Tragic Love Face Slapping Short Stories & Novels

My husband is a man with powerful emotions. To keep his adopted sister content, he allocates millions annually for her to spend lavishly. He's concerned about her well-being. Each night, he sits by her, ensuring she settles down. Later, when I was shot and bleeding heavily, requiring immediate aid, he remained utterly indifferent.He directed the entire medical team to his distraught adopted sister instead. I used my remaining strength to call my husband. The phone connected. His voice, tinged with irritation, answered: "What is it now? You're fine, perfectly healthy. Why would you need a doctor?" "Listen, Sofia needs me. Our family's medical resources are spread thin. For minor issues, just bear with it." My heart sank, feeling as if it had turned to ice. He truly is a man with powerful emotions. It's just that the one he truly cares about has never been me.

I had just reunited with my biological daughter when my husband and I had to fly overseas on a business trip. I was about to send my son his living expenses when a barrage of comments suddenly floated across my vision. [Don’t go! Your son’s girlfriend will come straight to your house and take over! She’ll pocket every cent you send him!] [Your two daughters will be abused so badly that they’ll be forced to eat tree bark with their bare hands, and they’ll think you allowed it!] [Both your adopted daughter and your biological daughter will come to hate you. Your son will manipulate them into helping him seize control of the company!] [In the end, your son will turn against his entire family for that gold digger. You’ll die alone on the street, with no one to even claim your body!] My hand froze in midair right as I was about to transfer ten million dollars to my son. The next second, he came trotting over with an eager smile. “Mom, Dad, don’t worry about a thing while you’re away! I’ll take good care of my two sisters! Oh, and don’t forget to send me my living expenses before you leave!” A chill ran through me. I quietly backed out of the transfer screen. “I’m not going on this business trip.”

I took the car in for service, and the mechanic found a copy of "The Expectant Cat Owner's Handbook" wedged between the passenger seat and the center console. The cat's name was Daisy. My wife, Marie Briggs, was listed as the owner. I stared at the page for a moment. We didn't own a cat. Just then, Marie called. I kept my voice casual when I asked her about it. "Hey, the mechanic found a cat care handbook in the car. When did we get a cat?" She gave a little laugh. "Oh, it's for that pregnant stray outside my office. I felt sorry for her, so I took her to the vet. She had her kittens last month. You should see them now. Everyone at the office spoils them." I chuckled and told her it was nice of her to look after them. After we hung up, I opened the handbook again and checked the details. Ragdoll. Two years old. I had seen photos of the stray and her kittens on one of her coworkers' social media accounts. The mother was a short-haired tabby, nothing like the long-haired breed listed in the handbook. I closed the handbook, noted the vet clinic's name, and drove over.

I cradled Chloe’s newborn, filled with joy and affection. The baby was not blood of mine, yet as Chloe’s best friend, I would love and protect the little one with everything I had. "Sweet boy," I whispered, gently tapping the tip of his nose. "I'm your godmother. No one would ever hurt you." The hospital room was washed in golden afternoon light. Adrian stood by the window in a dark overcoat, his profile sharp against the glass. He looked exactly like the man the whole industry knew: controlled, elegant, untouchable. Hollywood's golden producer. My newlywed husband. Then he said, in a voice as flat as if he were discussing a contract, "He's not your godson. He's my son." For a second, I thought I had misheard him. Maybe I was just exhausted from the wedding, from the endless calls and fittings and congratulations. I almost laughed. But Adrian turned around. A cruel little smile curved his lips. "The child is mine," he said again. My arms tightened around the baby. "The night you got hurt," he went on, "I was with Chloe the whole night. We went through an entire box... apparently this little guy still found a way to arrive." I couldn't move. It felt as if ice water had been poured down my throat. I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. After a long silence, I finally managed to whisper, "But... we only registered our marriage yesterday." Adrian walked over and put an arm around my shoulders, almost gently. His tone was soft, but it carried the kind of condescension people used with a child throwing a tantrum. "Don't worry. Chloe and I were never going to get married. If I had wanted to marry her, I would have done it years ago." He paused, and something almost pleased flashed in his eyes. "Didn't Chloe ever tell you? We had a history. I was her first."

The day my parents traveled all the way from home to discuss the wedding arrangements, the Miller family—led by Grayson Miller—showed up late. After my third call went unanswered, my mom forced a smile and tried to comfort me. "Maybe they're stuck in traffic. It's no big deal. Your dad and I don't mind waiting." And wait we did—for three hours. Their expressions slowly shifted from eager excitement to quiet sorrow. My dad kept tugging at the stiff, ill-fitting suit he rarely wore. Finally, he couldn't hold it in anymore. His eyes reddened, and his voice trembled as he asked, "Sweetheart… does it have to be him? "I'm not trying to break you two up. It's just—you'll be thousands of miles away from us. If you ever get hurt, your mom and I… we won't be there in time to wipe your tears." My nails dug into my palms. Still, I smiled, helped my parents to their feet, and said: "Dad, Mom, let's go home. Forget the engagement. I don't want it anymore."

Two weeks before I stopped waiting, Ethan Hayes gave my island invitation to another woman. Her name was Mia Lawson. Twenty-six, pretty, soft-spoken, and always close enough to him that people had started pretending not to notice. That night, everyone at our table went quiet. Ethan didn't. He placed the envelope in her hand and said, "You've been working too hard. Take a break." Mia blushed like he had given her roses. I looked at the envelope, then at the man I had waited eight years to marry. That island was supposed to be ours. The beach, the villa, the ceremony site facing the ocean. All of it. Maya gripped my hand under the table and whispered, "Claire, say something." But I only smiled, because if I opened my mouth, I was afraid I would beg. And I was done begging. Two weeks later, on that same island, my phone kept lighting up with Ethan's name. I didn't answer. I was already wearing the white dress he had told me to return.

For four years, I worked three jobs to support my husband, Edward Godfrey, while he chased his PhD and battled ALS. And somehow, in all that time, I'd never stepped foot on his campus. Not because I didn't want to. Every time I brought it up, he had some excuse ready. When graduation came, I asked to go to his hooding ceremony. He shut it down fast. "It's just a formality. A bunch of lab nerds. You'd be bored. Once I bring the diploma home, we'll have a candlelight dinner." I didn't argue. Just helped him straighten his doctoral gown. But I couldn't hide how excited I was. So I dressed up. And secretly followed him. Onstage, Edward stood beside his wheelchair, voice thick with emotion. "I want to thank my wife. She stood with me in the lab, even while pregnant, helping me grind out countless precious data points." I froze. My hand pressed against my flat stomach. Cold crept down my spine. For four years, I'd busted myself raw to support his PhD. I went from the girl everyone on campus admired to a fish seller, reeking like seafood every day. Worked so hard I miscarried twice. So who exactly was this "wife" he was thanking?

My partner, Derek Crawford, calls himself a traditional man. On our tenth anniversary, I bought him a pair of his favorite AJ sneakers. Instead, he gifted me a bag of pastries. "Your cake is extremely tiny, and yet it costs you a few dozen dollars! Look at the pastries I got you—not only are they cheap, but they are also huge in quantity! Now this is what I call worth it!" After that, Derek tells me that he'll make it up to me by throwing an engagement party. He has also invited my parents and my relatives to the party. With anticipation brimming in our eyes, we arrive at the restaurant, only to see Derek serving us with store-bought pickles and dinner rolls. "I'm a traditional man, you see. I'm not used to fancy food and foreign cuisines. This, right here, is the basics of a traditional dinner. You don't see patriotic men like me nowadays!" My relatives' expressions change drastically on the spot. Meanwhile, my parents look very mortified. I can only smile awkwardly at them while doing everything I can to stop them from leaving. But as soon as I leave the hotel, I receive a notification from the bank that 200 thousand dollars have been deducted from my account via a supplementary card linked to it. At the same time, Derek's childhood sweetheart, Renee Young, posts a photo of her 12-layered luxurious cake on her social media account. "When I told Derek that I wanted to celebrate my birthday, not only did he buy me the most expensive strawberry cake, but he also reserved a dozen or so tables that are served with the grandest feast! "If your man loves you that much, he won't need any lessons in pampering you! Traditional men definitely know how to love and pamper their queens!" I tighten my grip on my phone. As I look back at Derek, who keeps claiming that he's a traditional man stuck to his traditional ways, I suddenly find it exhausting to continue being in a relationship with him.

On the day of my tenth wedding anniversary, my best friend, Jordan Price, shows up at my doorstep with a cancer diagnosis. He informs me he only has a month left to live, and his dying wish is to have my wife, Renee Myers, be his bride for a day to complete a non-binding wedding ceremony. In my previous life, I find the whole idea absurd. I tell him it isn't appropriate and turn him down. That night, he leaves a suicide note and jumps into the ocean. Jordan had been orphaned at a young age, and Mom takes him in and raises him as her own. When my son, Oliver Hall, is five years old, Jordan even risks his life to rescue him from a blazing building. Consequently, my entire family concludes that my sins are unforgivable and that I've driven him to his grave. Mom disowns me, and my younger brother, Philip Hall, cuts off all contact with me. Every year, Renee will wear her wedding gown and go to the beach to mourn him. My wife and son loathe me for a decade. … On the day of Oliver's wedding, he sets Jordan's memorial portrait at the head table and publicly declares that he wants nothing to do with me, his father, who supposedly killed the man who saved his life. Later on, after I suffer a stroke and end up paralyzed, Renee frames me as mentally unstable and has me committed to a mental asylum. On the day I breathe my last, I receive a video. Jordan, who is supposed to have been dead for a decade, has his arm around my wife. He's all smiles as he tells me he doesn't have cancer, and he never actually killed himself. … When I open my eyes again, I'm back on the day Jordan hands me his cancer diagnosis. Renee's eyes are brimming with tears as she takes off her wedding ring. "Jordan only wants me to be his bride for a day. Can't you grant him this one wish?" Everyone expects me to refuse. However, I take the ring from her and casually toss it into the trash. "I can. Sign the divorce agreement today, and I'll walk you down the aisle tomorrow."

Whenever my brother, Matteo Moretti, screwed up, I was the one who got hurt. Because he was the future Don of the Moretti family. My father, Vittorio Moretti, couldn't bring himself to punish the heir he'd so carefully groomed. So he used my pain to shape him. The first time my brother dipped into the family's money without permission, my father froze my accounts and dumped me alone on the roughest stretch of the Palermo docks. I couldn't pay the protection money, and I was nearly dragged into a warehouse and sexually assaulted. In the end, I only got out of there safely by handing over every piece of jewelry I was wearing. The first time my brother let a traitor go, my father had me locked in a basement with that same traitor. By the time my brother got there, the traitor had broken two of my ribs. But all my father could see was my brother. "Take a good look. Going soft will get your family killed." The year I turned 22, my brother was finally about to take over the family. My father said this would be his last lesson. He staged a fake kidnapping with me as the hostage to teach my brother how to negotiate and make hard choices. But the third time I called begging for help, he was still sitting at the Moretti estate with a drink in his hand. "What's the rush? She'll be fine." Even when gunshots came over the line, my father still had no idea. The people who took me weren't his men. Dad. This time, my brother's last lesson cost me my life. Are you happy now?

Before turning 25, the pack elders use the mind-link 99 times to forcibly summon me. I have to bond with a mate before my 25th birthday or face an arranged marriage to serve the pack. When I tell Jacob Fulton, our patrol captain, he just scoffs. "I've never heard of any pack having a rule like that. Wendy, you don't need such a pathetic tactic to test me. I was going to mark you, but seeing how desperate you are, I've changed my mind." He tosses the protection necklace I hand-crafted for him to his childhood friend, Yelena Shaw, and walks off without a second glance. Yelena blushes as she offers the necklace back to me. A triumphant glint flashes in her eyes. I step back, refusing it with a soft voice. "You can keep my trash." Ignoring her sudden paleness, I turn and walk away. I don't want the necklace anymore, and I don't want Jacob, either. What Jacob doesn't know is that I'm the sole heir to the Darkmoon pack. Once I turn 25, I must return to fulfill my duty—to take my place as Alpha Female and bond with a mate. Only this time, Jacob won't be the one I choose.

I had already bought the house we were supposed to build our future in, and over the years, I had carefully set aside a substantial wedding fund. I could not wait to spend the rest of my life with my girlfriend, Jeannie Cooperd. Jeannie had always seemed delicate and timid. Even a simple remark would leave her eyes red with tears. For two years, I spoiled her shamelessly, giving in to her every whim. Every plan I made, every dollar I saved, and every dream I held revolved around our wedding and the life we would share together. Then, I received the kidney compatibility report. The moment I saw the results, my heart turned icy. The woman who normally shrank from pain was now gripping my shoulders with surprising strength, determined to push me toward the operating room. "You're healthy! What's the big deal about living with one kidney?" she cried. "Elliot is dying!" Elliot. The name alone was enough. He was the first love she had never truly let go of, the one she had kept hidden in the deepest corner of her heart. Just yesterday, he was diagnosed with complete kidney failure. To pay for his treatment and cover the debts he had accumulated, Jeannie secretly canceled our wedding, drained every cent from the wedding fund and savings we had built together, and poured it all into Elliot's medical bills and endless financial problems. That was not enough. With sweet words and carefully crafted lies, she coaxed me into coming to the hospital and persuaded me to undergo compatibility testing.

For six years, I waited to become Alpha Kael’s marked mate and official Luna. The first time, Lyra—his dead brother’s mate—called crying about a rogue attack. He left me at the altar and ran to save her, but it turned out that she had just gotten lost wandering in the woods. The second time, he never showed up because Lyra had threatened to commit suicide. Later I found out he had given her the Luna necklace because her wolf needed protection more than mine. The third time, I went searching for him and found him at her prenatal appointment, his hand on her belly. He didn’t know I was carrying his pup too. Heartbroken, I decided to leave. After I disappeared, he went crazy looking for me.

Natalie Shaw, the dance company's new understudy, slipped razor blades into my practice outfit and left my back slashed and bloody. My boyfriend, Derek Mercer, the theater's associate director, sent her makeup case skidding across the room with one furious kick. "Touch her again, and I'll end you!" Natalie was thrown out of the rehearsal room, her eyes rimmed red. After that, she didn't just refuse to back down. She hired a few thugs to corner me in the alley behind the theater. Derek threw himself in front of me to block a steel pipe, fracturing his arm. Everyone said Derek would die for me. Then, at a sponsors' dinner the night before the tour, I drank a glass of wine Natalie handed me. Within minutes, my limbs went slack and my skin began to burn. I dragged myself into a storage closet at the end of the hall, only to hear Natalie's syrupy voice just outside the door. "The way you took that beating for her two days ago almost broke my heart. But..." Fabric rustled, and Natalie giggled. "Back in the private dining room, you watched me slip something into her drink. You knew those sponsors had cameras ready and were waiting for her. And you just stepped out for a smoke." "You let me destroy her reputation, so the principal role is mine now. Right?" Derek said nothing. He only pinned her against the door. The door vibrated slightly, striking a heavy blow against my heart. He had already given his heart to someone else.

The Mafia circle in New York City was a tangled web, where power shifted in the blink of an eye. The Dusk family, once a powerful force in the underworld, was now reduced to nothing more than a pawn in the game. Their only hope for survival was to marry off their daughters, securing the support they so desperately needed. I, Seraphina Dusk, was sadly one of those daughters. In my past life, I had managed to secure myself a powerful marriage. I married Silas Vane, the head of the most influential mafia family in the country. My sister, Lila, was less fortunate, ending up with Jaxon Westmore—whom she believed would save her. I gave Silas a son and a daughter, and in return, my family was gifted wealth and power. But my sister? She was not so lucky. Jaxon wasn’t the man she thought he was. Instead of honoring the marriage or alliance, he squandered his time on models and strippers, leaving Lila discarded by both him and our father. One seemingly ordinary day, Lila invited me to lunch—never did I expect that she would kill me, drove a knife into my heart. Then she killed herself. And now here I was, reborn, back when our father first told us that Lila and I have to marry for the family. And this time, Lila called her shots on Silas Vane. That’s when I knew. She was reborn as well. Let her have him, then. She had no idea what kind of man he really was.

To help my younger sister, Emily Lambert, recover from her asthma, I went out of my way to buy a private island known for its pristine air. However, on the very day she arrived, someone kicked her so hard that they broke her ribs, and she called me crying. "Arthur, they're saying this island belongs to someone else! They're going to throw me into the ocean." Through the phone, I heard the island manager's harsh voice. "This island is a gift from Ms. Wynter to her boyfriend! Who do you think you are? You're just a trash picker, and you think you can just show up here?" Suddenly, everything clicked. My wife, Cassie Wynter, had a boy toy on the side, and he was now trying to take over the island meant for Emily's recovery. Well, that score needed to be settled. Cassie and I had been married for two years. In that time, she had transformed from a nobody in a third-rate family to a powerful CEO controlling the luxury goods market. Everyone said she had a gift for business, that she had the Midas touch. However, no one knew the truth: the exclusive royal supplier connections she wielded were resources I had risked my life for in the United Zahara. I dialed the Zaharan Royal Family. "Prince Khalid, it's time you repaid the favor you owe me."

It's our fifth year together, and I accompany my fiance, Theo Montague, to see the aurora he has always yearned to see. Fortune favors us that night as vivid green lights stretch across the snow-covered plain. He wraps his arms around me from behind and suddenly murmurs, "It's beautiful. Too bad we're still one step short of perfect." I freeze for a moment and ask him what we're missing. He doesn't answer, and I don't press him, either. After all, I've heard this phrase far too many times. When I go to great lengths to get him the out-of-print book he has his sights on for ages, he sighs. "We're still one step short of perfect." When we move into our beautifully furnished house and finally have a place of our own in Northshire, he laments, "We're still a step short." Even when he becomes a professor, our wedding's set, and everyone envies us for having it all, he still tells me, "This is wonderful, but it's still one step short of perfect." I've heard it so often that I assume he's simply harder to please than most people. The "one step short" he always speaks of seems nothing more than the small imperfection a perfectionist can never let go of. Everything changes when his most prized former student returns from abroad. For the first time ever, the man who rarely posts on social media shares a photo of himself picking her up at the airport. The woman standing next to him looks eerily like me, sharing at least 70% of my features. The caption reads, "My life's complete now that I've reunited with an old friend." That's when it hits me—the one thing he's missing is a person. I'm merely someone he settles for because I happen to look 70% like her. Since I'm only 70% similar to the woman he truly wants, how can I possibly give him the perfect life he longs for?

I was always a step behind, while Ryan Walker, my childhood friend, and Claire Morgan, my best friend, were always in a rush. Whenever we ate together, they would finish before I was even halfway through. Then they would start talking about heading to the gaming lounge next door and leave me sitting alone in the restaurant. Once, while we were swimming, my leg cramped halfway across the pool. I called out for help, only to realize they had already gotten out and left. When it was time to submit our college applications, I had not even logged in when they submitted theirs and got up to leave. "Wendy, you take forever. I need to help Claire snag concert tickets, so we're leaving without you. "Claire and I both applied to Eastbridge University. Make sure you apply there too." As soon as Ryan finished speaking, Claire grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the door. They left in such a hurry that he never heard me say, "I'm not applying to Eastbridge University. "You won't ever have to wait for me again."

When we're in a meeting during an overtime shift, Jazmine Garcia's secretary, Alvin Bauer, whisks a powerbank from her bag, as if it's the most natural thing to do in this world. Jazmine merely glances at him. She opts not to comment anything and just continue the meeting instead. The next morning, I hand over a divorce agreement that I've just printed. Jazmine chucks it into the trash can impatiently. "All this just because Alvin used my powerbank?" I nod for a moment before shaking my head. "It's because he never told you that he wanted to use your powerbank, and yet he took it from your bag in a natural manner. On top of that, you didn't stop him from using your powerbank, too." Jazmine shoots me a nasty glance at my words. Then, she drops her signature onto the divorce agreement before throwing it at my face. "You really have too much free time on your hands! All you do is pay attention to such menial matters and picking fights with me over them! "I've already signed the divorce agreement! I'll have you know that since you have the guts to bring up divorce, you should be ready to suffer from the consequences! I will never go back to you!" Jazmine and I are childhood friends, and our relationship has spanned for more than 20 years. She refuses to believe that I'll give up on our relationship over such a petty matter in such a short time. But the straw that ends up crushing the camel is never the final straw.

After my wife was promoted to chief conductor, her work kept her so busy that I saw her only twice in three years. Each time, she came home in the middle of the night and left before dawn with her bag in hand. When my father‑in‑law fell seriously ill and urgently needed money, I wrote to her several times but never received a reply. I had no other choice, so I went to the train station to find her. I handed over our marriage certificate. The ticket clerk frowned and read the document three times before handing it back. "Sir, you are not listed as Chief Conductor Lewis' spouse in our system. Please do not cause any trouble." My heart skipped a beat. I thought something terrible had happened to Olivia. I bought a standing‑room ticket without hesitation and boarded the train, heading straight for the driver's cabin. Before I knocked, I heard her subordinates cheering inside. "Olivia, you really had it made! Hiring a caregiver for your father‑in‑law for three whole years must have cost a fortune!" My hand froze on the door. Shock covered my face. My parents had been dead for nearly ten years. Where did Olivia get a father‑in‑law? As I stood there in disbelief, a man in a ticket inspector's uniform brushed past me, pushed open the door, and pulled Olivia into his arms. Everyone in the cabin stood and joked, "Julian, you were late today!"