Tragic Love Short Stories & Hypocrisy Face Slapping Novels

On the night of the Festival of Lights, Mother secretly took me out to wander the streets. Then, out of nowhere, a man and a woman stepped into our path. The man stared at my mother, his eyes turning red. "Emmeline?" The woman's gaze locked on me. She grabbed the man's sleeve, suddenly frantic. "Cedric, look! Those eyes, that face... She's our daughter, Rosalind!" She rushed toward me with her arms open wide. "Rosalind, I'm your mother!" I was so scared that I scrambled behind my mother. Mother pulled me behind her without a word. Her face gave nothing away. The man approached, looking guilty and full of himself at the same time. "Emmeline, it must have been hard on you all these years, raising my daughter with Seraphina so well. Now that I've returned to the capital, I'll make it up to you. I still remember the promise we made, our betrothal. "But Seraphina is already my lawful wife, so I'm afraid you'll have to settle for being a concubine." I was stunned. My father was the reigning Emperor. My mother was the Empress. What in the world was this man talking about?

Everyone in the city knows Nathan Cooper only agreed to marry me because he had no choice. No matter how many times I tried to seduce him over the past seven years, he would just run his fingers over his rosary beads. Never once had he shown a trace of desire in his eyes. It isn't until that night, when I see him answer a long-distance call from his first love. Upon hearing her voice, Nathan loses control. It's as if heat was surging through his body like a live wire. The next day, Lily Hunt flies back. Nathan shoves me out of the car and drives off to pick her up. As I fall from the bridge and lose my memory, news of Nathan's proposal to his beloved sets the whole city ablaze. The next day, he shows up late to the hospital. As Nathan stands by my bedside, he says he will marry me, but only if he can hold a wedding ceremony with Lily. Then, he announces the wedding date. I lean against his bitter enemy, Luke Patton, and look at Nathan in confusion. "Sorry, who are you?"

I spent seven years drafting divorce papers for other people. I never expected that the ninety-ninth agreement would be my own. That night, my husband, Carter, lost a tabletop game during a live stream with his childhood sweetheart, Chloe. The penalty was to give up the thing he treasured most. Chloe smiled at the camera, tapping his wedding ring. "Lend me your marriage for a day." The comment section blew up. Carter looked at me like he was giving orders to an assistant. "Evelyn, you know the drill. "Sign a temporary divorce agreement. I’ll cancel it with you tomorrow morning." Chloe lowered her eyes, her voice trembling. "Forget it. She won't let you. You always choose her over me anyway." I reached into my bag and touched the positive IVF result. Seven years of hormone shots. Four miscarriages. I didn't even have the energy to tell him anymore. As the camera zoomed in on my face, I pushed the papers back across the table. "Carter, this time, I’m putting down a bet, too. “I bet the thing you lose tonight isn't just me.”

Before the birthday party starts, my boyfriend, Edward Parker, casts his phone onto the large screen in the private room. He starts an anonymous poll in the group chat we share with our friends. The question is, "Tonight, should I stay and cut the cake with my girlfriend, or go to the premiere with my childhood friend?" A 30-second countdown begins as the votes keep climbing. His childhood friend, Renee Lane, gets 17 votes while I get just one. Everyone thinks I'm the one who has voted for myself. Edward leans back against the couch and smiles. "The minority yields to the majority." Renee hands him the movie ticket. "Guess everyone agrees that I need you more." Meanwhile, I'm standing before a cake with the candles still unlit, wearing my favorite dress. Someone in the room whistles. "Tanya, don't be a sore loser." The voting thing has been going on for three years now. Whenever we fight, Edward will let them vote on who apologizes first. On dates, he will let them vote on whose hand he holds. Even when I ask him whether he loves me, he sends the question to the group chat, saying, "Let's have everyone weigh in." I think that if I win just once, he will finally take my side. But I never win. Tonight is no different. Edward gets to his feet and grabs his coat. As he walks past me, he ruffles my hair. "Be good, okay? I'll make it up to you when I get back." I look at the results on the screen, lock my phone, and push the cake knife toward him. "No need. Edward, I'm done voting."

I spent countless sleepless nights developing a breakthrough drug for a devastating illness, and I expected at least some recognition from my CEO girlfriend. Instead, she accused me of wasting the company research budget and promoted a newly hired young assistant to oversee the company finances. It was the middle of a brutal heatwave with temperatures that soared past ninety-eight degrees. The assistant locked the lab air-conditioning controls away so no one else could use them, while he shut himself inside his private office with the AC set to sixty degrees. He wrapped himself in a blanket and played video games. I complained to my girlfriend, and she brushed it off as part of building company culture. She claimed she gave him authority for my own good because she believed it would prepare me for a future management position. According to her, I was too narrow-minded to understand her intentions. She then shut off the lab main power supply and locked the control panel as if she wanted to teach me a lesson. The fans stopped working, and the heat grew worse. Several coworkers collapsed from heat exhaustion and were taken to the hospital. The assistant posted photos of himself and my girlfriend at an indoor ski resort. They wore winter jackets and ate ice cream together. The caption read, “Some people are sweeter than ice cream.” I finally understood everything. Her idea of company culture had never been anything more than an excuse to favor him. Everyone expected me to confront her or demand an explanation. I packed up my things instead. She mistook my silence for obedience. She believed her air-conditioning punishment had worked, and she promised that once she returned from closing her business deal, she might consider letting me enjoy the AC again. She did not know that when she shut down the lab power, the research equipment stopped running. The drug we had just finished developing became unstable, and the experimental data was destroyed. By the time the delivery deadline arrived, there would be no formula left to hand over. She would face a catastrophic breach-of-contract lawsuit and enormous financial penalties. Without access to the medication in time, she would also suffer permanent long-term complications from the illness we had tried to treat.

By the time I got home from my business trip, it was already past midnight—and my husband wasn't there. A woman's blouse lay on the sofa. It wasn't mine. I called him. He said he was working late at the office. I didn't bother with pretense. "Whose blouse is on the sofa?" His tone was light and casual. "Who else would it be? It's obviously a gift for you. Try it on." Suspicious, I picked it up and held it against myself. The blouse was clearly one size too small. "Honey, this is a size S. I always wear M." My husband owns a clothing company. He handles all my clothes. He's even used my measurements to design women's wear. There's no way he doesn't know my size. On the phone, he froze for half a second, then spoke as if piecing something together. "This is a new women's line I'm launching. I ordered custom pieces for you and my sister. I must've grabbed the wrong one. I'll switch it tomorrow." A moment later, his voice softened with exhaustion. "Babe, you've been gone for days. Without you, I feel so tired… I miss you so much…" It was already late into the night. Hearing him sound vulnerable—something he rarely did—made my chest tighten. I blamed myself for overthinking. But the moment I hung up, realization struck. His sister has the same build as me. She always wears size M.

My girlfriend and I had agreed to marry as soon as we graduated. But after I waited three hours at the registration hall, she registered with my stepbrother instead. He had been in love with her for ten years, and now he was being sent to the deadliest front in space. “He won't survive without me,” she said. “Once he's gone, I'll still be yours.” My father and stepmother told me to be the bigger person. As I looked at their self-righteous faces, I accepted a command at the same front and became my stepbrother's highest-ranking superior. By the time news of my victories—and my wedding—reached home, every one of them had lost their minds with regret.

On my birthday, my boyfriend Heath Merrick sent me a transfer of 200 dollars, same as always. The note read: [Birthday gift for Macy. Too busy lately, so I won't be around to celebrate with you.] A second later, I saw a message my best friend, Kyra Donnelly, had accidentally sent to our four-person group chat. [Fourth birthday we've spent together! Thank you, Brody and Heath, for the gifts!] The photo attached was a cake topper, a miniature figurine made of two ounces of solid gold. Less than a minute after the message appeared, my brother, Brody Lawton and also the group admin, deleted it for her. He tried to cover it up by flooding the chat with a string of GIFs, then casually typed a new message as if nothing had happened. [It's Kyra's and Macy's birthday today. Let's go eat at Sorelli's? Kyra's been wanting to try their food for ages, and I just managed to snag a reservation.] Before I could even respond, my boyfriend and my best friend had already sent back thumbs-up stickers in perfect sync. I quietly deleted the half-typed message that read: [Their food is too spicy for me.] I sent a thumbs-up sticker of my own. The front door opened, and all three of them appeared in the doorway together. Brody rushed me. "Hurry up, everyone's waiting for you!" Heath frowned. "Stop dawdling. We'll lose the reservation." No one mentioned the message Kyra had accidentally posted. I looked at the three of them, at how naturally my brother and my boyfriend stood on either side of Kyra. One of them was weighed down with shopping bags full of clothes she had bought. The other had both hands full of her snacks and drinks. The whole thing suddenly felt completely pointless. I unlocked my phone and sent a message to my advisor: [Professor, I've decided to accept the exchange program abroad.]

The day I caught my husband, McCoy, cheating, my postpartum depression took a turn for the worse. It was the 99th time I’d tried to swallow a bottle of pills. Our baby wailed hysterically in his stroller. My best friend, Raleigh, grabbed and desperately forced the pills out of my mouth. McCoy scooped me into his arms and rushed me to the ER, guilt written all over his face when he said, “Just make it through one more day, Moira. For each day you survive, write down one wish. “When you get better, I’ll make every one of them come true.” By the time I’d reached 1,000 wishes, the doctors were pleased enough with my progress to discharge me. Overjoyed, I went ahead home to surprise my family, only to find the wall where our wedding portrait had been hung replaced with photographs I’d never seen before. Raleigh posed with McCoy and our child in the photos. Some of the photographs were taken during a vacation. At the bottom was one last empty frame with a location printed: Disneyland. I opened TikTok from my alt account and searched for Raleigh’s handle. Her latest video was from Disneyland. “One last trip with my favorite people. Maybe in our next life, the three of us can finally be a family.” The comments were overflowing with sympathy from mutual friends and my coworkers. McCoy’s comment at the bottom stood out. “Thank you, Raleigh. You gave me somewhere to breathe during these past three years. “If there’s another life, I hope you’ll be my wife.” With trembling fingers, I tapped on her profile and found over 1,000 videos just like it. For three years—more than 1,000 days—she had not been absent from their lives. I quietly pulled out the wish list and crossed out my last wish to be with McCoy forever, replacing another. “I hope you get everything you wished for.” There was no need for another life. Raleigh could just take my place and be a more fitting wife and mother. This time, I would be the one to leave.

My best friend, Jake Lawson, caught his fiancée, Lyla Sterling, cheating right in the middle of their engagement party. Instead of apologizing, Lyla just sneered at Jake in front of the entire crowded room. "Oh, please. As if any other girl in the world would actually want you." Jake balled his hands into tight fists, his knees buckling like he was about to collapse. In a moment of pure, reckless impulse, I grabbed my own girlfriend’s hand and shoved it directly into his palm. "Who says nobody wants him?" I demanded, my voice ringing out across the hall. "Starting right now, she's his girlfriend." My girlfriend, Nora Mitchell, froze, totally stunned. A heartbeat later, she played along. She wrapped her arm tightly around Jake’s, and together, they walked straight out of the party. Late that night, the three of us knocked back drinks together, laughing it off. We all agreed it was just a one-time performance. However, Lyla wouldn't stop harassing Jake. Nora started stepping in as the fake girlfriend to keep Lyla away, accompanying him to parties and helping him navigate dinner with his parents. I never suspected a single thing. Until I stumbled across a post online. [Borrowed my best friend’s girlfriend to spite my cheating ex. Now I don’t want to give her back. What do I do?] The original poster said his best friend had handed the girl over with his own two hands. The first time they held hands was just for show. The first time they hugged was just an act. The first time she spent the night at his house, though, was completely real. People in the comments flamed him for being a backstabbing snake. He replied: [After that night, things happened between us. I'm taking responsibility for her.] I stared at the photo frame on our living room table, the three of us smiling back at me, as a sickening cold crept from my fingers all the way down to my toes. I only lent him a single night to save his dignity. They took that single night and turned it into forever.

On my 30th birthday, my boyfriend of seven years asked to meet at the City Hall. He even told me to bring my ID and wear a wedding dress. But when I showed up just as he asked, he was laughing and looked really excited. “Pay up, pay up! I told you all. No matter how embarrassing it is, Wrenna will always do what I say!” I just looked at him wordlessly. Matthew Young raised his eyebrows at me. “Come on, it was just a joke. You’re not mad, are you?” When I stayed quiet, he got annoyed. “Alright, alright. I said I’d marry you, and I will. Just not right now.” His good-for-nothing friends started laughing and making fun of me. They said I was his simp and would never get angry. And they were right. I was not angry. I did not come here today for him anyway. After everyone left, I walked into the City Hall. “Sorry I’m late. Let’s go get married.”

When I arrived at my wedding in my bridal gown, I found an octagonal fighting ring set up in the center of the stage. My fiance, Derek Hale, was holding the hand of his "girl bro," Chloe Shaw. With a smile, he handed me a pair of boxing gloves and explained, "Vivian, this is a tradition from my hometown. The bride has to get into the ring and wrestle one of the groomsmen for good luck. I asked Chloe to go up. Just play along for a minute." Looking at Chloe, who was always acting frail and sickly, I did not think much of it and stepped straight into the ring. But the next second, she threw an extremely professional spinning kick and knocked me unconscious with a severe concussion on the spot. When I woke up, I was paralyzed in a hospital bed. Derek stood there holding Chloe's hand and said to me, "Our relatives and friends gave us so much wedding money. The wedding can't go on without a bride. Chloe is willing to take care of me in your place. You're so kind, Vivian. You won't mind, right?" Under the torture of humiliation and severe depression, I pushed my wheelchair off the rooftop of our wedding home. When I opened my eyes again, I was back one month before the wedding. I turned around and knocked on the door of a national-level kickboxing champion training base. "Coach, if I trained for a month, can I punch someone's head open?"

At Greg Jenson’s birthday party, an obituary suddenly created a huge ruckus in our school year’s group chat. “Oh my God, Luanne Lee is dead” “It’s got to be fake news. A bad thing never dies. How could a malicious woman like her die so easily? Back then, she literally took Greg...” Sitting at the head of the table, Greg twirled his phone in his hand, his eyes dark. “It's fake. I just got a call from her this morning. She said she was coming to my birthday party.” However, someone hesitantly held up their phone, showing the screen to the room. “If I'm not mistaken, this person really is Luanne. The memorial service is at the funeral home in the neighboring city. Should we go check it out?” On the screen was a photo of a funeral hall, and there I was, lying peacefully right in the center. Greg’s expression turned to panic. He bolted upright and headed straight for the exit, but the moment he opened the door, he froze dead in his tracks. The deceased ‘me’ was standing right at the doorway. Looking into those deeply familiar eyes, I smiled and said, “Greg, it’s been ten years. I'm here to wish you a happy birthday.”

When the chandelier crashed down at my wedding, I shoved my best man, Evan Simmons, out of the way. I couldn't get clear in time. A metal support rod drove into my lower back and snapped, leaving a jagged piece embedded in the wound. Blood soaked into my dark military dress uniform, but the thick fabric and wide, rigid belt hid the injury. Evan, my parents' adopted son, had a clotting disorder. A shard of glass barely grazed his forehead, but blood was already running down his face. My bride, Sophia Russell, was an ER doctor. She rushed to Evan and held him against her. "His blood doesn't clot properly! Even a small cut can be life-threatening!" I caught her sleeve and pointed to my lower back, trying to get her to look at the wound. She knew what I was telling her, but she brushed my hand aside. "You don't even look hurt. Stop making a scene." My sister, Lila Bradford, was a fire captain. After checking the wreckage, she gave Evan the only available stretcher. "We accounted for all the broken pieces. Nothing could've stabbed you, and I don't see a wound." She looked at me sternly. "Kyle, being my brother doesn't mean you get priority over someone who's actually hurt." I staggered after them, but Mom, a head nurse, blocked me at the door. "Evan got hurt at your wedding. You need to stay and handle the guests, or people will say he ruined your big day on purpose. Do you want them blaming him for this?" They all left in the ambulance. I stood alone in front of a room full of wedding guests. The pain was unbearable. I opened my mouth to call for help, but no sound came out. Three years earlier, shrapnel from an explosion tore through my throat during a mission. I hadn't been able to speak since. Now the only people who understood my gestures were gone. No one else realized I was asking for help.

After I become successful in life, I sue my wife, Hazel Cooper, also known as the woman who had supported me through thick and thin. She gets down on her knees and pleads with me tearfully not to divorce her, only for me to shove her away. My neighbors call me an ungrateful bastard. They keep spitting at me and throwing feces at my doorstep. Even the Internet users gang up on me and bully me on the Internet. But when the court trial is over, everyone kneels before me, looking extremely remorseful.

In the Blackridge Mountains there's an old tradition: a man may leave the mountains only seven times in his life. If he still can't get out of the mountains with the woman he loves after the seventh journey, he's expected to marry inside the mountain villages and stay there for good. Because of that tradition, I borrowed hair oil from Grandpa seven times, put on my best coat, and crossed ridge after ridge down to the town below, waiting each time for the woman who said she'd take me out of the mountains and marry me. All seven times, she never came. At the village, the chief sat smoking his pipe and said, "That's the seventh time you've gone down for marriage registration. And that young director of yours ran off to the next village again, to film the handsome boy who smiles for her camera. "Her heart hasn't been on you in a long time, Noah. What are you still waiting for?" In the four years since she came to these mountains, I crossed them for her seven times. But something always happened to the man named Ash, and every time, I was the one left behind. I looked at the village chief and shook my head. "I'm not waiting anymore. I'm getting married in three days."

Sean Porter and I had planned a romantic getaway to Bali island. Sean had booked a private villa at a resort overlooking the Indian Ocean. We were lying in bed, just about to get intimate, when we heard a rustling in the room. The next second, Serena Vaughn tumbled out of the closet! Terrified, I screamed at her. "How did you get in here?! Don't you know spying on people is illegal?! Get out right now, or I'm calling the cops!" Sean rushed to Serena's side and gently rubbed the angry red mark where she'd banged her shin, his face full of concern. Frowning, he told me to keep it down. "I gave Serena the door code. I'm the one who told her to hide in the closet and watch us. "She's a graduate student specializing in social psychology and romantic relationships. She needs these observations for her thesis. "Can you not overreact like this?" I froze. I couldn't believe Sean would use such a ridiculous excuse just to defend Serena. Suddenly I felt like I needed to rethink our whole relationship.

Ryan Becker's favorite phrase was always, "Just wait a little longer." I waited two years for his startup to stabilize so we could get married. I waited another three years for his mother to warm up to the idea of a wedding. On the night of his 30th birthday dinner, his mother slipped her emerald bracelet off her wrist in front of everyone. Passing down the heirloom was their old tradition for recognizing a daughter-in-law. I thought that this time, finally, I wouldn't have to wait anymore. "Give me your hand, dear." Yet Aurelie Becker reached right past me and smoothly fastened the bracelet around Sabine Hansen's wrist instead. The entire room fell dead silent. She patted the back of Sabine's hand warmly. "Sabine grew up with Ryan. We're all one family here, no distinctions between us." My hands were still resting on the table, my fingertips turning cold. Someone whispered, "What about Miss Solis?" Ryan leaned in close, lowering his voice. "My mom is just being sentimental. Don't take it to heart. I'll bring you a custom necklace from my business trip next month. Just wait a little longer, okay?" Sabine lifted her wrist, flaunting it right in front of my face with a provocative smile. "Look, Eliza, isn't it beautiful? Aurelie says it's an old-mine emerald." "It's beautiful," I said simply. Just then, the phone inside my bag vibrated. It was a text message that read: [Have you made up your mind? When are you coming to Phaelis?]

My husband, Matthew Lorenzo, dies unexpectedly. Soon after, my in-laws come to me with an outrageous suggestion. "Why not let Matthew’s twin brother take you in and look after you? After all, your child needs a father." My sister-in-law, Felicia Dare, furiously calls me a shameless woman. I turn to look at Matthew's brother, Michael Lorenzo. It's like staring at Matthew's face all over again. The grief hits me hard. Just as I'm about to talk my in-laws out of this ridiculous idea, I overhear a conversation behind the door between them and "Michael". "Michael was the one who died. Why did you lie and let everyone think it was you?" Matthew sighs. "The one I love is Felicia. Faking my death was the only way I could be with her openly. And as for this nonsense about taking Luna in and looking after her—drop it. "As for Luna, I gave her a child and a respectable marriage. I don't owe her anything." I turn around and see my daughter standing there with her eyes red. She asks, "Mommy, does Daddy not want us anymore?" I kneel down, gather her into my arms, and hold back the ache in my chest. "Sweetheart, your uncle just wants to protect the person he loves. We shouldn't disturb him; it's time we start our new life."

Just because I accidentally broke my adopted sister’s bracelet, my brother threw me into the black market to “learn my lesson.” By the time I was rescued, I had been tortured so brutally that I was barely recognizable. It was Elijah York who risked his own life to pull me out of that hellhole. When we finally escaped, his blood had soaked my clothes, yet he held me tightly against his chest and whispered that he would never regret it. For three years after that, I drifted between moments of clarity and bouts of pure madness. I despised myself, constantly feeling dirty and broken, but Elijah always treated me like a princess. Until this day, my mind was, for once, clear. Caressing the tiny new life I had just discovered growing inside my womb, I was overflowing with joy as I hurried to surprise him. However, right outside his office door, I overheard a conversation between him and my brother. “Did you actually catch feelings after playing a part for so long? Don’t forget that in three months, it will be the optimal window for Chloe’s bone marrow transplant.” Elijah let out a low, amused scoff, his tone indifferent. “I’ve been drugging Nora for three years. Everyone thinks she’s completely lost her mind by now. Legally, she is my wife, and I hold full guardianship over her. That’s the only way the bone marrow extraction process remains completely legal and compliant.” I froze right where I stood, the blood freezing in my veins.