CEO Bittersweet Short Stories & Novels

My husband—the mafia boss—loses his first love to suicide. Celeste Reyes couldn't accept that he was marrying me. Since then, Darius Sterling mourns her publicly every day, and we become the kind of couple that despises each other more than anyone else. However, when the Moretti family of Eastbourne sends assassins after me, Darius takes the bullet meant for me. The bullet is poisoned. As he lies weakly in my arms, he whispers, "I saved your life. My debt to your mother is repaid. In our next life, let's not meet again. "I don't want to hate you anymore. I just hope you'll always be the girl next door. Now, it's time for me to be with Celeste." And just like that, he dies in my arms. I cry my heart out, but Darius never looks at me again. Only then do I realize how foolish and childish our hatred has been all these years. Later, after I eliminate the Morettis, I take my own life for him. Yet, when I open my eyes again, I'm back at 20—the year of our engagement. I reject my father's plan for an arranged marriage and choose to go to New Verden to manage the family business. This time, I'll stay far away from Darius and give him and Celeste my blessings.

The day after my fiancé abandoned me at our wedding, I boarded a plane to another city - Silverbrook Haven. He comforted his “girlfriend”, saying, "Sarah's been spoiled since childhood. She'll calm down and come back in a few days. You don't need to feel guilty." My friends were all worried I'd keep obsessing over Henry and cause another huge scene. But what they didn't know was that I had already accepted someone else's proposal. This trip to Silverbrook Haven was to get married. As the wedding day approached, I sent back everything Henry had given me over the years, without missing a single item. Including that engagement necklace I once treasured like a precious jewel. This is our final goodbye - what's done cannot be undone.

The tenth time one of my paintings appeared under my sister Rose's name, I handed Adrian the divorce papers. He raised an eyebrow and tossed the agreement aside without a second glance. "Don't be dramatic. Your hand is ruined -- where would you even go without me?" I said nothing. He smiled, his tone dripping with casual indifference. "You should be grateful. Rose was the one I was supposed to marry. A few paintings is a small price to pay. A little gratitude wouldn't kill you." He blew a ring of cigarette smoke directly into my face. I choked, and the sting brought tears to my eyes. Through the blur, I was transported back to the moment my tendons were severed for his sake -- a pain that had drilled straight to the bone. He thought I had no choice but to take it. What he didn't know was that I'd already accepted an offer from the Royal Academy of Arts in London. Soon, I would be free of him for good.

Caleb Finley tells me he wants to have a child with me during the year when our love is at its strongest. I agree, but that very same night, I fake my death and make my escape, becoming his first love who meets an early death. Six years later, the system seeks me out, on the verge of a breakdown. "Ms. Rockworth, Mr. Finley told me to let you know that your son has just entered the operating room. Do you want to visit him?" "I never gave birth to his child," I answer calmly. The system breaks down even more. "He lost his mind and suddenly turned evil on the night you faked your death. To maintain the balance of the world, we gave him a child who has both your genes. "Now that he has completely gone insane, he told me to tell you that you must meet with him today. If you don't, he'll remove your son's oxygen tube."

In my previous life, I took three bullets for Conrad Kincaid, the guardian who raised me, and lost any chance of becoming a mother. Only then did he agree to marry me. When I was ten, my parents were killed in an attack by their enemies. Conrad saved me, took me home, protected me, and doted on me. I fell hopelessly in love with him. I was sure that if I stayed by his side and was good to him, I'd win his heart someday. But on our wedding day, Alice Brooks, who had loved him all along, left for Antarctica and died in an accident. From then on, every time he looked at me, he saw a murderer. In ten years of marriage, he never treated me badly, but he never once shared my bed. He was always cold and distant. Then a fire broke out. He gave me the only chance to escape and died in the flames. Before he died, he said, "In the next life, don't take a bullet for me. I don't want to be forced to marry you again." His words cut so deep that I passed out. When I opened my eyes, I was back at the moment before I took those bullets for him... Looking at the familiar face across from me, I made up my mind. This time, I'd let them have each other.

On New Year's Eve, Facebook blew up. The reason was that Bennett Miles, the golden boy of Crestmoor’s elite, posted an update. In the photo, a shy young woman hid her face as she leaned against his shoulder while he grinned. His eyes were full of affection and mischief. His caption read, "What do I do? Looks like I'm officially taken." Friends in his circle flooded the comment section with congratulations. The real frenzy began when Bennett announced that the first 10,000 followers to like, share, and comment on the post would each receive a gold bar. The internet went wild with envy and curiosity. Everyone scrambled to find out more about the woman in the picture. Then, someone claiming to have inside information started a livestream. "Stop guessing. Her name is Kara Sierra. You know Sierra Hall at Crestmoor College? That building was named after her! "Two years ago, she had kidney failure. Bennett personally donated one of his own kidneys to save her!"

My fiancé, Dominic, heir to the Carvalho crime family, vanished for four days. I thought a rival family had put a bullet in his head. Then I saw his ex’s Instagram story. A shot of them in bed. The caption: He still knows every inch of me. His face was hidden, but his hand wasn't. And on it, the ring I gave him, resting on her skin. That night, Dominic came home. He brought me white roses, my favorite. I asked him why. Why he'd lie. Why he'd sleep with her. He brushed it off. Just a "misunderstanding." I was done. I threw the ring in his face. Burned the wedding dress. Told him we were over. He thought I was just throwing a fit. He didn't get it. Not until he realized I was walking away for good. Then he panicked. Begged me to come back.

After six years with Joel, Lyra landed in the hospital—sick and drained. The day she got discharged, she caught something in the hallway she wasn't supposed to hear. "Joel Fenwick, are you out of your mind? You gave Lyra's bone marrow to Renee without telling her? You knew her health was trash and lied about it being a stomach issue just to make her do it?" Renee. Joel's childhood flame. The girl he never got over. Lyra didn't cry. Didn't freak out. She just picked up the phone, called her parents overseas, and said yes to an arranged marriage with the Windsors.

Five years into our marriage, I still hadn't gotten pregnant. The doctor said my fallopian tubes were blocked and that conceiving would be difficult. Even so, my husband, Lucas Enright, loved me with all his heart. Then, on our anniversary, he called and promised me a surprise I'd never forget. But when the estate gates swung open, a pregnant young woman stood outside. The smile froze on my face. Lucas didn't notice. He kissed the top of my head, beaming. "Freya, once we have this baby, the elders in my family will finally stop pressuring you about not having kids." When he saw how pale I was and noticed me trembling, he quickly pulled me into his arms. "Isabella is nothing more than a surrogate. Once she gives birth, we'll send her on her way. "If you don't like having her around, I'll put her in the guest room. You won't even have to see her." I swallowed my hurt and told myself he'd simply gone too far. Surely he still cared about me. But later that night, I walked past the guest room carrying a glass of warm milk on a tray. Through the half-open door, I saw the man who claimed to love me with all his heart tenderly kissing Isabella's pregnant belly. "Baby, grow strong and healthy. In a few more months, we'll get to meet you. "Mommy and Daddy can't wait for you to get here!" In that moment, I realized I was the real outsider in this house, and I always had been!

I had been living in my new apartment complex for less than a week. For the past few days, strange packages had been showing up at my door. Every time I opened one, I found another kind of "toy" inside. There were vibrating toys, remote-controlled devices, and even realistic adult toys. You name it, they sent it. Sure, I had a weakness for that kind of thing, but I hadn't ordered anything lately. As I tried to figure out what was going on, a friend request popped up on my phone. The moment I accepted it, a video came through. A man's long fingers toyed with a flesh-pink dildo. His deep voice was full of teasing amusement. "Can that basic toy really satisfy your insatiable mouth? Why don't I train you instead?" My face burned with humiliation and anger. I forced myself to stay calm and typed back. "Sir, if you keep harassing me, I'm calling the police." He clearly didn't care. Instead, he sent me another video. A flushed woman sat on a couch, gripping a dildo as she moaned with pleasure. I froze. That was me. The footage had come from my own security camera! That bastard had hacked my camera and stolen a video of me masturbating. Before I could recover from the shock, my phone rang. It was him. His deep voice carried a lazy hint of amusement as he said, "Tomorrow night at eleven sharp, your training begins."

I was Victor Costa's sickly wife. He was the CEO of the Costa Group and had married me despite his family's objections. On the opening day of the Costa Foundation's centennial charity week, I passed out from low blood sugar on the livestream. My husband, Victor, was in Europe for meetings, and his sister, Isabella Costa, was sure I was faking again. But after Dr. Rossi examined me, he frowned and asked her, "She's been malnourished for a long time, and her prescription hasn't been refilled in at least three months. Doesn't anyone feed her?" The livestream comments exploded with laughter. [Mrs. Costa, malnourished? I'd sooner believe the Costa Group had gone bankrupt.] Everyone knew Victor set aside two million dollars a month for my care and had hired a private doctor and nutritionist just for me. Isabella thought I was overdoing it, too. That is, until she searched my bag and found half a pack of glucose tablets I'd been rationing, a prepaid card with only seven dollars left, and three declined-payment slips from the pharmacy. I said quietly, "Victor told me I only get $200 a month to live on. "My medicine is too expensive. If I stop taking it for a while, I won't die right away." Isabella called her brother on the spot. "You only give your wife $200 a month?" Victor's voice turned cold. "What do you mean, $200? "I sign off on two million dollars for her every month, and I've never pulled her medical team!"

"Your application for the exchange program has been approved, Isla. You're the only person who got through, so congratulations!" Isla Stokerton feels at peace when she hears the good news from her professor, Richard Langham. "Thanks, Mr. Langham. I'll make sure to achieve great things and not disappoint you."

Three days before our engagement, Zach Jefferson called me. “We’ll need to postpone the engagement party by a month. That day is Sienna’s first concert since she returned, and I need to be there. “It’s just a postponement. It’s no big deal.” He had postponed our engagement three times that year. The first time was because Sienna Lynch had been hospitalized with appendicitis. He said he had to take care of her and rushed over. The second time, Sienna said she was feeling down. He was worried she might get depressed and immediately booked a flight to see her. It was the third time. I simply said, “Okay.” After hanging up, I turned to the good-looking and refined man beside me. “Are you interested in marrying me?” Later, during Sienna’s concert, Zach left her without hesitation. With red, teary eyes, he rushed to my engagement ceremony. “Yulia, are you really getting engaged to this man?”

My fiancé Damian Crowley and I'd been together for six years. But the night before my wedding, he demanded that I let my twin sister, Chloe Lambert, take my place as the bride. "Chloe doesn't have much time left. This is her only dream. Think of it as granting your sister's last wish." My own parents jabbed their fingers in my face and yelled at me too. They said I owed Chloe my life. It was only a wedding, they said, and I should stop being so selfish. Three years ago, I'd slipped and fallen into the water, and Chloe had supposedly risked her life to save me. She'd been in fragile health ever since. From then on, my family blamed me for everything. I walked on eggshells around them and gave Chloe whatever she wanted to repay that debt. I told myself I owed her, so I gave in to every demand, no matter how unreasonable. Now they wanted me to give up my wedding too. I looked at Chloe hiding behind my fiancé, barely able to keep the triumph off her face. My fingers closed around the contents of my bag: a falsified medical record with an official hospital stamp and proof of what had really happened three years ago. I smiled coldly and nodded. This time, I wouldn't just give them what they wanted. I'd give them a wedding the whole city would talk about.

With just one month left before my wedding to Silas Novak, his first love, Isabella Grey, was diagnosed with terminal cancer. Her dying wish was for Silas to take her on a monthlong honeymoon. Full of guilt, Silas pulled me into his arms. "Nina, I'm sorry. The wedding can wait, but Isabella can't. It's her last wish. I can't just abandon her." I was leaning against his shoulder, about to nod, when his phone screen lit up and a message caught my eye. "Babe, the fake medical report is all set! You promised you'd push back the wedding and spend some time alone with me, so no backing out." That was the moment I found out her terminal cancer diagnosis was just an elaborate lie. And to him, our wedding was just a game he could call off whenever he felt like it. So the day after their flight took off, I called his uncle, Ryder Novak. Since he'd chosen a honeymoon with his first love, I'd find a new groom. I was done playing his game!

The day we moved into the run-down apartment, I started seeing comments floating in the air. They said my husband, Ethan Grant, was the male lead in a tragic romance novel. And I was his first wife, the one who died young. The woman he'd once loved deeply and could never get over. The comments told me what would happen after I died: Ethan would spend years unable to move on. His grief would last until a woman named Chloe appeared. She was gentle and cheerful, like a ray of sunshine breaking through the darkness in his life. Chloe would be the one to finally help Ethan move on from my death and find happiness again. I stared blankly at the words floating before my eyes. Maybe I should let him go.

The day Lillian was born, my husband, Darian Ford, lied to me. He was with Maya Bell while she gave birth, and he missed our daughter's first cry. He came back full of guilt, apologized, and did everything he could to look after our daughter and me. Maya's child happened to start preschool on the same day as Lillian. Darian missed Lillian's preschool orientation. I saw the disappointment on my daughter's face. All I could do was tell her quietly, "It's all right. You still have me." When she fell down the stairs, I called him in a panic. He swore he was on his way. We waited three hours at the hospital. Then we found him in a video that had gone viral. In the video, he was walking down the street with Maya's child in one arm and his other hand on Maya's back. An interviewer had stopped them because they looked like a picture-perfect family of three. When my daughter woke up crying for her father, I kissed her forehead and said, "Baby, from now on, it'll just be you and me. Is that all right?" He finally arrived, apologizing over and over. He promised to take us on a trip once she was better. But just as we were leaving, his phone rang. It was Maya's special ringtone. Maya's voice shook with sobs. "Darian, Sean has a high fever. I'm so scared. What do I do?" I didn't say anything. I waited to see what my daughter would do. Darian hung up, looking torn, and knelt in front of her. "Lillian, I have to go back to the city. Something urgent came up. Go ahead with your mom, and I'll join you later, all right?" I thought she would cry and cling to him the way she always had. Instead, she took a small step back and gave him an innocent but distant smile. "Mr. Ford, you don't have to come find us. Mom says not to talk to strangers."

My sister and I married into wealthy families at the same time and became glamorous society wives. She had been childhood sweethearts with her husband, a CEO who was admired and respected by all. On the surface, their marriage was harmonious and respectful. But three years after the wedding, she got drunk one night and tearfully confessed to me. "Carrie… he's seeing someone else. He even has a love child now. They've been together longer than we've been married. He's been lying to me all this time. I'm just a joke to him." My eyes burned, brimming with unshed tears. "Actually… Kai's cheating too. He even bought his mistress a luxury car." We cried together all night. Gradually, our sorrow slowly turned into cold, clear resolve. "I don't want that bastard anymore, Carrie." "It's okay, Rachel. If you're walking away, I am too. I don't want my scumbag husband either." After a long talk, we made our final decision: Since this life wasn't working, we'd disappear. We'd leave it all behind and vanish without a trace.

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.

A business trip took an unexpected turn when our plane ran into disaster. While everyone else was penning their last words, I, an orphan with nothing to lose, decided to have a little fun with my miserly boss. “Boss, let’s keep this short—I like you.” “I really, really like you.” “Boss, this is a final goodbye.” Just when all hope seemed lost, the captain pulled off a miracle with his years of experience, saving us from the brink of catastrophe. By the time we landed safely, I was still in a daze until I saw my boss, eyes bloodshot, storming toward me, flanked by a wall of black-suited bodyguards.