Tragic Love Regret Short Stories & Novels

Ten years with Don Maximus. I went from the crazy girl who demanded his "undying loyalty" at gunpoint to Chicago's perfect Donna. When Maximus took the casino's hottest stripper to his private room, I didn't lose my mind. Instead, I tossed the woman the keys to a Manhattan penthouse. When Maximus's new flame threw a tantrum at a yacht party, I didn't bat an eye. Instead, after she slapped a waiter in a fit of pique, I made the police problem go away. When Maximus fought with one of his girls, I'd even send her a limited-edition Birkin to smooth things over. And today, Maximus is busy fucking his hot new toy in the study, while another pregnant mistress stands on the estate's rooftop, threatening to jump just to see him. And I'm still the one in my red-bottom heels, calmly going to clean up his mess. The mistress screamed, desperate. "I'm not having this baby! Get Maximus!" I took a sip of my wine, my voice bored. "He's busy today. You have the baby, and I'll make sure seven figures show up in your offshore account." My indifference set her off. She grabbed my wrist, her grip like iron. "You're pathetic, Angelina! There was a time he wouldn't even look at another woman because of you. He slaughtered an entire family for you. When you were shot, he knelt in the pouring rain outside a church, begging God to take his life for yours! But now? You can't even get into his bed. All you can do is stand here and play the gracious Donna!" Her nails left red marks on my skin, but the smile on my face didn't crack. Did she really think a little drama would change anything? I wasn't playing the gracious Donna. I was just done. And I was finally ready to let Maximus go.

A lethal neurotoxin had taken hold of my lungs. My time is running out. My mother, Sofia, was the most connected lawyer in Palermo, excelling in burying crimes and twisting the law. When my brother Vincent mowed me down and shattered my leg, she called in every favor to clear his record. My father, Tommaso, the most feared private doctor in Sicily, faked my medical files, branding me unstable and delusional, all to mold me into the obedient son they needed. Then there was Lina, only daughter of Don Vitali, my wife. She said, “We let him out for Vincent’s liver. What if he says no?” Dad’s voice went cold. “He has two choices: lie quietly on that operating table… or waste away in the sanatorium for what’s left of his life.” I pushed the parlor door open, steady and slow. My voice was flat. “I’ll do it.” Every one of them let out a breath they’d been holding, showering me with hollow words. They didn’t know there was no life left to threaten. I had twenty-four hours. By sunrise, I would be dead either way. Funny… now that I’m in the ground, why are they all crying?

Alpha Kael Blackthorn’s childhood sweetheart was pregnant. On the night of our ninth anniversary, he brought her home and spoke as if assigning ordinary household matters. “She’s carrying a pureblood heir. Her appetite is delicate, so her meals can’t repeat.” “She startles easily at night. Clear out your things and move into the guest room.” I said nothing. I picked up the suitcase I had packed long ago and walked toward the door. The house steward looked ready to stop me, but Kael only laughed. “Let her go.” “She won’t last three days before she comes crawling back.” That made everyone laugh. Right in front of me, they placed a ten-million wager that I would be back before morning, begging him to let me in. After all, for nine years, no matter how much he hurt me, I always came back. But this time, the black sedan outside had already been arranged. This time, I was really leaving.

In my past life, I was the only daughter of the Gambino family in New York. I had power, wealth, respect. But I lost it all because of Lucas, my husband. He brought Isabella, the widow of his fallen brother, into our home without even asking me. I threw a fit, made a scene, and gave everyone exactly the story they wanted: the spoiled Gambino princess had finally gone mad. Lucas filed for divorce soon after. I did not beg him to stay. I was Leo Gambino's daughter. I would rather break my own teeth than plead with a man who had already chosen another woman. But pride did not save me. Soon after, our family fell apart. Enemies moved in, my father was killed, and I ended up starving on the streets of New York. Lucas, however, climbed to the top using our family's influence and became the new don of New York. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day Lucas first brought Isabella home.

I had been secretly married to Vivian Grant, my CEO wife, for six years, yet she never once let our son call her Mom. After she missed his birthday again because of her male assistant, I finally put the divorce papers in front of her and walked away for good with our son. The woman who had always seemed so controlled finally fell apart. She stormed into the office demanding to know where I’d gone. But this time, neither my son nor I were coming back.

On the day my boyfriend, Antonio Vinci, proposes to me, his adoptive sister, Lucia Falcone, remarks on a whim, "How romantic. It makes me want to get married now as well." On the very same night, Antonio gives me an agreement. "You should leave. Here's a 50-million-dollar compensation. I'm going to get married soon." If this were to happen in the past, I'd have kicked up a huge ruckus and threatened to take my own life if Antonio didn't marry me. But now, I just ask for another 50 million dollars calmly. When I'm about to sign the agreement, I hear Antonio talking on the phone in another language. "Thank goodness I gave Daniela a marriage agreement. Otherwise, she'd seriously think I'd break up with her. I knew that Daniela would be perfect as my wife. She's obedient and docile, just like a loyal mutt. "As for Lucia, I can give her everything but a legitimate position by my side." My hand pauses momentarily. Then, I scribble Lucia's name on the agreement. What Antonio doesn't know is that I have an ongoing bet with Lucia. If I can ensnare Antonio's heart in ten years, she will back out of our relationship. If I fail to do so, I'll disappear permanently from their lives.

After losing a bet to her adopted younger brother, Peter Conroy, my wife, Ruth Davis, divorced me for the ninth time. I had told her then that if we remarried for a tenth time and divorced again, I would marry someone else. She only laughed and said, “Will, you even donated part of your liver to me. How could you possibly marry anyone else? Besides, apart from me, who would want to marry a broke loser like you?” On the day of our tenth remarriage press conference, Peter left her a key to a beach house and made a bet with her. If she could find him in three hours, he would stay and wish us a lifetime of happiness. The moment Ruth saw the key, her expression turned hesitant. She tore up the remarriage statement and ran off without hesitation. Three hours later, Peter posted a photo on social media. They were lying on a bed in the beach house and admiring the ocean view. I read the caption. [If someone really cares about you, they will cross mountains and seas just to find you.] Without telling Ruth, I withdrew the remarriage application and made a call I had not made in a very long time. “Julienne, is your proposal from back then still valid?” Her voice trembled with barely restrained excitement. “For you, it’ll always be valid.”

Valerie Palmer, who has been in a secret marriage with me, brings her secretary, Thomas Freeman, to the family gathering. After she has half a glass of red wine, Thomas snatches the glass over and downs the rest. When Thomas takes a bite out of the pickled cucumber and deems it too sour, he feeds it to Valerie right away, who swallows it without a second thought. Having witnessed everything, I hand the divorce agreement to Valerie. She looks at me coldly. "Is it really necessary for you to do this? Thomas is just a secretary." I can't hold it back anymore. "You never even touched the glasses that I've used before, and yet you could eat something that was coated in his saliva?" Valerie responds by throwing the papers in my face. "You call yourself a mature adult even though all you do is feel jealous all the time! Don't you think this is embarrassing?" She seems to be used to not taking me seriously at all. Even now, she still thinks that I'm just throwing a tantrum. I lower my head, a bitter smile gracing my face. "Valerie Palmer, I want a divorce from you."

In the Northern Alliance, the Claiming is an ancient tradition. On a Blood Moon, an Alpha must fight his way into the Omega quarters, carry his chosen mate on his back, and break through every obstacle to seal the bond. I waited five years for Joric. Tonight, he finally breached my courtyard with his Betas. My heart raced. I was about to run to him when I heard his hushed voice. "Grab Giselle in the chaos. She’s too fragile. I won't let that tyrant Alpha claim her. As for Faelan... she’s the strongest Omega we have. Practically a warrior. She can fend for herself." His Betas exchanged uneasy looks. "Alpha, is this a good idea? You and Faelan are practically mates already. If she finds out, she’ll raise hell!" "Let her," he brushed it off. "The Claiming is pure chaos. It’s easy to grab the wrong girl. I’ll smooth things over with her later. Besides, you all know I never officially filed our mating papers with the Council. Faelan will just have to deal with it for now." Behind the door, I heard every single word. My wolf didn't let out a tragic howl. I just quietly stepped back into my room. Everyone thought I’d bare my claws and fight to the death when a different Alpha came for me. Instead, I quietly climbed onto the back of a far more powerful Alpha. I became another pack's Luna.

I was the real son, finally found and brought back by my billionaire parents, only to be diagnosed with leukemia right after. The only person who matched my bone marrow was the adopted son, Doug Daniel. So my parents rushed to bring him back into the family, making him my donor. To make it up to him, they did everything they could for him. My parents handed over the inheritance. My fiancée, Moira Stevens, hovered around him every day. When the pain got so bad that I could barely stand it, my parents pointed at me and snapped, "Jay! You keep bringing up your illness. Are you really that eager to take away Doug's health?" Moira, a medical school professor, didn't hold back either. "I'm a doctor. You think I don't understand your condition? You act like you're dying every single day. You just can't stand that we're being nice to Doug." On the day of the transplant, I lay on the operating table and waited. But Moira, the one in charge of harvesting Doug's marrow, never came in. I closed my eyes and waited for death. None of them knew I had already signed up to donate my body.

My husband, Terrence Lawson, was a traveler between worlds. He wasn’t allowed to form relationships with the NPCs of each world. But he was quick to fall head over heels for me. Every time his heart throbbed for me, a deep-rooted pain that tore through his soul followed suit. He had suffered from this torment 99 times so far. Later on, I was kidnapped to another country, where I was tormented relentlessly. At one point, I even became a target of sexual abuse. When I was at the brink of suffering from a permanent breakdown, I remembered the secretive technique that Terrence had taught me that allowed me to communicate with him despite being worlds apart. After succeeding in forming a link with Terrence, I overheard his conversation with his mentor. "Terrence, how could you contact the villains and have them kidnap Quinn? Isn't she your true love?" Terrence's voice was awfully icy and resolute. "The female supporting lead, Yvonne Lynn, was supposed to be the one enduring the torment. I had no choice but to let Quinn shoulder this burden in order to save Yvonne's life. "Besides, Quinn is this world's female lead. She has the blessings of the Narrative, so there's no way any harm will come to her. "Once I'm done with this mission, I will be able to stay in this world forever. When the time comes, I'll make sure to make amends to Quinn properly." I was completely heartbroken at that moment. When I saw the villains approaching me once again, I completely gave up on fighting back.

After my wife, Simone Inman, gets into a car accident, I examine her as her doctor and discover that she has a malignant brain tumor. Afraid that she will be devastated, I plan to tell her later. So, I hide the medical report in my bag. But when she happens to see it, she mistakenly thinks it is my diagnosis instead. One day, when I arrive at her office, I overhear her talking to her best friend, Mindy Fox. She says, "My husband has no talent, no looks, only money. And now, he even has a tumor in his brain… If Shawn hadn't gone abroad back then, I would never have married him. I'm so unlucky! But good thing I never agreed to have children with him. Once he dies, all his money will be mine." Later on, she claims she has amnesia after the car accident and cannot remember who I am. She even treats her male secretary, Shawn Erskine, as her husband and blatantly brings him into our home. I smile scathingly and say, "Let's get a divorce, Simone."

On Christmas Eve, our three-year-old daughter, Noelle Gilder, who has cancer, takes a turn for the worse. All she wants is for her mother, Ivana Lance, to dress as Santarina and bring her a gift. I frantically call Ivana, but she impatiently yells into the phone, saying, "Why are you calling me nonstop? I am helping Charles look for Bubbles! Do you really have to make a scene over this? If Bubbles is gone, Charles will be so heartbroken that he will not be able to sleep for days!" Bubbles? So she was looking for the dog of her first love, Charles Larsson! Suppressing my anger, I tell her that Noelle might not survive the night. She laughs disbelievingly, "Mr. Gilder, do not think for a second that I'm not aware that you've spoiled Noelle rotten! If she had not suddenly kicked Bubbles, he would not have run away. Make Noelle apologize to Charles tomorrow." After hanging up, I accompany Noelle as she spends her final Christmas Eve with tears in my eyes. The next day, Ivana publishes a post on Instagram, still looking for the dog. Meanwhile, my post is Noelle's obituary. Ten years of marriage melt away into nothingness like snow.

After bearing my fated mate's pup, I sank into severe postpartum depression. By day, as Luna of the Blood Moon Pack, I had to hold myself together. By night, I let despair drown me. Time and time again, I picked up the silver dagger, ready to end it all. It was Alpha Raymond Kirk who held me, who told me over and over: "It's all right, Aurora. No matter what you become, our pup and I will always be here." For five whole years, I held it back. I didn't want to be a burden to anyone. Then one day, the pup cut his finger and let out a cry. I broke. I cut my wrist again. Raymond finally snapped. He shoved a fistful of calming herbs into my mouth. "How long are you going to keep this up? Are you trying to drive me and our pup insane?" "If you don't want to live, why don't you just die?" I swallowed in silence. And just like that, a thought came to me. Every night, Raymond murmured a girl's name in his sleep. She could replace me. She could be the mother our pup deserved. As for me—I should return to the Moon Goddess.

The day I found out I was pregnant with twins, I saw my mate, Alpha Viggo, bringing another she-wolf to her prenatal check-up. I froze on the spot, the pregnancy report crumpling in my fist. That night, he looked at me with ice in his eyes. The same man who once kissed every inch of my body. The same man who swore he was mine and mine alone. “She’s carrying my pup. Her wolf is unstable. You will brew her calming tonics. Every single day.” “She's sensitive. She can't sleep without my scent. So move your things to the west wing. Make room for her.” The huge villa fell deathly silent. My wolf howled—a sharp, wounded cry. Pain from our mate bond ripped through my soul. But I didn't shed a single tear. I just calmly grabbed the suitcase I’d already packed and walked toward the door. The guards tried to stop me, but Viggo didn’t even glance up. “She’ll be back,” he said, swirling the wine in his glass, his Alpha arrogance on full display. “Three days. That’s all she’ll last. Her wolf will drive her mad without my touch. She’ll come crawling back, begging.” The pack members and allies who had come for our ceremony erupted in laughter. A few of them even made a bet right in front of me, wagering a million-dollar aurora ore mine. They bet I’d be torn apart by the fear of going rogue and be on my knees by midnight, begging Viggo to let me back in. But they had no idea. My birth father had already secretly sent our family token. My pack was already waiting. This time, I would shatter our bond for good.

Every Christmas Eve in Port Saint Giovanni, the Camerlano family hosts the Claiming Rite at Saint Giovanni Manor. Twelve girls stand in a line. Whoever receives the white-gold signet pin becomes the heir’s publicly acknowledged bride candidate. I am Grace Sorrento, the bastard daughter of the Sorrento family. If I do not receive that signet tonight, by sunrise I will be put on a plane to Chicago and married off to a Rizzo, a man rumored to have killed two former fiancées. Adrian Camerlano, the boy I grew up with, swore to me in blood three days ago that the signet would be mine. But when the moment came, his hand turned. With a smile, he pinned it on Lucia, the orphan his family had sponsored. Then he leaned close to my ear. "Let Lucia have her moment. No one has ever really looked at her before. Don’t worry. This is my estate. No one will dare arrange your marriage without my say." I grabbed his sleeve, but he removed my fingers one by one. "Lucia has no roots and no last name. Tonight is all she has. But you are a Sorrento. Even without the signet, no one will touch you." That phrase, no last name, drew every gaze in the ballroom toward me, full of pity and quiet mockery. The next morning, I boarded a flight to Chicago. When Adrian heard, he made one call to Port Saint Giovanni Air Control. "Ground every plane. Nothing leaves today!"

At the Costa family's annual capo banquet, Marco Costa declared the family would extend protection to one woman only: Rosa Frost, his childhood sweetheart, newly divorced and newly returned to the family fold. One by one, the other women slipped away into the night with their money, their dignity, and fresh protectors already lined up. I, Viola Rossi, once his Donna, was severed from the Costa family entirely, with nowhere left to go. Twenty-one years prior, The System ripped me into this life with a brutal mandate: make one of four made men fall irrevocably in love with me, and I'd earn my way back to my real life with a healthy body. I failed. Every single one of them chose Rosa. The system's final mercy: die here, go home. I stood in a rotting Brooklyn dock warehouse, gun in hand, and closed my eyes. Right as darkness closed in, a raw, raging scream of my name tore through the silence, like the man shouting would burn the whole world apart to reach me.

My fiancée, Diana, is the princess of a powerful New York Mafia family. She claims to love me deeply, yet a month before our wedding, she told me she wanted to have a baby with her childhood sweetheart, claiming it was a "family arrangement." I refused. But she brought it up every single day, pushing me into a corner as if my consent didn’t matter. Two weeks before the wedding, I received a pregnancy report from a private clinic. That’s when I found out she was already nearly a month pregnant. She never intended to wait for my permission. In that moment, I finally woke up. Our years of history were nothing but a fragile illusion. So, I canceled the wedding. I burned every single gift she had ever given me. On the day we were supposed to say "I do," I boarded a flight to Italy to pursue my advanced degree in clinical medicine. I officially accepted a mission with Doctors Without Borders and cut all ties with the Mafia family. From that day on, Diana and I were finished. For good.

My fated mate's secretary was pregnant. He brought her home on my birthday. Then he stood there and gave me orders like it was the most natural thing in the world. "Alina has bad allergies. Be careful when you cook from now on. Don't use anything she's allergic to." "She's pregnant. She needs me next to her at night. Move your things into the guest room." I didn't say anything. I picked up the suitcase I'd already packed and walked toward the door. Alina hugged Dominic's arm and let her voice go soft and small. "Dominic, if Mia's upset about it, just forget it." Dominic let out a cold laugh. "Let her sulk. She'll come crawling back in three days." Alina smiled. So did the servants. To them, I was just a stray Omega Dominic had picked up off the street. The only reason I had a place in this house was because I was his fated mate. Without him, I had nowhere to go. What none of them knew was that my real father, the Alpha King, had already sent a private jet to bring me home. This time, I really was leaving.

For three years, I slept with my father’s head of security behind everyone’s back. Last night, with one hand at my throat and the other under my dress, he finally asked for a name, a future, something real. “After graduation,” I whispered against his mouth. “Let me finish my defense first. Then we’ll tell them.” “No.” By then I was shaking beneath him on the leather seat. “Then sooner. On my birthday next Friday. I’ll stop hiding then... Cassian, please—gentler...” That seemed to satisfy him. His mouth softened against my skin, and his voice dropped low against my ear. “Good girl. I just want you too much.” The next afternoon, I met my best friend for tea. The moment she opened the passenger door, she spotted the torn foil packet caught beside the seat and lifted a brow. “Bourbon cherry?” she said, already grinning. “That’s our company’s unreleased line. So this is what you’ve been hiding.” I snatched it up and shoved it into my bag. “It’s not public yet.” She frowned. “That’s the strange part. We only sent those samples to a handful of VIP clients.” Then she pulled out her phone. “I did a product follow-up with one of them yesterday, and his private account was basically a shrine to his girlfriend.” She turned the screen toward me. I only looked once, and my whole body went cold. The man in the photo had a line of Latin script inked low across his abdomen. I knew that tattoo. I had kissed it the night before. My fingers started shaking as I opened the private account Cassian had never shown me. April 4. The conservatory. Me and him. April 7. The upstairs studio. Me and him again. April 11—last night. A six-second clip in the back of the car.