Feel-Good Story Romance Short Stories & Bias Revenge Novels

When His Majesty King Dominic Thornfield was attacked, my husband, Roland Wentworth, Commander of the Royal Guard, was busy placating his first love, Vivian Sinclair, who had stormed off in a fit of anger. I did not light the signal flare in my hand. Instead, I used my heavily pregnant body as a human shield to protect the King and help him escape. In my past life, I had lit that flare. Roland abandoned Vivian to rush back and save the King. He was rewarded for his loyal service by being made a Duke Protector. However, Vivian fell into a trap and died on the spot. On the surface, Roland said nothing. Yet, on the very day I went into labor, he threw me into the Beast Dungeon. My face twisted in agony as I demanded to know why. Roland merely glanced at me coldly and said, "His Majesty had plenty of guards around him, so why did it have to be me who came back? You must have done it on purpose, only caring about power and wealth. If you hadn't lit that flare, Vivian wouldn't have died. Whatever suffering Vivian endured, I'll make you pay it back tenfold!" In the end, I was torn apart and devoured by the beasts. Even the child in my womb was consumed completely. When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the day the King was attacked.

After visiting Grandpa at the care home, I got a text from my boyfriend, Lucas Mercer. “Sofia, come to the office tomorrow at ten. I’ve got a surprise for you.” I thought of the proposal plan I’d spotted on his laptop. I smiled to myself and booked the first available flight. But when I walked into that office, I froze. Lucas was down on one knee, holding out a diamond ring to my cousin, Ashley. Ten years ago, she’d hired someone to drive a car into my parents and kill them. Then she’d trapped me in the fire that followed. “Ashley, I’ve been practicing for five years. Will you marry me?” His eyes were full of nothing but her. I dug my nails into my palm. This year also happened to be the fifth year Lucas and I had been together. “Yes.” Ashley smiled and produced a document. “Since you’ve been loyal to me for five years, my father decided to throw in an extra five million as a bonus!” The room erupted. I stood there watching the celebration. The Harlow Group investment agreement I’d been holding was now a crumpled ball of paper in my fist. I turned and dropped it in the trash, then called my assistant. “Lucas Mercer. Cut him. Pull up the updated list of fiancé candidates.” Ashley had no idea I’d already returned to the Harlow family as the heir apparent. Lucas had no idea that by chasing five million, he’d just walked away from fifty.

Just a few days before my wedding, I accidentally come across a post while scrolling online. The title reads, "To the guy getting married in this city, your fiancée's already cheated on you." Curious, I click in to see the gossip, only to realize I'm the one being talked about. A deep male voice plays in the video. "I heard you're getting married?" The woman in the frame, bare-backed and trembling, chokes back a sob. "After you left, I realized you're still the one I love most. I'm done with him. Take me away, please!" The moment I hear her voice, it feels like someone punches me straight in the chest. Then I notice something on her wrist—the luxury couple's bracelet I gave her just yesterday. And in that instant, I feel like the biggest joke of all. Turns out the fool was me.

On the night Theo Zeller throws a welcome party for his first love, Diana Scott, she slaps me in front of everyone just because she wants my necklace. Everyone expects Theo to at least stand up for me, his wife. Instead, he rips the necklace off my neck and hands it to Diana. "She likes it. Just give it to her," he says. For the first time, I lose control and rush forward to take it back. Diana laughs and tosses the necklace onto the blazing barbecue grill. "Since you treasure it so much, why don't you pick it up yourself?" she asks, smirking. Theo grabs my arm and warns coldly, "Don't ruin Diana's night over some worthless necklace." I break free and reach straight into the scorching grill. My flesh burns almost instantly, but I grit my teeth and pull the pendant out. "Are you insane?" Theo shrieks, panic washing over his face. He has no idea that the necklace is no ordinary piece of jewelry. Hidden inside the pendant is proof that the Zellers hired hitmen to cause an explosion and framed my father for it. My father is scheduled to be executed at 6:00 am tomorrow. Tonight is my last chance to submit new evidence and request a stay of execution. Theo thinks I'm just a jealous wife fighting over a necklace. But the truth is, I'm risking my life so my father can come home alive.

After my sister-in-law, Isabella Sinclair, gives birth to my niece, my older brother, Lucas Donovan, runs off with my wealthy girlfriend. Furious, I decide to take advantage of the fact that Lucas and I look alike. I go to Isabella's bedroom and knock on the door, vowing to make her and their child pay under the guise of my brother. Ten years later, Lucas returns. Looking at the happy little girl I had helped raise and the increasingly successful career Isabella has built, he sneers coldly, "I've brought your girlfriend back to you. Now, it's time for you to give me back the family you took from me." By now, that once-rich ex-girlfriend of mine, Chloe Montgomery, has already lost her entire fortune. Lucas presses me, "If you refuse, I'll tell everyone about how you plotted to seduce Isabella!" Gritting my teeth, I give in. That night, I book a flight and take a cab to the airport. In the back seat, sitting on my lap, Isabella says, "I'm much better than that woman. Why not give me a try?"

My younger sister, Natasha Carter, is three months pregnant when she is delivered to a group of rich scions, who decide to play a special game with her that involves guessing her baby's gender. Unable to escape from them, poor Natasha chooses to commit suicide after suffering from a mental breakdown. Her naked body is later on discovered lying in a puddle of her own blood. I'm enraged, to say the least. My wife, Josephine Floyd, is equally furious, too. She claims that she will seek justice on Natasha's behalf. But when her childhood friend, Jacob Keller, flaunts the fact that he's the mastermind of that game, Josephine changes her tune instantly and advises me to be more gracious. "Jacob is a playful guy. Don't take what he did to heart, yeah?" Jacob remains nonchalant as ever. "Natasha got pregnant out of wedlock, after all. Yet, she pretended to be a chaste virgin." With reddened eyes, I sock Jacob in the face. I want him to pay the price with his own life too. But Josephine responds by smashing a wine bottle into my head. Then, she tosses a luxury watch she has intended to give to the winner onto my face. "Your sister is the shameless one here, Horace! Here, this watch should be enough to compensate for your loss! "Jacob is the heir of the Keller family, you know! A broke peasant like you should learn to be grateful with what you have!" With a sneer, I smash the watch into splinters. Trust me, this watch is incapable of saving Jacob and the other scions from the wrath of the family that has sired two generations of secret agents who've been carrying out classified missions for the nation.

Due to my outstanding work performance, my boss grants me special permission to have flexible working hours. I am out until very late last night meeting a client, and I have only been asleep for a while when a call from my colleague wakes me up. "It's already 9:30 am! Why are you late again today?" I explain to her patiently that I worked overtime last night to finalize things with a client and have them sign the contract, so I won't be going into the office in the morning. My colleague snickers. "You'd better not think that you can skip work whenever you like just because you've achieved top sales in our department. "Today is our boss' son, Mr. Hammond's first day in the office. He might just tell you to pack your things and leave if you were to upset him in any way!" Despite the splitting headache I'm having, I try to recall it in my head. Alex Hammond, the man she's just mentioned, sounds very much like that fiance of mine, who desperately wants to tie the knot with me.

I spent five years chasing Tyler Watson, only to get kidnapped right in front of him. He just stood there and watched. As a result, I suffered. After I escaped, he acted all high and mighty and proposed to make up for his tiny bit of guilt. The second we got our marriage certificate, the Simp System’s voice rang in my head. “Congrats, host! You’ve completed your mission.” Just like that, my sanity finally returned. While Tyler waited in a hotel for me to bring him contraceptives, I went live to expose his cheating. For good measure, I even called the anti-vice office to report my dear husband for soliciting prostitutes.

At an investor banquet, my fiancé Tanner Clarkson’s secretary, Willow Thorne, recklessly throws a glass of wine at an investor and hurls insults without thinking. In retaliation, the investor demands that Willow make it up to him with her body, or he'll pull his funding. To ensure the company's successful IPO, Tanner hands me a glass of spiked wine. Then, he pushes me to the investor, expecting me to extinguish his flames of rage. His eyes are filled with feigned hesitation as he says, "Willow isn't like you. She just graduated—she's pure and innocent. Stop fighting it, Kathy. I'll make it up to you once the company goes public." When I regain consciousness, I stare at the man across from me, my voice hoarse. "About that deal you mentioned... I'll sign it."

On the day of the World Rally Championship finals, I pressed the accelerator to the floor, ready for the final dash. The next moment, the engine exploded in a deafening roar, and thick smoke instantly filled the cockpit. Flames spread toward the fuel tank. I yanked at the door, desperate to jump out, but the handle wouldn’t budge, and the brakes felt welded in place. In that instant of despair, my husband’s voice came through the comms. “Attention, all teams, no need to rescue her. My wife is the Iron Racer! “For today’s live broadcast challenge, let’s see if she can drive this burning car across the finish line!” His co-commentator, recently recruited onto the team, chimed in with excitement. “Thomas, the sponsor just confirmed! As long as Jane holds on to the end, they’ll increase investment. I can get a permanent spot!” I understood instantly then that the husband on the commentary platform I had supported for years was using my life to pave the way for his mistress. Smoke clawed at my throat. However, I forced down the dizziness and begged, “For the sake of all our years together…” Only for him to cut me off with irritation. “Save your energy for driving. You’re skilled. Just hold on a little longer. Mandy’s promotion depends entirely on you.” The cockpit had become an inferno; my skin searing with every second. I gripped the blistering wheel, steering through the smoke for the last time. This time, my finish line was the commentary platform where the two of them were huddled together.

I brought my son, who was around a year old, to visit my parents’ graves, only to run into my childhood friend’s mother. She asked me whether I had returned because I was no longer angry. “Yelena, you’re finally back! You must’ve returned to marry Niel. “I’ll make sure your wedding goes smoothly this time. I won’t allow any random person to ruin it!” Niel Stalner was my childhood friend and ex-fiance. During my engagement party, Cloud Stalner, his foster sister, had barged in while wearing the same gown as I did. She also said that she would kill herself if Niel refused to leave with her. The guests burst into a ruckus, and in the end, I was left alone in the venue. Everyone criticized me, and Niel’s family abandoned me. Eventually, I left the country like a dog with its tail tucked between its legs. I smiled at Neil’s mother, Iris, and pushed the baby stroller forward. “Iris, are you seriously telling me that Niel hasn’t married Cloud yet? Anyway, Michael, say hello.”

After I quit my job to become a full-time househusband, my wife, Brooke Lowell, left me with nothing but a bank card capped at 1,000 dollars a month. She said children had to be raised with hardship to grow up strong, and was always worried I might secretly give our daughter special treatment. But 1,000 dollars was nowhere near enough to cover a household's monthly expenses. Every time the kindergarten asked for nutrition fees, I could only swallow my pride and beg for leniency. "She's just a child. Why does she need that much money? You've got some nerve, living so comfortably on 1,000 a month." I had thought Brooke's harshness was meant to temper our daughter's character. That illusion lasted until I asked Brooke for 300 dollars to buy clothes for our daughter's Children's Day performance. What I received instead was humiliation and ridicule from everyone. Brooke accused me of acting like a spoiled rich kid, wasting money on unnecessary clothes. My mother-in-law complained that I dressed too poorly, like a beggar bringing shame to the family. Even my daughter blamed me for embarrassing her, saying I had ruined her Children's Day and damaged her props. I bowed my head, apologized, and paid compensation. Only then did I discover that my bank card had been frozen. The very next moment, Brooke's crush posted on social media about his son receiving a luxury mansion. 'Already a house-owner at three! Who'd believe she's not his birth mother?' Only then did I understand. People who truly loved someone would never be stingy when spending on them.

Before my wife went into labor, a nurse handed me a stack of consent forms. Buried among them was an optional prenatal paternity screening offered through St. Briar Medical Center's new genetic-services program. I'd barely started signing when my mother-in-law, Margaret, charged at me and slapped me across the face. "You monster! My daughter is risking her life to give you a child, and you want a DNA test?" Before I could explain, the hospital-room door flew open. Vanessa pressed a pair of medical scissors against her neck, her eyes bloodshot. "Daniel, I've given you seven years of my life. You know who this baby's father is. Why would you humiliate me like this?" When I saw the thin line of blood on her throat, my heart broke, and I dropped to my knees. I tore up the testing form and ordered my attorney to draft an unconditional agreement transferring assets to the baby. To comfort her, I drove across Aldercrest searching for her favorite honey-lavender shortbread. But when I returned to the hospital room, I heard laughter inside. "Vanessa, thank God we reacted quickly. If he'd signed that testing form, everything would've been over." "Why worry? Daniel's an idiot. I only have to cry, and he believes me." Then a familiar male voice said, "Once the birth certificate gives the child the Raleigh name, everything Daniel owns will belong to the three of us." The words froze me outside the door. I turned away and called my attorney. "Cancel the agreement. Then hire an investigator and uncover everything." At the baby's welcome reception, I would personally present Vanessa with the gift she deserved.

The sole heiress of a wealthy family, Amanita Wallace, had seven prospective husbands, taken in from childhood to potentially wed her one day. All of them fulfilled her every wish, except Marcus Channing, who was cold and mean to her. Due to this, Amanita fell for him and even became his lapdog. Then, one day, she saw him pin his supposed sister against the wall and confess his feelings to her.

One night before our engagement, Darren Finch insisted on throwing a singles party aboard a cruise ship. He made it clear I wasn't invited. But in the middle of the night, I got a call saying he'd fallen overboard. Panic overtook me. Feverish and disoriented, I stumbled to the deck and dove into the sea without a second thought. The night waters were icy, sapping the strength from my limbs. As I was pulled back onto the deck, shivering and soaked, I heard laughter ring out from the crowd. Carrie Specter, Darren's childhood sweetheart, stood above me. She gave a soft, lilting laugh. "Seeing how far you're willing to go for Darren... I can finally hand him over to you without worry." At that, Darren wrapped an arm smugly around her waist. "Carrie, you really do know me best." "I told you," she beamed, "Paula would pass your test." I let out a cold laugh, slipped the engagement ring from my finger, and flung it at his face. "No, thanks. I wish you two eternal bliss. Just don't ever drag me into your drama again."

My cheating husband came crawling back on our daughter Lily's fifth birthday. He was ruined. Fired over a dirty scandal. Dumped by his gold-digging mistress the second his cash dried up. He begged me to save our marriage. In my last life, I was weak. I stayed for the kids. My reward? He went insane. In the dead of night, he locked the doors of our Greenwich estate. Poured gasoline everywhere. And lit a match. My parents. My four babies. Me. And him. All eight of us burned to ashes. But then I opened my eyes. I was back. Back to the day of Lily's party. This time, I will protect my family. And I will send that demon to hell.

The day I found out I was pregnant, my husband, Julian Calloway, told me he had been reborn and wanted a divorce. “Three months from now, I’ll go bankrupt. You’ll work yourself to death helping me pay off my debts, and you’ll die young. “This time, I absolutely refuse to drag you down with me. Take this $9,000,000. We’ll get divorced—” Before he could finish, I picked up the pen and signed. “Fine. Just transfer the money to my account.” That evening, while I was gathering my things from the living room, I overheard Julian’s secretary, Naomi Foster, speaking smugly through his phone. “I can’t believe she’s actually that stupid. How did she ever get into Harvard? “You made up some ridiculous story about being reborn and going bankrupt, and she actually believed you.” Julian chuckled. “Who cares? If she leaves quietly with the money, isn’t that better than having her make a scene?” I raised an eyebrow. Of course I knew he was lying. Because I really had been reborn. And in one month, Julian Calloway really would go bankrupt.

To end two years of long distance, I quit my job behind my boyfriend's back on Valentine's Day and moved to his city. The candlelit dinner he'd promised to welcome me turned into him leaving halfway through when his boss Diana called, asking him to entertain a client over drinks. I told myself it was just the way corporate life worked. We made plans to see an exhibition that weekend. We'd barely reached the entrance when another call pulled him away to fix an urgent proposal for Diana. I told myself he was just ambitious. We'd planned an island getaway to celebrate my birthday. The night before we were supposed to leave, he called. His voice was tinged with guilt. "Diana says this business trip is a test from upper management, and I really need to make a good impression. You understand, right?" Then he went to the neighboring city with Diana. I was silent for a few seconds, then said okay. I quietly canceled the hotel and sat alone in our rental apartment, eating instant noodles. The next day, the doorbell rang. It was a courier. "Hi, I have a delivery for Diana Lawson." "You've got the wrong address," I said. The courier looked certain. "That's impossible. I've been delivering here for a year. It's always this address." That's when it hit me. All his so-called overtime, business trips, and obligations he claimed he couldn't get out of were just excuses to keep his boss happy. He thought she was his ladder to climb. He had no idea that I was the one who could have taken him straight to the top.

Six years ago, a corporate acquisition deal I handled went up in flames, and 50 billion dollars vanished into thin air. Bankrupt investors spray red paint all over my front door for a year straight. Dad died from a stroke, and Mom lost her mind and disappeared. I ended up doing six years in prison for embezzlement. After I got out, I changed my name and started delivering food in downtown, running myself ragged for a few bucks per delivery. But then my ex-wife, Shirley Pearce, showed up, and the entire delivery station ground to a halt. She had become a financial powerhouse, a regular on the covers of business magazines. Reporters blocked my delivery scooter, shoving microphones in my face. "Mr. Marcus Quinn, Ms. Pearce has been single for six years, paid off all your debts, and she's been waiting for you to come home!" I stared at that perfectly made-up woman with her adoring eyes and felt nothing but disgust. That so-called "devoted" ex-wife of mine? Six years ago, she had forged company seals to help her boy toy short the stock market. Then, when everything fell apart, she threw me under the bus to save herself.

Jack Cooke—my husband, who'd never so much as scrambled an egg—suddenly went full kitchen freak. He bought a ton of pots and spatulas, then spent all day just... polishing them. When I called him out, he shrugged. "I like things clean. That a crime now?" Behind him? A mountain of dirty socks. Then it got weirder. He dragged all the kitchen stuff into our bedroom. At night, he'd get weird with a dishcloth. Like, disturbingly weird. I was done. I asked for a divorce. Jack stormed into a private dining room and shredded the papers right in front of our investors. "You're seriously ending our marriage over this? Kinda dramatic, don't you think?" I didn’t blink. “I gave up my spot for your pots and pans. A little thanks wouldn’t kill you.”