Bittersweet Short Stories & Novels

Zachary Lawson brought his pregnant secretary to my bridal store for a fitting. They had chosen a white gown. His friends were in the VIP lounge, betting on how long I'd last before I'd lose it. I lasted until the very end, where his secretary had tried out the final gown. I was still there, taking her measurement down to the precise decimal. "I can't believe your wife took your mistress' measurements. Her patience is impressive!" Zachary had sunk into the couch's soft caress, flicking his cigarette. "She's a barren woman who lives on my money. She'll have to get used to the part. I don't need a stepmother to manhandle my son." I pulled the tailor's tape back and showed them the bill. "The measurements are perfect. Two million. That's the deposit." Zachary tossed an asset split agreement over to me. "Sign this. Wendy's mood swings are horrible during pregnancy. She's not staying put unless she gets to be my wife. I'll need you to get a divorce and not take a single cent. Once the baby's here, I'll take you back into the fold." I signed the papers without even a moment's pause. Then, I tore the check into tiny little pieces.

At the wedding door games, my best friend, Justin Winston, suggests that my fiancee, Tiffany Bastion, feel everyone's abs while blindfolded so that she can guess who the groom actually is. Amid everyone's cheers, Tiffany gives every groomsman a nice feel before shaking her head firmly. "This is too easy! If I can't even recognize my own husband, we might as well call off the wedding!" When Tiffany is about to touch me, Justin suddenly flashes me a mysterious smile. Then, he takes off his shirt and moves to stand in front of her. The next moment, Tiffany shrieks excitedly, "This is my husband! I can't be wrong about this!" Justin lets out a chortle. Then, he grabs Tiffany by the wrist and begins navigating her hand from his abs down to his groin. "Why don't you give this a good feel? Do you still think this is your husband?" Tiffany just smiles bashfully as she roams her hands all over Justin's body. As I look at the pair's overly intimate actions, I sneer at them before stuffing the wedding bouquet into Justin's hands. "Since you two are in sync with each other that much, you might as well host this wedding on your own."

On our son Benjamin White’s sixth birthday, my husband, Finnian White, stayed out all night taking care of his sister-in-law, Violet Soar. His reason was that she had called because she sprained her ankle. I called him dozens of times, but all my calls were declined. Then, I saw Violet post on her social media feed with the caption: [Finnian is such a good brother-in-law! He came right over when I called!] The attached photo showed Finnian holding her slender ankle. Heartbroken, I confronted him and asked what he had done with Violet that night. He looked at me coldly and said, “Why does your mind always go straight to the gutter? All you know how to do is throw a tantrum at me!” Even Benjamin looked confused and said, “Dad just took care of Aunt Violet for one night, Mom. Why are you acting like a shrew?” Their cold attitude hurt me. This was not the first time. I finally decided to give up, activate the system, and leave this world.

My boyfriend of nine years suddenly changed his WhatsApp name to "Peanut Love." When I asked why, he wouldn't say. Then his secretary, going by the name "Peanut," sent me their intimate photos. I understood everything. I calmly saved the photos and opened my mom's chat. I sent a single message: [Mom, I've decided to come home for the arranged marriage.] Mom immediately video-called me. "Sweetheart, we'll set the wedding for the end of this month." Fifteen days. That's all that's left between Jason and me.

Before heading off to war, Sebastian Crawford made a solemn blood vow on his honor—just to keep me from worrying while he was gone. He promised to come back and marry me with a grand ceremony, the whole nine yards. Eight years later, Sebastian returned as a general, draped in glory. But by his side was a woman—dressed like a man, her very pregnant belly sticking out like a sore thumb. I took a deep breath, calmly slipped off my engagement ring, and called the whole thing off. Sebastian scowled, clearly annoyed. "Lena bled with me on the battlefield. I've always seen her as a brother in arms. She's pregnant because she helped me take care of a physical need. It was simple and practical. No strings attached." I let out a bitter laugh. Then I sent a messenger pigeon. "Fine. Then I'll find someone to help me out too."

After I voluntarily gave up my position as the team's starting carry to my boyfriend's first love, he was pleased by how obedient I had been. As a reward, he moved our wedding date forward. But on the day of the ceremony, his precious first love, consumed by jealousy, pressed a dagger against herself and begged through tears, "Ethan, please don't marry her. Please." Ethan, who had always been cold and composed, instantly panicked. He pleaded with me over and over, begging me to save her life. Every guest at the wedding was waiting to see me make a fool of myself. Instead, I stayed calm and quietly handed over my place as the bride. Seeing how understanding I was, just as I had always been, Ethan's eyes reddened. "I promise this is the last time I'll let you suffer. As soon as the wedding is over, we'll get our marriage license and make it official." But he had forgotten something. This was the ninety-sixth time he had hurt me. And I had no intention of spending the rest of my life with him. I was only waiting for three more promises. Once I had repaid the debt I owed him for saving my grandmother's life all those years ago, I would walk away for good. From that day on, our paths would never cross again.

I was bound to a Blessed Lineage System and thrown into a world of shifters. After a rabbit shifter named Rowan saved me, we slowly fell in love. Together, we had three little rabbit babies. But soon, the other shifter clans discovered my strange gift. While Rowan was out hunting, they took me away and forced me to bear their heirs. Rabbit shifters were born weak. To bring me back, Rowan fought with everything he had in the arena, only to be beaten down by the stronger clans. All he could do was watch as they dragged me away. When I finally escaped and returned to him, he did not despise me. Instead, he treated me even more tenderly, doing everything he could to make it up to me. But over the next five years, I was taken eight times. Again and again, I gave birth to children who were not his. I begged the system to send me home. But it told me I could never go back. Then, one day, I was taken again. Before I lost consciousness, I heard Rowan speaking to a wolf shifter. “Don’t hurt Ayla. She’s afraid of pain. Once she gives birth, send her back to me.” The wolf shifter let out a cold laugh. “She’s just a breeding vessel. Why are you acting so worried? Don’t worry. You’ll get what I promised. I’m far more generous than that black serpent.” Only then did I understand. Rowan had been trading me for resources all along. And because I was afraid he would blame himself, I had foolishly endured all that pain for him. I had almost given up completely. Then the system’s cold voice, silent for so long, suddenly rang in my mind. [Ding. System mission updated. Once the host has continued the bloodline of every shifter clan, she may return to her original world.] I froze. Only two clans were left. The wolves. And the foxes.

My boyfriend, Hayden Klein, has just finished grilling my favorite chicken wings when his childhood friend, Sophie Miller, walks over and takes a bite. "You know me the best, Hayden," she says approvingly. Before I can react, I hear an angry voice getting closer. "Ugh! That awful woman is about to drink that jerk's drink again." As those words fall, Sophie really does pick up Hayden's cup. "Mom, don't be such a pushover this time around. Otherwise, you'll get so angry you'll end up dying of breast cancer." Confused, I look around. My dog, Daisy, is baring her teeth at Sophie. Was it... my dog? I cautiously take a bite of my boyfriend's handsome best friend's chicken wing. "Way to go, Mom! This time, you have to end up with Oliver instead. Don't choose that jerk again!" Daisy wags her tail so hard that it practically resembles a helicopter rotor. "Oliver is ready to become 'the other man' for love. Mom is the most charming woman ever!"

The day I came back to the Bennett family as the real heiress, Romina, the fake one, looked at me with red-rimmed eyes and said she wanted to give the engagement back to me. "Don't bother. I'm already seeing someone." I rested a hand on my barely noticeable belly and said, half joking, "If you feel that bad about it, how about you just cash me out instead?" The words had barely left my mouth before a few lines of text drifted across my vision. [lmaooo the villainess is still scheming for money at a time like this. can we please skip ahead to the part where the male lead puts her in her place.] [I came for the sweet romance between the lead and the fake heiress heroine, not some side character throwing a fit because she's got a baby bump to wave around] [spoiler from me! the villainess gets thrown out of the family, the lead ends up hating her, and she dies in childbirth. throwing confetti!] I clicked my tongue. How could I possibly cling to a strange man? Then footsteps came from behind me. Romina walked over, crying, and introduced me. "Orlando, this is my sister, Ophelia. The engagement was supposed to be hers." I turned around, and my whole body went rigid. It was the patron who'd kept me for five years, the father of the child I was carrying.

For ten years, I raised the finest bodyguard money could buy, and for a nanny's daughter, he turned his blade on me. I didn't spare a thought for the years between us. I had his tendons cut, his skills stripped away, and I threw him out of Meridian City. The live comments practically caught fire. [Somebody help, Celeste Ward has gone too far! Julian protected her for ten years, and the one time he didn't put her first, she's going to ruin him?] [This is the kind of love that terrifies me — if she can't have him, she'd rather destroy him. What did Julian even do wrong, trying to save the woman he loves?] [Run, Julian! A viper like her doesn't deserve your loyalty. Go to Amber — she's the one who can actually save you!] Me? Going too far? A traitor who turns on his own mistress for an outsider — if anything, I went easy on him. I gave a cold laugh, tore up his lifetime contract in front of everyone, and had every last one of his belongings burned. Then I went straight to the underground fight club and picked out the meanest, most reckless guy I could find. A month later, word reached Julian. He fought his way through every guard at my gate, half-dead by the time he made it to the door. He dropped to his knees in front of me, eyes rimmed red, clutching the hem of my skirt. "Miss Ward," he said, "that mongrel covered in tattoos — what does he have that I don't?"

Seven years into our marriage, my husband Theo ordered me an Americano, the way he always did. Except I'd just told him, again, that caffeine made me sick. The moment I opened my mouth to say something, his phone rang. He stood up and walked out without a word of explanation. Half an hour later, Lydia posted to her socials. "Thanks to a certain someone for taking time out of his insane schedule to fix my plumbing. Also, the fresh hot cocoa was incredible." The comments filled up with people gushing over her. Steam curled off the mug in the photo. It made the drink in my hand feel even colder. Lydia and Theo had grown up together. Seven years ago, within months of each other, they'd both rushed into marriage. The difference was that Lydia had married a man who hit her. Night after night, Theo would peel himself away from me and run off to defend her. Sometimes he'd fought with her husband and end up at the police station. It happened more than once. I used to think it was just his sense of justice, so I always cleaned up after him and smoothed things over. Now I could see it for what it was. He'd given so much of his attention to someone else that all I got were the leftovers, neglect and a cold shoulder. Fine. This love had already gone cold. I didn't want it anymore.

"Jump. You love me to death, don't you? Didn't you say you'd do anything for me?" Ethan Hart wanted me to throw myself off the observation deck of the tallest tower downtown, live, in front of the millions of people watching the broadcast. I stood on the wrong side of the railing. Below me, traffic streamed through the streets and neon flickered in the distance. His friends clapped and cheered. Vivian Lane laughed softly and curled herself against his arm. Ethan's grin turned vicious. "Come on, don't waste everyone's time. Jump, and I'll marry you." He'd made me a promise once. Finish a hundred of his demands, and he would marry me. When his company was circling bankruptcy, he told me to hand over everything I owned, and I did. Then he moved Vivian into my house in the suburbs and left me to sleep in a motel. The night he was tangled up with Vivian at a private party, he sent me over with something for his hangover, and made a point of telling me to bring a box of condoms, the right size. I stood at the door holding the soup I'd made, and heard him laugh. "She's my ATM. I use her, then I throw her out." No matter how far it went, I'd done all ninety-nine. This was the last one: jump. He thought I'd hesitate, thought I'd cry and beg him to pick something else. I didn't. I let go and fell. The wind roared in my ears, and the whole lit-up city slid past me. I heard him shout, heard the crowd scream, and underneath all of it, the one voice I'd waited too long to hear. [Congratulations, host. Emotional conquest progress: one hundred percent. Reward delivered. Your mother's terminal illness is fully cured.]

I spend eight years being Ashton Clark's secret girlfriend, bending over backward for him like a maid. It takes the company's cleaning lady to finally make me see the truth. Late that night, while working overtime, I place some stomach medicine and a bowl of warmed seafood chowder on his desk. "Eat while it's warm, Mr. Clark. Don't let your stomach flare up again." His eyes stay glued to the financial reports on his screen. He doesn't even bother to grunt an acknowledgment. I reach out to push the bowl a little closer to his hand. Nearby, the cleaning lady emptying the trash suddenly stops. "Save it, sweetie. Mr. Clark already ate something someone else brought him. The fancy lunchbox is sitting right here in my bin." My hand freezes mid-air. Ashton's fingers pause over his keyboard, his brows knitting slightly. Even a woman in her 50s who just quietly cleans the office every day can tell that he doesn't love me. Looking down at that bowl of chowder, I suddenly feel like the last eight years of my life has been nothing but a joke. I pick up the bowl and dump it straight into the trash. "Right. Mr. Clark's tastes have changed." That's the last time I ever put him at the top of my list.

On the day the earthquake hits, my father, Collin Rimes, carries my injured little sister, Poppy Rimes, on his back, trekking about four miles through the mountains before finally reaching the emergency relief camp. His spine is bent low as he paces back and forth outside the command center in anxious hesitation before finally plastering a pleading, subservient smile on his face. "I'm looking for Captain Rubin. I'm his father-in-law. My little girl is injured. Could you please find a place for her?" The guard in camouflage frowns and heads inside to report. A moment later, Scotty Rubin's cold voice drifts out of the tent. "There are injured people everywhere waiting for help, from three-year-olds to 80-year-olds. Every one of them is just as desperate. But we follow protocol here. No special treatment." The smile on Dad's face freezes. Lost and helpless, he glances down at Poppy, who's drenched in cold sweat from the agonizing pain. His Adam's apple bobs, and he swallows the words he wants to say. Nodding emphatically, he hoists Poppy onto his back and shuffles to the side. "Yes, yes, of course. We should follow the rules. That's only right. Scotty is right." Seeing this, a sharp, suffocating pain stabs through my heart. But just as I'm about to speak up, I manage to get a peek at Scotty's phone lighting up on the desk. The latest message is to the woman he's never truly gotten over. "Don't worry, Mae. I've already arranged a private shelter for you. You and your family can all go there. There'll be hot meals, hot water, and dedicated doctors on standby." In that instant, I realize I'm the world's biggest joke. Well, since that's the case, I'll just set Scotty free.

I came to Chicago with my friend to visit her boyfriend. Three days in, her boyfriend said he'd show us "something fun." The car kept driving—farther and farther out. By the time we realized something was wrong, we were locked inside an abandoned factory. My friend was gone. Her boyfriend shoved me into a room and threw me a line: "Your friend sold you for twenty grand. Stay put and wait for arrangements." I scanned the room. A few men in black suits leaned against the doorway. Silver-gray pins on their chests. Shield-shaped. Dark red thorns. An inverted dagger. The family crest of Caleb Richardson—don of the New York mafia. I was held captive by him for three years. I barely escaped with my life— And now I've been handed right back to him.

I was the sole heiress to the Alpha King of the Northern Territory, yet I fell in love with Caine, the Alpha of the Silver Moon pack in the East. Our territories were sworn enemies, so I kept my identity hidden and stayed by his side in the shadows. For ten years, I was his secretary, his weapon, and his only woman. I helped him transform the Silver Moon pack into one of the most powerful forces in the East. I had always hoped he would propose. After all, every night in bed, he would fuck me hard, his voice rough against my ear as he whispered over and over that I belonged to him. Then one day, after we made love, he said casually,”Starting tomorrow, you'll handle the schedule for the engagement.” I lay there, still trembling in the aftershocks. “Caine.” I sat up, my voice shaking. “Are you... asking me to marry you?” He turned and looked at me like the question surprised him. Like he hadn't expected anything so naive. “Marry you?” His tone was lazy. “The engagement's for Celina.” Celina. The daughter of the River Pack Alpha, next territory over. Something closed around my heart and dropped it straight through the floor. “You're marrying her.” My mind went blank.”Then what am I?” “Sophia,” he said. “You're an Omega. For ten years I've given you the best of everything. Protection. Status. My time.” His thumb stroked along my jaw. “But you know you can never be Luna. Don't go telling yourself fairy tales.” That's when I knew he had never considered me his mate. For his ambition, for that princess, he chose to sacrifice me. So, I chose to destroy everything I had ever given him. I dialed a number I hadn't called in ten years. “Dad.” “Sophia. My little princess. You've finally come to your senses?” The second I heard his voice, my throat locked up. “You were right, Dad. I want to come home.” I forced down the catch in my voice. “Come for me in five days.”

Ethan Carter is an international captain for Delta Air Lines. I'd been engaged to him for five years. In those five years,the only time I ever asked him to indulge me was when I sent him a photo of my mother's flight journal. That journal recorded the route she'd flown on her last trip: Boston to Paris. Her health was already failing by then. I wanted Ethan to mark that route for me, and paste it on the last page of the memorial album. He just replied, "I've got a transatlantic flight tomorrow. Flight safety isn't for humoring people." Last week Ethan came home on leave, and while I was sorting his luggage, I found a waterproof document pouch tucked in a lining. Inside was a full set of simulator debrief materials. A name was written on the cover: Claire Bennett. A young first officer at Delta, the rookie Ethan had personally mentored these past two years as she pushed for her international route certification. I opened to the first page. From takeoff roll to stall recovery to approach deviation, every page carried Ethan's handwritten notes. Red circles, blue underlines, black annotations, the handwriting crisp, just like the man himself. A private recommendation letter was tucked into the pouch. He wrote that Claire had "steady judgment, an exceptional capacity to learn, and the potential to join a transatlantic flight crew." Every word was restrained, and every word was precise. The most recent file had been modified last Valentine's Day. That day I'd booked a restaurant. Ethan said he was prepping for a flight and couldn't have dinner with me. I didn't cry. I didn't ask. I picked up my phone and booked a one-way ticket to Seattle. Seattle's air medical transport program was hiring a lead physician. I used to think the future between Ethan and me was something I had to wait for: wait for him to fly less, wait for him to be less busy, wait for him to finally have a spare moment to glance at my journal. I didn't want to wait anymore.

In the fourth year after my husband, Jayden Stone, falls to his death, I finally save enough to pay off the 300,000 dollars in debt he owes. I drag my sick body there to repay the debt, but a security guard shoves me to the ground. "Today is the wedding of the century for Marilyn Jagger, the Jagger family's true heiress. Get lost, you filthy beggar!" I turn my head and see Jayden's face in the wedding photos. How is that possible? I watched him fall off a cliff and die! I go around to the hotel to find out the truth. Instead, I overhear Jayden's friends joking. "Jayden even faked his death just to marry Marilyn. Now that's true love!" "She's the real Jagger heiress, after all. A fake like Vivian Jagger doesn't even deserve someone like Jayden." Jayden clears his throat. "With Marilyn's health, she won't make it through this year. I'm marrying her to fulfill her final wish," he says. "When the five years are up, I'll go back to Viv." I clamp my hand over my mouth as blood seeps through my fingers. But Jayden, I won't make it to the fifth year.

The day Mason Jablon came with me to try on wedding dresses, his assistant, Gigi, wrecked the custom gown I'd waited three months for. Mason stepped in front of her, way too calm. "The dress has a ton of tiny details. Of course Gigi had trouble holding it. Cut her some slack." I just stared at him. "Mason, I've been waiting three years for this wedding. Do you have any idea how long I waited for that dress?" His face tightened. "So we'll get another one made. It's not like that's the only dress on the planet. Once the new one's ready, I'll give you the wedding of your dreams. Promise." I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. I just nodded. The dress didn't have to be this one. And the groom didn't have to be Mason.

For three consecutive months, an extra five hundred dollars mysteriously appeared in my desk drawer. Attached to each stack of cash was the same brief note: “Overtime Pay.” The only problem? Our company didn’t offer overtime pay. It wasn’t until I finally checked the security camera footage that I uncovered the truth. Every single night, my boss was sneaking over to my desk and slipping cash into my drawer.