قصص وروايات قصيرة عن Tragic Love وتضم Independence وتدور في Regret

I arranged a lavish dinner cruise in Alpha Lucien Grimfang's honor. However, I mistakenly wore the ceremonial gown that had once belonged to his late Luna, Sylvia Wilder. In front of all the guests, his ten-year-old son, Rhett Grimfang, suddenly rammed me into the champagne tower. The shattered crystal glasses left deep cuts across my skin. "Don't think that you can replace my mother just because you're wearing her sacred gown! You're nothing but a dog—obedient and always at my father's beck and call! Don't you dare dream of claiming a Luna's honor!" His cold, scornful expression mirrored Lucien's perfectly. "I can make you leave anytime I want!" I forced myself to look up at the pup I had raised. "Don't trouble yourself. Tomorrow, I'll submit my resignation to the Elder Council and leave for good."

The day my daughter Aria was discharged from the hospital, my Alpha mate Marcus returned from his two-week business trip with his Omega secretary Vivian. My daughter was hospitalized due to nut allergy, but she gave Aria nut chocolate as a gift. I suppressed my anger and refused, but Marcus frowned and scolded me:"Serena, Vivian meant well. She didn't know about the allergy." After sending Vivian away, Marcus sent me and my daughter countless expensive gifts to compensate, which I silently accepted. Marcus breathed a sigh of relief, thinking I would continue to play the role of his obedient Luna. But when he learned that I, who was 3 months pregnant, had gone alone to the Alpha Council and submitted a mate bond dissolution application, the powerful Alpha broke down and begged me to come back.

I was born with broken blood and fragile senses. At twenty, I was revealed as the fated mate of Gavin Silverthorne, Seattle's top pureblood Alpha. The entire pack mocked him behind his back. Still, I celebrated in secret. We grew up together. I had loved him in the dark for years. Every Spring Hunt, every full moon, whenever danger struck, he was the first to put himself between me and the threat. Without the Moon Goddess's blessing, I would never have felt worthy of him. I thought he felt it too. Every time he stepped closer, my heart raced with joy. Yet he never truly touched me. Whenever I leaned in, his muscles locked up, like my presence was pure torture. I was a fool. I mistook it for restraint. Then came the annual pack summit. Under the blinding lights of the group photo, I gathered my courage and stepped to his side. "Stay away from me," he muttered under his breath. The shutter clicked. He did not stay for a single second. He walked away, leaving me stranded under the stage lights. That was the moment I finally understood. To him, I was nothing but an embarrassment. Ten years of quiet, desperate love died right there. That night, I tore up my Seattle pack contract. I booked a one-way ticket to Manhattan. Any life tied to Gavin Silverthorne was a life I no longer wanted.

One week before our wedding, my fiancé, my father’s own consigliere, sold him out.He set him up for a FBI raid. My father died in a pool of blood, his eyes wide open, and the once-great Moretti family collapsed overnight. In my darkest hour, Dominic, the Don of the New York Luciani family, showed up with a crew of mercenaries. He didn't just take care of the rat; he gave me total protection. He obsessed over me for three years, even tattooing my name over his heart. I fell for it. I believed he loved me. I let my guard down and stayed by his side, serving as the lead perfumer for the coldest man in the city. Until today. Outside the wine cellar, I overheard him talking to his rival. "Old man Moretti died never knowing who had leaked his location," Dominic said. "But imagine if that stupid woman, Elena, found out," the rival mocked. "If she knew the man who killed her father was the same husband kissing her forehead every night... would she lose her mind?" My hand froze on the cellar door. The rival’s laughter came through the cracks: "You’re cold-blooded, Dominic! Elena thinks you’re her savior. She even wants to give you an heir. She’d never dream the raid that destroyed her life was actually your offering to Sienna."

The first month of school, I found out the whole school was calling me a leech behind my back. That vicious nickname was coined by my childhood friend Sebastian's new influencer friend, Chloe. Because as far as they were concerned, I always rode to school in Sebastian's car, spent his Venmo, and lived near the old Rivers family estate. But that wasn't the truth. I brought my ruined homework to Sebastian and asked why he let them smear me. He just laughed. "It's a high school joke. Chloe just likes to joke around. Don't be so sensitive." "Besides, you're always riding in my car, following me around. People thinking that... well, it's kind of normal." I froze. Cold went through my whole body. So this. Over a decade of quiet company and quiet protection. In his eyes, I was just a leech. I didn't explain anymore. I applied for early graduation. Off to Columbia University. But when he found out I was leaving, Sebastian went insane, searching everywhere for me. "Maya, where are you going?!"

I think Micah Walker is the love of my life. I fight hard within my family to secure a grand wedding with him. My parents plan to launch a multi-million-dollar jewelry line called "True Love" on our wedding day. But seven days before the wedding, Micah tells me he has to marry his first love first to honor her late mother's last wish—then marry me afterward. He says impatiently, "For Ariana's filial duty, everything else can be sacrificed. If you can't let go of that money, then go marry someone else right now!" Turns out, in his world, I and everything I have built were always expendable—just some obstacles standing between him and his precious first love. I turn away and call my brother. "Kyle, keep the wedding as planned. Just find me a new groom."

Five years ago, my family went bankrupt. When I had nowhere left to turn, it was my rival, Grant Ford, who threw me a lifeline. He paid off all our debts on one condition: I had to marry him. I assumed the marriage was revenge he'd been planning for years. Instead, for five years, he treated me like I was precious. He never even raised his voice at me. When my anxiety grew worse, he slept beside my bed for months and held my hand through every panic attack. Little by little, I let my guard down. For him, I even dulled my edge. Then, out of nowhere, an intern joined the company. She wore the clothes I used to love. She even copied the way I pitched ideas when I was younger. And she stole the project I'd spent eight months of late nights landing, all while I was pregnant. But Grant only smiled at her indulgently. "Let her try. It's good for young people to have some drive." When he turned to me, his voice was cool. "You've gotten too cautious lately. Let her take the lead on the project." I looked down at the milk stain on my sleeve from feeding our baby, Jamie. That was when I understood. He loved the defiant woman I'd been, not the wife he'd worn down. No wonder he was so eager to find a stand-in for the younger, sharper woman I'd been. But a replacement only gets her turn once the original leaves the stage. If he was so impatient, I'd give him what he wanted.

The last time I mentioned my engagement to Walter Reagle, everyone in the room went quiet at first. However, after seeing Walter's annoyed look, they all started laughing. "Who still believes in old-fashioned childhood betrothals these days?" "Is Ms. Lawson feeling insecure?" I ignored their teasing. I just looked at Walter, who was lounging on the couch with his shirt collar open, showing off the lovebites on his neck and collarbone. My heart felt like it was being stabbed. The pain came slowly. "We were too young to agree to something so silly," he said. Walter looked up with a faint, mocking smile. He gave me a lazy look. "We're grown up now, Emma. "Let's just forget about the past."

Because of the death of his first love, Don Stefano Giullani has hated me for eight years. During those eight years, I make every effort to please him—I broker arms deals for him, handle smuggling routes, and even take bullets meant for him. Even when he sees me barely clinging to life, Stefano only says, "If you really wanted to please me, you should have let the bullet hit somewhere fatal." I press my hand over the wound and stare deeply at him. Later, on the night our enemies surround the casino and it's raining bullets, Stefano pushes me away from him. He's riddled with bullets himself while saving me. Before he dies, he shields me and gets me safely into the car. Once the car door closes, he says softly, "In the next life, I don't want to meet you again." After Stefano dies, his Madre slaps me hard across the face. "Why wasn't it you who died? If I had known it would come to this, I would have let him marry Lucia! "It's all my fault for forcing him to marry you. You deserve to die!" She slaps me again, causing me to lose my footing and fall into the sea. Everyone just stands on the boat, watching in silence. Seawater fills my nose, and when I open my eyes again, I find myself reborn eight years into the past—to the day before Stefano and I are about to get married. This time, I will do as he wishes. I'll stop clinging to him. I'll allow him and Lucia to be together.

At Ryder Quinn’s kindergarten parent-child sports day, I expected my husband, Michael Quinn, to be away on a business trip. Instead, I found Michael on stage, dressed in a ballet tutu, dancing as one of the "little swans" in the fathers’ performance. I had barely taken a step forward when a little girl in a floral dress darted into his arms, calling out to him in the sweetest voice, "Daddy!" There they stood: Michael, his assistant, Janine Carter, and her daughter—all in matching family outfits. The moment our eyes met, Michael quickly pulled away from her, fumbling for an excuse. "Janine’s a single mom. It isn’t easy for her. I was just helping out." I smiled, cold and steady, and handed him the divorce papers. "Then, do me a favor too, Michael. Stop wasting my youth."

On our third dating anniversary, Enzo and I were caught in a cruise ship disaster. I gave him the only life preserver, and I was swallowed by the sea, lost without a trace. Three years later, after finally recovering from my injuries, I rushed back home—only to walk right into his grand wedding with my so-called sister. Bound by a life debt, he had no choice but to marry me—and resented me ever since. He hated that I'd come between him and the woman he truly loved. Even my own parents accused me of being selfish, of ruining my sister's happiness for life. Under the weight of everyone's coldness and rejection, I became desperate and unhinged. … Then, one day, when our family's old enemies came for revenge, he threw himself in front of me and took a knife straight to the heart. Blood gushed out as he used the last of his strength to drag me to safety. "Raina," he rasped, "you saved my life once, and now I've repaid the debt. Just do me one favor—don't come back to haunt me in the next life. All I want is to spend it forever with Selina, just the two of us." My heart tore apart, and I died with that grief. However, when I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day I had crashed their wedding.

My husband, Cesare Ferrante, the most feared Don of the Ferrante family, had always hated children. Yet everything changed the moment my stepsister, Bianca Moretti, moved in next door with her six-month-old baby. Suddenly, my husband became obsessed with that child. He personally fed the baby formula, sang lullabies, and carried the baby everywhere he went. Every day, he came home exhausted at dawn, yet his face glowed with joy, as if that baby occupied his entire soul. I became invisible to him. Three days ago, someone forced my car off the road, and I crashed into the median. Blood streamed down my forehead, and my vision swam. I called Cesare 55 times. He did not answer a single call. Instead, he posted a photo of the baby on his social media. [My little angel smiled today!] I had had enough. Tonight at the family banquet, every member of the famiglia was seated around the table. I raised my final toast, then set down my glass. "I want a divorce." They all froze. "Are you insane?" My parents' voices rose in unison. Cesare grabbed my wrist, disbelief written across his face. "Giulia, you want to divorce me just because I was busy taking care of the baby and didn't answer your calls? You're actually jealous of a six-month-old child?" I did not meet his eyes. Instead, I stared at the glaring kiss mark behind his ear. "Since you love that child so much," I said calmly, "I'll make it easy for you. Go be that child's father."

The day after my Alpha mate's precious childhood sweetheart Sage accused me of sending rogue wolves to attack her, my mate Kael, along with our two sons, suspended my brother above a massive cauldron of boiling silver, threatening to throw him into the molten metal that would burn him alive. I went insane, rushing toward them, but the pack warriors held me back with iron grips. "Do you understand your mistake now?" Kael stood nearby in his perfectly tailored suit, his eyes cold as winter frost, his voice laced with ice. "Will you ever dare to hurt Sage again?" "I didn't attack her!" I cried, struggling against the warriors' hold. "Kael, let my brother go! He's only eighteen! He just got accepted to Harvard!" Five-year-old River crossed his small arms, his face emotionless. "The evidence is clear. Why are you still lying?" Four-year-old Stone nodded along, his tone innocent yet cruel. "Mommy, if you're so scared of Uncle dying, you shouldn't have attacked Aunt Sage. She's our precious one." My heart contracted violently. Sage was their precious one. Then what was I? What did I mean to them? I looked toward Kael, hoping he might spare my brother for the sake of our years as mates. But he only stared at me coldly, his gaze like he was looking at a complete stranger. I suddenly laughed, though tears streamed down my face. They thought it was just a dummy tied up there and they were just trying to scare me. They didn't realize that Sage had someone switch out that dummy. What's frying in the silver now is my dear little brother. In the boiling silver, my brother's body was already burned beyond recognition. But when I completely gave up and left, why did three men kneel down and beg me to come back?

After I was rescued from a staged kidnapping, my wife, Vanessa, moved out of our bedroom on her own. No matter how I explained, she insisted I had been attacked because I had cheated. Even when I tried to touch her, she screamed and threw up on me. Friends and relatives looked at me with more and more pity. Everyone told me, "Vanessa's a good woman. Stop tormenting her." Even my son snapped, "You're so filthy. Why do you have to force Mom?" From then on, I was branded a cheater and a lunatic. I spent the rest of my life in misery and despair, and in my old age, I ended that wretched life by throwing myself into a lake. Only after I died did I learn that the kidnapping had been staged by Vanessa herself. She used my guilt to make me take care of our son and her father. Meanwhile, she kept herself "pure" for the man she'd never gotten over and lived a carefree life with him. When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the day I was rescued.

The day my father was kidnapped, I called my billionaire husband in tears, begging him to save my father. After listening, he chuckled lightly. "I already transferred three million to you. Make sure you stop bothering Luna." I hurriedly agreed, and the money was immediately sent to the kidnappers' account. But just as they were about to untie my father, my husband used his influence not only to reverse the ransom payment, but also to freeze the kidnappers' account. Feeling deceived, the kidnappers completely snapped. They tortured my father for three straight hours before finally killing him. On the way to collect my father's ashes, I saw every giant advertising screen across the city covered with photos of him and his newly hired assistant, Luna Henderson. After returning home and settling my father's ashes, I called my husband. "Let's get divorced." On the other end of the line came his teasing laughter with Luna. "This again? Luna said you've been spending too recklessly, so I punished you a little. You're not actually mad over something this small, are you?"

"You've undergone IVF six times to conceive this child, Ms. Caldwell. Are you sure you want to give up? Is Mr. Spencer okay with this?" "I'm sure he'll agree." Callista Caldwell's voice is hoarse after a sleepless night. She's never felt more awake, though. "I'll schedule the surgery for a week from now, then." It's Callista and Luther Spencer's wedding anniversary in a week. This is good—she can end things where they started. After booking her flight out of the country, she places her hand on her abdomen. There's a blossoming life in there. She's looked forward to this for the past five years. She never would've expected to give up on it before it could happen.

I was doing the laundry when another pair of lace panties slipped out of my husband's pants pocket. Before I could say a word, he raised an eyebrow and handed me a plastic vase. "Go on. Smash it." He acted as though it were perfectly natural. It was the same routine every time I caught him cheating over the past seven years. I looked around, and only then did I realize what he'd done. He'd replaced every breakable thing in our home with something made of plastic or stainless steel. He was used to my hysterical outbursts by now. He thought our marriage was just like all that plastic. No matter how hard I tried, I could never break it. But this time, I calmly put the vase back where it belonged. "Let's get a divorce."

Five years into our marriage, everyone s aid I'd married the perfect husband. Noah was gentle, attentive, and endlessly patient, the kind of man romance novels are built around. He pampered me until I hardly had to think about the practical details of life. But the one person he couldn't stand was my best friend, Kayla. Once, Kayla came over for dinner and ordered two extra dishes. "Do you have to be so picky about dinner? Isn't Leah doing enough already?" His expression frosty, he took the apron from my hands, then served the roasted cod and creamy butternut squash Kayla loved. When Kayla got caught in a downpour on her way home from a business trip, she asked me to pick her up at the airport. "Can't she call a cab from the airport? Why does she have to make you drive all that way?" Scowling, he snatched the keys from me, pulled on his coat, and went to get her himself. There were too many moments like that. I told myself he cared too much about me to let my best friend take advantage of me. That was what I believed until the day Kayla and I were installing a wall sconce in the new apartment and I fell from the chair. Noah, who'd just gotten home, rushed straight to Kayla. His voice trembled. "How could you be so careless? Where else does it hurt? Don't move, I'll take you to the hospital." I lifted my right arm, mangled and bloody where the broken glass had cut it. But he'd already scooped Kayla up and rushed into the elevator. I stared around our newly furnished bayside apartment. The space beside the fireplace was still bare, the dining room chandelier not yet installed. There was no point finishing it now.

Charles Hale wanted to prove he could succeed without inheriting the Alpha position, so he devoted almost all his time to his work on cruise ships. For ten years, I watched him work his way up from deckhand to captain. I was happy to support him and take care of him whenever he needed me. I asked him once, "When are you going to take me out on the water? I want to see the gulls and the huge waves with you." He rolled over, turning his back to me. "There are so many passengers on that ship. It's not exactly a place for a date." I didn't say anything. I filed it away and never brought it up again. Then one day, I stumbled across the private photo album he'd kept hidden for years. Thousands of photos, every one taken on deck, with waves and the sunrise in the background. And the same woman in all of them. She had her arms thrown wide, like she was trying to hold the whole ocean. Charles had written little diary entries on the backs of the photos, all the things he wanted to say to her. "I cherish every day I get to watch the sea with you. I hope it stays like this forever. The ocean, and you." The most recent photo was dated last week. In it, the sea breeze was tossing her long hair. I quietly shut the cabinet door and locked it again. Then I sat alone on the living room couch and stared at nothing until dawn. I picked up my phone and bought a ticket on an Alaska cruise. After ten years, I thought I could finally stop letting my life revolve around waiting for him to come home. No more crossing days off a calendar. No more checking the weather at sea to make sure he was safe. He didn't want to share his stars and his ocean with me. Fine. I'd go see them on my own, and the wind out there would be mine.

On my twentieth birthday, my parents placed a stack of photos in front of me—eligible bachelors from elite families all over the country—and told me to pick one for an arranged marriage. I told my dad to leave it to fate and draw lots. In my past life, I had chosen without hesitation the man I’d long admired: Lucas Whitmore, the most eligible bachelor of Astor Hill's elites. But after we got married, I found out the truth. His first love—the girl he had always held dear, Claire Monroe—was devastated by our marriage. One night, heartbroken, she went out drinking and was assaulted by a group of thugs. Claire attempted suicide three times after that. And Lucas blamed it all on me. He handed over my family’s fortune to Claire, draining every last cent from the Meyers. In the end, Lucas even helped her cut the brake lines on our car. My parents and I died in that crash. Now that I’d been given a second chance at life, the name I drew was Liam Morgan—the reclusive heir from Orchard Valley, known for shunning the world and dedicating himself to Buddhism. But when I showed up arm-in-arm with Liam at our engagement party, Lucas lost his mind.