for help. When he sees her crying, Clinton Whitfield drops to his knees in front of me, under everyone's gaze. "Mr. Sterling enjoys tormenting virgins. If Roxanne marries him, who knows what he'll do to her? "But you're already past the marrying age, so he won't be interested in you. Please, help Roxy this once!" He looks away, his voice heavy with guilt as he continues, "Besides, he doesn't have much time left. When you return, I'll marry you." Tears well up in my eyes. I ask, stunned, "And what if I don't want to?" Clinton's gaze turns cold, his earlier guilt replaced by ruthless intent. "Then I'll make sure you go to him myself." I laugh bitterly as a chill runs through me. "Fine. I'll go instead."

When the Jensens reunite with their long-lost biological daughter, Lyra Jensen, they kick out my girlfriend, Lorraine Jensen, the daughter they'd mistakenly raised in her place. Not wanting to see Lorraine fall into destitution, I go crazy spending all my money on luxury goods for her so that she can still hold her head up high in public. For Lorraine's sake, I openly refuse to marry Lyra. Moved to tears, Lorraine swears she'll love me forever. Yet, when she eventually becomes the top female CEO in Jannington, the first thing she does is bring my family to ruin and destroy my life. She drives my father to jump off a building and gives my mother a heart attack. I beg her to save my mother, but she locks me in a cage and lets her assistant, Evan Scott, torture me as he pleases. When I confront her, she sneers and says to me, "I've had enough of you acting all high and mighty in front of me, Cyrus. Your so-called attempt to support me was just you using your money to humiliate me! "To me, your money is worth less than a bowl of soup Evan makes for me." Even until my last breath, resentment is all I can feel. … My eyes open once more. I've been reborn back in time, during my first attempt to back Lorraine up in public. She throws aside the sapphire necklace I gave her and declares with a cold, haughty gaze, "I don't need your pity, Cyrus. Don't even try to act all superior to my face."

Fresh from a business trip, my husband swept me into his arms and pulled me toward the bathroom for a passionate shared bath. As our lips met in a dizzying kiss, I noticed something odd out of the corner of my eye: the toilet lid was down. Seven years ago, after reading an online article claiming that men urinating while standing could splash bacteria onto the seat, he insisted we always keep the lid up for hygiene's sake. In all our years of marriage, it had never been lowered until now. A chill ran through me. The bathroom was pristine, not a stray hair in sight. But then I noticed the shower's water temperature was set five degrees higher than the 98.6°F he always preferred. Men preferred cooler water, and women warmer. In an instant, I realized that Nick Doyle had betrayed me.

Five years ago, when my boyfriend's small company was on the brink of bankruptcy I stepped in to save him, quietly supporting him from the shadows. Without revealing my identity, I became the company’s largest shareholder. Five years later, the night before his company was set to go public, he held me in his arms and said, "Emma, after the company goes public tomorrow, don’t leave. I have a surprise for you." At that moment, I was swept away by the idea of his "surprise," my mind racing with the hopeful thought that he might propose. I didn’t notice the cold glint of malice lurking in his eyes. The next day, as his company went public, he slapped me across the face and sneered, "Do you even see what kind of person you are? Did you really think someone like you could marry me?" He grabbed me by the hair and dragged both me and my best friend in front of a crowd of thugs and beggars he’d gathered. “These worthless cast-offs aren’t good enough for me anymore. Consider them my gift to you. Do whatever you like with them!”

When Seth Gibson told me his legs were crippled and that only snowmelt from a mountain's peak could cure him, I did not hesitate. I scaled the mountainside, climbing over 15,000 feet just to get some snow for him. When I staggered back, bruised and scratched, cradling the snow outside the hospital room, I overheard cruel voices down the corridor. "Seth, today's the deadline. Nevaeh still isn't back. Could she have died up there?" "I heard that the mountain's pretty high. She might have gotten altitude sickness. What a shame! She's already risked herself for Seth ninety-nine times. This was supposed to be the last time before the game ended." "Serves her right! She used to bully Janice, Seth's childhood friend, didn't she?" I saw Seth through the crack in the door. He was standing at the window, his legs perfectly intact, and his expression ice-cold. "Enough," he said flatly. "If she dies, the game ends." I froze in disbelief until it finally sank in. Seth had been pretending all along. A laugh nearly escaped me. What a relief! I could finally get rid of this weight on my shoulders. I pulled out my phone and called his uncle. "I'll marry you," I said.

Feeling overwhelmed by loneliness, I installed a one-way mirror in the bedroom of the apartment next door, which I specifically rent out to muscular men. One day, through the mirror on the wall, I watched my tenant with his girlfriend, caught up in their fiery passion. I couldn't help but be drawn to his strong physique and impressive size. One day, I pulled him into a small, dimly lit cubicle with me...

My wife, Rochelle Willoughby, went on a business trip for five months. When I picked her up at the airport, she showed up with her true love instead. I noticed her baby bump and was about to ask some questions, but she shoved me away like I was some disgusting piece of trash. "Don't touch me with your grubby hands. I'm pregnant with Samuel's baby. If you hurt it somehow, I'll kill you!" Then, she gently held Samuel Riverson's hand. "You must be exhausted. Let's go home." She left me at the airport without so much as a glance. I saw them off and quietly rubbed the part Rochelle shoved. Then, I contacted my divorce lawyer. Ten years. This marriage finally came to an end.

A high-profile rape case rocks Corvessa City. During the autopsy, I examine the deceased's private area as part of the standard procedure. My wife, a police captain, blows up in front of the onlookers. "Don't we have a female medical examiner in our unit? Do you realize you're re-victimizing the deceased? And your wife is standing right here. Are you really that desperate?" The crowd turns on me in a heartbeat. Bowing to public pressure, the department suspends me and tells me to keep reporting in at my own expense. I hand in my resignation on the spot. Without me, nobody in Corvessa City is going to crack this case.

We got caught in a blizzard—me, my fiancé Melvin Dunn, a few of his colleagues, including Sally Blom. Middle of the night, I woke up shaking. My heavy-duty sleeping bag—the one built for minus forty—was gone. In its place? A flimsy summer quilt. Sally was curled up in my bag, fast asleep in Melvin's arms. I shoved him hard. "Why is she in my sleeping bag?" He pulled me aside, whispering, "Keep your voice down. Sally's kinda fragile—she's about to catch a cold. You're strong. You'll be fine." I pointed at my feet, already numb. "So I'm supposed to freeze to death for you two because she's 'fragile'?" He frowned. "God, Peyton, stop being so dramatic. It's just a sleeping bag. Think about the team for once." I laughed, tears slipping down my face. Didn't say another word. Just crawled back into the corner, grabbed the sat phone, and called my brother—Captain of Stormfang Rescue, an elite international search and rescue team. "Hugh, come get me. The coordinates are... Remember—I'm alone."

My mother was dying. Her only wish before she passed was to see me married. For 27 days, I begged my girlfriend, Monica Teller, and she finally agreed to register for marriage with me on the 27th day. I waited at the courthouse until closing, but she never came. That same day, her childhood sweetheart, Gurney Barnes, posted their marriage certificate on social media. [Time sure flies. Three more days, and we'll have been married for a month.] It was then I finally realized that she had married her childhood sweetheart since the first day I started begging her. Not long after, an apology text from Monica buzzed on my phone. [I'm so sorry, Lincoln. Gurney's family was forcing him into marriage. I couldn't stand by and watch him get shackled to a stranger. Just give it three days. We'll file for divorce. Three days later, I'll marry you." Three days later, she showed up at the courthouse in a wedding gown, But the only thing waiting for her was my message. [Goodbye, Monica. May we never meet again.]

I accidentally ruined the cake at the fake daughter's birthday party. As punishment, my parents and brother locked me in the basement. "You’ve let your jealousy ruin a perfectly good celebration. Stay here and think about what you’ve done!" they shouted. They left me in the basement and went off to the Maldives to throw another birthday party for the fake daughter. When a gas leak occurred at home, I was still locked in the basement. As soon as they remotely turned the lights on, the whole house exploded, taking my life with it. After my death, my spirit drifted over to where my family was celebrating. I saw them gathered around the fake daughter on a beach. When a luxury three-tiered cake was brought out, they watched her make a wish with a smile. The fake daughter put on a show of concern about me. "Darling, you’re too kind-hearted. People like her deserve to be locked up and taught a lesson. Let’s see if she dares to take anything from you again," they said. Hearing that, I completely gave up on my family. When they returned home and saw the destroyed house, however, my parents and brother went mad.

My wife is the daughter of a top jewelry tycoon. She accused me of pushing her mother down the stairs to steal the family fortune and had me thrown in prison. While I was locked up, her people disfigured my face and crushed my hands—the same hands that once played the piano. After my release, I run from her like a madman. Just like she said I would, I give up and start mooching off a wealthy woman. But then, she clings to me and begs me not to leave.

Because her precious Jeremy needed a lab rat, Harper shipped me off to Bendora Mental Health Institute after my surgery. I got electroshocked until I was drooling and twitching, and she? She just slapped her hand over Jeremy's eyes like, "Ew, babe, don't look." Jeremy scored a Research Award nomination off that mess. Harper celebrated with fireworks so loud they could've woken the dead. Meanwhile, I was lying there in the dark, staring up at the sky while they took my leg. To keep it quiet, Jeremy slapped on a prosthetic and threatened me if I ever opened my mouth. He told Harper I just got "a little banged up" in the trial. Numb, I boxed up my leg in a freezer box. Seven days later, at Jeremy's big gala night, guess who would unwrap it like a party favor? Yeah. Harper.

The day before our wedding, Luke Murray got wasted. On the ride home, he looked right at me and slurred, "Cassie, don't bring the kid to the ceremony. Arya can't know I'm the dad." I hit the brakes. Hard. He smacked into the seatback, halfway sobering up. When he finally realized it was me, he just... froze. Then he said real slow, "Guess you heard. Wedding's off—for now. Cassie doesn't want marriage, but the kid's mine, so I gotta step up. She's your bestie, right? You probably feel bad she's doing this alone. So once he's in school, I'll come back and marry you." I let out a sharp, bitter laugh. "...That's fine. I don't mind." He didn't say a word when we got home—just grabbed his suitcase and left. I wiped the last tear off my face, sat on the bed, and just stared at nothing. Then my phone lit up. My childhood friend's voice cracked on the other end. "Arya, don't marry him. Please." I didn't say anything for a sec. "Okay."

To "fix" Leonard Rinehart's oh-so-tragic depression, Naomi Gaffron—yeah, the same girl who once swore she'd only ever marry me—secretly tied the knot with him. So I gave in. Played along with the family's little matchmaking stunt. Married Aurelia Spencer—Brieton City's golden girl who'd been obsessed with me since forever. For seven years, she clung to me like I was oxygen. Every night, curled up like she'd break if I moved. I thought that was happiness. Then one night, I caught her whispering to her best friend: "Leonard's already got international awards. When are you dumping Leone?" "Whatever—I'm stuck with someone I don't love anyway. Doesn't matter who I married. Someone's gotta keep an eye on Leone so he doesn't screw up everything Leonard built." I checked her study. Found a hidden folder—over 100,000 photos of Leonard. A hundred unsent love letters. Even I couldn't fake it anymore. Bought a silicone dummy. Laid out the plan. The fire would be step one. Dead or alive—we're done.