Feel-Good Story Romance Short Stories & Bias Novels

While waiting for my husband to pick me up at the parking lot, I came across a trending topic in my city. "How do I deal with an overly-clingy wife?" Amidst a flurry of boastful, lovey-dovey comments, one female username caught my attention. "Just pretend to be incompetent! My childhood friend was forced to marry someone he didn’t love. I gave him the idea to pretend to be directionally-challenged, which he has done for five years now. "When his wife got pregnant, he secretly mixed lubricant into the shower gel, causing her to slip. Then, on the way to the hospital, he pretended to get lost. He deliberately circled the suburbs several times, which led to her miscarriage and now she can't have children anymore." "Coincidentally, today is supposed to be the selection day for her promotion to professor. He offered to drive her to work, but he actually plans to pretend to get lost to make her late so that I can get promoted instead. "When she fails the selection, he’ll use that as a chance to convince her to quit her job, turn her into a useless housewife, and then kick her out!" Reading this suspiciously familiar experience sent a chill down my spine. Before I could ponder further, I heard my husband’s apologetic voice. "Sorry, honey, I got lost. I hope this won't affect your selection."

On Christmas, I prepare a feast and wait for my wife to introduce me to her family after nine years of being married in secret. Just as I wait with anticipation, my wife walks through the door, holding her first love's hand. Their fingers are interlocked, and their eyes are brimming with affection. "Mom. Dad. This is Henry Cooper, my husband. We've been secretly married for the past ten years." "What a handsome young man. You two look perfect together!" My mother-in-law is grinning from ear to ear. They stand there chatting, looking like a happy family. Then my wife turns to me, her gaze icy. "This is my live-in housekeeper. Come try the food and see if you like it." My wife invites her family to take their seats, but Henry Cooper looks at me with a hint of disdain. "The host hasn't even sat down yet. How can the housekeeper sit first? Where are your manners?"

I had spent my entire life in the shadow of my sister, Celeste—the woman every wealthy heir in our circle had adored since childhood. She did not know I had been reborn. Just as she had in my first life, she smiled sweetly and offered to let me choose a husband first, making herself look generous and considerate. But this time, I refused to play along. In my first life, I had been foolish enough to believe she meant well. I chose Adrian Vale, the heir who had supposedly lost the use of his legs in a car accident. I gave up my career and spent five years caring for him. I became his caregiver, his assistant, and the only person he claimed could ease his loneliness. But no matter how much warmth I gave him, I could never make him love me. The truth came out on the night of Celeste’s pregnancy celebration. As we left the hotel, one of Hart Group’s former competitors drove a black SUV through the security barrier and sped straight toward Celeste. Adrian—the man who had relied on a wheelchair and my help for five years—rose to his feet without hesitation. Then he shoved me into its path. The SUV struck me hard enough to throw me beneath its wheels. As I lay on the pavement with my pelvis shattered and blood pouring from my body, I watched Adrian pull Celeste into his arms and shield her behind a concrete pillar. Only then did I understand. He had never been unable to walk. His family had never abandoned him, either. He had pretended because Celeste had chosen Julian, and he would rather live as a helpless man than admit he had been forced to marry her sister. “I’m sorry, Evelyn,” he whispered as my blood spread across the pavement. “I lied to you. But I couldn’t let Celeste lose her baby.” “I’ll repay you in our next life.” When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day my father asked us to choose our husbands. This time, I would choose neither man. One day, they would both beg for the love they had thrown away.

Savannah Cox was my husband's first love. When she got divorced, my husband, Alex Stewart, was the lawyer who handled her case. Then he moved her into our home after getting rid of Mochi, my cat, because she was allergic to cats. Because she lost a necklace, he forced a pregnant me to jump into an icy pool to retrieve it. By the time I lost our baby and ended up in the hospital, Alex was posting Savannah's prenatal checkup report—the first post he'd made all year. "The cherry blossoms are blooming at Cherrywood Park. She arrived with spring." I quietly liked the post, feeling unwell and numb with grief as I spent the day in silence. Alex only looked at me with disgust, a cruel sneer creeping onto his lips. "Autumn, people like you deserve to lose their children. If you love kids so much, why don't you go die with the baby?" What he didn't know was that I was already dying.

Ronan Blackwell was wrapping his arm around some girl as they stepped out of the hotel elevator. I was sitting right there on the lobby couch, snacking on nuts. The second Ronan locked eyes with me, his face went paler than a three-day-old corpse. The girl in his arms reacted first, shoving him away with a sharp gasp. "Miss West, wait, it's not what it looks like!" she squeaked. I rubbed my forehead. "Alright, drop the act. You're practically bursting at the seams trying not to laugh." Honestly, it wasn't just her. I was barely holding back a massive grin myself. Ronan getting caught red-handed cheating meant I was walking away with ten percent of the family company stock. Jackpot.

I had just finalized a three-million-dollar merger deal when I heard my wife, Connie Anderson, instruct the assistant, Greg Smith, outside of my office. “Change the person in charge of this merger to Pete during the announcement ceremony tomorrow.” My hand paused on the doorknob as I leaned against the door. Greg sounded a little hesitant as he said, “But Dave’s been working on this project for the last six months. Our client has also been working exclusively with him…” Connie did not even hesitate a little when she said righteously, “Pete has just graduated. He needs the network to solidify his status. Dave’s already part of the management team. Why would he need more accolades? “After this deal is signed off, I’ll buy him his favorite sports car to make it up to him.” During the announcement the next day, Connie held my hand and said, “The admin has made a mistake in the paperwork. I’ll make it up to you later.” I pulled my hand back and remained quiet for the rest of the ceremony. We had been married for seven years, but she had taken everything I had built through years of hard work and used it to elevate another man. I neither wanted a sports car nor did I want to be a part of the senior management team.

Every year on my birthday, my wife Nicole Weston breaks her promise. The first time, she stays up playing video games with her mentee, Finnegan Holt, and never shows up to the movie. The second time, she bails on our candlelight dinner to teach him how to cook, and every dish goes cold and straight into the trash. The third time, she shuts off her phone and takes him to a spa resort while I'm stranded alone at a beach house during a tsunami warning. I spend three days drifting at sea. When I'm finally rescued, the first thing I see on social media is a photo Finnegan posted. Nicole is in a bikini, giving him a back rub. The caption reads, "With a mentor like this, the world is mine!" I screenshot it and drop it into the company group chat. "Quite the mentorship. Might as well make it official." Nicole calls me immediately, screaming. "You're being ridiculous. Finn's in tears because of you! So I took him to a spa. What's the big deal? You see something dirty in everything! Delete that message right now and apologize to Finn in person!" I scoff. "I'll pass on the apology. I've already drafted the divorce papers. Don't forget to sign." After seven years of bending over backward for her, I'm truly done.

After I get off work from the hospital, I decide to exercise by taking my mountain bike out on a ride. However, that's when I find out that the seat of my mountain bike has been lowered. There's even a blue sticky note with a scribbled heart pasted on the bike handle. I call my wife, Sabrina Yellin. "Who took my bike on a ride?" After a few seconds of silence, Sabrina replies nonchalantly, "Kelly's boyfriend wanted to learn how to ride a mountain bike yesterday, so he practiced a few laps with your bike. What's wrong, though? Is the bike damaged in any way?" Kelly's boyfriend? But he had boasted about going on an overseas vacation for one whole month last week on his social media account. My gut feeling tells me that something's fishy about this whole thing. So, I just curl my lips into a smirk. "Nah. He can keep using it." After that, I push the mountain bike back to its original parking slot. Then, I find myself two needles so that I can insert them into the seat. Three days later, when I'm working the night shift at the hospital, a nurse rushes in hurriedly. "Dr. Hart, there's a male patient in the ER right now. He claims that his crotch was stabbed by needles when he was riding his bike earlier."

I applied for paid time off to visit my wife, Luna Reid, a scientist who was away on an overseas assignment. As I was bored on the plane, I scrolled through social media when I was bored on the plane. Then, I came across a post. [My ex-girlfriend, who’s married, invited me to go on an overseas trip. What should I bring on that trip?] The netizens made fun of him. [Naturally you have to bring condoms. If you accidentally get her pregnant, her current husband will become the father of your child.] Some other netizens chastised them. Initially, I was reading it for my own entertainment. At that moment, I came across a comment left by a private account. [I’m that married ex-girlfriend. I hope that everyone can be mindful of their words.] [We’re not doing this for any immoral reasons. We just want to make up for lost time.] [The coming two weeks are the only time we have left together. I just want time to pass a little slower. I just ask for it to be a little slower.] I stared at that profile picture intently. The woman in the profile picture was none other than Luna, who had been overseas for three years. She had a two-week break, and she initially planned to return to the country to be with me. However, a day before her break, she suddenly told me that her research was at a critical stage, so her time-off had been cancelled. I missed her terribly, so I secretly applied for time off at work to give her a surprise. I had not expected that surprise to turn sour on me. At the same time, I received a text message from Luna. [Baby, starting tomorrow, for two weeks, my work has a do-not-disturb policy, so please don’t contact me.]

When I submit my resignation letter, my boyfriend, Daniel Carter, happens to have an arm around the new intern, Kimberley Lester, while teaching her how to secure a deal that's worth ten million dollars. After he's done with his lesson, he finally spares my resignation letter a glance. "What are you on about this time, my dearest sales champion?" I reply calmly, "I've already transferred all details of the company's clientele to others. I don't want any bonuses and commissions of this quarter. In fact, I've already had the finance department recall the funds and list it as the company's funds." Daniel is stunned for a moment. But he still thinks that I'm trying to gain his attention by sacrificing my own benefits. "You don't want money, huh? Then what do you want? You want me to fire Kimmy? Or you want me to give you some of the company's shares?" He passes a cup of coffee to me, thinking that I'll act the same way I did in the past—that I'll endure everything and keep working my ass off for the sake of my sales team. But I just shake my head. Now, I just want Daniel to watch his company fall into bankruptcy.

Even after being married for three years, my husband treats me like a stranger. When I throw up blood from pregnancy complications, he's in the prayer room chanting for his foster sister, Yvie Springton. He accuses me of being dramatic. If Yvie so much as gets a headache, he drops everything and flies overseas to be by her side. When his parents are in critical condition after a car crash, I beg him to go see them one last time. But what does he do? He claims I'm cursing Yvie. When I go into early labor and cling to life after giving birth to our son, he posts a photo of his international boarding pass on social media. At his parents' funeral, he returns to the country with Yvie and demands I leave the marriage with nothing. The day our divorce finalizes, he holds a wedding ceremony with her. I bury his parents alone. Then, at an exclusive auction, dead set on winning the famous painting for Yvie, he offered a staggering price. Even his accounts are frozen. That's when he finally realizes he's been disowned by the Springton family. His eyes are bloodshot, and he's furious as he demands answers. I simply gesture for my lawyer to step forward. He says, "Mr. Springton, take a look at this will."

When my four sons were finally old enough for preschool, I arrived at the school office with my marriage certificate and their birth certificates, ready to sign them up. But the lady at the counter frowned and said, "These documents don't check out. According to the system, your kids don't even exist." I felt as if the floor had dropped out from under me. I remembered when Sheldon Clem and I got married—he was the one who handled all the paperwork, the birth registrations, everything. I never imagined that when I tracked him down with our four boys, he'd be holding his childhood sweetheart in his arms, with her little girl snuggled against him. And then we heard him sweet-talking her right in front of us. "Don't be mad, babe. I've got everything set up for us overseas. Gigi is going to the most expensive private school, and you'll be living in the nicest penthouse downtown. "Sure, she gave me four sons, but all my love and money are with you. I only kept her around because I felt sorry for her. "What else do you need? My will's already signed. Everything goes to you and Gigi." Riley Anderson pouted, smug and satisfied. "If you don't love her, then she's the other woman, not me. She's got no right to fight me for anything!" So he never went bankrupt. When we got back home, Sheldon acted as if nothing had happened. "Honey, I've found this amazing project overseas, so I won't have time to come home much. I'll need you to hold down the fort at home." I smiled and nodded. "Sure, go ahead." If that was how he wanted to play this, then fine. I'd make sure he really went broke, and then I'd find my boys a new father.

My older sister Seraphina had always been the center of attention in New York's Upper East Side. Everyone worshiped her, protected her. At the Montgomery charity gala, my father asked we to choose our future husband in front of every powerful family in New York. Seraphina smiled and generously let me choose first. But this time, I said no. In my past life, I truly thought she cared about me. I followed her suggestion and married Declan Thorne, a man whose immune system had failed after a car crash. He had been confined to a wheelchair for years, and people whispered that he was worthless. I surrendered my place in the family and became his nurse, his support, the only thing keeping him from complete loneliness. But no matter how hard I tried, I could never reach his heart. Then, at Seraphina’s gender reveal party, Declan stood up from his wheelchair in front of everyone. "Brielle,I felt nothing for you. You were just a way for me to get closer to Sera." The silence lasted only a second before the room turned on me. Every whisper, every stare, every hidden laugh made me feel like the biggest fool in New York. That night, I rushed out of the party and drove away before anyone could see me break down. On the bridge, my hands shook so badly that the car spun out of control and crashed through the railing. I made ninety-nine calls before the river swallowed the car completely, and every single one went unanswered. Three days later, they found me trapped beneath the water, already suffocated in the wreckage. Then I opened my eyes, and I was back at the gala where my father had planned to announce our engagements. This time, I picked no one.

We're at a department dinner when Logan Gilroy tags me in the work group chat. We've been secretly dating for five years. "Everyone else already paid their share without me having to ask. Do I really have to chase you down for yours?" My best friend, Grace Hopkins, immediately posts a screenshot showing she's already paid. "Ashley, are you having money trouble or something? If you really can't afford your share, I can cover it for you." Within seconds, my coworkers start piling on. "I've never seen anyone so shameless. Mr. Gilroy actually had to call you out in the group chat just to get you to pay your share!" "If you can't afford to eat out, then don't come. She probably only showed up because she wanted an excuse to get close to Mr. Gilroy." "At least Grace knows what's appropriate. No wonder Mr. Gilroy always looks out for her." The boyfriend I've kept secret for five years is humiliating me in front of the entire department, and my best friend is right there backing him up. A new post pops up on my feed. Grace has posted a screenshot showing that Logan returned her payment. Her caption reads, "Dinner with him means I never have to split the bill." Logan likes the post almost immediately and comments, "You showed up, so there's no way I'm letting you pay." I swallow hard, my finger hovering over the screen for a long moment. Then Logan tags me in the work group chat again. "We're not close enough for me to be treating you to dinner, are we, Ms. Leith?" After a long moment, I open the shopping app and cancel the anniversary gift I ordered for him. Then I transfer him my share and post a screenshot in the group chat. Apparently, we're not that close after all. Our fifth anniversary hardly seems worth celebrating now.

On our anniversary, my husband, James Marshall, purchased a painting as a gift for me with my secondary credit card. When I got home, I went to my study to retrieve an urgent court document. The door was slightly ajar. Inside, I could hear the flirtatious voice of my assistant, Julie Summers, mingled with my husband’s low murmurs. “James, your wife is just a money-printing machine. What does she know about art? She could never appreciate you like I do.” James sighed. Then, in an indulgent tone, he said, “Claire is too perfect—so perfect it’s suffocating. Not like you, full of life and warmth.” Just then, my mother-in-law, Susan Marshall, called James. He put her on speakerphone. “James, you need to move faster. While Claire still trusts you, turn all her client contacts into yours. That Julie girl seems promising. She’s much easier to control than that iron-fisted career wife of yours.” I gripped the cold doorknob, listening to the pair of shameless lovers in the study and the wretched woman on the phone, and immediately drafted a divorce agreement. At the same time, I forwarded asset-protection filings for all my holdings to my legal team. “I’ll see you all in court, parasites.”

On our fifth anniversary, Henry Judd—the guy who once swore he'd propose—rented out an entire mall for Cecilia Cheape's birthday. A diamond the size of a pigeon's egg sparkled on her finger. I'd been dumb enough to think it was meant for me. "Cece, I'm gonna give you a birthday you'll never forget," he announced, loud enough for the whole world to hear. Then he yanked the tab off a soda can and handed it to me. "Lulu, those gaudy things don't suit you. You deserve something unique." He slid the can tab onto my finger—his version of a proposal. Cecilia got the dream birthday. I got a piece of trash and a slap of reality. Later, when he found out I was marrying someone else, he got down on one knee with that same ring and begged me to say yes.

After my husband topped the wealth rankings, he hired his first love as his personal housekeeper at a high salary. “Quincy, you hail from humble beginnings. I don’t want you embarrassing me in high society, so I specifically brought in Vivian to teach you the rules. From now on, everything you do must be reported to her for approval.” From that moment on, in public, I was the glamorous Mrs. Lane. However, behind closed doors, to even enjoy simple marital moments with my husband I had to write a thousand-word application seeking Vivian’s approval. Then, my adoptive father had a heart attack. I dropped to my knees, begging her to transfer me five hundred thousand dollars. She laughed coldly. “What kind of surgery costs half a million? Stop making excuses to pad your family’s finances.” “This isn’t a small sum. Write a 10,000-word application, and this time it’s denied.” Rage coursed through me, my body trembling uncontrollably as I spun toward Tyler and fell to my knees, begging him to save my father’s life. There wasn’t even a flicker of emotion on his face. “Vivian did nothing wrong. I know you’re still clinging to your old poor habits even after getting rich, but my money doesn’t grow on trees.” “This time, your father’s medical treatment will be put on hold as a lesson. Next time, don’t blame me if he’s kicked out of the VIP ward.” In the end, my adoptive father died on the operating table due to the delay in treatment. Completely disheartened, I finally asked Tyler for a divorce.

On day forty-three of the end of the world, my fiancée, Selena Reed, injected me with poison herself and left me outside the shelter. She was wearing my hazmat suit, curled against Damian Hale, the man I had trusted like a brother. Damian took my storeroom keys and smiled down at me. "You had everything handed to you from the day you were born. Too bad you were never any good at reading people." Fallout rained down. Mutant beasts closed in through the black rain. I watched helplessly as they shut the iron door and survived on the supplies I had gathered. When I opened my eyes again, I was back seven days before global nuclear war broke out. This time around, Damian still played the concerned friend, offering $2.4 billion for my stake in the group, a stake worth $3.8 billion. Selena still talked to me sweetly over the phone about selling the company and taking her around the world. They thought I did not know that the two of them had betrayed me long ago, and that together they had killed my father. I did not call them on it. I only signed my name on the contract. Seven days later, the company, the stock, and the mansions would all be worthless. Only cash could still buy food, medicine, weapons, and a fortress. They took the shares and started planning the wedding of the century, waiting to watch me go broke. I used their money to clear out warehouses and turn a hilltop estate into a nuclear-proof fortress. On the night of the wedding, the city's elite stood outside my door and laughed at me for hoarding canned food. A second later, a strategic alert tore through the night, and the first warhead detonated high above the city. Selena threw herself at the closing steel gate, covered in blood. "Noah, save me—" I watched her through the blast glass. This time, I am your god!

I was born with a strange, painful condition. Women are strongly drawn to me, yet after I got married, I became allergic to my own wife, Quinn Rowan. Every attempt at intimacy left me covered in burning red welts, struggling to breathe. More than once, I nearly went into shock. Nevertheless, my desire to have a child was overwhelming. So one night, gambling with my life, I quietly slipped into the bedroom. Strangely, nothing happened to me that night. Soon, Quinn became pregnant. I naively believed everything would finally return to normal. Then, eight months into her pregnancy, a single accidental touch sent me into another violent allergic reaction, and I was rushed to the hospital. When I finally came to, Quinn was nowhere to be found. At the end of the corridor, I heard her whispering with her girlfriends, "Look how ridiculous he looked, all swollen and gasping. Pathetic." Quinn dangled the special tonic she had always claimed was meant to help me, her voice dripping with disdain, "I engineered this formula myself. I made sure he’d break out in hives the moment he touched me. That way, he’d never come near me. "But since he was so desperate for a kid, I decided to let him raise the baby Miles and I conceived together. It’s charity, really." My blood froze. The child I longed for, the baby I treasured, was never mine.

In the afternoon, I mysteriously receive a text message from myself seven years in the future. Thinking it's some kind of new scam, I don't even bother reading it before replying, "Get lost, scammer!" However, the sender sends a photo of an empty bottle of sleeping pills and replies, "I'm not a scammer, but I really am dying. Break up with Crystal. Today will be the first day she cheats on you. "Her first true love just returned from abroad today. His name is Reuben Knight." I'm stunned. I'm about to make fun of the scammer for lying so blatantly to me because I clearly know that I am Crystal Harper's first love. At that moment, the door behind me opens. Crystal then strides in with a man behind her. She introduces me to him and says, "Hey, Daniel, I'd like you to meet a friend. This is Reuben Knight, and he's like a brother to me. He just returned from abroad today."