Tragic Love Short Stories & Bias Countdown Novels

Brandon Hawthorne said if I wanted to marry him, I had to prove I was tough enough to be a Hawthorne. He took my bank cards, ditched me in a city I'd never been to, and made me figure out how to get home alone. When my fever hit 104°F, he still refused to let the family doctor through the door. Instead, I had to smile through dinner with a house full of Hawthorne relatives while I could barely stay on my feet. And every time I finally asked Brandon for help, he looked at me like I'd failed him. "You can't even handle something this simple. How are you supposed to be my wife?" But when his childhood friend, Patty Rowan, got blisters from her shoes, he picked her up and carried her away in front of everyone. She got a headache in the middle of the night, and he left me alone in the hospital to take the family doctor to her. I asked him why. He frowned. "Patty's fragile. And she's not the one trying to become a Hawthorne." Then came our engagement party. I accidentally ate peanuts. My throat started closing. I couldn't breathe. Brandon grabbed my EpiPen and locked me in the lounge. "This is your final test. If you want to marry me, tough it out." Then Patty called. She had a paper cut. Brandon immediately left with the doctor. "Hold out for ten minutes." I lost track of time. Right before everything went dark, I saw Brandon come back with Patty tucked close beside him. She had a Band-Aid on her finger. Through the haze, I heard the disappointment in his voice. "Patty was bleeding, and she didn't even cry. Are you seriously pretending to be dead?" Then came the final blow. "You failed the test. You're not ready to become a Hawthorne."

The first time my Alpha mate chose his childhood sweetheart over me, I forgave him. After all, Dylan saved my life seven times. Seven lives saved. Seven chances given. That was the deal I made with myself. Then Dylan skipped our Mate Anniversary to celebrate her birthday. He gave her the moonstone ring I’d carved for him with my own hands, saying she needed it for protection. And when rogues attacked us both, he stepped right past me as I lay wounded and carried her to safety first. I never fought him over any of it. Each time he chose her, I silently crossed off one of the lives I owed him. The pack thought I loved my Alpha so desperately that I would forgive him no matter how many times he put another Omega before me. But I was only waiting until all seven lives I owed him had been repaid. Then one day, he broke the Mate Vow we’d sworn at the Moon Altar for her yet again. “She has no one else,” he told me. “You’re my Luna. You should understand.” And just like that, the last of what I owed him was gone. “That’s seven. We’re done.” I picked up my suitcase and headed for the Nordic Wolf Alliance in herbal medicine. Dylan and I were over, and I would never see him again.

The tenth year since I accidentally landed in modern-day America, and the system finally noticed me—a glitch in its timeline. It told me that in three days, I'd be sent back to where I truly belonged. Back to London. Back to my era. And I—I used to be one of the most powerful men in the entire British Empire. Alexander William Windsor. First in line to the British throne. The system gave me seventy-two hours. A countdown to say goodbye to this century. Day one, my fiancée Evelyn told me our wedding had to be called off. Because Ryan—the boy she'd grown up with—had been diagnosed with a terminal illness. Day two, Evelyn brought Ryan home. To our home. She said he had nowhere else to go. Asked if he could stay. Just for a while. Day three, Evelyn told me she was taking Ryan to Italy. To clear his head. ...That was supposed to be our honeymoon. No one noticed the numbers on my wrist, ticking down. Ten years of being in the wrong place. Time to end it. This time—I'm not staying for anyone.

My Alpha Female, my mate, had been gone a week surveying her territory. The moment she got back, I rejected our bond. "Just because I forgot your little trinket?" She laughed, blue eyes careless as ever. "Yes." I stared at her, face a mask. Seven days ago, Rowan, Alpha Female of the Silvermoon Ridge Pack, took her core warriors to inspect a newly acquired mining territory. When she returned, she had gifts for everyone. Even the border patrol got aged liquor. She forgot the only thing that mattered. The pure Moonstone I needed to soothe my burning Alpha blood. I'd waited two months. Then her new Omega scribe, Finn, posted a selfie on the pack network—showing off a wolf-fang necklace carved from raw Moonstone. [Thank you to the most powerful Alpha Female in the world! My loyalty will never fade!] Rowan's comment sat right below: [You deserve it.] I stared a long time. Then I deleted the message I'd been typing to her: "Waiting for you to come home, my Alpha." Rowan and I grew up together. Twenty years intertwined. When we came of age, she became the Alpha Female, I became her Beta. Once, I was the only one by her throne. Then, slowly, the entire pack got in line ahead of me. Just like now. We were breaking our bond—the most serious thing imaginable. But her phone lit up with Finn's message. "Need your guidance on the territory resource files." She didn't even look up. "Stop making a scene, Caleb. It's just a rock. I'll get you one before next month's ceremony. Finn has something urgent. Drive yourself back." She hurried away. I didn't stop her. I pulled out my phone and replied to the Alpha of the Blackpeak Pack. He'd invited me seven times. "I'm in. Flight's tomorrow night. See you in Blackpeak." I pulled the moonstone bracelet from my wrist and left it in the drawer of her office desk. Rowan. From now on, you have your throne. I'll get mine.

I shared a joint covenant account with Antonio De Luca. We had agreed that we would get married once the account reached ten million euros. When it reached 9.99 million euros, I scheduled a wedding rehearsal at the church. But it wasn’t until dusk that Antonio finally sent me a message: “The new adviser was ambushed and lost too much blood. The surgery requires absolute security. I have to stay with her.” At that very moment, fifty thousand euros were withdrawn from the covenant account. I scrolled back through the transaction history. Before that, there had been opera tickets, custom leather goods, and a bracelet—the same one I had seen the new adviser wearing on her wrist—all paid for in smaller installments. I clenched the pregnancy test report in my pocket and suddenly let out a bitter laugh. Since he had been secretly favoring someone else, there was no need for him to know about the child growing inside me.

For three years running, Matteo always had a reason to push the engagement date back, all because he was certain I could never want anyone but him. The first year, his parents refused to let him marry a poor girl like me, and the engagement was shelved. The second year, he lost the engagement rings I had made myself. No rings, no ceremony. The third year, he "forgot" to tell his parents the date and only told them at the last minute. There was too little time, they could not get there, and the engagement was shelved again. This year, though, none of those earlier "accidents" happened. There was only one exception. On the day of our engagement, the gown my mother had sewn for me stitch by stitch before she died somehow ended up on my stepsister, Capucine. She let her cat climb up the skirt and bite and claw at it until the lace was full of holes. Matteo did not scold her. He soothed her in a gentle voice instead. "It's fine. If it's ruined we'll just have another one made. It's an old dress, it's not like it's anything special." He ignored my red, swollen eyes. "The gown is gone now, so it looks like the engagement will have to wait until next year." I let out a cold laugh and stepped forward to strip the gown off Capucine. "Three times is enough. There won't be an engagement next year either." What he did not know was that before she died, my mother told me a secret she had kept for twenty years. I was never some poor girl. I was the only daughter of a Sicilian mafia family. My real father had found out where I had ended up, and he was already on his way to bring me home himself. Since this engagement was not going to happen, I had decided to go home with him.

My six-year-old son fed me the cake that triggered my allergy and killed his unborn sister. He was smiling when he confessed, as if he had done something wonderful. “Aunt Vivienne said the baby would go back to the Moon Goddess. Then you and Daddy could break your mate bond, and she could stay with us instead. That way, Aunt Vivienne would have more time to play with me!” My heart clenched. I couldn't hold back anymore. “But Mommy and your sister can play with you, too. Can't we?” “Yeah, but…” He hesitated, searching for the right words. “But it's boring when I'm with you, Mommy. Daddy and I have more fun with Aunt Vivienne.” The words hit me like a blow. For a long moment, I couldn't say a word. My mate, Adrian, stripped Finn of his heir badge, suspended his Alpha training, and sent him to a pack therapist. But when I asked him to investigate the adult who had given our son the cake and taught him how to deceive me, Adrian stepped between us. “Vivienne chose her words poorly. She couldn't have known Finn would actually do it.” Our six-year-old son was old enough to be punished. My sister was too innocent to be questioned. That was when I finally saw the favoritism Adrian himself didn't even realize he was showing. So I stopped asking him to choose me. I removed my Luna signet, left behind divorce and mate-rejection papers, surrendered custody of Finn, and accepted an assignment outside Blackwood Territory. By the time Adrian and Finn understood what it truly meant to lose me, they were already begging me to come back. Only this time, I was the one who no longer wanted to return.

On the day of our graduation trip, my girlfriend suddenly went silent for half an hour. I didn't hear from her until just before I went through security. "Nicholas, you go ahead and board. Blake and I got upgraded to first class at the last minute. You know his back isn't great. He'll be uncomfortable in economy." Blake Walker was my younger brother in name, and every trip was the same. Whether we flew or took the train, Tiffany Spencer always made sure he got a first-class or business-class seat, while I was left squeezed into economy or a regular train seat. Even our carefully planned trip to the northern coast had been changed to a beach resort in the south simply because Blake casually mentioned that he liked the ocean. After two hours in economy, my back was aching badly, so I finally texted Tiffany. [I want to sit with you two.] Her reply was cold. Tiffany: [We'll be there in another hour. First class is expensive. Don't waste the money.] When we landed, the two of them were nowhere to be found. Tiffany explained over the phone. "Blake's hungry. I'm going to grab something to eat with him first. Come over once you've gotten everything sorted out." Then she told me to book the return flights. "Book our return flights. Two first-class tickets and one economy ticket. Don't forget." I tightened my grip on my phone and quietly said, "Okay." Then I bought three tickets. Two first-class tickets were bound for Kensford, while the third was bound for Aldmere, Loravia.

The entire New York mafia world knows that Don Alessandro of the Rossi family takes a brutal punishment from the Council every year just to marry me. Because the Rossi family has a strict rule: all marriages must be approved by the Council. Yet, for three years in a row, Alessandro submitted our marriage application, and every time, it was rejected! The first year, he was locked in solitary confinement for three days and nights. The second year, his back was whipped raw. The third year, he even knelt in a torrential downpour to beg for their mercy. I always thought it was my fault, that I just wasn’t good enough to meet the Council's standards. It wasn't until the fourth year that I found out all those rejection letters from the Council were forged by Alessandro himself. And the reason was Mia—his secretary who had been secretly obsessed with him for years. "Mia has been by my side for eight years. She took a bullet for me. She held me and cried, saying the day I get married would be the darkest day of her life." "I love Jane, but I just can't bear to hurt Mia." "It just means marrying Jane a little later. She loves me so much, she won't mind." But he was wrong. Even though my heart was breaking, I didn't want this kind of love anymore. I called my father: "Dad, I'm ready to come back to Italy and marry the Don of the Caruso family."

The ninth time Julian Hale chose Vivian Cross over me, I held a knife to Vivian's throat and made her beg for forgiveness in the middle of a crowded downtown plaza. I thought that would finally be enough to end the affair. Instead, Julian made me pay for hurting her. He went after my father's company and destroyed it, leaving my family broke and buried in debt to loan sharks. In the end, my father, Martin Ellison, couldn't take it anymore. He swallowed an entire bottle of pills beside my mother, Diane Ellison. The shock was too much for her heart, and she died soon after. I lost both my parents in a single day. The day after the funerals, the doctor gave me more bad news. I had late-stage stomach cancer. I had three months left, maybe less. And just like that, I was done fighting. I moved out of our bedroom, threw away my wedding ring, and stopped calling him hundreds of times whenever he stayed out all night. Even when he brought Vivian home just to provoke me, I didn't argue. Instead, I hired a top chef to cook her favorite dishes. Julian thought I had finally learned my place. Then came Vivian's birthday. With a shy smile, she said her birthday wish was to marry Julian. I pulled the signed divorce papers from my bag and slid them across the table. Julian panicked. He ripped them apart and grabbed my wrist, his eyes bloodshot. "Nora, what game are you playing now? Trying to make me chase you? Where did all that fight in you go?" Before I could answer, I coughed up a mouthful of blood.

Raffaele Moretti, the Mafia Don, once made me a promise. If I proposed to him fifty-one times on livestream for the whole world to see, he would show up for the fifty-second and finally make our relationship public. But when the night of my fifty-second proposal came, Raffaele was in the Maldives with his childhood sweetheart, Gianna. He bought her an entire yacht just to put a smile back on her face. I became the laughingstock of the internet. Later, he sent me an apologetic message. “Gianna was upset. I only went with her because she needed a change of scenery. That's why I missed it. Don't read too much into this.” “I'll say yes when you propose for the fifty-third time. Then you'll be my Donna.” Sure enough, he arrived at my fifty-third livestream in a perfectly tailored suit. And as he watched, I set fire to all fifty-two letters I had written asking him to marry me. Hidden among them was my liver cancer diagnosis. "There won't be a fifty-third chance, Raffaele." Because in a matter of days, I would be dead.

My husband, Victor Moretti, is the Don of the most powerful Mafia family in New York. Everyone knows he loves me more than his own life. But no one knows how many things his love forbids. He never lets me swim because he says my eyes are too sensitive to chlorine. He never lets me touch a gun because the smell of gunpowder and the recoil would hurt me. When I tell him I want a tattoo, he refuses that too. “I love every inch of your skin,” he says. “I don’t want anything covering it.” But anyone who has known me for long knows I grew up by the sea. Diving has always been what I’m best at. And getting a tattoo has been at the top of my bucket list for as long as I can remember. That afternoon, I receive a text saying that I have voluntarily given up my place at the Royal Academy of Music. I freeze. Victor told me the Academy had rejected me because I wasn’t qualified. My fingers tighten around my phone as I head straight to the private club to find him. But when I reach the door, I hear a woman speaking inside. “Victor, I just wish my sister were still alive. Then you wouldn’t have to look at her eyes and be reminded of her every day.” My blood seems to freeze in my veins. Five years ago, I underwent a corneal transplant.

For eight years, Damian Caruso kept me as his secret wife. I handled his family's lawsuits, protected his empire, and raised the son he refused to acknowledge in public. Ethan wasn't even allowed to call him Dad when anyone else was around. I told myself Damian had his reasons. Until our son's seventh birthday. Damian promised he would come home. Ethan waited beside an untouched birthday cake until nearly midnight. Damian never showed. Because Sofia Bellini—the childhood friend everyone already treated as Damian's real woman—had the same birthday. And Damian had chosen hers. That night, I stopped waiting. I signed the divorce papers. The next morning, Damian was in such a hurry to rescue Sofia that he signed the documents I placed in front of him without even reading them. He didn't realize he had just given me permission to take Ethan out of New York. Then he moved Sofia into our home—and asked his wife and son to leave so she wouldn't discover we existed. Ethan looked at the father he had spent seven years trying to love and called him "Mr. Caruso." Damian finally looked shaken. But it was already too late. On the day we left, he told me he had to fly abroad to handle a divorce case for a client. I said nothing. Because that divorce case was mine. He was flying across the ocean to finalize the end of our marriage—and he still thought I was just taking our son out of town for a few days.

On my fifth wedding anniversary with Rebecca Leavitt, I sign an organ donation consent form. My entire family opposed my decision. Mom sobs as she slaps herself across the face. "This is all my fault. I'm useless. I couldn't make enough to pay for your heart transplant…" Dad took an overnight train from our hometown. The moment he stepped inside, he knelt down in front of me. "I'll sell my kidney on the black market. Please don't do this!" he pleads. My younger sister, Winona Zander, tore the consent form to pieces, scattering the scraps across my face. "Will, just hold on for another six months. My scholarship will come through soon!" Only Rebecca said nothing. She sits calmly on the couch, painting her nails with the polish she just bought, its crimson shade resembling blood. "Do whatever you want," she said, blowing lightly on her nails. "The doctor said your heart wouldn't last more than three months anyway."

I was a runaway mermaid princess. To break the curse on a pirate captain's two sons, I sacrificed my radiant tail and the voice I treasured above all to a witch. I was left crippled and confined to a wheelchair, and whenever I opened my mouth, my voice came out in an ugly, breathy rasp. But they swore that one of them would marry me and the other would guard me for the rest of my life. Then, during a clash at sea, they rescued a human woman and kept her aboard as a maid. From that day on, everything changed. They were both addicted to the maid's body and could not tear themselves away from her. The younger one said, "You're so beautiful. Far more beautiful than Heloise, that fish with no legs..." The older one said, "If we didn't owe her our lives, neither of us would ever marry her." I wheeled myself onto the deck and released a raven with a letter tied to its leg. I had accepted the proposal of the most terrifying overlord of the oceans. The Basque brothers still didn't know that the witch's contract spelled out one condition: the moment they betrayed me, the curse would return. One would turn back into a toad, the other into an octopus.

I'm the heiress of the Claremont family. Damon Johnson and I had a deal—we'd go to Oakwood High together. But the second my acceptance letter arrived, he and the rest of the guys in our class knocked me out cold. Why? Because Sophia Miller, the school's little princess, said she'd never seen a real mummy before. When I came to, I was wrapped head-to-toe in bandages, strung up at the front gate of the school. Students passed by—laughing, filming, some even spitting in my direction. I hung there for two full hours, on display for everyone. Finally, Damon showed up. Grinning, he untied the rope. "Sophia said she wanted to see a live mummy. It was just a joke. You're not actually mad, are you? We've known each other our whole lives. You get me." I just stared at him. At the group of guys still snickering behind him. At Sophia in the corner, covering her mouth with her hand. So this is what my dignity was worth to them. A punchline. I tore up my Oakwood acceptance letter and took the plane ticket the International Academy had sent me—three days to leave. The moment I stepped onto that plane, Damon lost it. "You're the one who always understands me—so why are you leaving?"

Three months into our marriage, I was cooking dinner when I noticed that every plate, bowl, and cup in the house was smaller than standard dinnerware. That slight difference mattered. Every time I lifted a bowl or wrapped my hand around a cup, I had to adjust my grip to the tighter curve. I held up two bowls of different sizes and asked Damian Moretti why. He said they had simply been custom-made for the Family. That night, a torrential downpour left me stranded at the station after I finished handling Family business. Across the street, inside a restaurant, Damian held a bite of steak to the lips of the young woman opposite him, then gently wiped the sauce from the corner of her mouth. The young woman was the Family's new secretary. One look at the custom dinnerware in front of her, and I understood everything. So that smaller size had been designed for her. I checked my phone. "It's pouring. My old wrist injury is acting up, and I can't hold an umbrella. Can you come get me?" I had sent that message three hours ago. Nothing had come back. He never let me ride in his private armored car or appear at his side at society dinners. In public, he always kept his distance. "As Don, I have to keep my public and private lives separate. The Donna can't draw too much attention, or my men will talk." He held to those boundaries of his so faithfully. It turned out the boundaries only applied to some people. Through the rain, I saw a small plaque on the front passenger seat: CECE ONLY. And suddenly, I no longer wanted to stay in this marriage.

I've always been terrible with directions. No matter where I go, I end up lost. Seraphina didn't buy the whole "born this way" excuse. So she roped in my foster brother Gabriel and my childhood friend Lucas, and they decided to put me through "training." For the border patrol exercise, they drove off with the tactical SUV ahead of time, took my phone, and left me stranded alone at the subway entrance—right in the middle of gang territory. They said it was to sharpen my sense of direction. I opened my bag and found a note from Seraphina: "We've walked this escape route with you twice. I know Carone's blood will find its way to the safe house, Leah!" "We'll be waiting at the mansion." I stared at those words, and suddenly this whole childish "training" felt hollow. Truth is, not memorizing the tunnels wasn't even a big deal. What hurt was being left behind—over and over again. So I went home and applied for Zurich. Ten days later, I was gone. And only when I was already across the ocean did they realize what they'd lost.

From the age of ten, every dollar my parents spent on me became a debt. Tuition. Clothes. Food. Even medical bills. By eighteen, I had signed one hundred and ninety-nine promissory notes. But Camilla—the daughter of the man who died protecting my parents—received everything for free. They gave her my bedroom, my inheritance bracelet, a Manhattan apartment, a Maserati, and eventually even the attention of my fiancé, Nick. My parents called it repaying her father’s sacrifice. They called my suffering “heir training.” On the eighteenth birthday Camilla and I shared, I was seriously injured in a car accident. While my family celebrated her aboard a Caribbean yacht, I begged them for three thousand dollars to pay for emergency surgery. They accused me of inventing the accident to ruin her party. Then Mom told me to sign another promissory note. That became number two hundred. I finally understood that no amount of obedience would make them choose me. So I gave myself seven days to repay every cent, surrender the DeLuca name, and end my engagement.

Coming from a poor background, everyone in Carl Humphry's circle assumes I'm a gold digger. Especially his best friend, Miriam Briggs. She claims she used to be one herself, so she knows my kind all too well. Desperate to prove them wrong, I spend three years with Carl without accepting a single expensive gift. Miriam just scoffs. "She says no, but deep down, she's just waiting for the man to make the first move and offer her something better. It's the classic play-hard-to-get routine." Then comes Carl's birthday. I've saved up for six months to buy him a watch. As I approach the private room, I hear Miriam laughing inside. "I told you she'd buy something pricey. Classic gold-digger move. Pretend you don't care about money, drop a little cash, and watch it pay off big later." Carl sits right beside her and doesn't say a single word. Someone chimes in, "Man, Carl, your girlfriend really knows how to play the long game." When they see me walk in, someone signals the room to hush. "Shh, quiet. She's here." Miriam smirks. "Some people just need to be real like me if they want a man to actually like them. Don't you guys agree?" Carl stares at me for a long time before asking, "Have you just been acting this whole time? Are you really aiming for a massive payout?" As I stand in the doorway, the watch suddenly feels heavy enough to crush me. I don't answer. I just turn around and walk away. I'm done offering real love to someone who only ever questions it.