Tragic Love Short Stories & Mistress Marriage Novels

On my second day after transferring to City Hall, I took over one of my coworker's cases. A young woman had come in for a certified copy of her marriage certificate. My coworker chuckled. "This is her ninety-ninth time requesting it. We already have all her paperwork on file, so it'll only take a minute." I blinked. "Ninety-nine times?" She laughed. "Yep. She married a wealthy older man, and every time they get into a fight, they tear up their marriage certificate. That's how they vent. "Only an older husband would tolerate that kind of childish behavior. I heard her husband is from the Hayes family, the wealthiest family in Havenbrook." I frowned at once. "Anyone from the Hayes family should know better than to behave like that. Are you sure her husband isn't an impostor?" My coworker immediately clapped a hand over my mouth, looking horrified. "For heaven's sake, keep your voice down. He's the real deal. Hunter Hayes, the head of the Hayes family." I froze. My phone slipped from my hand and landed on the desk. The screen lit up with a photo of me leaning against Hunter. The young woman in front of me suddenly went pale. She snatched my phone off the desk. "Who are you?" she demanded. "Why do you have a picture with my husband?"

At the company's annual event, an oddly shaped necklace tumbled out of my wife's purse. It was engraved with her friend's initials, L.L. To protect his privacy, Camille Sinclair announced our secret seven-year marriage right there in front of everyone. She pulled me up on stage and gave the cameras a shy little smile. "Those letters are my husband's initials, Liam Locke. It's got nothing to do with anyone else." After the show ended, I let go of her hand and quietly begged, "I did what you wanted. Now can I get my mom's medication for this month?" That was when her best friend, Logan Lane, showed up carrying a box stuffed full of erectile dysfunction pills. He made sure the whole room heard him as he said, "Hey, bro, before you worry about your mother's illness, maybe worry about getting it up first. Camille's always complaining to me that you can't get the job done. She can't keep using toys to get by, can she?" The spotlight swung onto me, and thousands of people burst out laughing. By the next afternoon, I was the laughingstock of the entire industry. I was known as the husband who couldn't perform. Camille savored the sight of me falling apart. "Honey, you should learn some gratitude. Why don't you thank Logan?" I walked out under everyone's mocking stares. When I got back to the hospital, I found my dying mother hanging from the ceiling fan. Clutched in her hand was a suicide note, stained with blood. [Don't waste money treating me anymore. Don't beg her for anything ever again. Don't let her make you suffer another day.]

My mother was critically ill, and I drove five hundred miles back to my hometown alone. At a rest stop, I saw a video online. A young man had posted: "First day driving long-distance as a nervous beginner. My ex followed me for three hundred miles, all the way until I got home safely." In the video, a familiar black Mercedes followed a white car the entire way. The top comment came from a burner account: "I'm the driver's ex. No other meaning. I just couldn't stop worrying. "He's timid, but always tries to act brave. I was afraid something would happen to him. "Please don't overthink it. Don't bother him. I'll feel bad." The internet exploded. "What kind of once-in-a-lifetime devoted ex is this? Get back together already!" I stared at that Mercedes. The plate number was GB-8860V. It was my fiancee Vanessa Tomlinson's car. That morning, she had canceled the plan to drive home with me. She said her company had an emergency project and she could not get away. I had sent her dozens of messages, and she had not replied to a single one. Yet she had time to escort the man she never truly let go of for three hundred miles. My phone buzzed. Vanessa had finally texted me: "Is the interstate jammed? Drive safe."

When I was seven years old, a handsome man Mom brought home gave me a box of mangoes. That day, Dad watched me happily eating the mangoes as he signed his name on the divorce agreement. Then, he jumped to his death. From that day on, mangoes became a lifelong nightmare for me. So, on our wedding day, I told my wife, Irene Johnson, "If you ever want a divorce, just give me a mango." She held me without saying a word. From that moment on, mangoes became forbidden for her as well. … On the fifth Christmas Eve after we got married, Irene's childhood sweetheart, Steven Carter, placed a mango on her desk. That same day, she announced that she was cutting ties with him and fired him from the company. That day, I felt that she was the woman destined for me. ... Six months later, I return from overseas after closing a billion-dollar deal. At the celebration dinner, Irene hands me a drink. After I drink half of it, Steven, the man who was kicked out of the company, stands behind me and grins. "Is the mango juice good?" he asks. I look at Irene in disbelief, but she is holding back a laugh. "Don't be mad. Steve insisted I play a joke on you. I didn't give you a mango, just a bottle of its juice. "But I think Steve is right. There's something wrong with you for not eating mangoes. Look at how much you enjoyed it just now!" she says. I keep a cold expression, raise my hand, and splash the remaining mango juice onto her face. Then, I turn and walk away. Some things are never a joke. Mangoes aren't, and neither is my decision to divorce.

When I'm paying the heating bill, I find out that my wife, Violet Jensen, has two accounts under her name. The first account belongs to our home. The second account goes to a unit in a high-end private residential area. The remark on the account shows two words that say "love nest". Love nest. I don't know who on earth Violet is sharing that nest with, but I know where that address is. After all, that's the apartment I bought at full price before my marriage.

Every year, my husband, Daniel Trahan, elopes with his childhood sweetheart, Callie Reed, on our wedding anniversary. On that day, they do everything that a loving couple does. On our fifth year anniversary, Daniel ordered me to put on a maid's outfit and serve them on hand and foot for 24 hours. "You've always wanted me to spend more time with you, right? I'm giving you a chance right now. Tomorrow, I'll come home and have one meal with you. "By the way, Callie's lower back hurts. You'll have to support her whenever she needs you." I complete all of my tasks obediently. When we meet up the next day, I hand him a divorce agreement. Daniel scoffs at the sight. Then, he drops his signature casually. "Oh? Are you playing hard to get again? Every time, you'll end up begging me to return to you while crying like an abandoned pet. If you're that eager to let everyone see how big a doormat you are, I shall grant your wish. "When you come crawling back to me this time, I'll stream the whole thing live so that everyone can see how spineless you are." Daniel thinks I'm throwing another tantrum this time. What he doesn't know is that the day of his elopement with Callie is also the day I get to go on my private date. Now, that lover of mine demands a proper title from me.

It was the day of our wedding trip, and my fiancee only hurried over to the airport at the last minute. Right before we boarded, she got an urgent message from her male secretary. "Sorry, honey. There's a big project that needs my attention. Just showed up. You go ahead without me. I'll catch up once I'm done with work." It was a shame, but work was important. "Yeah, I get it." Then, I tore up the flight ticket after my fiancee was gone. My fiancee talking about a big project when I just bought the whole company hours earlier? Well, I'd like to see who was the idiot who worked around their new boss to talk to someone who did not exist.

I was two hours late to check out our future home. By the time I finally rushed in, my fiancé, Daniel, had already signed the paperwork. He and my best friend, Gina, were huddled over the floor plans with their heads together as they debated over the interior design. They went from discussing the layout of the gaming room to the nursery. They continuously bickered over whether the master en-suite needed a freestanding tub or not. A middle-aged couple standing nearby smiled warmly at Daniel. "Renovating your first home, huh?" the husband chimed in with a wink. "Take it from me, son, always let your wife have the final say." Daniel let out an awkward cough as his eyes drifted to Gina, whose cheeks had instantly flushed a soft pink. "Alright, fine," Daniel muttered, giving in with a grin. "We'll get the tub." I stood just a few feet away, watching them decide every single corner of my future home. The three of us had grown up together. When we were kids, they were the ones who picked the schools and told me where we were going. When Daniel and I started dating, every date night and vacation was planned by them. I just showed up. And now, even with my own future house, it felt like my only job was to wait for their final memo. For years, I had lived like a shadow to the two of them. Shadows didn't have voices. They just followed silently, a step behind. But even shadows would get tired. And sometimes, on a bleak, overcast day, a shadow would stop and refuse to take another step forward.

Ann Hartigan had been sexually unresponsive for years, but I once caught her pleasuring herself to a photo of her male protégé. That was how I knew she'd fallen for him. Later, when Craig McDermott's showboating in the operating room left my mother paralyzed, I gave Ann two choices: send him to prison, or divorce me. She spent the whole night out on the balcony in the cold, and by the next morning, she'd handed over the evidence of Craig's fatal error. After that, she became medicine's celebrated "devoted wife," and the two of us went back to being as loving as ever. One day, I slipped into an awards ceremony at Ann's hospital, hoping to surprise her. The moment I walked in, I saw the man standing at the podium, trophy in hand, giving his acceptance speech. Ice ran through every inch of me. It was Craig McDermott, the man who should have been in prison.

On the day of our wedding, Maverick Lowe sacrificed me as bait to save his childhood sweetheart, Janet Stewart, from her kidnappers. I was left behind, brutally tormented by the gang. The next day, the entire internet was flooded with indecent videos of me. Maverick publicly branded me a disgrace, broke off our engagement in front of everyone, and soon after, paraded Janet as his bride. While I was drowning in despair, my childhood friend Alfred Hawkins confessed his love. He said he had always cared for me, and vowed to shelter me from every storm. With him by my side, I slowly climbed out of that darkness. We married, and soon after welcomed our daughter, Ruby. The three of us built a life of simple, perfect happiness. Until one day, I stumbled upon Janet sobbing in Alfred's arms. Between tears, she choked out, ''The doctor said… without a matching heart, Yoana won't last another month…'' Yoana, her little girl, had been born with a congenital heart defect. Alfred's hand lingered tenderly on her shoulder as he whispered. ''Don't cry. I told you, Ruby's heart was always meant for Yoana. ''After her birthday, I'll arrange the accident. Then Ruby will be delivered straight to the hospital…''

The 99th time I asked my boyfriend, Nathan Cole, to dinner, he turned me down and snapped, "Is eating the only thing you ever think about?" We'd been together for two years, yet every time I wanted to have dinner with him, I had to check his schedule first. He said work kept him busy and he didn't like last-minute invitations. So I learned to ask a week ahead and keep track of every opening in his schedule. One day, while I was out shopping, I passed a new Italian restaurant and texted him. His reply came at once. "How many times have I told you? Stop bothering me with little things like this!" I put my phone away and went in by myself. But when I went to pay, I saw him in the private dining room next door. Nathan always claimed he was too busy to have dinner with me. Yet there he was, sitting with his childhood friend, Vivian Shaw, chatting happily. Vivian laughed. "Nathan, I hope it wasn't too much trouble coming out this late." Nathan slowly cut his steak. "Whenever you want to have dinner, just let me know. I'll always make time for you." So it wasn't that he didn't have time. It wasn't that he hated last-minute invitations. He just didn't think having dinner with me was worth making an exception for. Fine. If he could never make time for me, I would stop asking. For good.

At my son's kindergarten awards ceremony, the teacher invited the parents onstage to share their parenting experiences. I was about to stand when Julian stopped me and motioned for my best friend, Wendy Morgan, to go up instead. "Nathan is actually Wendy's and my son," Julian Cole said so calmly that he might as well have been discussing something that had nothing to do with me. "Wendy has known for five years that Nathan is her son, but she hasn't been able to acknowledge him as her own. I don't want her to keep suffering in silence," he added. I was almost certain I'd misheard him, but the question slipped out before I could stop it. "Then what about my son?" "Your son died the moment he was born. Wendy couldn't bear to see you suffer the pain of losing your child, so she gave you hers," he answered just as casually, as though he were talking about someone else's family. When he saw the color drain from my face, he let out a cold scoff. "You never even saw him. Why are you taking this so hard? Survival of the fittest. Isn't it perfectly normal for an unhealthy embryo to be eliminated?" A deafening roar filled my head. Julian tightened his grip on my hand. "Don't worry. Nothing is going to change. I won't divorce you. Nathan just has another mother now. That's all." I pulled my hand stiffly from his grasp and stared at him in disbelief. "Where are my son's ashes?" Julian froze for a moment. "Ashes? I gave his body to the hospital for disposal. What ashes? He was probably thrown into some trash can somewhere." I shot to my feet, my voice trembling beyond my control. "Julian, you're an animal!"

In my previous life, during my birthday party, my wife Ruby’s so‑called best friend, Hayden, walked up to me with a glass of wine and a smirk. “Ruby had a little too much to drink last night,” he said. “I helped her shower. Hope you do not mind.” I lost my temper on the spot, and I demanded a divorce. I left with nothing because I wanted to get away from the two of them as quickly as possible. In the end, I died alone in a rented apartment. No one came to see me, not even once. After my death, Ruby’s company went public without any trouble. Her wedding with Hayden became the talk of the city. Everyone called them a perfect match. When they mentioned me, there was only ever one line: "That man just had bad luck. He was never meant for anything better." When I opened my eyes again, I was back at my birthday party. Hayden walked up to me once more and repeated the exact same words. This time, I did not get angry. I smiled. I reached for Yara, my closest friend, who had come with me, and slipped my arm through hers in an intimate gesture. Under Ruby and Hayden's stunned gazes, Yara blinked innocently at Ruby, whose face had gone pale. "Ruby, don't be jealous. Jeff and I grew up together." She paused just long enough, then added with a faint smile, "After all, I was the one who taught him his first time."

My girlfriend, Madison Carter, claims that men's hearts will rot when they start gaining wealth. Out of love toward her, I give her all of my money. But on my birthday, my severe illness has relapsed due to me not bearing to spend money on medication. So, I can only borrow money from Madison, who's also a CEO. But she begins berating me without asking me the reason why. "You really are an ingrate! I've been sustaining you for so long, and yet you never pledge your loyalty toward me! All you care about is money!" Naturally, Madison refuses to lend me even a single cent. But the next day, she doesn't hesitate to give her first love, Lucas Whitfield, a few million dollars just so he can start a business of his own. I feel my blood turn into ice as I stare at the woman I've loved for ten years. Only now do I realize that she has never loved me before.

Within 30 days, Niccolò Romano and I registered for divorce 18 times. The first time, Niccolò's adopted sister stole my research results, but he hired a lawyer to fight for her. Afterwards, he held me and coaxed, "If something happens to Lia, no one will dare to hire her in the future. I'm just helping her." The second time, while my plane was in distress, he was traveling around the world with Lia. His tone was helpless: "Lia has depended on me since she was little. I only look after her like a younger sister." The last time, Lia was pregnant with a child no one would claim, and he took responsibility for it. Faced with my accusation, he just sighed, a bit tired: "Lia's career is just starting to take off. If someone blackmails her with the child, her life will be ruined." "You're a woman too. Can't you understand?" This time, I didn't cry or make a scene. Instead, I calmly signed my name on the divorce agreement that he had signed in a fit of pique some time ago. Then I called my professor: "I've thought it over. I'm willing to go with you to Iceland to do research."

My name was Natalia Granger. My husband, Andrew Lane, was a CEO, but he didn't love me or our son, Carl Lane. In order to spend time with his first love, Jennifer Zink, and her child, Jordan, Andrew would give one piece of candy to Carl before leaving. He promised he would return once Carl collected 100 candy wrappers. … Yet, when Carl finally gathered 100 candy wrappers, Andrew dumped him by the side of a highway instead. It was all because of another child's birthday party. Panicking, I searched everywhere for Carl. By the time I found him, he had become mute due to the trauma. However, Andrew only commented flippantly, "Jenny and Jordan didn't mean it. Can't you two be more magnanimous?" Eventually, Carl no longer became sad when Andrew left, nor did he hold out hope for Andrew's return. Instead, he simply wanted to return the candy wrappers to Andrew while also leaving a note that read, "Daddy, I don't want you to come back anymore, but could you return my voice to me?"

On the night of my birthday, I got a photo from Tyler Pattison, the college student my wife, Helen Watkins, had been keeping. In the photo, my wife lay topless in his arms, her face still flushed. Tyler: [Helen loves me. Why do you insist on holding on and refusing to let go?] I stared at the photo, expressionless, and forwarded it to my wife. [Is this what you want?] [Fine. I'll let you two have each other.] She'd forgotten that our marriage was something she had wanted with all her heart, something she had begged and pleaded for. Since she loved her freedom so much, I would give it back to her.

My father found me too rebellious, so he gave me to Marco, tasking him with making a lady out of me. To the outside world, Macro was the ruthless boss to a Mafia empire, but to me, he was just a man with a perpetually stern face. I tried everything to defy him. I smashed his car. Then I swapped his PPT for the lowbrow stand-up he hated most. And he opened it during a company meeting. Yet, every rebellion ended the same. He cornered me, his massive frame dominating mine on the silk sheets of his king-sized bed, the polished oak of his desk, or the leather confines of the car's backseat. His hot skin against mine, his fingers tracing fire along my curves. He moved with a primal hunger that left me breathless. My body arched in unwilling ecstasy, in a dance of punishing pleasure, until my fight dissolved into moans, my will shattered under his relentless claim. I fell for him hard, convinced this was love, and he was the beacon of my dark world. But the truth shattered me: it was all a calculated game to tame me, to stop my war with my sister Karen. My guiding light went out, or maybe it never existed at all. So I became a good girl. I stopped fighting back. He thought he had me tamed, chained to his will. But in the end, I slipped free, leaving him alone with his shattered heart.

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.

Family dinner. My husband, Don Victor, let his new secretary stand right beside him. Tight red dress. Tits pressed right against his arm. I looked dead at Victor, "She’s in the Donna’s spot. Nothing to say?" Victor blew out a cloud of smoke. His rough thumb rubbed the grip of his gun. He looked annoyed, "You’re late. Don’t bitch about losing your seat. Sit somewhere else or get out." He looked back down at his phone. I opened my mouth to snap back. My phone buzzed in my pocket. Victor’s secret burner account. A new post. [ My wife. Get mad at me. ] [ Beg me. Tell me you can't survive without my protection. Tell me you're chained to me. ] [ Use your jealousy. Prove you love me. I only feel safe when you lose your mind over me. ] I knew it. Victor always had sick, obsessive attachment issues. But not tonight. I was done feeding the Don's twisted games. I looked down. Slid the Russo family diamond off my finger. Dropped it on the table. I said, my voice ice, "No seat for the Donna? Guess you don't need me anymore. We're done. I want a divorce."