Tragic Love Short Stories & Bias Regret Novels

When I was with pup for thirty-five weeks, our pack was struck by an earthquake. I was stuck under a collapsed stone pillar. The pillar was so heavy that I couldn't even sit upright. My mate rushed to the scene, but instead of coming to me, he ran straight to Lucy, who had fallen nearby. "Alpha, Luna is badly injured. The smell of blood is getting stronger. She needs immediate treatment!" Several werewolves gathered around me and were trying to free me, but William stopped them. "Lucy injured her leg. Save Lucy first." One of his subordinates looked at me anxiously. "There could be another aftershock any minute. What about Luna?" William glanced at me. "She's stronger than Lucy. Save Lucy first." Crushed beneath the pillar and unable to get up, I covered my belly protectively. This was the first time I ever begged William. "William, please save our pup–" Lucy suddenly burst into tears. "Alpha, if Luna doesn't want me to be saved, then so be it. "The earthquake happened so suddenly. I instinctively grabbed Luna, but I never expected the pillar to snap and fall on her." William pulled Lucy into his arms and comforted her. "I know you would never do something like that. Annie has just become too sensitive since she became with pup. Even in a life-or-death situation like this, she still can't get her priorities straight." He glanced at me. "I'll come back with more help to rescue you." I felt my wolf spirit growing weaker with every passing second. 'William, I won't survive this time.'

Seven days before our bonding ceremony, I overheard my mate joking with his friends. He had already moved our bonding from the snowfield altar I chose to the coastside grounds because Lyra liked the sea. But that was not the part that made them fall silent. What shocked them was that he had also prepared a Luna crown for her. One of them laughed nervously. “Changing the bonding site is one thing. Maybe Serena will forgive that. But the Luna crown? That’s different. For a woman, that crown means everything. Aren’t you afraid she’ll leave?” My mate only smiled, calm and certain. “It’s just a crown. Serena won’t care.” “She loves me. When has she ever refused me anything? She’s not going to throw a tantrum over something this small.” And for the first time, I realized he was right about one thing. I had loved him enough to forgive too much. But not anymore. So when the bonding day came and he stood at the coastside grounds calling for me again and again, I only watched the snow fall outside the window and thought: He was right. I did not make a scene. I did not demand an explanation. I just walked away without a word. He thought that meant it was nothing. He would only understand later that a woman who leaves in silence is not giving you another chance—she is leaving you with nothing but regret.

When Levi Ezra and I got married, he had solemnly vowed he would love me for a lifetime. Seven years later, he got another woman pregnant — a woman he had so carefully tucked away in a luxurious estate, complete with everything money could buy for a perfect, pampered delivery. By the time I discovered the truth, his mistress's belly was already round and heavy. Her due date was just around the corner. Levi had hesitated — for barely a second — before instinctively shielding her behind him, as though I were some threat. He said, "Nikki, you're terrified of childbirth. Now that this baby is coming, the Ezra family will finally have an heir. You won't have to suffer anymore. We'll still be the same as before. Nothing will change." I clutched the freshly issued pregnancy report in my hand — the one confirming my own child — and let out a laugh so sharp and brittle that it shattered into tears. The day his mistress went into labor, I terminated my pregnancy. I left the divorce papers on his desk, packed my bags, and boarded the first flight to a foreign land.

For our graduation trip, the three of us traveled to Iceland to watch the aurora borealis. During the trek, my best friend Chloe Bennett’s scarf was swept away by the howling wind. Without a second thought, my boyfriend Valen Vance stripped off his own heavy scarf and wrapped her up tight in it. Turning to me, he said, “Hurry up and help Chloe fetch it. You know that’s her favorite scarf.” I braved the biting, freezing wind alone, chasing it for a long time. By the time I finally retrieved the scarf and turned around, the northern lights had already vanished from the sky—and Valen and Chloe were no longer where I left them. My phone buzzed with a text from him: “You were taking too long. Chloe is afraid of the cold, so I brought her back to the hotel first.” Stranded in a foreign country, I stood at the crossroad for six grueling hours, waving down over twenty passing cars. Finally, someone took pity on me and gave me a ride. When I stumbled back into the hotel well past midnight, shivering and entirely frozen to the bone, I found them curled up under a thick blanket, huddled close together as they looked over the photos they had taken that day. They were laughing and chatting about photography and the northern lights—a conversation I was permanently locked out of. Noticing me, Valen merely frowned. “What took you so long? I made a mug of hot tea for you over there. Go warm yourself up.” I wrapped my numb fingers around the mug. The tea inside had gone ice-cold hours ago. At that moment, an overwhelming wave of exhaustion settled deep into my chest. Fine, then. I booked the earliest flight out, canceled the rest of our hotel reservations, and decided right then to leave. The northern lights I spent a lifetime chasing were never meant for me. There was no need to chase them anymore.

After dating Asher Bennett for ten years, he finally proposes to me. He puts a blindfold on me, claiming that he wants to give me a surprise. But the moment I step into the room, I feel a bucket of cold water being splashed onto me. "When are you going to wake up from your fantasies, Claire Sutton? Why would I even marry you in the first place?" With trembling hands, I take off the blindfold, only to see Asher sitting on the couch while drinking some alcohol languidly. "See? I told you she'd come! Whoever's the loser of this bet, you'd better pay for the drinks!" Upon noticing my silence, Asher says mockingly, "Hey, Claire! You're not getting any younger, you know! So, you might as well just marry some random dude at this point to avoid growing old all by your lonesome!" The moment his words fall, his friends all laugh at me while looking at me in disdain. But when I follow Asher's instructions and marry another man, why is it that he regrets letting me go?

During my wedding, someone suggests that we play the game "one dollar and 50 cents". The host will call out an amount that the players will have to match by forming groups. I draw the 50-cent straw, and so does my best friend, Rebecca Cross, who is also the group favorite. My fiance, Ian Chilton, his childhood friend, Richard Price, his older sister, Anne Chilton, and my stepsister, Chelsea Whitmore, all draw one-dollar straws. For the first round, we need to make up a total of 1.50 dollars. I make a beeline toward Ian, but he gazes distractedly at Rebecca. It isn't until he is assured that she won't be eliminated that he finally loosens his painfully tight grip on my hand. Before I can truly feel my disappointment, the second round begins. This time, we need to make up a total of five dollars. Everyone instinctively surges toward Rebecca. I don't pester Ian this time, and he naturally fails to notice that I've been left out. It isn't until the host reminds them that they're 50 cents short that they reluctantly let me into their group. For the third round, we need to make up 2.50 dollars. It's clear that the six of us can conveniently form two groups of said amount, yet they debate heatedly over who gets to be in the group with Rebecca. As time is running out, Richard and Chelsea finally walk reluctantly toward me, having lost in a game of rock-paper-scissors. In the final round, we need to make up 4.50 dollars. As soon as the whistle is blown, they crowd together merrily. Ian even considerately wraps his arm around Rebecca's shoulders out of fear that she'll be jostled. Meanwhile, I'm knocked to the floor by the crowd, my palms digging deeply into splinters sticking out of the wooden floor paneling. From start to finish, nobody spares me a glance. In that instant, everything feels pointless to me. When we played hide-and-seek as children, they only realized I hadn't been "found" after nightfall. When we visited the amusement park as adults, they would always forget to buy my ticket. All things considered, it simply isn't polite to keep trying to fit into a small group that doesn't have room for me.

I was engaged to Silas, Don of the Vance Famiglia, yet in the annual family portrait, I was shoved into the back corner. Standing right beside him was Camilla, his most trusted Capo. He sighed impatiently. "We have plenty of photos together, Scarlett. Missing one won't kill you. You're the future Donna. Stop being so petty." I swallowed my pride and gave up my spot. But my compromise bought me nothing. The necklace meant for me ended up around Camilla's neck. His plus-one to galas became Camilla. His excuse was always the same: "She's a vital part of the syndicate. You shouldn't compete with her." So, I gave him exactly what he wanted. I stopped being petty. I shredded the wedding planner I had poured my heart into, trashed our photos, and left New York for good. And suddenly, the cold, calculating Don was tearing the city apart looking for me.

The moment I find out about my pregnancy, a notification from Twitter is displayed on my phone. Apparently, it's a tweet posted by my husband, Don Romano Caliendo's childhood friend, Teresa Fiorino. "Thanks to your sperm, I get to have a child of my own during the last stage of my life." The accompanying photo is a pregnancy test that clearly states that the sperm donor is Romano. I leave a question mark in the comment section. In just half a minute, my phone begins ringing loudly. Romano's angry voice bursts from the loudspeakers immediately. I've only heard him adapt such a tone whenever he gets mad at others during family meetings. "What did you mean by that comment, Selene Gardo? Teresa is dying from cancer! All she wants is to have a baby to keep her company before she breathes her last! Don't you have any sympathy for her at all?" Before I can put down my phone, my Twitter homepage gets refreshed. This time, Teresa has uploaded another photo. It features a luxurious deluxe-style apartment, where the floor-to-ceiling windows showcase the breathtaking cityscape of Brindleport at night. The caption reads, "Thank you for giving me a home so that I don't feel lonely in my final days." In a corner of the photo, Romano can be seen crouching on the floor while piecing a baby cot together. His side profile shows how focused he is on the task. As I wipe my tears from the corners of my eyes, I silently caress my flat belly, which has yet to show any changes. I'll take you far, far away from here, my dear baby.

After catching my supposedly frigid wife, Emmy Winslow, aroused by our household robot butler, I swallowed my disgust and sent the machine to a destruction facility. I never expected that decision to cost her life. On the way to chase after the robot, Emmy was involved in a horrific car accident and died at the scene. From that day on, I became notorious in our social circle as the jealous husband who drove his wife to her death. Five years passed. Night after night, I tortured myself by wondering if she would still be alive had I not been so petty over a machine. Until today, while discussing business at a private club, I passed a half-open VIP suite and heard one of Emmy's closest friends teasing her. "Emmy, how much longer are you planning to keep up this fake-death act?" A familiar voice answered, one I could never mistake, that was tinged with indulgence and amusement. "As soon as Corbin Ellery's heart condition is cured. Back then, if Grayson hadn't insisted on sending the butler to the destruction plant, Corbin wouldn't have needed to pretend his system malfunctioned. And I wouldn't have had to fake my death to help him disappear completely." Another friend clicked her tongue. "Still, nobody expected you to go this far. Having Corbin wear a custom synthetic skin suit and pose as a robot butler right under your husband's nose all those years? That's insane." Fake death? Corbin? The blood drained from my face. The woman I had mourned for five years was alive. And the robot that had stirred her desire had never been a robot at all. It was my closest friend. A passing server accidentally slammed into me, sending a tray crashing to the floor. The conversation inside stopped instantly. Emmy turned toward the doorway, and our eyes met.

Auremont City's most prominent heir, Huxton Dunne, was finally back on his feet after three years of paralysis. His friends threw him a party at a private club. Margo Myer stood outside the door, clutching a gift she'd picked out just for him. Before she could walk in, she heard voices inside. "Dude, Margo basically got you back on your feet. You wouldn't be here without her." "For real. Three years of rehab, massages, barely any sleep because she was scared something might happen to you at night? You owe her forever." "She really is amazing," Huxton said. Margo's fingers tightened around the gift. Warmth filled her heart. Then one of his friends asked, "So... when are you gonna marry her?"

Yasmine Silva gave everything to Leo Quinton over fifty years of marriage. After he was injured on a mission and left disabled, she left her respectable and steady job as a TV station host to stay by his side and massage his legs every day. He said he never wanted children. She endured ten miscarriages and was left unable to have any. Even then, she never once complained. Everyone said Leo was blessed to have a wife like Yasmine. It was only after Leo passed away that Yasmine, who had cared for him all her life, learned the truth. To him, she had never been a blessing. She had only been a burden that kept him from his wife and son.

Jason Schwartz had been a close friend of my father's, despite the age gap. The year I met him, I was fearless, the kind of girl who thought nothing could touch her. I bit down hard on the hand he offered me. Jason just laughed. "You're adorable," he said. "Like a little wolf." On my 18th birthday, he shoved me onto the bed, his eyes red, as if he had been holding back for years. "Diana, I've finally waited long enough for you to grow up." He was the one who pulled me into that first flutter of desire, the one who led me across every line I wasn't supposed to cross. I grew into exactly the kind of girl he wanted. The day my father was hacked to death by his enemies, Jason took my hand and stepped into his place without hesitation. When I was pregnant, he brought home a girl covered in blood. "Diana, she's not like you. She's like wild grass, tough and stubborn." He said he admired wild grass. But he forgot something. He was the one who raised me into a rose that only knew the shelter of a greenhouse. Good thing I didn't need him anymore.

When I was three months pregnant, Stella Falcone, the principessa of an allied family, was also carrying another man's child. To preserve the alliance, my Mafia lover, Matteo Gallo, had to marry her. "Stella is Don Falcone's only daughter. In our world, alliances are worth more than sentiment." "Ava will understand." What Matteo forgot was that I had no one but him, and that the child I carried was the true Gallo heir. Later, as everyone mocked my unborn child, calling him a bastard who would taint the bloodline, Matteo stood by with his new bride and did nothing. That was when I learned that in this world of blood and secrets, love was the most worthless currency of all.

On the day of my grandmother's 70th birthday banquet, I was publicly beaten again by my wife's childhood friend, who accused me of being the other man. Grandma has a heart condition—she can't handle this kind of shock. Relatives whispered among themselves, their words dripping with contempt for me. "Kyle always seemed so well-behaved. How could he be this kind of person?" "To cause such a scandal on his grandmother's birthday... she must be beside herself..." I couldn't take it anymore. I dialed my wife's number, begging her to come and clear things up. But she chose to defend the other man and coldly berated me in front of everyone: "There's nothing between us. I'm warning you for the last time—stop harassing me." My grandmother died of a heart attack on the spot. I gave her the divorce she wanted, walked away, and never looked back. So why is she crying, begging me to come home?

My husband's latest lover is a dab hand at making coffee. I'm curious, so I go to her coffee shop to try a cup. When I get home, my husband grips my neck tightly as he warns, "Stay away from her." I'm reminded of how he did the same thing to my betrothed at the time before snatching me away. "Do you like her that much?" I laugh and watch as Ray Prunier loses control. I guess I'll give him what he wants, then.

On the day I get into an accident, Anthony Flint forces me to donate blood to his first love, Maisie Jones, even though I'm on the brink of death. He threatens me that if I dare reject him, he'll torture me till I die. Later on, I end up dying on the streets due to massive blood loss, just like Anthony wants me to. But he bawls his eyes out as he begs me to open my eyes and look at him again.

"Elias, you marked the weakest Beta in the pack just to protect Chloe?" "The elder has too many rules. He was afraid she'd make Chloe's life miserable. That's why he married someone reckless--someone who could cause trouble and take all the fire." Chloe Nightingale. The Omega that Elias Blackwood's brother married into the pack. I stand outside the study door. My heart doesn't even flutter. In my past life, I heard these words and burst through that door to confront Elias. All I got from him was: "Lose your Luna status and go back to being a useless Beta. Or pretend you never heard anything." Silence hangs in the study for a moment. Then Elias's voice cuts through--the words that shattered me the first time: "Chloe is soft. She can't take the pressure. But Wren... Wren can handle it." I can handle it? That was it. In my past life, every struggle, every scream, every ounce of pain I endured--he saw it all. He just thought I could take it. So I deserved to be used. Deserved to be the shield that protected his precious Omega. I blink. When I come back to myself, Elias has already left the study. I wipe the tears from my face. Hard. Then I pull out my phone and call my father. All this time, I've been hiding the truth from him. Letting him believe his daughter married into the Blackwood pack as nothing but a weak Beta. But I'm the Alpha King's daughter. So this time-- This time, I won't cling to Elias Blackwood anymore.

On the way to get our marriage certificate for the twentieth time, Rolf Trivett regretted it once again. In eight years, this was our twentieth attempt to get the certificate. But every time we reached City Hall, he would always say he needed time to care for his seriously ill childhood friend and couldn't promise to marry me. This time, I couldn't take it anymore and asked him, "If she’s never going to get better, does that mean you’ll never marry me? What am I to you?" Rolf immediately lost his temper and yelled at me, "I've already promised to take care of her for life. Can you stop being so selfish? "Besides, we've been together for eight years. What difference does it make if we don't get this certificate?"

The night Maya Winehouse and I slept together, she was drunk and had just broken up with her now ex-boyfriend, Daniel Carter. She had no choice but to marry me. Our marriage was quiet and stable. I once thought it would last forever… Until Daniel passed away from his sickness. When Maya went to pay her respects, she learned that he had left her for good because he had found out what happened between us that night. At that same time, she discovered the diary that I had written about my secret love for her. She became convinced I had ruined their relationship on purpose, and she hated me to the bones. She divorced me and threw me out with nothing. She also made sure to make my life difficult whenever she could. As I lay dying, her cold voice echoed in my ears. "Your love disgusts me, Nolan Winehouse." When I opened my eyes again, I had regressed back to that night. It was two hours before everything that would have happened, when Maya had just broken up with Daniel and gone out drinking intending to get drunk. I took my coat and ran out of my room. Then, I knocked on Daniel's door…

The plane touched down in Tripoli at dusk. Behind me, the sky was on fire. I pulled out my phone and typed a message to my husband, Don Vito Hart. [I'm here. I came to bring you home.] No reply. I called his underboss, Enzo Stark. His voice was hesitant. "You… you really went to Libya?" An explosion rattled the terminal windows. My heart slammed against my ribs. "Which district is he in?" A long pause. Then, quieter: "He never left the country." His voice dropped to barely a whisper. "The business trip… it was a lie." The line went dead. A photo appeared on my screen. Time-stamped today. Vito was smiling. Bright, but something behind his eyes looked tired. His arm was wrapped around a woman. They were blowing out candles on a birthday cake. I recognized her instantly. Rosa Quinn. The woman he'd knelt and sworn on his mother's grave never to see again. Three years ago. I still had the scar on my own palm where I'd made him swear. Vito had forgotten. Today was my birthday too. My phone buzzed again. "Sera, the truth is—the Don never ended things with Rosa. We all knew. But you two seemed so happy… no one dared tell you." I read the message twice. Then I slipped the phone into my pocket. There was no need to pretend anymore.