Plot Twists Romance Short Stories & Bias Novels

Ten years of marriage, and my wife always insisted she was asexual. She never once let me touch her. Then, during a visit to her parents—who had been pressing us about having a child—she suddenly started throwing up. She announced to everyone that the baby was mine, and told me flatly, "This child will be born as your son, whether you like it or not." So I smiled, encouraged her to keep the baby, and quietly signed the divorce papers.

It was my and my wife Camille’s ninth wedding anniversary. I had rushed home with a fertility specialist in tow, hoping to surprise her. However, when I pushed the front door open, the house was already full of laughter. I walked in, heart pounding, to find Camille holding a little boy by the hand. Her voice was soft and warm. "Today is Miles's first day of school celebration. I want nothing but the best for my baby." Camille heard me come in and turned around. She walked toward me, snatched a pot of hot soup off the table, and flung it straight at me. "How many times do I have to tell you? I'm married! I have a family! Stop trying to get me to have your kids, you freak!" I fought through the pain in my arm and grabbed her, desperate for an explanation. She wrenched free and slapped me hard across the face, then grabbed everything within reach and hurled it all at me. "If you don't get out of here, I'm calling the cops, you psycho!" Then she winked at me, took the boy by the hand, and walked over to the elderly couple nearby. "Mom, Dad, don't worry about him. He's nobody." I stood there, watching the happy family in front of me. I looked down and forced the ring off my finger, the one I had worn for nine years, and tossed the blood-streaked band at Camille. "Camille, deception always comes at a cost."

On my birthday, I found a hidden playlist on Adrian Beckett's phone. It was called "Lost." The cover image was a photo of his ex-girlfriend. He had lost the woman he loved most. In the three years we had been together, Adrian had never once let her go. I was simply the person he turned to when loneliness caught up with him. I was a compromise. I was a habit. Right in front of me, Adrian deleted the playlist, then looked at me and asked in a flat voice, "Satisfied now?" I said nothing. Adrian reached over and gave my hair a halfhearted ruffle. "That's enough. Hayley, be good. I'll take you home to meet my parents over New Year's, all right?" But Adrian, I was going home to have a blind date on New Year's.

Everyone knew that the crown prince, Mathias Cavendish, was a handsome man with a calm and composed demeanor. He was a dream suitor for every woman of marriageable age in the city. However, no one knew how wild he was with Seraphina Montclair when his body pressed against hers every night and he thrust hard into her in all sorts of positions in bed. On the 1,001st night he met her through the secret passage, Seraphina lay weakly in the messy sheets, feeling sore all over. Mathias looked down at her after being fully satisfied, and she finally worked up the courage to say, "Your Highness will be marrying my older sister at the end of the month…" Her fingers clenched the corner of the covers as she said almost inaudibly, "Would you be willing to give me a place by your side on the same day?" Mathias was wearing his clothes when he suddenly paused. "No." He turned to look at her, his cold yet handsome face lit up under the flickering candlelight. "I promised Cordelia that she would be the only woman by my side. Your presence shall never be known to her." Seraphina turned pale instantly. "What would that make me?"

On Valentine’s Day, my fiancé, Declan Whitmore, was rushed to the ER in the middle of the night with severe food poisoning after eating undercooked wild mushrooms. In his delirious haze, he blurted out, “Brielle, I’m so sorry... If I hadn’t been dead broke back then, I never would’ve ended up with Vivian.” I was Vivian Thornfield. And Brielle Ashcombe was the girl he had loved and lost—his unforgettable ex. He seemed to have forgotten that after the Whitmore family went bankrupt, Brielle abandoned him without a second thought and fled abroad. Over the past eight years, I was the one who paid off every cent of his debts and stayed loyally by his side. I calmly called off our engagement and tossed the ring straight into the trash. He sneered, “Can’t you be a little more open-minded? Brielle would never throw a petty tantrum like you.” I smiled faintly. “Fine. You’re trash anyway—you can go right back to her.”

After dinner with my college roommates at a restaurant in the Old Harbor district, the rain came down hard without warning. We huddled under the awning, pulling our coats tight, calling our boyfriends one by one.My friend Maya nudged my shoulder with a grin. "Your guy chased you so hard the entire school knew about it. He'll definitely be the first one here." "Right? Four years of college. Hot coffee delivered to your door on rainy days, your bike path shoveled clean in the snow, and whenever you didn't feel like getting up for class, he'd organize the professor's lecture notes and send them straight to your inbox." "That year you had your senior exhibition and came down with a high fever, he stayed with you in the studio for three days. Made you soup, fixed your models, stayed up so late his eyes were bloodshot. Evelyn, I honestly thought you'd found yourself a fairy-tale prince." They chattered on about my love life. Before long, their boyfriends all showed up with umbrellas. When they glanced my way, their expressions faltered. "How come Noah isn't here yet? Isn't your apartment just across the river?" I smiled and held up my phone. "He said something came up at the office." Maya asked her boyfriend to drop me off first. I sat in the back seat, spotted a familiar figure standing outside the pet grooming salon on the corner. He was cradling a silver-gray longhaired cat in his arms. The cat was wrapped in a soft little wool blanket. He was shielding even its ear tips, terrified of letting a single drop of rain touch it. It was Noah. The cat in his arms belonged to his childhood neighbor, Selena. This wasn't the first time Noah had left me stranded in the rain for that cat.Another message from Noah. "Babe, the rain's too heavy. Wait until it lets up and then call a car home. Don't be stubborn. You won't get wet that way." What he didn't know was that from the day Selena moved to this city last year, I had already been soaked through.

Three nights before my wedding, I called my fiancé, Garrett. A version of him from five years in the future answered. I couldn't keep the happiness out of my voice. "Are we happy together? Has your mother finally accepted me?" A long silence hung on the other end before a low, tipsy chuckle came through. The laugh was faint, the kind you'd use to humor a naive child. "Vivi, in the last five years, you've asked me for a divorce more times than I can count." I froze. "...What do you mean?" "It means you found out about me and Kiera." My breath caught. I couldn't believe it. "My sister? I thought you couldn't stand her." He let out a quiet sigh. "Vivi, saying I couldn't stand her was just my way of hiding how I really felt." "Don't worry, I won't divorce you. We made our vows at the altar, after all." A chill ran through me. I wanted to press further, but a lazy little giggle drifted through from the other end. "Garrett, who is it?" He murmured something in response and hung up. A second later, a message from Garrett popped up on my phone. [Vivi, our wedding is almost here. You're happy, right?] [I'll be good to you for the rest of my life. If I ever break that promise, I don't deserve to live.]

At the top of a high-altitude stunt platform at Highspan Adventure Park, Vanessa Blythe suddenly unclipped the primary safety line behind me. Before I could react, she shoved me from the edge. I crashed onto the emergency airbag below, and pain tore through my entire body. When the staff hauled me back up, her childhood friend Mason Lowell was holding up his phone, laughing until he could barely breathe. The screen replayed my humiliating fall again and again. "Vanessa, did you see his face?" The moment he laughed, Vanessa finally relaxed. Mason was autistic, but for some reason, watching me suffer always delighted him. So during the ten years Vanessa and I were together, scenes like this happened countless times. When I lost my job, Vanessa hung a banner and celebrated with him. When I was hospitalized after a crash, she stood outside my room with him and laughed. Every year on his birthday, she made me dress as a clown to entertain him. She knew that undoing a safety line at that height could kill me. But if it made Mason happy, Vanessa never hesitated to put me in danger. Blood from my split forehead blurred my vision. As I wiped it away, I suddenly wanted to walk away from the ten years I'd spent refusing to give up.

On the day of my wedding, the eldest princess, Selena Winchester, suddenly fell critically ill. As she lay dying, she made one final request. She wanted one of the prime minister's sons to accompany her to death. The moment my half-brother, Nathan Carter, heard the news, he collapsed on the spot. Since he was the only unmarried son, everyone assumed he would be the one chosen. When my fiancée saw that, she tore off her veil. In front of everyone, she dropped to her knees before me. "Jonathan, I've never begged anyone in my life. But today, I'm begging you. Please let Nathan take your place in this marriage." I froze, unable to believe what I was hearing. Her eyes turned red-rimmed as she struggled to continue. "I taught you how to hold your breath. If you stay inside the sealed tomb for seven days, I'll find a way to rescue you. Once you're out, you can still stay by my side. But Nathan's different. He doesn't know how to hold his breath. He's timid and terrified of the dark. If he's buried alive with Her Highness, he'll die." I slowly closed my eyes, a bitter laugh escaping me. "And if I refuse?" The guilt in her eyes disappeared, replaced by cold determination. "Jonathan, once I've made up my mind, no one can change it." I opened my eyes and held her gaze for a long moment. Then I let out a cold, mocking laugh. "Fine. I do it."

I'd just come off a night shift when the college kid Laura Marano had cheated with planted himself in front of me and begged. "Kyle, please. Let Laura have my baby. She said you're the only one she'll listen to. "I'm not asking for anything else. I never once told her to leave you. "This is my first child. You're a doctor. Doctors are supposed to have a healer's heart. Please, just give our baby a chance to live." While he pleaded, Laura rushed over, breathless. "The affair was on me," she said, guilt written across her face. "So whether this baby stays or goes, that call is yours to make." It was the same scene I'd lived through once before, back when I still believed in loving one person for a lifetime. I hadn't been able to stomach it back then: the girlfriend I'd loved for five years, cheating on me. I'd cut things off clean and never looked back. That decision was what opened my eyes to how the world really worked. The other man who'd stolen my place ended up living like a king, drowning in money. Meanwhile, I'd worked myself half to death in the operating room and still couldn't scrape together enough to treat my mother's illness. I'd come to agree with a bitter little saying: love, in the end, always turns out the same. So this time around, I told Laura something different. "Get rid of the baby. The wedding's still on."

One day, I stood in line outside the fondue place for six hours. My boyfriend, Daryl McCabe, called. "Brooke wants Cajun food. Come meet us." Brooke Jennings was my best friend, and Daryl's ex-girlfriend. This was the thirty-fifth time Daryl had blown up our plans for her. He'd been talking about this fondue place for a month, but we could never get in, there were always too many people waiting. So I'd taken the day off and stood in line for six hours just to get us a table. Every ten minutes, I'd texted Daryl an update on how close we were to being called. Five minutes ago, I'd sent him the last one. My number was 3601. They were already calling 3595. I gripped the ticket in my hand. "Daryl, I took the day off. I've been standing here six hours. We're only six people away..." "I know," he cut in, impatient, "but Brooke wants Cajun food. We can do fondue some other time." The line went quiet for two seconds. Then his voice again, pushing. "We're literally five or six doors down from where you're standing. Just come over." I'd given in thirty-four times before this. Suddenly, none of it felt worth it anymore. "No. I want fondue." I hung up and sent my boss a text. [Vincent, I accept the overseas assignment to Zwinterland.]

In my third year overseas as a war correspondent, I get seriously injured during a grenade explosion and lose all my memories. I develop severe PTSD and spend two years in a psychiatric hospital. Two months ago, I finally remember who I am. On the day of my return, my best friend, Beckett Jobling, and my wife, Gina Spencer, come to the airport to pick me up. They cry even harder than I do. Gina's eyes are red, but her voice is still as gentle as ever. "I've tidied up our new home. You move in first. I'll come keep you company after work tonight." However, I go back to the villa where we used to live. The moment I push open the door, I see a wedding portrait hanging on the wall. The groom isn't me but my best friend, Beckett. The sound of the key turning in the lock comes from outside. Gina, who is supposedly busy at work, walks in hand in hand with Beckett. In her arms, she's holding a little child. In a sweet, childish voice, the child calls her, "Mommy." I stand frozen. I am so stunned that I even forget to breathe. I've only been away for two years. How can their child already be three years old?

30,000 emergency meals meant for the disaster-stricken area were all sent to the incinerator as hazardous waste. The order to destroy them came from the deputy chief of the Health Department, Joanne Shea, my wife. The whistleblower was her childhood friend, Kevin Stafford, who claimed to be a retired undercover journalist. This was already the third time he had targeted my company. The first time, he reported my truck for illegal parking. Joanne then forced me to issue a public apology. The second time, he conducted an undercover investigation and accused me of violating packaging label regulations. Joanne issued a fine without hesitation and ordered my company to undergo a month-long rectification. Each time, Joanne has sided with him, using me as an example for others to learn from. This time, with water and electricity cut off in the disaster area, I rushed supplies there overnight only to be blocked at the entrance once again. Holding the certification of compliance, I pleaded, “The front lines can’t wait. If anything goes wrong, I’ll take the blame with my life!” However, Joanne coldly waved me off. “Kevin is a journalist. He would never take the disaster area lightly! Destroy the supplies immediately!” Two days later, the lab report confirmed that the food met all standards. However, the emergency rations had already been destroyed, and the “‘Poisoned Meals for Disaster Relief” scandal had spread like wildfire online. The company faced a widespread online boycott, and major clients terminated their contracts overnight. Joanne looked at the lab report. She felt guilty but still kept her arrogance. “I guess Kevin misjudged the situation, but he meant well.” I found it all hilarious and slipped off my wedding ring. “I’ve given you three chances. Let’s get a divorce.”

Climbing this mountain was supposed to be the trip where Keegan Poock proposed. The night before our climb, we were at base camp when our guide, Edward, counted an extra set of cold-weather gear. "Keegan, who's this for?" Every head turned toward me. The whole team knew this climb was supposed to be our big day. But Keegan looked over at Ada Beech, curled up in the corner, shivering. "Give it to her," he said. "It's Ada's first time at this altitude. Let her ease into it." Ada blushed and took the gear with both hands. "Thanks, Keegan." Edward hesitated, then stayed silent. My best friend, Sadie, called on the satellite phone. I could practically hear her crushing it in her hand. "Wasn't he supposed to propose at the summit? Why'd he bring Ada again?" I smiled and swallowed the bitterness in my throat. "Relax. The plan's still on." I'd make it to the top. I'd wait for the ring. And if he didn't ask? Fine.

Before my abortion, my best friend asked, "You're pregnant with Zeke's baby. Why do you suddenly want to break up with him?" I handed her my phone. "Because of one message." The conversation was still open to the text I had sent around noon. I included a picture of my lunch and complained about how terrible the takeout was. Four hours later, Zeke Evans replied with two simple words. [I see.] But when I checked social media, I saw that he liked a picture of Hailey Moore's lunch and commented, [Takeout isn't good for you. I'll cook for you from now on, like I did today.] Underneath, the two of them exchanged more than a dozen pointless comments, chatting as though they never ran out of things to say to each other. I stared at the post for a long time before deleting the message I had started typing, asking what he'd had for lunch. Then I scrolled back through our old conversations. For seven years, I shared every little detail of my life with Zeke: flowers I passed on the street, weeds pushing through cracks in the sidewalk, the stray cat that hung around outside my building. In the beginning, he was just as excited to tell me about his day. Over time, his replies dwindled into distracted, simple answers. It started when Hailey came back. When you love someone, you want to share your life with them. Everything Zeke stopped telling me, he was now telling her. "Ruby, they're ready for you." The nurse was calling my name. I looked out the window at the evening sky, then got up and followed her. The sunset was beautiful that day, but for the first time, I had no desire to take a picture and send it to Zeke.

I've spent eight years in a secret relationship with my best friend's brother. In public, Gerald Scott treats me like nothing more than his capable secretary. Behind closed doors, he holds me in his arms every night, whispering that he'll love me forever. One day, I accidentally discover that he's bought one of those 'one-per-lifetime' engagement rings. Certain he's about to propose to me, I follow him to the beautifully decorated venue, my heart bursting with excitement. Instead, I watch him drop to one knee before a woman who bears an uncanny resemblance to me. Tears fill his eyes as he slips the ring onto her finger. "You're the only woman I'll ever marry." After the woman says yes, Gerald's friends gather around to congratulate him. One of them laughs. "The real thing's finally back. So when are you getting rid of the stand-in you've been keeping at home?" Gerald takes a slow drag on his cigarette before exhaling a cloud of smoke. "That woman's completely devoted to me," he says quietly. "She'll never leave me. There's no rush." I clamp a hand over my mouth to stop myself from crying. Then I turn around and send my mother a message that reads, "Mom, I've made up my mind. I'll go through with the arranged marriage." As fate would have it, the day Gerald is getting married is the very day Alvin Hart and I are due to make our marriage official. And when Gerald sees the wedding announcement I post, the color drains from his face.

On April Fools’ Day, I texted my wife and told her I was terminally ill. I told her that I had no more than a month left to live. I thought that if I made her cry, I would make it up to her with a villa. But as soon as I reached the front door, I heard her complaining inside. “Terminally ill? He’s already dying. Don’t tell me he’s going to waste money on treatment. “That money will be ours sooner or later. Why should he spend it on himself? “No. When he gets home, I’ll tell him I’m pregnant. “He loves me so much. He’ll definitely give up treatment for the baby and me.” Before I could process her words, I heard my best friend’s voice right after. “It’s no wonder you always say he’s up to no good. Every time you finish with him, you come to me so I can satisfy you. “I thought you were just greedy. It turns out he’s really that pathetic! “What do you think will happen if he finds out you’re carrying my baby? Do you think he’ll die even sooner?” Only then did I realize that my wife and my best friend had been having an affair for a long time. I laughed bitterly. Then, I turned around and called my assistant. “Don’t transfer the deed to the Bayhaven villa yet. Draft a divorce agreement instead.” She cheated on me and still thought she could take my money! She could keep dreaming.

With the start of school approaching, my son's long-dormant parent-teacher group chat suddenly announces that there will be a Parent-Teacher Community Night this evening, which also serves as the first parent-teacher conference of the semester. The only requirement is that both parents need to be present. A flurry of messages from the other students' parents appear below the announcement, all of them confirming their attendance. I'm just about to reply when I notice that someone else has already done it faster than me. A woman with a family photo as her profile picture sends a voice message into the group. "Got it! Teddy's parents will both be there!" I stiffen at once and click through all the accounts in the group chat to double-check everyone. My son's name is Theodore Baird, and everyone calls him "Teddy" for short. But, if she's representing Teddy's parents, then who am I supposed to be? I immediately call up my husband, Joseph Baird. However, before I can even get a word in, I hear him speaking in a cheerful voice. "Darling? Derrick just invited me over for dinner tonight. I'll be bringing Teddy along. You can just have dinner without me and go to bed early." I feel my heart drop to my stomach. Derrick Johnson's wife, Angela Peters, is one of my good friends. However, I clearly remember seeing her showing off a vacation photo of her and Derrick having the time of their lives in the Palmives just this morning. How can Derrick possibly be inviting Joseph over for dinner, then? I remain silent for a short while. Then, I smile and reply that I got it. After hanging up, I immediately call an Uber to bring me to Teddy's school. I'm going to see for myself who this "other parent" of Teddy's really is.

In the ward, Lydia Webb leans bashfully against Hayden's chest as he tenderly feeds her soup. Lydia pouts. "It's all your fault, Hayden. You were so rough that you made me bleed." "I just couldn't help myself," Hayden says, his voice thick with affection. "I'll be gentler next time, okay?" Outside the door, Melissa Smith clutches a lab report so hard her knuckles turn white. Her heart aches as if crushed in a vice. The report states, "Two months pregnant, with healthy fetal development." The man inside is her husband—the very man who swore to love her forever. Ten days ago, Hayden said he had to work overtime and hasn't been home since. She never imagined he spent those ten days indulging in another woman's bed.

In the seventh year of her marriage to Daniel Horton, Quinn White overheard her son ask in a naive voice, "Dad, why can't Aunt Charlotte be my mom?" Quinn froze. Did he mean Charlotte Scott, Daniel's first love? Before she could process whether she had misheard, a speeding car hurtled straight toward her son. Instinctively, Quinn charged forward and pushed her son out of harm's way. The massive impact caused her to lose consciousness. When she woke up, Quinn let out a sigh of relief as she looked at her husband and son standing by the hospital bed, completely unharmed. She was about to reassure them she was fine when her son's painful question echoed in her mind. Spurred by an impulse, she put on a bewildered look. "I'm sorry, but I can't remember anything right now." The two standing before the hospital bed were caught off guard for a second before immediately ringing the bell to call the doctor over. After a thorough examination, the doctor reached a conclusion. "A blood clot formed in the patient's brain following the car accident, which will lead to temporary amnesia." Once the doctor left, Quinn maintained that same bewildered act. "How did I end up in a car accident? Who are you, and what do you have to do with me?" Daniel frowned, opening his mouth to speak, when a gleeful childish voice cut him off. "You're the family nanny!"