Tragic Love Short Stories & Mistress Countdown Novels

On the eve of my college entrance exam, I receive a letter from ten years in the future. "Elliot Sutton, whatever you do, do not marry Sarah Gibson. Your marriage will be an absolute tragedy." I look up at Sarah Gibson, my girlfriend, who is sitting across from me. She is carefully picking the bones out of my fish for me. She is the most sought-after girl in our school, yet she has never had much of a temper. When it comes to me, she is always gentle and accommodating. Hence, the warning in the letter sounds completely absurd. Feeling unconvinced, I pick up my pen and angrily write my rebuttal on the back of the paper. "What do you know? She only has eyes for me. How could she ever treat me badly? "Ever since we were kids, she's always been the first to stand up for me whenever someone picks on me. Whenever it rains, she'd insist on holding the entire umbrella over my head, even if it meant that she'd get soaked." At the end, I conclude, "At worst, we'll just end up struggling a little. What's the worst that could happen? It's not like this relationship will cost me my life." The moment I stop scribbling, a new line of handwriting slowly appears on the paper. "That's exactly it. If you stay in this relationship, you will die."

After I discovered Chelsea Stone’s infidelity, I ended the relationship without giving her a chance. I packed my luggage bit by bit. She watched me, then suddenly said, “Jensen Scott, do you know what was the most boring thing about you?” I paused and turned around. She blew out a puff of smoke and smiled in a flirtatious way. “You were so boring. You did not even know how to sweet‑talk in bed. It was so uninteresting.” I walked away with my things, and I held back my tears. Three years later, I ran into her in the hospital corridor. She wore a white coat, and the medical record book in her hand almost slipped when I bumped into her. Our eyes met. She looked me over, and her tone turned playful. “Oh, is this not my blockhead ex‑boyfriend?” I smiled and did not reply. As I left the hospital, she stepped in front of me and lowered her voice. “Three years have passed. Have you learned how to sweet‑talk in bed?” I raised my hand and showed her my wife’s ultrasound report. “I have, but not to you.”

When I finally lay my eyes on two marriage certificates, I finally realize that the certificate I share with my husband, Vittore Ferri, is the fake one. As for the other certificate, it's real. The other certificate shows Vittore and Chiara Romano, the daughter of the Ferri family's former Consigliere. So, it turns out that the husband, whom I've just married, has already married another woman a month ago.

“Ma’am, there’s no marriage record between you and Mr. Mark Henderson in the system.” My fingers tightened around the pregnancy report as my legs nearly gave out beneath me. Five years ago, Mark was recruited by a top law firm abroad with a high-paying offer. Without hesitation, I followed him across the ocean. He had told me, “Once I’m settled, I’ll take care of your status.” However, five years had passed, and my lawful permanent residence was still “in process.” Meanwhile, his assistant, Tonya Irving, who followed him abroad, had secured hers under his sponsorship. Back then, I made a scene, insisting on a divorce so I could return home. For the first time, the ever-composed Mark, an attorney, lost his calm. He grabbed my hand and said, “Tonya’s all alone out here, and it hasn’t been easy for her. Helping her is just the right thing to do. You’re my wife. Your status is only a matter of time. My work is sensitive right now, and I need to avoid any complications. You understand, don’t you?” But I had understood him for five whole years. My phone suddenly rang. Mark’s voice came through, light with laughter. “Tonya’s permanent residence was approved today. We’re celebrating tonight. I need you to get home early and cook up a feast.” I stared at the marriage license in my hand—now nothing more than a worthless piece of paper. A cold chill spread down my spine. As it turned out, I was never his legal wife. I had no legal status and no protection, much less rights secured for the child I was carrying. After hanging up, I scheduled an abortion and booked the earliest flight home. This time, I wouldn’t look back.

On our third wedding anniversary, my husband, Ethan Hale, took his childhood sweetheart Sienna Clarke and me to a gourmet market. The clerk smiled when she saw the two of them and asked, "The usual? One Musang King durian and a pound of Kobe wagyu?" Ethan nodded, then added without missing a beat, "Cut the wagyu thick. And make sure the durian is fully ripe. She hates it underripe." But I was allergic to durian, and I'd never liked beef. At checkout, the clerk handed over a gold cooler box with tuna, salmon, and a photo inside. "You two have been coming here for eight years now. This is your couples membership gift." In the photo, Sienna was leaning on Ethan's shoulder while he bent down to wipe a dab of whipped cream off her lip. The picture had been taken last year, on our wedding anniversary. That night he'd told me something had come up at work, and I'd waited alone until midnight. Sienna hugged the cooler box and asked, half joking, "Nora won't mind, will she?" Ethan put the wagyu she loved into the cart and said casually, "She's already married to me. She's not going to make a fuss over something this small." I didn't say a word. I just put my shopping bag back. When I got home, I canceled the custom anniversary gift I'd ordered for him and took out the divorce papers I'd already had drawn up. They could have another eight years together, and eight more after that. But our third anniversary would be our last.

Ten years after I accidentally crossed into the modern world, the system finally detected the glitch that was me. It was ready to send me back to the era I belonged to, but it gave me three days to say goodbye. On the first day, Corinne Whitford asked me to step aside so her childhood sweetheart could take my place at the altar. I did not cry or make a scene. I just smiled, slipped off my ring and handed it back to her. On the second day, she brought him home. She told me she was giving him a home. I did not argue, just stepped aside and let it happen. On the third day, she wanted to take him on a honeymoon to Wyndmere, the one place I had always dreamed of going. I helped her arrange everything, gentle as ever. When she stepped onto the train bound for Wyndmere, I turned and walked toward the road that would take me home. This ten-year dream had run its course. It was time to wake up.

Five years ago, I was his life and I thought we would be the end game until Rosalin, his new assistant, seeped into our life. It began with urgent late night meetings. Our dinner conversations, once filled with shared secrets and soft laughter, were replaced by the rhythmic tapping of his thumbs against his phone. He stopped looking at me across the table, his gaze permanently fixed on the glowing screen as he replied to her "emergency" texts. When I’d walk into his office, the air would turn brittle. He’d stop talking mid-sentence, Rosalin leaning over his shoulder with a look that wasn't professional. But the breaking point was when he left me waiting for six hours on our anniversary Gala to celebrate Rosaline’s birthday. “We got occupied with something, Victoria.” He said, “Rosaline has brought cake for you. It was her birthday as well.” Just then a notification came into my phone. It was Rosaline’s post. She had posted a picture minutes before entering the gala. She was sitting in a seven-star hotel, the one I asked Jayden to book for our Anniversary but he refused after saying it was full. She had been cutting her birthday cake surrounded by red candles’ flames and a pair of hands had cupped hers. Jayden’s hands. He had ghosted our Anniversary Gala to celebrate Rosaline’s birthday! That was when I realised, I had no future with this man. I will disappear from his world, taking his child with me.

My wife, Ivy York, has an avid suitor named Chester Sullivan, who claims to have transmigrated into a book for her. Even though Ivy has rejected him 99 times, he doggedly continues to pursue her affections. Then, during his 100th attempt, he's severely injured while rescuing her from a traffic accident. He looks at her desperately and pleads, "Ivy, please love me just this once. I really won't survive without your love." She remains expressionless. She just coldly instructs someone to send him to the hospital. "Samson Child is the only person I'll ever love. You're not worthy," she tells him. Later, I get into an accident and end up in critical condition. She kneels at the entrance to the operating room and pleads for the hospital staff to spare no effort to save me. She continues until her voice goes hoarse. "I can't do without Samson. He's my entire life." Everyone is moved by the depth of her affection and assumes that she loves me deeply. However, after my life is saved, I unexpectedly overhear a conversation between her and Chester. Chester says, "Vivi, you and Samson are the main characters of this story. Every time you're intimate with another man, another misfortune will befall him. If you continue to stay with me, he may well end up paralyzed or disabled. Doesn't it break your heart to see him like that?" She replies by kissing him passionately before saying casually, "You've endured so much for my sake while he's only gone through a bit of a rough patch. Didn't you tell me that he won't die because he's the male lead? There, there. It'll be fine. You're the one who matters to me the most." It turns out that her profound affection is nothing but a lie. I quietly close my eyes as I feel my vitality slipping away. This suits me just fine. I'll now be able to leave this world with peace of mind.

My husband, William Yore, falls off his horse on our wedding night and damages his eyesight. For the next three years, I become his eyes. I read official documents for him, identify medicinal herbs, and test the roads on snowy nights. One day, bandits attack Cohill Church. When one of them swings a blade at us, I reflexively shield William with my own body. However, William circles me and lunges at the bandit who's grabbing Nancy Jenning's sleeve. "Close your eyes, Nancy!" He uses his own sword to deflect the bandit's knife before pulling Nancy into his arms, leaving me to collapse into the snow. "You can see, Will?" Nancy asks, her voice trembling. "Then why did you make Julia support you when you're walking, read your documents, and test your medicines on herself for the past three years? Why did you hide this from her?" William looks down and wipes the snow from her face before calmly saying, "She's too bossy. She bombards me with questions with every step that I take, asking if I can see, if I'm hurting, or if I'm tired. I just want some peace and quiet. I was going to tell her after she stopped bothering me." A few snowflakes land on my eyelashes. The cold stings my eyes. I suddenly think about how I hold William's hand every time it snows. I'm scared of him falling down and getting cold. I'm scared that he can't see the snowy paths. But it turns out that William can see everything. He's just unwilling to look at me.

A year ago, when Bailey Knight's side girl, Lucy Day, showed up in front of me, causing a scene, he had his people beat her until she lost the baby and tossed her out. Then he groveled before me for three straight hours, begging me to forgive him. Looking at the man I'd loved for ten years, looking so pitiful and broken, I eventually caved. Later, I caught Lucy sneaking around Bailey's villa in the suburbs, so I had her thrown out again. Three days before our wedding, Bailey grabbed me by the neck and shoved me up against the railing on the second-floor balcony, yelling so hard that his voice broke. "We already took Lucy's baby once! She can't handle it happening again. She's fragile. You're a woman—how can you not understand that? "I've given you the title of Mrs. Knight. I'd give you my life. Isn't that enough? Why can't you just accept her?" The next second, his secretary ran up to say they'd found Lucy. He shoved me down the stairs. The pain when my arm snapped made me feel like my whole body was being torn apart. But he didn't even look back. Staring at the cold, heartless man in front of me, I felt something inside me go completely dead. I picked up my phone and called Arnold Greenwood. "I don't wanna marry him anymore. Come get me."

He had lied to me sixty-six times, promising he would let go of his childhood sweetheart. But whenever she needed him, he still ran to her first. I lied to him only once. I slipped the Mate-Bond Dissolution Agreement into the ceremony documents and had him sign it. In my previous life, I stopped him from going to her one last time. Iris died under the claws of border rogues, and Damon hated me until his wolf soul shattered. This time, I chose to let him go. Today was the final day of the public notice period. With three hours left, I packed my bags and booked a private pack flight back to the border. With two hours left, I severed every moon-energy tie between us and burned our only photo. With one hour left, I left him a letter. “This is the tenth year I have loved you, and the first day I leave you.” Later, he chased me to the airport like a madman. But this time, I would not look back.

Nick Horden was the kind of man everyone in New York’s elite circles whispered about. He was rich, reckless, and a little unhinged. But for all his chaos, he only ever cared about one person: Lisa Winters, a girl with nothing to her name, the half-starved homeless girl he once pulled off the streets. From fifteen to twenty-five, he gave her everything. His love, his devotion, and every bit of tenderness a man like him was capable of. Then one day, another woman appeared. Nick said she was different. She had been through hell, fought her way back, and refused to break. And little by little, she took Lisa’s place…

Ruby Monroe's memory resets every three months, back to the day she hates me the most. She breaks my hand again and again to get revenge for her adopted son, Ricky Smith. She also loses her memories again and again after proposing to me beneath a sky full of fireflies. I live through our story over and over, waiting for the day she finally remembers everything. Until one day, I accidentally overhear her talking to her friends. "Ruby, how long are you going to keep this act up? Only a fool like Ricky would believe you really lost your memory. Every time, he gets down on his knees and begs us to play along with him, dreaming that he'll marry you. "In three days, you're going to fake losing your memory again, right? How many times has it been now?" "Nine times." Ruby's cold voice comes through the door. "His food gave Ricky food poisoning and ruined his coming-of-age ceremony. He should be punished!" She pats Ricky's head. "Nobody bullies Ricky!" My heart breaks when I hear her gentle yet cruel words. I never expect that all my years of waiting are just part of her revenge. I wipe away my tears and summon the system. "Cancel our previous deal. In three days, declare this mission a failure and erase all my memories of Ruby."

When my wife's first love was injured in a car accident and urgently needed a kidney transplant, she gave me an ultimatum. If I refused to donate my kidney, she said she would take our daughter and die alongside him the very next day. Crying, she begged. "Can you stop being so selfish? It's only one kidney. "It's not like you'll die! Are you really going to force me and your daughter to our deaths?" With a bitter smile, I agreed. What she didn't know was that our daughter had already died in the very same car accident that injured her beloved first love. And I was suffering from end-stage kidney failure. Once I went through with the surgery, I wouldn't be far behind from death either. Since she was willing to sacrifice everything for the man she loved, then I would give her exactly what she wanted. I would make her the person responsible for both my death and our daughter's so she would have to live with that regret for the rest of her life.

Clara posted a photo of her ultrasound on Instagram. "Thanks to your bloodline, I finally have my own little pup." I stared at the ultrasound. Ryan's name was written clearly in the field for the father. I typed a single question mark in the comments. Ryan called me immediately, screaming his head off. "Celine, what the hell is wrong with you? Clara is dying from silver poisoning. This was her final wish! Can't you show some damn compassion?" "Kaleb was my brother. He's gone, and it's my duty to look after his mate! She just wanted a pup to keep her company in her final days. Do you really have to be this petty?" I gripped my phone until my knuckles turned white. Clara was Ryan's childhood sweetheart. They grew up together in the Dark Moon Pack before she married Ryan's best friend, Kaleb. Six months ago, Kaleb was killed by rogues during a border patrol, leaving Clara a widow. Shortly after, she was diagnosed with late-stage silver poisoning. She has at most a year left to live. But I never imagined Ryan's "care" would go this far. A little while later, Clara posted a new set of photos. She was in a luxury high-rise apartment downtown. The city skyline stretched out beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, and the kitchen was bathed in a warm glow. "So glad you're here to make me feel the warmth of a home again." In the photo, I saw a man's back as he busied himself in the kitchen wearing an apron. It was Ryan. The sight was so familiar it made my eyes sting. I rubbed my stomach, thinking about the pregnancy I'd confirmed just two weeks ago. I suddenly let out a sharp laugh. This mate bond? It's time to end it.

It was our seventh bonding anniversary. However, Xavier Ashton, the Alpha who controlled everything, brought home his pregnant lover. For the past seven years, he worshipped me. He would kiss my hand in front of everyone and say I was his moon, the only Luna of his life. Yet now, his hand rested on another she-wolf's belly, as if showcasing a miracle. "She's carrying my first pup. You have the Moon Goddess's power. I want you to bless her. Also, she's been having nightmares during the pregnancy, so she'll take the main bedroom." I froze, almost convinced I had misheard him. "Are you joking? That's my room!" He looked up, his tone carrying a warning. "From today, it's hers." Anger nearly made me laugh. My voice shook, but it was clear. "You got some lowly Omega she-wolf pregnant and brought her into our home? Xavier Ashton, you've completely lost your mind!" "I won't say this a third time. Move out now." His aura turned ice-cold in an instant. His Alpha pressure hit me head-on, making my wolf whimper inside me. He thought I would obediently submit, but he did not know that I had already packed my bags weeks ago, when I received the video of his affair. As I walked toward the front door, I heard him sneer behind me, "Let her throw a tantrum. She'll come crawling back in less than three days." The pack members snickered behind me, already betting on how many days I would last this time. However, the private car sent to pick me up was already waiting at the door. This time, I was cutting ties with him for good.

The night my boyfriend confessed his feelings for me, he cried so hard he could barely speak. He said he'd somehow seen the future and wanted me to make him a promise. I asked him why. He only said, “I don't remember. I just remember that the future me regretted everything. More than anything. “Yvette, no matter what happens in the future, promise you'll give me three chances, okay?” I was deeply in love with him then, so of course I agreed without hesitation. But later, he seemed to forget all about that promise. Especially when he became inseparable from his female assistant. It wasn't until I signed my name on the divorce papers that I finally understood why he'd asked me for those three chances. Because just as I signed my name, a voice suddenly sounded beside my ear. It was Luke. Luke Miller at nineteen. He was crying. “Yvette, you promised me, remember? “You said you'd give me three chances.”

04:00 AM. JFK International Airport. I switched off airplane mode, and my phone lit up. The first notification was an Instagram story from my husband, Donovan Valentino, Don of the Valentino family, posted at 3:30 AM: a photo of Seraphina Moretti’s back, captioned, “Run 50 completed. Package delivered safe.” An hour before that, my flight had hit catastrophic clear-air turbulence, dropping two thousand feet in seconds. I’d clung to my seatbelt until my knuckles turned white, the crumpled threat letter from a rival crew pressed like a blade against my ribs. In those blind, falling seconds, one thought burned through the panic: If I live through this—if Donovan is waiting at arrivals—I’ll tear up my transfer papers to Dubai and stay. But there were no missed calls. No messages. He’d been too busy collecting Seraphina. He knew my flight details. He just didn’t care. Four years of marriage. 50 fully armed security details for Seraphina. For my 112 long-haul flights over those same four years? The most I ever got was a driver in an unmarked sedan. Even the night Gambino’s crew tailed me from Manhattan, and I spent six hours locked in a diner bathroom. He didn’t pick up until dawn, after the twelfth try. My transfer to Dubai was confirmed. The signed divorce settlement was in my bag. This was the last time I’d ever come back for him.

The first time I meet my girlfriend, Nadine Grant‘s parents, she stops me at the door. Her childhood friend and neighbor, Nick Lockwood, has just pulled a tarot card. The card says I'll attract trouble today, so I shouldn't go inside. Before I can say a word, Nadine reaches for the gifts in my hands. "Wait in the car for a while," she says. "When dinner's over, we'll go home together." I don't let go. "I've spent over a month getting ready to meet your parents, and you're not even letting me in?" Displeasure is written all over her face. "Andy, I'm doing this for your own good!" Before I can argue, she shoves me back into the car. Nick smiles at me through the car window. He says, "Andy, don't take it the wrong way. I'll go in and keep Mr. Grant company for you." Nadine stands beside him without looking back once. This is all happening because of one tarot card Nick pulls. I'm the one who's here to meet Nadine's parents, yet I'm somehow the last person they want inside. Then, I have no reason to become part of this family either!

On the day of the mating ceremony, a crazed witch bursts in and points straight at me, shrieking, "Six years later, your Alpha will betray you!" Troy Hudson, my soon-to-be mate, turns livid. He swats the purple-glowing crystal ball from her hand, shattering it on the floor. "Nonsense! Estelle is my fated mate! I'll only ever love her in this lifetime!" After that, he becomes even more devoted to me. At the Moon Goddess' altar, he drapes the Luna shawl over my shoulders. He marks me with his scent so the entire pack knows I belong to him. Every full moon, he deepens the mark on my neck, whispering that I am his forever. I believe his love is unbreakable until our sixth anniversary. A box waits at our front door. Inside lies a pair of lace panties and a photograph. In the photo, Troy is pressed over his foster sister, Rue Youngblood, the wolf tattoo on his body glowing faintly. His hand grips her waist, his eyes burning with the same heat I've dreamed of a million times. And Rue? She's wearing that same pair of panties. On the back of the photo, written in ink as red as blood, is a line of pure provocation. "The Alpha's heart may belong to you, but his body belongs to me." Agony ripped through my chest, yet not a single tear fell. Instead, I rest my hand on my belly and quietly send word to the Witch Association. "I accept your invitation. Please help me vanish."