Melodramatic Romance Short Stories & Bias Face Slapping Novels

At our daughter’s three-month milestone party, my husband Garrett’s so-called "best friend" publicly humiliated me. “Hey, Vivian. I heard you're a little loose down there after popping out the kid.” "If it's that bad, you better get some tightening surgery quick—don't wanna mess up your marriage vibes!" Garrett shot her a playful glare and snapped, "Knock it off, Scarlett! You can't just say whatever pops into your head." Then he turned to me with a breezy shrug. "She's just like that—total tomboy. We grew up together; she means no harm." Scarlett shook her half-exposed breast and pouted, "Oh, come on, don't take it personally, Vivian. Honestly, I'm kind of jealous of you." "See, my problem is the opposite. I'm way too tight—hurts like hell during my period. No clue who's gonna get lucky with this later." Then she cut her eyes toward Garrett with a playful wink. " Oh right, you've tried it before, haven't you?" The room went dead silent. Every pair of eyes drifted toward me, barely concealing their curiosity. I smiled, set down my wine glass, and looked at Scarlett with fake concern. "That's strange. I don't remember making it that tight when I did your surgery."

The night my girlfriend, Lesley Cohen—whom I've financially supported for years—officially announces her relationship with Archie Gould, the System determines that I have failed my mission and strips me of my "saint's heart". From that moment on, I stop caring about her future and focus entirely on my career, eventually landing a spot among the Fortune 500. However, once I withdraw all financial support, Lesley confronts me with tearful eyes. "You always said that loving someone means giving them everything they want or need without asking for anything in return!" I'm baffled. She is the one who finds my money filthy, so why is she suddenly being so calculating about it now?

During the loneliest year of my life, I start bankrolling my sweet, innocent girlfriend, Grace Bishop. When I later decide to go abroad to recover from my illness, she cries by my bedside all night. Still, I refuse to let her come with me. "Staying here is crucial for your career. I hope that when I'm back, you'll have already received the Best Actress award." Three years later, she does get crowned Best Actress of the Year. But when I'm finally back, there's no sign of the welcome she had promised. Instead, I see a guy who seems as close to her as family lounging around my mansion in my clothes, acting as if the place belongs to him. Daniel Greene toys with my priceless emerald ring. "You should thank me for letting you see the kind of wealth you could only dream of. But looking is all you get. Don't touch a single thing. You'll never be able to afford the damage." I yank my ring off his finger and slap him across the face. "I just touched something. Now what?"

After our engagement, my fiance, Justin Ford, has someone bring a child back from Verdanne and hand him over to me. An email arrives along with the boy. "Nora, I got bored out of my mind in Verdanne and accidentally knocked Cindy up. Since you've always been sweet and obedient, I'm leaving my son with you. Consider it practice. When we come home, you'll be all set to work as our nanny." Without a word, I hand the child over to the butler. Seven years later, all the CEOs stationed overseas return to headquarters to report in. Justin pulls up in a Maybach with a whole entourage, blocking the entrance to the Ford estate where I live. With a cigarette dangling from his lips, he tilts his head and takes off his sunglasses. "Did you miss me that badly? Is that why you're waiting out here?" He takes a drag from his cigarette before continuing, "By the way, Cindy and I got married in Verdanne so we could get our son registered. From now on, you two can treat each other like sisters. Whatever she gets, you'll get too. "The Shaws and the Fords are practically family anyway. You don't care about a piece of paper, do you?" With that, he blows smoke ring after smoke ring into my face, leaving me choking with tears streaming from my eyes. I quickly step back and wipe away the tears. My son's dad is an extremely jealous man who warned me long ago to keep my distance from the younger men in the Ford family. If my husband catches his nephew harassing his wife, all hell will break loose in the Ford family.

When Jeremy Gosling proposed to me for the 9th time, I turned him down. He froze, a look of bewilderment on his face. "Why? We've been dating for seven years. What did I do wrong?" I smiled. "Your phone will tell you the reason in a moment." A second later, Jeremy's phone rang. It was my best friend, Sonia Sanderson. "Hey, master photographer, you promised to take pictures for me at the beach today. Where are you?" Sonia would always call Jeremy when he proposed to me. She had done so the last eight times. She would either ask him to take pictures for her, or edit pictures for her, or pick out new clothes for her trips. And every single time, Jeremy would leave me behind and go to her. Jeremy used to dislike her because she was the kind of woman he despised the most—the kind who would take half an hour to take pictures of food when eating out or pack two giant suitcases of new clothes for a trip. But I urged Jeremy to be more considerate of her because she was my best friend, and because her ex-husband had cheated on her and she had caught them red-handed... However, the way he became more considerate of her was by abandoning me again and again. Jeremy fell silent for a few seconds, then slowly spoke. "Alright, I'll come pick you up right now." He put the ring away, looked at me, and made another promise to me. "I'll finish the photoshoot quickly. When I get back, I'll personally put this ring on your finger." He left in a hurry. But Jeremy, I will neither believe you nor wait for you ever again.

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."

I started calling my brother "Mr. Quinn" and my childhood friend "Mr. Webb". They frown and ask why I'm being so formal with them. I smile faintly in response. "Because I think you would rather be associated with Vanessa Quinn." They scold me for being unreasonable. "Vanessa is about to marry a man in a coma for you, and her whole life will be ruined. The only reason we treat her so well is because you owe her." But what they don't know is that the one marrying a man in a coma this time isn't Vanessa. It's me—Willow Quinn.

My husband, Shawn Payne, goes bankrupt overnight. That very night, he ships me and our son, Tommy Payne, off to a deserted island, claiming it's the only way to keep us safe from his creditors. Worried sick about leaving him to face the danger alone, I sneak back home halfway there, only to find him throwing a wild party, his arms wrapped tightly around a beautiful woman. His best friend, Ryan Foster, needles him. "You dumped your wife and son in the middle of nowhere. How are they going to survive out there?" Shawn shrugs like it's no big deal. "Yvonne's closing down her dog food factory anyway. I had all the surplus kibble repackaged and shipped to the island. It's more than enough to keep them fed for a few years." The woman, Yvonne Sullivan, purrs and snuggles deeper into his chest. "Oh, babe, you're so good to me and the baby," she coos, gently stroking her belly, which isn't even showing yet. He taps the tip of her nose affectionately. "You're so innocent and soft-hearted. If I don't look out for you, who will?" He pulls Yvonne closer and continues, "For your sake, I had to ship that shrew off to some godforsaken island. If she ever found out you were pregnant, she'd tear you apart. Once you have the baby and she turns two, I'll bring them back. By then, it'll be a done deal. There's nothing she can do about it." His words hit me like a ton of bricks. A cold sweat soaks me to the skin. Three years later, right on schedule, he calls. "Hey honey, how are you and Tommy doing? I'm ready to come pick you guys up." I glance at the man beside me, and a rush of satisfaction washes over me. "We're doing great," I reply. "My new husband treats both me and your son incredibly well."

On our marriage registration day, my fiancé Harry stood me up. "Evelyn's cat went missing. She's on the rooftop sobbing her eyes out, and I have to be there to support her emotionally. We can do it another day." Everyone around me expected me to throw a fit. Instead, I calmly replied, "Sure. Go be her emotional support person." I turned around and went directly to a pawn shop. I then traded my engagement ring for eight grand. That night, he came home covered in cat hair and tried to guilt-trip me. I simply opened my Venmo app. "So you're going to be someone else's emotional support companion? Then let's put a price on it. Twenty bucks an hour, plus a penalty for standing me up on our marriage registration day. Pay up! "Think it's too expensive? Fine. I'll clear out half the house instead. And while I'm at it, I'll take the left shoe of every pair of your limited-edition designer shoes!"

Everyone in South City knew that Stella Wallace and Julian Quinn were famous for never getting along. As Julian’s fiancee in name only, Stella had laid out three rules. He was not allowed to go street racing. He was not allowed to stay out all night. Above all, he was not allowed to go see his crush, Yara Xenford. Julian deliberately went against her. He would either race along every inch of South City’s mountain roads or spend the entire night drinking at a private club until he could barely stand. On Stella’s birthday, he even purposely kissed Yara under a sky full of fireworks. He made a complete fool of Stella in front of everyone. Everyone was waiting for the drama to begin. They were sure that Stella, South City’s most sought-after socialite, would see the photos of Julian and Yara kissing all over the internet and storm over there and would drag that reckless playboy home. An hour after the photos went viral, Stella finally showed up. But she did not lose her temper, and she did not drag Julian home. She simply walked up to him and held out her hand. Her voice was so soft that it almost seemed to disappear into the air. “Julian, seven years ago, I gave you a lucky charm. Can you return it to me?” The private room went completely silent. Julian froze too. He instinctively reached up and touched the red lucky charm around his neck. Seven years ago, he had gotten into a car accident while street racing. He remained in the ICU for an entire day and night before he finally woke up. The first person he saw was Stella.

Ten years ago, a fire broke out at my school. I saved four friends, but the flames left me an idiot. The four of them stood beside my hospital bed and cried, swearing they would spend the rest of their lives making it up to me. They were afraid I would get bullied, so they gave up their spots at two of the country's top universities and went to community college with me instead. They were afraid someone would trick me into leaving them, so the other three pushed Joshua Summers to confess his feelings for me. I had once said I envied people who lived in houses that didn't leak, so all four of them saved every cent they had and bought me a house for Joshua and me to live in after we married. Then came the party the night before my wedding to Joshua. When I returned from the bathroom, I heard everyone inside playing a round of Truth. The topic was "Secrets Loretta Doesn't Know." Curious, I pressed my ear to the crack in the door. Calvin Dawson's drunken laughter drifted through. "That little idiot has no idea tomorrow's wedding is actually for Nisha." I froze. After a moment of silence, my sister picked up where he had left off. "Loretta doesn't know that when Josh confessed to her, he only did it to spite Nisha. Who would've guessed she'd say yes? This wedding was supposed to be Nisha's from the start." My best friend's eyes reddened. "If my family hadn't forced me into marriage, I never would've taken Lori's wedding from her. I only want the ceremony. She can keep the title. As long as she's happy, my own happiness can wait until the next life." Joshua's eyes flickered. With a resigned expression, he revealed the final secret. "This morning, I got worked up enough to consider sending Loretta to her death, but I gave up on it in the end. We owe her a life anyway. Let's call this one paid off." I didn't know how long I stood there before I finally stumbled back to my room in a daze. I opened Joshua's bag, and there it was: an opened bottle of pills. My heart shuddered. The happiness I had cherished for ten years had never been anything more than repayment for a debt. Through my tears, I put the pills into my mouth one by one. There was no need to wait for the next life. In this one, I would give them the happiness they wanted.

After I started dating Ryan Kellogg, I gave up the little rituals I had loved for twenty years. No birthday cakes. No fireworks on New Year's Eve. No more searching for the restaurant with the prettiest view on our anniversary. Ryan always said real life didn't need all that decorative nonsense. He only agreed to a modest engagement dinner because I insisted. But when he arrived that evening, he was wearing a perfectly tailored suit. Our friends and relatives looked at him with new respect. I was thrilled, convinced he was finally learning to meet me halfway. Then, on the drive home, I happened to see a post from Sophie Bennett, the younger graduate Ryan had been mentoring. In the photo, she stood beside him outside Bellhaven State University, wearing the heirloom brooch his late mother had meant for his future wife. Her caption read: My mentor said he never expected the first time he'd wear a full suit would be for my graduation. I scrolled farther. Ryan had sent Sophie flowers and a cake for her birthday. He'd even helped celebrate the adoption anniversary of her dog. I touched the empty place above my heart and felt something inside me turn cold. His romance was a privilege reserved for Sophie. Our engagement dinner had merely fit into his schedule. As we entered our apartment complex, Ryan tapped the steering wheel. "Han, I gave you the engagement dinner you wanted. Let's just do the courthouse ceremony next week and skip the wedding." I put away my phone and smiled. "All right." He was right about one thing. There was no reason for us to get married.

On our wedding day, Ingrid Walton and I each fold 50 paper stars that have our wishes on them and drop them into the same glass jar. We promise not to open them until our fifth anniversary. And today is our fifth anniversary. She says she's got a meeting at work, so we'll celebrate when she's done. As I can't wait any longer, I twist open the lid and start unfolding mine first. "I hope we celebrate every anniversary together." "I hope I'll always be the number one person in her heart." "I hope we grow old together." Still smiling, I start on hers. The first one says, "Remember to buy him an almond milk latte every Wednesday afternoon." The second one says, "Remember, he has a sensitive stomach. Don't get anything spicy for him." As for the third one, it read, "Remember, he's afraid of thunder. Stay with him whenever there's a thunderstorm." I'm allergic to almonds, so I've never touched an almond milk latte in my life. I love spicy food, and she has never once asked if my stomach's okay. For the past five years of our marriage, every time there's a thunderstorm, she always says the company needs her before leaving me at home. After unfolding all of them, I realize that not a single one out of all her 50 stars has my name in it. As for the almond milk latte, the stomach problems, and the fear of thunder, all of the details point to my friend, Charlie Barker. I hear a key turning in the lock of the front door. Ingrid walks in carrying a cake. "Happy fifth anniversary…" She freezes when she sees the unfolded notes spread across the table. I look up from the pile of paper. "I'll make your wish come true. Go be with him."

After her miscarriage, Elise Emery became exactly the wife Colsen Locke had always wanted. She quit telling him about her day. Quit calling when he stayed out all night. Even when an old man falsely accused her of hitting him with her car, she didn't call anyone. Didn't ask for bail. She just spent seven days in custody. At dusk on the seventh day, the precinct's iron gate clanged open. Elise had barely made it down the steps when a black Maybach screeched to a stop in front of her. The door swung open. Colsen stepped out in a custom suit, tall and lean, all broad shoulders and cold control. Same polished look. Same unreadable face.

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."

At the party, my daughter deliberately raises a question to my husband. "Daddy, since Ms. Lloyd is having your baby, does that mean we'll be living with her in the future?" He places the nicely cut steak onto my plate and answers softly, "Your mommy and I made a deal—whoever betrays first will disappear from the other's life. I can't afford for that to happen, darling, so this must stay a secret. Even when the baby is born, I will never let Mommy find out about them." Then, he signs to me, "I'll always love you." My eyes turn red-rimmed without him noticing. Little does he know, my hearing was restored a week ago. He doesn't realize I've learned about the mistress he's been hiding either. And he definitely doesn't know I've secretly bought a ticket to volunteer-teach in the Seru Plateau. All I have to do is wait for the paperwork to clear in seven days. Then, I'll disappear from his life for good.

The day Ethan Pierce’s stepsister, who suffered from depression, threatened suicide for the ninety-ninth time, he abandoned me at the altar for the ninety-ninth time. "As a psychiatrist, I have a responsibility to my patient." And just like that, the system declared that I had failed my mission. My punishment was severe depression. Every last trace of my will to live was taken from me. From that day on, all I wanted was to die as quickly as possible so I could return to my original world. By the time Ethan finally realized that I truly wanted to die, he was desperate. He used everything he had learned in his entire career to try to cure me. To awaken even the slightest bit of love I had once felt for him. To force me to stay in this world. But I didn’t want him anymore. I hadn’t for a long time.

My best friend, Mandy Cooper, and my boyfriend, Logan Bennett, had been at each other's throats since freshman year of college. Years ago, a careless mistake of Mandy’s indirectly led to the death of Logan’s best friend. Ever since that day, Logan made it his life's mission to wreck every ounce of happiness she ever tried to build. The day he crashed her third attempt at a wedding, I had just gotten back from studying abroad. Right in the middle of the chaos and shouting, Logan’s eyes locked onto mine from across the crowded room. It was love at first sight. Now, five years into our relationship, he was still obsessively scheming to ruin Mandy’s ninth wedding. I’ve begged him to drop it a million times, but he always shuts me down with the same stone-cold answer—"She doesn't deserve to be happy." Mandy came to my place in tears, begging for help. She planned to sneak off and throw a low-key wedding out of the country, scheduling it for the exact day Logan was supposed to fly back from his business trip. She needed me to keep tabs on him at home. "Maya, please. This guy is a total catch. He's a college guy, hot enough to be an actor, and I’m going to marry him. You have to help me keep Logan off my back." I promised her I would. To stall Logan, I blew up his phone asking when his flight was landing, but I didn't get a single reply. Then I opened Instagram and scrolled past a photo from Mandy's wedding. Standing right beside her, caught in a grainy side-profile shot, was Logan. The truth hit me like a physical punch. Five years of love, and every second of it was a sick joke. Just as my chest tightened with a numb, hollow ache, the doorbell rang. I opened the door to find a ridiculously handsome guy standing on my doorstep, dressed in a sharp tuxedo. "Hey," he said, offering a casual smile, "I’m the rent-a-groom Ms. Cooper hired. I'm here for the gig." I stared at him, and suddenly, a quiet laugh bubbled up in my chest. If Logan could turn around and tie the knot with Mandy, why on earth should I turn down a fake husband dropped right on my doorstep?

When my fiance, Kai Vaughn, and my best friend, Eliana Sinclair, drug me and drag me into the penthouse suite of the richest man in the capital, I breathe a sigh of relief. "At long last, I'm home." Kai assumes I've lost my mind under the threat of impending doom and viciously grips my chin. "Our company's survival depends on this project, you bitch! I hear there's a woman Mr. Harlan has never gotten over, even after all these years, and your face just happens to look a little like hers. "You'd better serve him well. Once we secure the project, I might even be generous enough to give you some money!" Eliana covers her mouth and giggles beside him. "That's right. You should thank your lucky stars that you get to serve Mr. Harlan. Don't be ungrateful!" When the drug takes effect, I'm violently shoved through the gilded doors. No one notices that as I lean back against the leather couch, my eyes are filled with mockery. The ruthless, cold-blooded Mr. Harlan Kai and Eliana are talking about—the man who treats his substitute lovers as nothing more than playthings—is actually my biological father, Tristan Harlan. Today, they've personally delivered me right back to Dad's side. Tomorrow, they'll learn what it means to live a life worse than death.

On the day of the divorce hearing, the judge went through the usual questions. “You’ve only been married for three years. Are you certain your marriage has broken down beyond repair?” I forced a bitter smile. I took off my wedding ring and placed it on the table. “We were married for three years, yet we were never together for all three years. “Your Honor, is there anything left between us?” We dated for five years before marriage. My name was pinned at the top of his WhatsApp. I was his emergency contact. I was even the beneficiary of his insurance policy. I thought I had married the right man. But on our wedding day, he received a phone call, and his face instantly turned pale. I asked him what happened. He only said his mother was sick. He left everything behind and immediately booked a flight back to his hometown. For the next three years, he sent me photos of his three meals every day, but his mother never appeared in any of those photos. I felt sorry for him. I even offered to quit my job and go back with him to take care of her. He had refused and said softly, “I can’t bear to let you do that.” A month ago, I saw a cancer influencer’s account online. Orion Young appeared in one of her vlogs. The caption was heartwarming. [He’s there when I wake up. He’s there for every meal. His hands are always there for me to hold.] What did that make me? For 1,095 days, I had only myself. He had been lying to me. The judge struck the gavel for the final time and asked, “Have you made your decision?” I nodded firmly. The court officially ended the marriage. I looked at the divorce judgment in my hands, and my tears finally fell. I thought, “Orion, I’m setting you free. I’m setting both of us free.”