Melodramatic Short Stories & CEO Regret Novels

This bottle girl, new to the club, always demanded I serve her. And only me. She was good for business, so I let it slide. Then, one weekend, two in the morning. I’m in bed in the penthouse. She calls, barking orders at me. “I’m in the ‘Paradise’ suite. Get up here with a bottle and get me right.” I almost laughed. The girl was an idiot. “It’s 2 AM. Are you ordering me around? I’m not your bodyguard or your dealer.” She sneered, her voice dripping with arrogance. “My cousin is the club manager. You should feel honored to serve me. By the way, your ‘protection fee’ is late this month. Get your ass over here now, or I’ll have my cousin dump you in the Chicago River.” Oh. She had no idea. The docks along the Chicago River… they’re mine. All of them.

After designing a one-of-a-kind suit, Lynette Gibson declares online, "This suit is not for sale. It's a gift to the man I love the most." She tells me she'll give it to me on the day we get engaged. That day finally comes along, but she doesn't show up at our engagement party. Instead, she gives the suit to her assistant, Zac Fisher. Lynette and I have been together for seven years now. For the first time in our relationship, instead of confronting her about it, I simply announce to all our friends that she and I are calling off the engagement.

After billionaire Jonathan Whitman lost his fortune, his wife Selene had no choice but to work as a maid in a mansion to make ends meet. She scrubbed toilets. She cleaned pools. She hauled out garbage—right up until she lost the baby she was carrying. And then she discovered her husband's affair with Vivienne, her employer. She was sleeping with Selene's husband, carrying her husband's baby, wearing million-dollar rubies, sleeping in silk, dining on imported delicacies. The moment she walked in on them, Selene snapped and pushed Vivienne. But Jonathan, to protect her, had Selene arrested and held in detention. He thought she'd come out of it humbled. Quiet. Tamer. What he didn't know was that the moment she walked free, she filed for divorce. She walked out of the basement studio they'd shared without a backward glance. What he also didn't know: he had a genetic infertility condition. And the only woman on earth whose body could give him a child—was Selene.

My brother Christopher owned a boutique on Fifth Avenue. I'd gone in, picked out a few pieces, grabbed a silk scarf on the way, and was heading for the door. The clerk behind the register stopped me. "Ma'am, we'll need you to settle this now." I looked up. Her name tag said Yvonne. Unfamiliar face. Probably new. I didn't think much of it. "Just put it on the owner's account," I said politely. "He knows who I am." She gave a little snort through her nose, eyes raking from my hair down to my shoes. "We don't run accounts here. You might have the wrong store." She pushed an itemized bill across the counter. Four hundred thousand dollars. I scanned the line items. Personal Style Consultation. Premium Fitting Service. VIP Client Private Service. Every single charge cost more than the clothes themselves. I let out a short laugh. "I'm a Whitfield. Christopher's my brother. Whatever this is, he can deal with it at home." Her smile got uglier. "Anyone can claim to be a Whitfield, sweetheart. Are you trying to skip out on the bill, or are you just trying to embarrass yourself?" I didn't bother arguing. I pulled out my phone and texted Christopher: [Fire the clerk named Yvonne in the next ten minutes, or I pull every dollar I have in this store.]

I was slow by nature, always a beat behind in matters of love. It was Julian who loved me, who took me exactly as I was, who married me against everyone's objections. I thought I was the luckiest woman alive. Until the fifth year of our marriage, when I stumbled onto the secret between Julian and my sister. They'd been carrying on behind my back for a long time. They'd even had the gall to make a baby together. He ruffled my hair, gentle as ever, his voice soft and doting. "I've fallen for your sister. The same way I once fell for you." "You could be generous about it. Accept her. Accept us." Every drop of blood in me seemed to freeze, and the tears wouldn't stop. I didn't scream. I didn't fall apart. I just shut the door and walked away. But Julian was the one who lost his mind. Six months later, when I still assumed the two of them were long since married with a baby, he was the one crying, begging me not to leave, like a dog begging for scraps.

Three years ago, my best friend was hit by a car trying to save me. She had been in a coma ever since. I sat by her hospital bed, holding her hand. "Serena, you promised you'd be my maid of honor, remember? Julian and I finally set the date. Please wake up soon, okay? I miss you so much." My choked sobbing was cut short by a phone call. The nurse was asking me to come pay next month's hospital fees. But when I came back, I heard the voice I had been desperately waiting three years to hear. "Julian, you told me to wait for you while you broke things off with her." "I've waited three years for you! She comes to see me every single day, and all I can do is lie here." "Now you two are getting married. What about me!"

The day I discovered Sean's affair, I cornered him and my stepsister Tina in the company warehouse. A fire broke out afterward. Tina died saving me from the flames, and Sean was injured when a pillar collapsed on him. His shoulder was wrapped in bandages. "Joanna, are you happy now?" His ragged scream that day echoed in my ears for a long, long time. Two months later, the company went bankrupt because of the fire. To pay off the debts, Sean and I moved to a run-down neighborhood. I worked three jobs a day, all to ease the guilt eating me alive. A few years passed, and our relationship seemed to find its way back to what it once was—right up until Valentine's Day. That was when I spotted the supposedly dead Tina at the supermarket, shopping for seafood with Patricia, my mother-in-law. "Patricia, thank you. Without you, Sean and I wouldn't be this happy." "Don't mention it. If we hadn't gotten rid of that crazy woman back then, what would've happened to my precious grandson?" Patricia smiled and patted Tina's hand. "It's Valentine's Day. Sean reserved that rooftop restaurant just for you two. Go enjoy yourselves." My first instinct was to call Sean, but before I could even dial, a text from him came through first. "Babe, picking up a coworker's shift tonight. Night pay and the bonus come out to almost two hundred dollars. I'll bring you something good on my way back." I froze where I stood. So that was it. Three years of hardship, and all of it had been a lie they'd carefully woven around me.

My fiancé, Orlando, was a mafia captain. Three years ago, he got caught in a shootout, and someone tried to kill him. I took the bullet for him without thinking twice. The wound left me so weak that I spent most of my days stuck at home. Afraid I'd get hurt again, Orlando brought in a maid named Cecilia to look after me and act as my stand-in. Whatever was meant for me, she tried it first to make sure it was safe. Little by little, she got everything before I did. First to break in my heels. First to sleep in my wedding bed. Even the trip to Iceland I'd waited years for—she went with Orlando first, in my place. When the accident happened at the shopping center, Orlando still carried Cecilia into the emergency stairwell first. A falling stone column crushed my ankle. Lying in that hospital bed, I finally lost it. Orlando only frowned at me. "Nadia, stop making a scene. Cecilia is just your stand-in. She faces the danger first so you can stay safe." He sounded so sincere. He took my hand and pressed it to his lips. "Nadia, try to understand how hard this is for me. I can't let you get hurt again. I just can't." That devotion of his made me give in one more time. I never imagined that even at my own wedding—the day that mattered more to me than anything—Cecilia would wear my wedding dress before I did. I can make do with something secondhand. But I don't want a secondhand man.