Tragic Love Short Stories & Mistress Regret Novels

I have a secret. When I touch someone, I see the face of the person they love most. Since Natalie moved in next door when we were seven, I always saw myself in her heart. At eighteen, when she held my hand—it was me. At twenty-two, when she proposed—it was me. On our wedding night, when she kissed me—it was still me. On the morning of our third anniversary, I fixed the hem of her dress. My fingers grazed her ankle. Out of habit, I closed my eyes. This time, I saw two faces. Mine. And some guy I'd never seen before. That night, Natalie's phone lit up. [Thanks for spending today with me, Natalie.] Twenty-one years. A hundred thousand touches. And for the first time, I was wrong.

To get back at me for taking one extra piece of lettuce at dinner, Simon Quinn drugged me right after my surgery and left me with a stomach perforation. My wife finally managed to book a specialist appointment for me, but Simon suddenly claimed his own stomach hurt so badly he couldn't stand it and stole my slot. I begged my wife to take me to the hospital first. She told me to endure it. Then, when I called an ambulance myself, she punished me by having someone hang me upside down in the bedroom. "If we hadn't had to eat those awful health meals with you, why would Simon's stomach hurt? "I heard hanging upside down helps stomach pain. After a few minutes, you'll naturally feel better." The pain made my body convulse. I cried and begged her to send me to the hospital. Instead, she kicked me hard in the abdomen. "Stop acting. Don't think I don't know you're just jealous of Simon! "Someone as kind as Simon would never drug you. If anything, you're the one who might've slipped something into the food to make his stomach hurt. Once the results come out, I won't let you off!" I grabbed her pant leg in agony. "I'm not lying. He told me himself he drugged me. Please, for the sake of our eight years together, give the specialist appointment back to me." She stepped on my hand in disgust. "You just had surgery. How could anything happen to you? Stop trying to drive a wedge between us. If you weren't such good househusband material, I would've divorced you long ago." Later, after she saw that Simon was perfectly fine, she finally remembered me. But the housekeeper was trembling all over. "Mr. Bowman died a long time ago..."

"Honey, the soles of my shoes are made of sheepskin. I can't get them wet, so come pick me up right away." Just as I send a WhatsApp message to my wife, Cora Harden, a barrage of floating comments explodes in front of me in the downpour. "I really can't stand a high-maintenance second male lead like Allen Brandt. Cora, the female lead, is a billionaire CEO, and yet she lets him boss her around like a lapdog." "The male lead has already joined the company. Once Cora sees how sweet and thoughtful he is, she's dumping that loser Allen for good." "This is hilarious. After the divorce, Allen can't do anything, so he'll end up as some cheap thirst-trap live streamer." Staring at the screen of venomous insults, I clench my fists in anger. Just then, Cora arrives with an umbrella, half of her bespoke dress soaked from the rain. Noticing my whitened knuckles, she pauses for a moment, then timidly tugs at my sleeve. "Sorry, darling. If I had driven any faster, I would have been speeding."

My son, Leo Hayes, is the city's top SAT scorer. He dies in a horrific accident while working a part‑time job, his body left broken beyond recognition. And on the night he takes his last breath, his mother and my wife, Madeline Shaw, stands beneath chandeliers, toasting the graduation of her childhood friend Jeffrey Locke's son, Melvin Locke. For 18 years, Madeline spends everything we earn on Melvin's medical bills, and our debts soar past the million mark. To hold our family together, I grind through 14-hour days every day, while Leo shoulders five jobs after school. But on his way to a shift, Leo is mangled in a terrible crash. The impact fractures his skull and rips open his abdomen. He is bleeding out, and the doctors say he needs a huge amount of money, fast, to save him. "Dad, I'm done fighting. I just want to see Mom," Leo begs, clinging to his last breath. I call Madeline over a hundred times in desperation, but she never answers. When I rush to her workplace, I find her hosting a graduation party for someone else's son. "A beachfront villa from Mrs. Hayes, in recognition of Melvin's brilliant results." "A high-end sports car, as a token for a future filled with success." "And an unlimited black card, to safeguard his health and happiness forever." From the edge of the crowd, I watch Madeline and Jeffrey locked in an embrace under the lights, and I dial her number for the 101st time. "Leo wants to see you one last time." "Lucas, I'm in the middle of something. Just be patient and stay with Leo. I'll be there soon." Before I can say another word, the line goes dead. I lower the phone and look up at the stage. "Madeline, our son is done waiting for you, and so am I."

Once my future father-in-law, Terrence, bounced back from a terrible car accident, my fiancée, Sarah, promised me a surprise for nursing him back to health. To my dread, Sarah said yes to her ex’s proposal right under Terrence’s nose during his hospital discharge the very next day. Faced with my grilling, Sarah simply explained, “Sure, you took great care of my dad, but without Aiden pulling strings to get him on the experimental treatment program, he wouldn’t have survived. “Besides, I only accepted his proposal to make my dad happy. It wasn’t real. Can’t you be a little understanding?” I was stunned. Still, I chose not to act out. After I dropped Terrence off at home, Sarah handed me a bouquet of red roses and a cake, saying they were my surprise. As I met her gaze with expectation, Sarah sent me away with an excuse. That was all the surprise she had prepared for me–just flowers and a cake. Disappointment and heartbreak washed over me. I took out the ring I was going to propose to her with and dropped it into the trash can. “Since you’ve said yes to Aiden, our engagement is over.”

At a party, my fiancee lost a round of Truth or Dare. Someone egged her on to list ten good things about my best friend. Olivia didn't hesitate for a second. "Outgoing, good-looking, fit, knows how to make you feel special. Always smiling, emotionally smart, capable, has great taste. And—he really knows how to brighten up a room." Next round, Dylan grinned and tossed the question back at her. "Alright, so what about Ethan? What's good about him?" Olivia turned to me, paused for a few seconds. In the end, she only came up with two words. "He's steady." Someone laughed, trying to smooth things over. "That's it? Anything else?" Olivia furrowed her brow, like she was actually giving it some real thought. But she couldn't come up with a second one. In the awkward silence, I suddenly felt exhausted. Olivia and I had been together for seven years. Our wedding was scheduled for next week. And yet, after thinking so hard, the only good thing she could find in me was that I was steady. This time, I didn't want to be the steady guy anymore.

Four years after my death, my wife—the CEO—was desperate. Her first love was dying of an incurable disease, and I was the only surgeon in the world who could save him. To force me out of hiding, she ran my mother down with her car, leaving her brain-dead with no chance of recovery. She had my father hanged from a tree beside my grave—while he was still alive. Then she went live on social media, threatening to burn my younger sister to death. She was waiting for me—the selfish man, in her eyes—to come crawling back, beg for mercy, and agree to operate on her one true love. But then her men finally looked into my records. "Boss... he's been dead for four years. "He died on the very day he gave you his heart."

At our engagement party, my fiancée said, "Even if I marry you, my heart will always belong to my first love." The room went dead silent. Everyone waited for me to snap and storm out in humiliation. Instead, I clapped first. Smiling, I said, "If marrying me makes you that miserable, I won't stop you. Just don't forget to pay back the wedding money I gave you." My fiancée panicked on the spot.

After the 99th time Selina Roal stands me up for our pre-wedding photo shoot, I spot her pre-wedding photos with her blind first love, Felix Lont, on the large screen of the shopping mall. Suddenly finding it all so pointless, I agree to marry Luna Sanderson, the daughter of the wealthiest man in the city. In her joy, she buys an eight-million-dollar pinky ring from an auction and gifts it to me. Just when I think that I've finally found a good woman to spend the rest of my life with, I overhear her conversation with her best friend. "I knew that you weren't actually sincere about marrying Calvin Yangley! When do you plan to take action?" Luna answers coldly, "On the day of our wedding, I'll stage a balloon explosion to injure him. Then, I'll personally head the operation to take his eyes and transfer them to Felix. "I won't get to grow old with Felix in this life, so the least I could do is give him a wedding present and wish him a happy, healthy life." As it turns out, her love and devotion to me are all so that she can take my eyes. Even the act of marrying me is to clear the way for Felix. Immediately after that, I called the wedding studio. "Hello, I would like to cancel the wedding that will be taking place in seven days."

On our tenth wedding anniversary, my wife, Sienna Green, tricks our son, Noah Lewis, and me into entering a cryogenic pod. She plans to freeze us alive. As I slowly lose consciousness, I hear Sienna say to her assistant, Edwin Hoffman, "Fred's wife is dead. I've already promised him that I'll be his wife for ten years and bear him three sons. "Set up the program to ensure that Cameron and Noah only wake up after ten years. When the time comes, I'll return to them, and we can resume our life as a family." Ten years have passed. Noah is gone. When I wake up in the pod, I look at Sienna and call out to her, "Mommy."

The day I remarried Caitlyn Sullivan, the fake heir set my adoptive mother on fire and left her face burned beyond recognition. The moment I called the police, I was knocked unconscious. When I opened my eyes again, Caitlyn had personally replaced my face and made me take the blame for the fake heir. Three years later, on the day I was released from prison, Caitlyn's legal team was on standby around the clock. If there was even the slightest sign of revenge from me, they were ready to send me to a psychiatric hospital for another three years. My daughter even used money I had given her to build a 99-story safe house to hide the fake heir on the top floor. She named it Mason Tower. The fake heir was Mason Sheppard. They were terrified that I would hurt Mason in the slightest. But I disappeared from their lives as if I had never existed. The next time we met was in front of my food cart where I sold gourmet burgers. I lit the gas stove, casually wiped my oily hands on my apron, and skillfully sliced open buns. In a calm voice, I said, "A dollar for an extra egg, and two dollars for a spicy patty." Caitlyn's fingers trembled slightly. Her voice turned hoarse. "I'm allergic to eggs. Our daughter can't eat spicy food." She paused. "Did you forget?" I didn't need to remember. I only needed to remember that after selling 33 more burgers, I would have enough money to pay off the remaining balance for the grave next to my adoptive mother's.

Three years after my death, Naomi Dudley—the woman I've driven away—finally returns to Avenport. She is still with Bryson Lloyd. She leans into him, looking sweet and submissive. At the story's end, the main couple's sweet romance continues. The only one who meets a miserable end is me, the villain who dares to steal the female lead. They are here to visit her mother's grave, and I happen to be buried just a short distance away. I float beside Naomi, looking at her and Bryson. They really do look like the perfect couple. Once the candle burns down, Naomi finds an excuse to send Bryson away. She walks over to my headstone and stands there in silence for a long time. So long that I assume she is just trying to find the right words to curse me. Instead, tears well up as she smiles and touches my photograph on the stone. "Kenneth, why haven't you visited my dreams?" I suppose it's because I'm not Bryson. My lingering regrets will never reach her dreams.

My wife, Elena Clifford, is mentally weak. Although just the sound of my breathing irritates her when we sleep, she can sleep soundly next to her boy toy, Chris Olson, even when he's playing an out-of-tune melody on his guitar. I ask for a divorce after watching Elena and Chris flirt with each other in a video. "Why are you causing a fuss when I'm just sleeping?" Elena asks with a disdainful sneer. "You have no idea how much better my life would be if I got rid of a burden like you." I look at her coldly and reply, "Of course. The best has yet to come for you."

My wife and I had agreed to spend the holiday at my parents' house. Right before we walked out the door, she said, "I forgot to change my address again. The package was delivered to Grant's place!" I went still. Three years of marriage, and yet she had never once updated her default shipping address. A microwave she ordered online was delivered to her ex-boyfriend. She said it worked out, since his microwave was broken anyway. The anniversary gift she had picked out for me was signed for by her ex-boyfriend. She said it would be too awkward to ask for it back. The Valentine's Day gift she ordered for me online ended up in her ex-boyfriend's hands. She said she could not give me something secondhand, so she let him keep it. This time, she was ordering a holiday gift basket, and I had reminded her two weeks in advance. It still went to her ex-boyfriend. I kept my voice as steady as I could. "Go get it back. Drive over there right now." Her expression darkened. "He already signed for it. How am I supposed to get it back? We'll just pick something up on the way." "Get it back," I said. "Do you have to be so petty?" she snapped. "You're a grown man. You always have to make such a big deal out of everything." Every time something ended up at her ex-boyfriend's place and I asked her to get it back, that was the answer I got. My hands clenched until the knuckles went white as I watched her slam the door on her way out. I ignored the dull ache in my chest and sent a message to my lawyer. "Happy holidays. Could you please draft a divorce agreement for me? Thank you."

At our company dinner, my girlfriend, Katherine Hale, makes a detour to get some treats. She hands a glass of juice to my childhood friend, Mark Langley, who is sitting opposite us. Then, she sets down a cup of yogurt in front of me. Mark thanks her with a smile. "How thoughtful of you! You remembered I can't have iced drinks because of my gastric issues." I stare at the cup of yogurt with mango bits in it. Then, I nudge it further away from me, my expression blank. "What's the matter?" Katherine asks casually. I respond, "I'm allergic to mangoes. Did you forget that again?" She freezes for a moment. Then, she smiles and shrugs. "Come on, it's no big deal. Just pick out the mango bits." But she never forgets that Mark doesn't want any cilantro or onion in his food. Also, he only accepts chilled juice without any ice or sugar. Meanwhile, I have difficulty breathing if I take even a single bite of mango, but she thinks it's fine as long as I pick them out. Turns out, if one is biased enough, they can overlook even matters of life and death. On our way home, I sit in the back seat as usual. I look at the two people in the front, who seem perfect for each other. All of a sudden, I feel relief washing over me. Katherine can't even remember my allergies, so what am I holding onto this relationship for?

The day my parents travel thousands of miles to discuss our wedding, Teresa Harper and her family have yet to show up. After my third call goes straight to voicemail, Mom smiles and reassures me. "They're probably just stuck in traffic. It's fine, your dad and I can wait." Except we wait for three hours. My parents' expressions slowly shift from bright anticipation to quiet heartache. Dad tugs at his ill-fitting blazer for the 100th time. Finally, his eyes well up, and his voice cracks as he asks, "Colin… does it really have to be her? "We're just simple country folks. We know we don't have much, and we're nothing compared to city folks. We even agreed when they asked you to be their live-in son-in-law. "I don't want to break you two up. I'm just worried. You're thousands of miles away from home out here. If things get bad down the road, your mom and I… won't be able to just rush over and comfort you." Digging my fingernails into my palms, I force a smile and help them up from their seats. "Dad, Mom, let's go home. The wedding is off."

When I was one month pregnant, my fated mate Caleb’s childhood best friend turned out to be three months along. Caleb decided to hold a bonding ceremony with her. When I broke down and asked what would happen to me and our pup, he said calmly, "Stella is different from you. I’m the only friend she has left in the pack. If people find out she’s pregnant out of wedlock, the gossip will destroy her!" But he seemed to forget that he was my only support in the pack, too. Later, he allowed our baby to be called a bastard pup. He let his parents drag me into a healing room to force an abortion on me. My inner wolf went completely dead. I didn't want this man anymore. What Caleb didn't know was that I wasn't the worthless orphan he thought I was. I was the Alpha King's little sister. Clutching my stomach, I calmly dialed my brother's number. "Brother, come take me home." This time, I would grant Caleb's wish. I would take our pup and vanish from his sight forever.

My husband, a military colonel with whom I’d been married for ten years, was barred from entering our son’s funeral wake. Because before our son died, he made three final wishes. The first wish was not to tell his father about his death just yet, as he was afraid the news would upset him. Secondly, to cook his father’s favorite meal and let his father be there for his final birthday. Lastly, if his father were to miss his birthday, then under no circumstances—no matter what—never allow that man to appear before his grave. Even though the man’s eyes were bloodshot and his body was shaking as he cried his heart out in the torrential rain lashing outside the funeral home, I never let the man take a single step toward my son after his death. Three days earlier, after spending a whole night setting fireworks with my childhood friend and her son, Logan Pearce came home with a brand-new schoolbag. That was his idea of making up for missing our son’s birthday. The man frowned, puzzled by the tears in my eyes. “Isn’t it just one birthday? I’ll make it up to him next time, won’t I? Little did he know that our five-year-old son had already died from an asthma attack. The little boy would never live to see the first day of school.

Colonel Rachel Melton promises me she will only stay by her first love's side during his depressive episodes 99 times. Yet, the moment I mark down the 99th time, I catch them locked in a tight embrace. After that, I no longer stand in her way when she goes to him. I only ask her for a good luck charm to serve as our child's first birthday gift. At the mention of our child, Rachel's expression softens. "When I get back, I'll make sure to give Diana a wonderful first birthday." "Okay," I murmur, completely omitting the fact that I have submitted our divorce papers ten days ago, and that our daughter died on the very day she chose to be with Todd Weber. Now, we are already divorced.

My girlfriend took one of my kidneys to give to her first love—and then she discovered that my organs regenerate infinitely. Not only that, but they're compatible with absolutely anyone. So she started harvesting my organs. Over and over. To sell them. For five years, she bled me dry, and it made her a fortune. She and her precious first love became the wealthiest power couple in Rageane City. On the tenth anniversary of our relationship, she said to me, "I'm taking all your organs this time. I need them to replace Adrian's damaged ones and extend his life." I didn't fight her. I lay down on the operating table without a word. What she doesn't know is that I'm a clone. That's why my organs keep regenerating—I can produce new ones indefinitely. What she really doesn't know is that her real boyfriend died years ago. Before he passed, he created me—his clone—to stay by her side. And now? I have eight hours left to live.