Mistress Feel-Good Story Short Stories & Novels

I was hit by a car and suffered a brain injury while trying to save my fiancé. Before I was taken to the hospital, I accidentally saw him locked in a kiss with his assistant, Sarah Mineli. I suspected he was cheating, so after I woke up, I pretended to have amnesia to test him. "Do we know each other?" Ethan Meyer paused, his expression faltering. Then he suddenly pointed at his best friend. "I'm your fiancé Grayson Hudson's closest friend. I came to attend your engagement ceremony." I watched as he and Sarah stood there, their fingers tightly intertwined, my face turning deathly pale. Grayson stepped forward and draped his coat over my shoulders. "Baby, I'm your fiancé," he said softly. "It's my fault I couldn't protect you." I felt the warmth of his palm and gave a faint smile. "Then let's go home," I said. "We still have an engagement ceremony to prepare for."

After Isabella loses the three children she carried for the mafia don Matteo, she finally tears herself away from his lies. But when Matteo discovers the truth behind the deaths, his guilt collides with the woman he once used as a pawn, and every secret he buried comes back to destroy the power he thought he controlled.

After getting tormented by electrical shocks for five years, I've contracted severe brain atrophy. Once the psychiatric hospital kicks me out, I rely on the posts that are recorded in my old Facebook account in order to survive. Rosalie Vaughn, my childhood friend and former girlfriend who has sworn to torture me till I die, takes her rich fiance, Sebastian Crowe, back to the old, rundown complex. The moment she sees me curling up on the moldy couch while clutching my phone tightly, she lets out a scoff. "Oh? Now that you've escaped from the hospital, are you still waiting for some rich woman's text? Weren't you very quick and decisive when you stole my life-saving money back then? Why are you still pretending to be some devoted man?" As soon as Rosalie's voice falls, she snatches my phone from my hands. After keying in the wrong password three times in a row, she chooses to recover my password. The moment she sees the security question, her mocking expression freezes momentarily. The question shows, "Who's the only one I've loved in this life?" I blink hazily, my eyes cloudy and dull. Then, I tug at Rosalie's sleeve. "Miss, do you know who she is? I remember I used to love someone with all my heart, but I think she locked me up in a psychiatric hospital." After that, I turn around and try to scavenge the trash can for a piece of expired bread just so I can offer it to the "nice lady".

I had been married to Rick Clinton for five years, and we had tried every possible way to have a child, but nothing worked. Later, Rick’s mistress, his secretary, became pregnant. Rick proposed a divorce, but we couldn’t agree on the division of assets. The next day, I was murdered by my husband and his mistress. Reborn a week before my death, I looked at the test results in my hand that confirmed Rick’s Azoospermia and smiled.

After I, Wynn Jaffe, the Chief Forensic Pathologist, submitted my request to transfer into a clerical position, everyone in the department lit up with joy and approved it unanimously. Everyone except my boyfriend’s childhood friend, Yvette Hans, the rookie forensic doctor who called herself the ‘corpse whisperer,’ completely broke down. She burst into my office, grabbed onto my white coat with both hands with reddened eyes. “Senior, your skills may be outdated, but I truly hope you’ll stay and keep speaking up for the victims!” I coldly shrugged off her hand, packed my things, and walked away. In my previous life, she claimed herself as the ‘corpse whisperer,’ someone who could commune with the dead, hear their murmurs, and know what happened to them before they died. I worked tirelessly on every autopsy, dissecting, analyzing, and revising my reports. She only needed a single glance at the body to recite my entire report word-for-word. The victims’ families treated her like a saint, while they sneered at me, accusing me of disrespecting the dead. I could not accept it. I poured everything I had into every examination, but she always beat me to it, revealing the truth before I could. In the end, an extreme group of grieving family members, convinced I desecrated a corpse, kidnapped me, dismembered me, and dumped my remains in the wilderness. When I opened my eyes again, I had been reborn back to the very day Yvette first claimed she was a corpse whisperer.

My husband constantly ignored my pleas in my previous life, giving his salary to his first love despite my objections. After giving birth, I couldn't produce any milk due to prolonged starvation. My son cried desperately from hunger. When I finally managed to buy formula and brought it home, my husband snatched it away to give to his first love. "Vicky's milk supply is low too, and she's a widow. Let's give it to her child first," he insisted. I fought to take it back, but my husband knocked me unconscious. I staggered to look for him when I regained consciousness, only to discover my husband at Victoria Langford's house, putting on diapers for someone else's child. My son had already starved to death then, and out of despair, I followed him in death. When I opened my eyes again, I found myself back to the moment I first learned of my pregnancy. This time, I chose to terminate the pregnancy and file for divorce.

Julian Ashford, the golden boy of the city's elite, had his left leg broken by his father with a golf club -- all because of me, a scholarship student. He was stripped of his billion-dollar inheritance and cast out of the family. For three years, he dragged that ruined leg around an auto repair shop, doing backbreaking labor just to scrape together enough for my college tuition. Everyone said I was the luckiest girl alive -- that I'd brought the untouchable heir of a financial empire to his knees, made him willing to live on scraps in the worst part of town. Today was our three-year anniversary. I was carrying the freshly signed Holloway Group inheritance confirmation documents, ready to finally tell him my real identity and pull him out of this misery. I walked down the corridor of The Grand Pavilion, holding a box of vanilla shortbread -- his favorite. Through the half-open door of a private suite, Julian Ashford stood tall on two perfectly healthy legs, dressed in an immaculate tailored suit, sliding a rare pink diamond ring onto the finger of Victoria Sterling -- the city's most celebrated socialite. "Victoria, I used that scholarship girl as a shield to survive three years of my old man's relentless arranged marriage schemes. My body's completely untouched. You've always been the one I was going to marry." I looked down at my own hands, cracked and raw from the cold, and tore the inheritance documents to shreds.

My husband, Harrison Knight, was a workaholic. When stomach pain landed me in the hospital, he had his assistant send me medication. When my mother underwent surgery, he was abroad negotiating an acquisition. In seven years of marriage, he'd missed three of my birthdays and five of our anniversaries. He always said, "The company's still getting off the ground. I can't afford to slow down." I understood. Years ago, his first love, Celeste Foster, had left him because he was poor. Afterward, he'd sworn he would make something of himself. He went on business trips, had late nights, and worked himself to the bone. For seven years, Harrison had pushed himself relentlessly, going from a penniless nobody to a CEO everyone looked up to. I'd grown used to him always being in a rush. I'd grown used to work coming before everything else. Until the day I returned from negotiating a billion-dollar deal and saw Celeste's latest post. In the photo, Harrison stood outside the airport terminal. He'd canceled his three o'clock board meeting to pick her up himself. He was even bent down in front of her, tying her loose shoelace. Her caption read: [After all these years, you're still the best.] I stared at the photo for a long time. Then suddenly, I almost laughed. So it wasn't that Harrison couldn't slow down. He just wouldn't do it for me. That night, he called. "Celeste just got back. I'm not coming home tonight. Don't read anything into it. She's just an old friend." "Okay," I said quietly. Then I opened my laptop and messaged my attorney: [Send me the divorce papers tonight.] If he could stop for an old love, then it was time I stopped too. After seven years of running myself ragged for him, I was done.

When I return to the day I discover my husband, David Stone, is cheating on me, I immediately switch shifts with my colleague. In my previous life, David had been fooling around with my best friend, Roxanne Lane, in his car when they got into an accident and were rushed to the hospital. When I received the news, I hurried there at once and saw them tangled together, naked, in the aftermath of the wreck. My colleague operated on them, and both of them survived. However, the shock was too much for me, and I passed out. When I woke up, David sent me divorce papers, demanding that I leave the marriage empty-handed. Citing his affair, I demanded half of his assets. In response, he sneered, "Me? Cheating? Where's the evidence?" That was when I remembered that I had fainted before taking any photos. The hospital's surveillance cameras happened to be down that day, leaving me without a shred of proof. I lost the case and walked out with nothing. On the day of the divorce, broke and numb, I stumbled out of the courthouse and was hit by a car. Now, the moment I open my eyes again, I'm back on the day David and Roxanne are taken to the hospital.

On the day I was trying out my wedding gown, a stranger dashed into the VIP room and pushed me hard onto the ground. "I'm the real Mrs. John Curtis. Someone like you, with no money or a strong family behind you, should serve me instead." She looked down on me before kicking my pregnant belly with her sharp heels. The pain blurred my vision and made me break out in a cold sweat. Jolene Nostra crouched next to me and slapped me with the back of her hand. "You were only a jilted lover without wealth or influence, trying to wed into a rich family by getting pregnant." As blood flowed heavily from between my legs, a realization hit me. My fiancé, the person I'd been with for four years, was seeing another woman. "What's this? How dare you give me that look? I could kill you, and nothing would happen to me because I'm Mrs. John Curtis!" As she lunged towards me, I pulled out my phone with trembling hands to call my brother. "Come get me, Anthony. And tell our guys I want the Curtis family gone from South City."

For the past three months, I've slept only three hours every day just so my team and I can create an app. Thanks to our hard work, the app goes absolutely viral to the point we've garnered over 100 million registered users on the first week of its launch. At the afterparty, my wife, Stacie Woodward, announces that her godbrother, Tory Frost, who's the PR manager, will be the one receiving the million-dollar bonus. She then tosses me a few 50% discount coupons that can be used in shopping malls as my bonus. "You're just a code monkey—why do you need that much money anyway? You can have these discount coupons. Use them on anything you want. At least buy some nice clothes for yourself. Don't go around wearing these rags. You'll just end up humiliating me more." I plead to her in a low tone, "Have you gone crazy, Stacie? My dad needs the money for the best medication in order to save his life! Can you please stop joking around?" But Stacie clings to Toby's arm, looking high and mighty. "Your dad's dying, isn't he? He might as well stop wasting the public resources! I can always choose him a better grave and hold a nice funeral for him when his time comes!" As I look at Stacie's smug face, I just smile at her instead of getting mad at her. She must have forgotten that the app's core algorithm and the user growth model are built using my private, undisclosed technology stack. That means the copyright is mine and has nothing to do with the company. I just smile while nodding at Stacie. That night, I activate the technology stack's self-destruct and migration protocols.

On the day of the mating ceremony, I'm supposed to be marked by William Ernst and become the Luna of the Shadow pack. However, Annie Denver, my younger twin sister, suddenly comes back from abroad. Dad, Mom, and William end up abandoning me, choosing to pick her up from the airport. While Annie posts a family photo on Facebook, flaunting how everyone in the family loves her, my family cuts me off whenever I try to contact them through mind-link. They end up closing the mind-link. After calling countless times, William finally accepts my call and asks me to stop rushing him. He tells me that today's mating ceremony is canceled and will be rescheduled on another date. My dearest parents, brother, and the man I love the most all turn me into the laughingstock of the entire pack—and the most ridiculous bride of all. Despite being laughed at, I didn't cry or make a scene. After taking care of everything, I write a number in my journal—the 99th time. This is the 99th time they have disappointed me. From this moment on, I won't beg for their love anymore. I fill out an application for Arcetic expedition, ready to leave them. They all think that my silence and constant compromises with Annie mean I've matured. They fail to realize that I'm disappointed to the core. I am leaving for good.

I had always loved a good bit of drama. When I heard that a wife had shown up outside our company to confront her husband's mistress, I immediately put the executive meeting on hold and rushed out in my high heels. A middle-aged woman was waving her phone around and screaming, "Where's Jeremy's mistress? Get out here!" Curious, I hurried over. "Ma'am, who are you looking for?" She glared at me. "A homewrecker! I'm looking for Penelope Smith from your company!" I was still trying to figure out who Penelope was when the woman suddenly grabbed my wrist. "Well, look at that! It's you! You're Penelope Smith, aren't you? You're just an intern, and you're already seducing my husband to secure a permanent position… I'll make sure your boss fires you today!" I immediately tried to set the record straight. "I have no idea what you're talking about! Don't go around accusing innocent people!" But more and more of my coworkers gathered to watch. Some secretly filmed me, while others shot me looks of disdain. "She looks so innocent. Who knew she'd sleep her way into a permanent position..." I frowned. The whole situation was utterly ridiculous. An intern? I was the owner of this company!

On my wedding day, Matteo Castello's younger adopted sister, Gisella Castello, delivers me a wedding gift consisting of a worn condom. There's a note pressed underneath said condom. "Lucia, I've already tested Matteo for you. He's really good in bed." I lose my mind on the spot. That night, I sleep with three of Matteo's friends, and I make sure to leave hickeys all over my body. The next morning, Matteo kicks open my room door. Soon, a few sacks are tossed into my room, courtesy of his subordinates. The men whom I've slept with the night before are the ones contained in those sacks. Shocked beyond my wits, I let out a blood-curdling scream. I can barely feel my limbs as I scramble away from those sacks. But Matteo reaches out to grip me by the chin and lift my head forcefully. "What are you afraid of? They were already plotting behind my back. I was worried that I might not be able to deal with them without a proper excuse. What I didn't expect is that you, my dear wife, are sweet and understanding enough to give me a reason for doing so." My head buzzes loudly at that moment. I can feel my blood running cold in my veins. Finally, I realize that this is just a trap that Matteo has set up for me. That's when I completely break down. With tears streaming down my cheeks, I do my best to flee from my room, only to get thrown into the punishment chamber in the end. What he doesn't know is that I'm already pregnant at that time. One year later, the punishment chamber's door is finally opened. Sunlight is cast onto my pale face. Everyone tells me that Matteo is here to take me home. Instead of saying anything, I take my phone and head over to a secluded corner, where I place a phone call. "I got released, Mr. Lombardi. Let's meet up."

My fiancé's secretary had my wedding ring remade into a Hello Kitty trinket. When I confronted her, she twisted the truth with shameless arrogance, insisting that my wedding was hers to decide. I turned to my fiancé for support, only to have him dismiss me as petty and unworthy of being his bride. Together, they ridiculed and humiliated me, unaware that their families' power and future all depended on me. When my superior stepped in, their mockery collapsed in the face of truth. My fiancé fell to his knees, begging me to honor our engagement. But I cast him aside without hesitation, breaking off the marriage and leaving him with nothing.

At the concert, my husband James Felton and his assistant ended up on the kiss cam. They made for a beautiful couple, and the clip immediately went viral. In the video, I saw my son cheering in between them. The next thing I did was share the video on my Instagram feed with the caption, [How sweet.] James immediately gave me a video call, labeling me a jealous woman. “We were only acting to fool her ex! Stop making a fuss out of everything!” Our friends in the know were all laughing behind my back, placing bets on when I would apologize. This time, however, I was not going to play to their tune.

On Valentine's Day, I set up a candlelit dinner and waited. At 9 PM, my husband, Alfred Johnston, finally texted. [Something came up at work. Don't wait for me.] Then I saw her post. [On a business trip with the CEO for Valentine's Day. Every hotel is fully booked—awkward...] Vivian Bianca, his secretary. Attached was a photo of a guy in a bathrobe, standing by a floor-to-ceiling window. The comments were all 'ooh, CEO's so hot and girl, you're in for a night.' Vivian? Just dropped a smug emoji. So that's what "something came up" meant—a romantic getaway with his secretary. I screenshotted it, posted it on my own feed, and added a smiling emoji. A second later, Alfred called, fuming. "Vivian was joking! Why are you so petty? She's young, not as calculating as you!" I didn't let him finish. "Then let's get a divorce. That way, I won't have to care when you screw around and catch something."

My family was on the brink of bankruptcy. To save us, my dad married me to a rich and powerful family. Before the wedding day, my fiancé demanded a virginity test. I confidently agreed to the test. To my surprise... The man who examined me was actually the doctor who had repaired my hymen three times by now...

Mindy Graham left me at the altar to meet her ex-boyfriend, who left her five years ago when she was almost disabled. The wedding guests were shocked when they saw me clenching the corner of her wedding dress, trying my best to keep up appearances. "Can you not leave now?" Mindy hesitated but chose to slowly pry off my fingers while shaking her head. "I'm sorry. I have to go. I need to find out why he left me so heartlessly back then." She left without turning back amidst the shocked gasps from the crowd. My mother, who had a heart condition, trembled with rage, and I watched in shock as she passed out and fell to the ground. "Mom!" I was breaking down but forced myself to get it together and take her to the hospital. I fell to the floor outside the surgery room, and that was when two messages popped up on my phone. The first message was from Johnny Packer: [I told you that Mindy would never choose you if I came back. You've lost again.] Mindy sent the second message: [Give me 30 days. We'll be broken up during this time, but I promise I'll love you and only you after this is over.] There was a dead look in my eyes as I laughed bitterly with self-deprecation. This time, I refused to let myself lose.

On the day of our wedding, my fiancé, Shawn Chandler, insisted that I wear a bridesmaid’s dress while having a million-dollar wedding gown custom-made for his childhood sweetheart. “Jessica said she wants to fulfill her dream of wearing a wedding dress. She’s been looking forward to seeing me get married since she was little.” I threw the bridesmaid’s dress into the trash. His expression darkened as he scolded me, “Why are you so unreasonable? Even if you wear a bridesmaid’s dress, you’ll still be the bride. And if it weren’t for the fact that you’re pregnant, I wouldn’t be marrying you at all!” Placing my hand over my belly, I slammed the door and left. That night, he posted wedding photos with Jessica Jordan on his social media. Five years later, Shawn and I met again at a charity gala. He was invited as a specially invited donor, with Jessica by his side in a custom designer gown. The two behaved intimately. When he saw me crouching in a corner sorting a donated box of old clothes, he frowned and walked over. “Tiana Larrinson, you refused to wear that bridesmaid’s dress back then, and now, you’ve fallen so low that you’re rummaging through other people’s old clothes? “Look at you, sneaking into events like this by picking through scraps. You should’ve just listened to me back then.” I was confused, and it took me a long time to remember who he was. What he did not know was that the items up for auction at this charity gala were my and my daughter's old clothes.