Bittersweet Regret Short Stories & Novels

The day Lorenzo got kidnapped by a rival family, I found out I was three months pregnant. I took the million dollars his father offered, and I ran. The next time we met, I looked him in the eye and told him I'd been a mole for the rival family the whole time. He was chained up in a cellar, staring at me through the iron bars utterly despairing. He said he'd kill me himself, and then grind my bones to dust. Seven years later, when I saw him again, there was a beautiful woman on his arm. They were getting married. And I was so far down I had to beg him for a loan. He pulled out a thick stack of bills. Lit it on fire right in front of me. He said he'd rather burn it than give it to some whore feeding another man. He didn't know I was begging because my son was dying. His son too.

Three days after Theodore marked me, I took the three million his mother offered. Then I aborted our pup and forced our mate bond apart. Outside the operating room, he howled until he spat blood, begging me not to be so cruel. He said he would hate me for the rest of his life. Seven years later, we met again at an auction. A beautiful, docile she-wolf was sitting beside him. I'd come to the auction for the moonlight grass. But Theodore kept raising his paddle, snatching up the very lot I was bidding on. He took the moonlight grass, dropped it in front of me, and crushed it into the dirt with his heel. He said, "Anything you want, I'll destroy." He didn't know. The moonlight grass could save my pup's life. His pup, too.

It was at our engagement banquet that I finally learned the truth. I wasn't the true heiress of a noble human family. I wasn't the "fated bride" destined to bear a half-blood child for the vampires. I was just the wrong baby someone had brought home from the hospital. A fake. I'd thought that Alexander, the boy who'd risked his life to drag me out of a burning house, the boy I'd grown up beside, would love me the same as always. Instead, in front of everyone, he let go of my hand and looked down at me with cold eyes. "Without that bloodline, do you really think you deserve to stand beside me?" Then he reached out and slid the engagement ring off my finger himself. He turned, and led the true heiress up to the high platform. Everyone laughed at me. The fake heiress, delusional enough to think she could marry the vampire heir. I was thrown out of the only home I'd ever known. The only kindness left to me was Alexander's, a scrap of charity that let me stay at his side as the lowest thing a vampire could keep. A blood slave. And then, later, I died in an explosion. Saving him. Alexander knelt in the blood and lost his mind, screaming at everyone around him to save me. But there was something he didn't know. I hadn't died. Later still, at a vampire banquet, he saw me again at last. I walked past him on another man's arm, smiling. And this time, it was his turn to lose his mind begging me to look back at him.

The cocktail hour had just ended when I picked up a video call in the bridal suite. It was Ethan, three years from now. By then, time‑travel tech had matured enough to let him contact me three years into the past. After enough specific details, I finally believed it. The man on the screen really was Ethan, three years older. I rubbed my aching ankle and pouted at him through the screen. "Ethan, smiling at all these guests is exhausting. But the second I remember I actually married you today, I'm happy all over again." "We're still happy three years from now, right?" He was leaning back against a headboard, and he didn't answer. His face was flat and unreadable. Then I heard it: a woman's voice from his end, low and breathy, asking to be kissed. I froze for a second, then covered my mouth and laughed. "Is that future me? In broad daylight? Get a room." Ethan turned the camera into the bed. My maid of honor was lying there, naked, sprawled across his chest. Her body was covered in hickeys. He looked straight at me as I started to break, and his voice didn't shift at all. "As soon as the reception ended, I told you I had a client meeting. I went to her room instead." "Jo, now you know what's coming. The guests haven't gone home yet. If you want a divorce tonight, you can have one. Up to you."

I was getting married, but my boyfriend of five years did not know it yet. Lately, he had been driving a female coworker home every night and coming back late. She had a terrible memory and was always leaving things behind in his car. First it was earrings. Then adhesive bra inserts. Then intimate photos. One night, at midnight, she called to say she had left her allergy medication in his car. My boyfriend pulled his pants back on and rushed out the door to deliver it to her. Because of her, our wedding had already been postponed 19 times. After five years together, I decided to give him one last chance. "Either stop driving her home, or the wedding is off." He stayed silent all night. After that, he actually started coming home on time. I thought things were finally getting better. Then, one week before the wedding, I opened the front door and found half the furniture in our living room gone. The woman next door poked her head out and ran a hand over my washing machine with a smile. "Amanda, we're neighbors now. Ignatius loaned me the money to buy a house. He said I could use some of these old appliances until I get settled." My hands trembled as I opened my banking app. The $300,000 wedding fund we had spent five years saving was gone. Every last cent. This time, I did not even have the strength to argue. Then my mother called. "Sweetheart, how would you feel about moving the wedding to Rose Garden? I think your current venue doesn't do you justice." I looked around the half-empty living room and laughed. "Sure. And while we're at it, let's replace the groom too." After all, my mother had remarried into one of the wealthiest families in the country. My five stepbrothers had been waiting years for me to come home. And among the men around them who wanted to marry me? There was no shortage of candidates.

When I was six years old, I became an actual dummy after playing a silly game with my older sister, Hannah Hubbard. My mental age is stuck at six years old. Because of that, my grandma receives a huge shock, causing her condition to deteriorate. Since then, Hannah has completely transformed into a brand new person. Thanks to her scholarship and her efforts to collect and sell trash, Grandma and I are able to survive under her care. Hannah is such a prideful person, and yet when her classmates call her stupid nicknames, she doesn't get mad at them at all. But if anyone is to call me an idiot, Hannah will seek justice for me no matter what. That night, Hannah gathers me in her arms while crying soundlessly. "My Oliver isn't an idiot at all. You just haven't grown up yet. Oliver, promise me that you will never leave me, okay?" I just nod blankly. For the next three years, I cling to her like glue. That is, until Blake Mueller appears in our lives. When I'm done playing with the mud, I forget to wash my hands, so I accidentally soil Blake's white shirt with my soiled hands. That's when Hannah suddenly breaks down emotionally and kicks me out of the house. "Oliver Hubbard, you've dragged me down my whole life! Are you going to cause trouble for Blake as well? Can you please be more understanding and stop causing more trouble for me?" Finally, an idea sparks inside my dim-witted brain for once. It turns out that my existence brings nothing but misery to Hannah. So, I hide inside the casket Grandma has custom-ordered for herself. There, I close my eyes and begin counting down quietly. Three, two, one. Let the game begin.

After Nathaniel Cross promises to break things off and refocus on our marriage after having an affair, I give him three chances to meet with the young lady to end things between them completely. He uses every possible moment to spend time with her. They have dinner and do crafts. He even stays by her side through the night. When he comes back, he throws away everything that has to do with her and takes my hand again. "Trust me. I'll never betray you again," Nathaniel promises. One day, I collide with a young woman on the road. She makes a phone call to ask for help. The voice that answers belongs to one of my husband's friends. "Nathaniel, I don't think you should go. You've already used up all three chances. If Caroline finds out about this, she'll definitely ask for a divorce." Then, I hear Nathaniel's confident reply. "Caroline is an orphan. No one has ever loved or cared about her. She's more afraid of divorce than I am. Just keep quiet about this. I know what I'm doing. This is the last time." I feel my entire body turn cold. Only then do I realize that the sobbing woman in front of me is the mistress he has been so devoted to protecting. 20 minutes later, the man who has just sworn to return wholeheartedly to his family with me rushes frantically to the hospital.

My boyfriend of nine years suddenly changed his WhatsApp name to "Peanut Love." When I asked why, he wouldn't say. Then his secretary, going by the name "Peanut," sent me their intimate photos. I understood everything. I calmly saved the photos and opened my mom's chat. I sent a single message: [Mom, I've decided to come home for the arranged marriage.] Mom immediately video-called me. "Sweetheart, we'll set the wedding for the end of this month." Fifteen days. That's all that's left between Jason and me.

After I voluntarily gave up my position as the team's starting carry to my boyfriend's first love, he was pleased by how obedient I had been. As a reward, he moved our wedding date forward. But on the day of the ceremony, his precious first love, consumed by jealousy, pressed a dagger against herself and begged through tears, "Ethan, please don't marry her. Please." Ethan, who had always been cold and composed, instantly panicked. He pleaded with me over and over, begging me to save her life. Every guest at the wedding was waiting to see me make a fool of myself. Instead, I stayed calm and quietly handed over my place as the bride. Seeing how understanding I was, just as I had always been, Ethan's eyes reddened. "I promise this is the last time I'll let you suffer. As soon as the wedding is over, we'll get our marriage license and make it official." But he had forgotten something. This was the ninety-sixth time he had hurt me. And I had no intention of spending the rest of my life with him. I was only waiting for three more promises. Once I had repaid the debt I owed him for saving my grandmother's life all those years ago, I would walk away for good. From that day on, our paths would never cross again.

For ten years, I raised the finest bodyguard money could buy, and for a nanny's daughter, he turned his blade on me. I didn't spare a thought for the years between us. I had his tendons cut, his skills stripped away, and I threw him out of Meridian City. The live comments practically caught fire. [Somebody help, Celeste Ward has gone too far! Julian protected her for ten years, and the one time he didn't put her first, she's going to ruin him?] [This is the kind of love that terrifies me — if she can't have him, she'd rather destroy him. What did Julian even do wrong, trying to save the woman he loves?] [Run, Julian! A viper like her doesn't deserve your loyalty. Go to Amber — she's the one who can actually save you!] Me? Going too far? A traitor who turns on his own mistress for an outsider — if anything, I went easy on him. I gave a cold laugh, tore up his lifetime contract in front of everyone, and had every last one of his belongings burned. Then I went straight to the underground fight club and picked out the meanest, most reckless guy I could find. A month later, word reached Julian. He fought his way through every guard at my gate, half-dead by the time he made it to the door. He dropped to his knees in front of me, eyes rimmed red, clutching the hem of my skirt. "Miss Ward," he said, "that mongrel covered in tattoos — what does he have that I don't?"

Seven years into our marriage, my husband Theo ordered me an Americano, the way he always did. Except I'd just told him, again, that caffeine made me sick. The moment I opened my mouth to say something, his phone rang. He stood up and walked out without a word of explanation. Half an hour later, Lydia posted to her socials. "Thanks to a certain someone for taking time out of his insane schedule to fix my plumbing. Also, the fresh hot cocoa was incredible." The comments filled up with people gushing over her. Steam curled off the mug in the photo. It made the drink in my hand feel even colder. Lydia and Theo had grown up together. Seven years ago, within months of each other, they'd both rushed into marriage. The difference was that Lydia had married a man who hit her. Night after night, Theo would peel himself away from me and run off to defend her. Sometimes he'd fought with her husband and end up at the police station. It happened more than once. I used to think it was just his sense of justice, so I always cleaned up after him and smoothed things over. Now I could see it for what it was. He'd given so much of his attention to someone else that all I got were the leftovers, neglect and a cold shoulder. Fine. This love had already gone cold. I didn't want it anymore.

On the day the earthquake hits, my father, Collin Rimes, carries my injured little sister, Poppy Rimes, on his back, trekking about four miles through the mountains before finally reaching the emergency relief camp. His spine is bent low as he paces back and forth outside the command center in anxious hesitation before finally plastering a pleading, subservient smile on his face. "I'm looking for Captain Rubin. I'm his father-in-law. My little girl is injured. Could you please find a place for her?" The guard in camouflage frowns and heads inside to report. A moment later, Scotty Rubin's cold voice drifts out of the tent. "There are injured people everywhere waiting for help, from three-year-olds to 80-year-olds. Every one of them is just as desperate. But we follow protocol here. No special treatment." The smile on Dad's face freezes. Lost and helpless, he glances down at Poppy, who's drenched in cold sweat from the agonizing pain. His Adam's apple bobs, and he swallows the words he wants to say. Nodding emphatically, he hoists Poppy onto his back and shuffles to the side. "Yes, yes, of course. We should follow the rules. That's only right. Scotty is right." Seeing this, a sharp, suffocating pain stabs through my heart. But just as I'm about to speak up, I manage to get a peek at Scotty's phone lighting up on the desk. The latest message is to the woman he's never truly gotten over. "Don't worry, Mae. I've already arranged a private shelter for you. You and your family can all go there. There'll be hot meals, hot water, and dedicated doctors on standby." In that instant, I realize I'm the world's biggest joke. Well, since that's the case, I'll just set Scotty free.

I came to Chicago with my friend to visit her boyfriend. Three days in, her boyfriend said he'd show us "something fun." The car kept driving—farther and farther out. By the time we realized something was wrong, we were locked inside an abandoned factory. My friend was gone. Her boyfriend shoved me into a room and threw me a line: "Your friend sold you for twenty grand. Stay put and wait for arrangements." I scanned the room. A few men in black suits leaned against the doorway. Silver-gray pins on their chests. Shield-shaped. Dark red thorns. An inverted dagger. The family crest of Caleb Richardson—don of the New York mafia. I was held captive by him for three years. I barely escaped with my life— And now I've been handed right back to him.

Ethan Carter is an international captain for Delta Air Lines. I'd been engaged to him for five years. In those five years,the only time I ever asked him to indulge me was when I sent him a photo of my mother's flight journal. That journal recorded the route she'd flown on her last trip: Boston to Paris. Her health was already failing by then. I wanted Ethan to mark that route for me, and paste it on the last page of the memorial album. He just replied, "I've got a transatlantic flight tomorrow. Flight safety isn't for humoring people." Last week Ethan came home on leave, and while I was sorting his luggage, I found a waterproof document pouch tucked in a lining. Inside was a full set of simulator debrief materials. A name was written on the cover: Claire Bennett. A young first officer at Delta, the rookie Ethan had personally mentored these past two years as she pushed for her international route certification. I opened to the first page. From takeoff roll to stall recovery to approach deviation, every page carried Ethan's handwritten notes. Red circles, blue underlines, black annotations, the handwriting crisp, just like the man himself. A private recommendation letter was tucked into the pouch. He wrote that Claire had "steady judgment, an exceptional capacity to learn, and the potential to join a transatlantic flight crew." Every word was restrained, and every word was precise. The most recent file had been modified last Valentine's Day. That day I'd booked a restaurant. Ethan said he was prepping for a flight and couldn't have dinner with me. I didn't cry. I didn't ask. I picked up my phone and booked a one-way ticket to Seattle. Seattle's air medical transport program was hiring a lead physician. I used to think the future between Ethan and me was something I had to wait for: wait for him to fly less, wait for him to be less busy, wait for him to finally have a spare moment to glance at my journal. I didn't want to wait anymore.

I raised three wolf beastmen, and they never stopped wanting me in bed. I collapsed, too tired to even think. And through the fog, I caught pieces of what they were saying. "Tch. With that body and that stamina, she really thought she could handle all three of us." "Relax. Once she's worn out enough, she'll hand us over to her sister." "Her sister will treat us way better anyway." So I gave them exactly what they wanted. I swapped them for my sister's snake beastman—the one who seemed completely uninterested in sex. But strangely enough, they were now so upset that they were nearly in tears. "Carol, we're yours. Only yours!"

I'm the heiress of the Corleone family, with three childhood sweethearts who used to adore me and watch over me like I was their whole world. Then Daisy Washington, the little maid, showed up—and suddenly I didn't exist anymore. But my father, the don, didn't know. So at the family victory gala, right in the middle of the toast, my father said, "Freya, tell me, who's the one? Point him out, and we'll get you engaged tonight. Right here, right now." The whole room went quiet. Every pair of eyes swung to my three so-called protectors: Nico Gibson, Arlo Mcdonald, and Rhett Owens. But they acted like they hadn't heard a thing. One was feeding Daisy from his fork. One was whispering something that made her giggle. And the third just watched her with that soft, doting look I used to get. The room went dead silent. My father's face stiffened. I quickly jumped in, "Dad, my boyfriend's overseas. I'll bring him to meet you when he's back." The three of them snorted, shooting me mocking looks. I knew they didn't believe me. They thought I was just saving face. But I actually did have a boyfriend.

In the second year after we decided on a destination wedding, my fiance, Nicholas Shipley, still had not finalized our travel plans. Unable to wait any longer, I confronted him once more. He finally took out his tablet to show me the travel itinerary he had prepared. “Honey, I just want the trip to be as perfect as possible.” Two years of frustration had been building up, and I could feel it boiling over. Just then, his phone buzzed with a notification. He stood up and walked away. He had forgotten to sign out of WhatsApp on his tablet. A pinned conversation with the young assistant intern, who worked for the manager, Annie Croce, popped up. He had marked it as urgent. [Nick, you’re amazing! You put together the whole itinerary in just two months. As a thank-you, I went ahead and bought us both tickets!] [This is a singles’ trip. So, no bringing your wife, okay?] The chat showed Nicholas’ elaborate travel plans in full detail. The itinerary he showed me had all been made for Jocelyn over the past two months. In contrast, I had waited for two whole years. Then, I heard his voice from behind. “Honey, the views aren’t great this month. How about we push it to next month instead?” “Don’t bother.” I was calm, but my body was as tense as a rock. “Nicholas, let’s break up.”

I had been in an online relationship with Alpha Steve for five years without ever meeting him in person. We made plans to meet in person three times. Each time, my voice locked up and I ran away. The fourth time, I finally pushed open the hotel room door. Rose petals covered the bed, but Steve had his arm around another woman. He said, "Lavinia, you stood me up three times. How am I supposed to know you're really who you say you are—or even what you look like? So I brought Caroline instead!" Right in front of me, Steve pressed closer to Caroline. I could even see the mark on her neck. A chill ran through me. My voice locked up, and all I could do was pull out my phone and type, "Then what were our five years?" Caroline leaned on his shoulder and laughed softly. "So she really is mute. Five years of talking to you must have worn Steve out." I stood there for a few seconds. Then I laughed. If he could replace his date, I could replace mine. I turned, walked out of the room, and grabbed the first man who passed by. I had no idea at the time that he was the Alpha King!