Plot Twists Romance Short Stories & Bias Countdown Novels

Keane Mercer was the captain of the Boston Blades, one of the biggest teams in professional hockey. We'd been together for five years, and I hadn't missed a single one of his games. I could never get seats near the glass. Every game, I settled for the best spot I could find in a corner, lifting my camera to capture every moment he was on the ice. I asked him once. "Could you save me a seat in the friends-and-family section just once? The view is so much better from there." He didn't even look up. "I'm the captain. I can't play favorites. Maybe another time." He never said when "another time" would be. I never asked again. The friends-and-family seat remained empty season after season. Until the semifinals this year. For the first time, someone was sitting there. She was a young woman with a warm, bright smile, standing with the help of a crutch. Every time Keane scored, his eyes found hers. When the final buzzer sounded, he skated straight to the stands, lifted her effortlessly into his arms, and carried her out, shielding her as they disappeared into the crowd. I lowered my camera, packed away my gear, and walked out of the arena alone. Then I reopened the transfer offer I'd deleted and clicked "Accept". If I was never going to have a place in Keane's friends-and-family section, then I was done waiting on the sidelines. It was time to build a life that belonged to me.

Yvonne Carter went to the hospital to open a prenatal record. The staff member took one look at her marriage certificate and tossed it back across the counter. "Ma'am, did you seriously bring in a fake certificate just to waste our time?" Yvonne froze for a few seconds before irritation flared. "It has an embossed seal. How could it possibly be fake?" The staff member looked at her with open disdain. "The seal is so blurry it looks pixelated. And you said your husband is Cole Foster, but he already has a wife and a child." Yvonne stood rooted to the spot, her mind buzzing. The people waiting behind her began complaining impatiently. Seeing the commotion, a security guard immediately came over and pulled her away from the counter. She shook him off, furious, and pulled out her phone to call Cole. She tried more than a dozen times, but he didn't answer once. Then a dull, dragging ache suddenly tightened low in her abdomen. With no time to think about anything else, she hurried to the ER to get checked out. The doctor told her it was only a reaction to the emotional stress. Reassured, Yvonne finally left. But the moment she stepped out, she spotted Cole standing not far away. She was just about to call his name when she heard a nurse speaking up ahead. "The child's fine. Once this IV finishes, you can take him home." Yvonne froze in place, stunned.

A hostage situation broke out at a shopping mall, and a female college student and I were backed into a corner by the attacker. My husband, hostage negotiator Logan Callum, was the first to arrive on the scene. I shielded the girl behind me and discreetly flashed Logan a tactical hand signal. If he could pull the attacker's attention away for just one second, I could take the man down. We had drilled this kind of life-or-death coordination countless times. But this time, Logan, who was always so composed, lost control. He ignored my signal, his eyes bloodshot as he roared at the attacker, "She's pregnant! Don't hurt her! I'll give you anything you want!" My heart softened, and my hand drifted to my belly. He must have seen the pregnancy test results I'd picked up last night. The attacker was spiraling out of control, his blade a hair's breadth from slitting our throats. Then Logan broke every rule of negotiation. He forced his way past the cordon and yanked the girl out from behind me. Losing his hostage sent the attacker into a rage, and he brought the knife down. With no time left, I had no choice but to grab the blade with my bare hand to save myself. The steel sliced open my palm, and warm blood gushed out, but I didn't feel a thing. I stared numbly at the scene a short distance away. Logan was crushing the girl against his chest, comforting her in a trembling voice, "Don't be scared. I won't let anything happen to you or the baby." Only then did it hit me. The "she" Logan had been talking about wasn't me.

For their fifth wedding anniversary, Xavier Parker gave Riley Quinn a gift: he forced 999 bottles of hard liquor down her throat. "Xavier, I really can't drink anymore..." Riley begged, her voice hoarse. He let out a cold laugh and leaned over her. "Your parents loved drinking so much they drove drunk and killed my entire family. You're their daughter. You must love drinking just as much." "I'm sorry." Riley's eyes reddened with despair. She had apologized countless times, so often that the words had become second nature. "But my parents already died to atone for that accident. Isn't that... enough?"

When I became pregnant, my gravely ill mother mentioned that her final wish was to witness my wedding. My boyfriend, William Jones, finally agrees to marry me after I have been asking for 99 days. Yet, on the wedding day, he never shows up, even though I was waiting in my gown at the hotel the whole day. The truth only emerges when someone found his marriage certificate that he had posted a month earlier on social media. He married his childhood sweetheart, Caroline Ashton, during that time. When my mother learns this, the shock triggers a fatal attack. She passes away despite the doctors' efforts. William sends me a message. "I'm sorry, honey. Caroline twisted her ankle, so I had to take care of her. We'll have our wedding next month, okay? I promise I'll make it up to you this time." … A month later, William prepares a lavish, grand wedding just for me. Dressed in a custom-tailored suit, he waits at the hotel. Yet, all he receives is the report from my abortion procedure. There is only one sentence on the back—"William, this is goodbye forever."

While I'm folding my girlfriend Lucinda Fowler's clothes, she suddenly says, "You're actually pretty pathetic. In fact, you're even more embarrassing than a simp." My hands pause. Just as I'm about to argue back, she cuts me off. "Sure, you love me. Moreover, you're diligent, dependable, and take great care of me. But sometimes you just can't compare to Owen. Anyone could do what you do. In short, you're nowhere near Owen's level." It suddenly occurs to me that a month ago, her ex-boyfriend, Owen Boyd, invited her to a concert. However, I decline on her behalf. Even to this day, she still holds it against me. I throw her clothes on the floor and turn to walk away. As it happens, my supervisor, Eve Hoffman, is asking me to go with her to the overseas branch. I turn it down for Lucinda's sake. But the moment I really walk away and clear the path for Owen, why does Lucinda cry and plead for me to return?

There are only 12 minutes left until the lucky moment for me to leave my family home as a bride. Charles Lumley finally makes it past the games and hands me my bouquet. My relatives crowd around the doorway, urging him on. "Hurry up and take your bride to the car! The lucky moment is almost here!" With red-rimmed eyes, Mom carefully straightens my veil. Just as we're about to leave, I hear my bridesmaid, Winnie Simpson, cry out behind me. "Wait! My eyeliner is smudged. I need a quick touch-up!" I stop in my tracks, and Charles comes to a halt too. "Sure. No rush," he says. As Winnie rummages through her makeup bag, she smiles at me. "Don't worry, Nat. I'll be quick. I wouldn't want to embarrass you at your wedding by showing up with ruined makeup." Then, as casually as if it's the most natural thing in the world, she hands her bag to Charles. "Hold this for me." He takes it. The room falls silent. Mom's face grows paler by the second. I look at him. "Charles, the lucky moment for me to leave is 8:58 am. If we leave now, we'll make it just in time." But he frowns and argues, "I'm already here. A few more minutes won't make a difference." I look at the pink makeup bag in his hand and suddenly smile. Turning around, I pick up my phone and send a message to a number. I text, "Weren't you going to steal me away? Come get me at 8:58 am."

Cecilia Jones kept a forgiveness notebook. Six months ago, on Cecilia's birthday, Jeff Lawrence abandoned her to meet Yvonne Smith. It was the 93rd time she’d forgiven him. Three months prior, when Yvonne mentioned she was allergic to cat dander, Jeff gave away the cat Cecilia had raised for years. Cecilia forgave him for the 94th time. One month ago, Jeff got drunk and woke up in the same bed as Yvonne. He insisted that nothing had happened and accused Cecilia of having a dirty mind. Cecilia forgave him for the 95th time.

How much did my wife love me? To marry me, she proposed ninety-nine times. I was not moved until the hundredth. On our wedding day, I gave her ninety-nine make-up cards. We agreed that as long as all of them were not used up, I would stay with her. Five years into our marriage, she used one card every time she went out to be with her crush. When she reached the ninety-seventh card, she suddenly noticed that I had changed. I no longer begged for her to stay. When she lost control because of her adorable secretary, I asked her, “If you don't come back tonight, can I use a make-up card?” She paused for a moment and then softened, which was rare for her. “Okay.” I nodded and let her leave. She thought she still had many make-up cards. She didn't realize this was his last chance.

I was the Whitmore family's dirty secret, an illegitimate daughter. Growing up without anyone to rely on, despised by everyone around me. The only lucky thing that ever happened to me was meeting Damian. When people talked about my birth, he stood up for me every single time. For years, he treated me with nothing but tenderness. He was the only light in my otherwise dark and hopeless life. Until someone accidentally pulled me into a voice chat room. Our mutual friends were excitedly discussing wedding arrangements. I was about to speak up, flushed with shyness. When Damian's best friend suddenly teased, "Aren't you worried Amelia will find out you're marrying Serena and crash the wedding? But don't worry, if she actually shows up, we'll lay down our lives to protect our boy's happiness." Then came Damian's voice, still gentle and smooth as ever. "She's not the kind you bring out in public. Fine to play around with on the side, but that's all she is." "At the end of the day, only someone with Serena's status as the legitimate Whitmore heiress deserves to stand by my side."

“Miss Bray, are you sure you want to release these photos and videos of Mr. Loader and Miss Nash on the day of the wedding?” Tabitha paused before replying firmly, “I’m certain. I also need you to take care of a visa for me. I’m flying out on my wedding day. I expect you to keep this between us.” After the call, Tabitha stood in the silence of the room. Just this morning, Tabitha stumbled upon a secret love nest Christian had set up with his old flame. “Kelsey, since you’re so against the wedding, you should come and steal me away at the wedding next month.” Tabitha reached the door of Christian’s other residence, only to overhear Christian telling Kelsey to crash the wedding. Soon enough, Christian and Kelsey locked arms and shared a hot kiss. Tabitha watched on, her heart breaking into pieces. Fighting back the urge to barge in on them, she turned on her heel. Right there and then, she made a choice that would leave everyone reeling. She planned to leave Christian at the altar before Kelsey would come and whisk him away!

The ninth time Julian Hale chose Vivian Cross over me, I held a knife to Vivian's throat and made her beg for forgiveness in the middle of a crowded downtown plaza. I thought that would finally be enough to end the affair. Instead, Julian made me pay for hurting her. He went after my father's company and destroyed it, leaving my family broke and buried in debt to loan sharks. In the end, my father, Martin Ellison, couldn't take it anymore. He swallowed an entire bottle of pills beside my mother, Diane Ellison. The shock was too much for her heart, and she died soon after. I lost both my parents in a single day. The day after the funerals, the doctor gave me more bad news. I had late-stage stomach cancer. I had three months left, maybe less. And just like that, I was done fighting. I moved out of our bedroom, threw away my wedding ring, and stopped calling him hundreds of times whenever he stayed out all night. Even when he brought Vivian home just to provoke me, I didn't argue. Instead, I hired a top chef to cook her favorite dishes. Julian thought I had finally learned my place. Then came Vivian's birthday. With a shy smile, she said her birthday wish was to marry Julian. I pulled the signed divorce papers from my bag and slid them across the table. Julian panicked. He ripped them apart and grabbed my wrist, his eyes bloodshot. "Nora, what game are you playing now? Trying to make me chase you? Where did all that fight in you go?" Before I could answer, I coughed up a mouthful of blood.

My boyfriend, Yves Warren, had a memory disorder. No matter what I told him, he could only hold on to it for half an hour. Once those thirty minutes were up, everything was wiped clean. Then, at a party, he drew a challenge that required him to tell everyone everything he knew about my best friend. Worried he'd be embarrassed, I quickly tried to bail him out with a laugh. "Let him draw another one. He won't remem..." Before I could finish, Yves spoke. "Xenia Quade. Twenty-three years old. Five foot five. Weighs ninety-four and a half pounds. "Allergic to mangoes. Laughs a lot. Loves the water. Doesn't like sleeping alone at night..." The words rolled off his tongue as if he'd rehearsed them in his head a thousand times. I froze, swallowing the rest of my sentence. One of our friends laughed and teased him. "Look at you. You've gotten way better." "What about your girlfriend? You must know her inside and out by now, right?" My heart gave a jolt. Slowly, I looked up. Yves stared at me, his brow furrowing deeper and deeper. "Sarah Cole." That was all he managed. I waited, still hoping he would say something else, but he only gave me an apologetic look and nodded. "Sorry. I don't remember." Everyone else was busy praising how much he'd improved. I was the only one who felt exhaustion seep into every part of me. Yves and I had known each other for twenty-three years. We'd been together for seven, and our wedding was next week. Yet he couldn't even get my name right. This time, I wasn't going to correct him.

The year Jonathan Nash becomes paralyzed in a car accident and falls from the top of the boxing world, I sell my family home and spend eight years working as a hotel housekeeper to scrape together the money for his surgery. I stay by his side until he fights his way back to the top and becomes world champion again. At the celebration party, he holds up his trophy and says through tears, "To the love of my life, who never left my side. May we spend the rest of our lives together." My eyes well up with tears. I think all those years of sacrifice are finally paying off. Unexpectedly, the spotlight sweeps past me as I stand up and instead lands on Amber Lloyd, the boxing team's doctor. I freeze in place, hearing nothing but the pounding of my heart. On the big screen, a slideshow titled "The World Champion's Recovery: A Wife's Journal" begins to play. Each slide is filled with my own records, including Jonathan's muscle response logs from all those nights I spent massaging his legs, gait training plans, and breakdowns of his boxing technique. What hurts even more is the final slide—his marriage certificate with Amber, dated five years ago. Jonathan grips my trembling shoulders, his expression a mix of desperation and warning. "Yvette, the public wants a respectable love story about a boxing champion's miraculous recovery. They don't need to know that the woman who helped me through it all was a housekeeper. "If you come forward now, no one will believe you. There's no point making a scene over this. I'll buy your family home back for you." I stare at the man standing in front of me in disbelief. Eight years of selfless devotion have become the very thing he uses against me. I walk out of the ballroom, my hands shaking as I pull up the overseas job offer on my phone. Without a second thought, I tap "Accept". "Ms. Sloan, your flight and visa will be ready in three days. Please stay in touch. We look forward to having you on board!"

At the Sweethearts' Light Festival, I head to Truelove Bridge to film vlog footage for my wedding next month. But through the camera's viewfinder, I spot my younger sister, Mona Jensen. Standing right beside her is my fiance, Weston Shaw—who is supposed to be working overtime at the office tonight. As Mona browses a vendor's stall, the strap of her bag slips off her shoulder. Weston catches it almost on instinct and casually slings it over his own shoulder. The glittery, sequined bag, covered in plush charms, looks absurdly out of place against his tailored dark gray suit. Maybe it's just a coincidence. Yet, the bag remains on his shoulder. People stream past them down the crowded street, but he makes no move to hand it back. When Mona finishes picking something out and reaches for the bag, he turns aside, keeping it out of her reach. He says something, and they both laugh. I remember our first date after we make things official. I ask him to hold my bag, which has a plush doll dangling from it. He holds it by the very edge of the strap with one hand. The instant I hang up and turn around, he shoves it right back into my hands. "That thing hanging off your bag doesn't go with my clothes," he says flatly as the tips of his ears turn bright red. I notice a few passersby shooting looks our way and even teasing him about it. Once I realize he really doesn't like it, I never ask him to carry my bag again. Back in the viewfinder, the two of them haven't moved, but everything has blurred into streaks. A voice comes over the bridge speakers. "May all lovers end up together." I stop the recording, my fingertips turning ice-cold and numb. I'm not going to be part of this ending.

I'm the heiress of the Claremont family. Damon Johnson and I had a deal—we'd go to Oakwood High together. But the second my acceptance letter arrived, he and the rest of the guys in our class knocked me out cold. Why? Because Sophia Miller, the school's little princess, said she'd never seen a real mummy before. When I came to, I was wrapped head-to-toe in bandages, strung up at the front gate of the school. Students passed by—laughing, filming, some even spitting in my direction. I hung there for two full hours, on display for everyone. Finally, Damon showed up. Grinning, he untied the rope. "Sophia said she wanted to see a live mummy. It was just a joke. You're not actually mad, are you? We've known each other our whole lives. You get me." I just stared at him. At the group of guys still snickering behind him. At Sophia in the corner, covering her mouth with her hand. So this is what my dignity was worth to them. A punchline. I tore up my Oakwood acceptance letter and took the plane ticket the International Academy had sent me—three days to leave. The moment I stepped onto that plane, Damon lost it. "You're the one who always understands me—so why are you leaving?"

At twenty, Riley Nolan married Yale Sullivan, a close friend of her father's, despite the considerable age difference between them. Eight years her senior, Yale was notorious in their social circle for his cold, ruthless nature. He was merciless in business and had never shown the slightest interest in women. Yet with Riley, he was almost impossibly gentle. All she had to do was casually mention that a necklace was pretty, and he'd have the million-dollar piece delivered to her the next day. When menstrual cramps left her curled up in bed, he'd put aside business projects worth tens of millions of dollars to make her ginger tea with brown sugar, patiently coaxing her to drink it one spoonful at a time. In moments of passion, he'd grip her waist and call her "baby" in a low, husky voice, telling her how good she was and how he couldn't get enough of her. He even used "For Elise" as his display name across all his social media accounts. Riley had always assumed it was a tribute to the piano piece she'd played the day they first met. Then one day, she came across an old photo album in his study. Every picture featured the same girl, who bore a striking resemblance to Riley, smiling in front of a piano. On the back of one photograph, someone had written: "For Elise. My beloved Selise."

Ahead of Thanksgiving weekend, my boyfriend of five years and I were getting ready to travel back to his hometown to meet his parents. While packing my bags, I stuffed every inch of room with carefully chosen gifts, pushing my luggage ten pounds past the weight limit. Remembering that Samuel Hogan's suitcase was still empty, I opened it up to transfer a few things over, only to find it already crammed with snacks, skirts, makeup, and tampons. I looked up at Samuel, who was playing online video games with his best friend, Serena Miller, wanting an explanation. I called out to him three times before he finally looked over at me. "Serena was going to be home alone and bored over Thanksgiving, so I invited her to come along with us," he said casually. "She had way too much stuff, so she stored it in my bag. If your luggage is overweight, just pay for the extra checked bag." Silently, I set down the gifts that had nowhere left to go and looked at the clueless man. He didn't know that those extra ten pounds were the final straw breaking us apart after all these years.

The seventh time I planned to register for marriage with Piero Conrad, he didn't show up again. I was about to text him and ask when he would arrive when I stumbled upon his childhood friend's post. [Celebrating the 999th day since marrying my dear, from the past to the future, it's always been you.] The video showed a marriage certificate, with Piero's name listed as the husband. The registration date was May 20, three years ago. I realized that was why he never showed up those seven times. He was already married to someone else.

Three years after remarrying her childhood sweetheart, Greg Gilliam, Kathleen Whelan attends a casual alumni get-together. There, she overhears a secret about her husband. Rita Elway, once the prettiest woman on campus, has clearly had too much to drink. When someone asks about the wildest thing she's ever done, she swirls her glass. Her eyes are glassy, and there's a taunting edge to her voice. "Being Greg's other woman, obviously! And his wife is so stupid, she actually thinks we broke things off. I had his baby, I live in his mansion, drive one of his prized supercars, spend his money, and even have his family's staff waiting on me!" The room goes dead silent. Every eye turns to Kathleen. After all, she's Greg's wife, and everyone is waiting for her to lose it. But Kathleen doesn't cry or make a scene. When a server comes by to refill her glass, she simply says, "Thank you," as calmly as ever.