Bias Romance Short Stories & Novels

My husband had never been interested in sex. Whenever we did sleep together, he always watched the clock. Tonight, halfway through, the custom ringtone he had set for his secretary went off. Her tearful voice came through the phone. "Mr. Doyle, a pipe burst in my apartment. There's water everywhere, and I'm scared..." Without a second thought, Vince Doyle pulled away and started getting dressed. Biting my lip, I reached out and grabbed his arm, hating how desperate I sounded. "It's late, and we haven't even finished…" "Lauren doesn't have anyone else to call. I'm her boss. I can't just leave her to deal with this alone." He didn't even look at me. He calmly pulled his arm free and buttoned his shirt. "I've done what I was supposed to do tonight. I'll make up to you next time." My breath caught. So sleeping with me was nothing more than another obligation he had to check off his list. Not long after he left, Lauren Barrett sent me a text. In the photo, she was curled up against Vince's shoulder. [I'm so sorry. I was just really scared. I'll make sure Vince finishes what he started next time. Looks like you'll have to pull out your little toy and finish the job yourself tonight.] I read the message without replying. Then I got up, took a shower, stripped the bed, and put the sheets in the wash. After changing into a clean pair of pajamas, I finally made up my mind. I was done with Vince.

As I sign the form to terminate my pregnancy, the doctor asks me for the third time, "You were willing to risk your health to keep this baby. What changed?" I press my hand to my belly. "A bottle of essential oil." Yesterday, the moment I open the car door, a sharp wave of rosemary hits me and sends my morning sickness spiraling. I reach for the window, but Adrian Lockwood grabs my hand. "Don't open it. Sloane loves this scent. She'll be upset if it fades." I freeze. "I'm pregnant. This isn't safe for the baby." He frowns, his voice full of impatience. "Stop being dramatic. You always use the baby as an excuse. It's just essential oil. What's it going to do?" Then he pulls the bottle from the glove compartment, places it right next to my air vent, and cranks the dial higher. "Just tough it out. We're almost home. Sloane can't fall asleep without it." The smell thickens until my eyes sting and my temples throb. I don't say another word. I quietly unbuckle my seatbelt and get out. Adrian never indulges my moods. He leans over, slams the passenger door shut, and drives off. I stare at the ultrasound, at the tiny shadow that already has a heartbeat, and close my eyes. If he doesn't care about me, I don't need him either.

The night the hurricane made landfall, the emergency alert had barely stopped sounding when my sister-in-law, Brielle Rourke, called again. I listened to her helpless sobbing, then calmly handed the phone to my husband, Caleb Rourke, who was busy boarding up the balcony doors. Whatever she said, he kept agreeing to it. He pulled on a rain jacket and gave me that practiced, guilty look. "Her window's broken, Lena. She's all alone over there. I'll patch it up and I'll be back before the worst of it hits, I promise." Once again, it wasn't a discussion. It was an announcement. Five years of marriage, and every storm had gone exactly the same way. The moment the thunder started, her call came right on schedule. I used to fight about it, but he always said, "My brother died young. Brielle's raising his son by herself. We help when we can." "You're a grown woman, and a strong one. You can look after yourself and our son, right?" The wind split the glass, and the shards opened my calf to the bone. I reached for the baby sweater I'd never finished knitting. Tonight, Caleb, I don't think your son or I need you anymore.

I stay behind to save a heart attack patient. So, I am unable to go and rescue Lucian Linton's dog. The very next second, I receive a message from my fiancee, Christine Stafford. It reads, "Because you stood by and did nothing, Lucian's dog ended up in the hospital! Let's postpone our wedding. Consider it your punishment." This is the ninth time Christine postpones our wedding because of Lucian's unreasonable behavior. This time, I don't want to play along with them anymore. Just then, floating comments appear before my eyes. "Hurry to the rooftop! Christine loves you. She saw through Lucian's tricks a long time ago." "She's postponing the wedding to surprise you. She's secretly planning the wedding of the century for you." I felt a pang in my heart. Filled with guilt, I rush to the rooftop to find her. But the moment I reach the door, I hear Lucian chuckle. "Do you think Maxwell will come beg for your forgiveness after seeing those messages?" Christine replies with a teasing smile, "Of course. That's our company's newest AR technology. Besides, he loves me so much that he won't question it, even if it's fake. This is his fault in the first place. He deserves to be taught a lesson." I freeze. So even those so-called comments claiming she loves me are merely a trick she has pulled on me just to humiliate me. Swallowing the bitterness that wells up inside of me, I turn and walk away. What Christine doesn't know is that after her fake comments disappear, the real comments finally appear before my eyes.

The Dempsey family has two adopted sons. I'm one of them, and the other is Julius Haysworth. On the day Elena Dempsey and Julius get engaged, a car accident leaves her crippled. Julius tearfully breaks off the engagement, while I marry Elena to repay the Dempseys for taking me in. For the next ten years, I wait on her hand and foot, support her rehabilitation, and help her walk again. I even give up my chance to attend college for her. Yet, on the very day Elena regains her mobility and takes over the family business, she announces that she wants to bring Julius home. A wealthy woman has scammed him out of every penny, and Elena now wants to divorce me for him. I confront her in fury, destroy everything in our home, and even beg her to reconsider, but Elena refuses to change her mind. Even my adoptive parents believe that a man without a college education is no longer good enough for the now-successful Elena. I'm so furious that I spit out a mouthful of blood and jump from the top floor of the Dempsey residence. When I open my eyes again, I'm back on the day Elena will choose between Julius and me as her future husband.

It was the fourth anniversary of our relationship. Heather Hilmann took her friend Liam Sherr and me went to have barbecue together. The waiter recognized them and smiled, asking, "Still the usuals?" Heather nodded. It was a table by the window for two, and Liam sat on the inside. The ribeye had slightly charred edges, and the dipping sauce had no onions. She gave the first piece and the last piece to Liam. I sat near the aisle, and there was not even a dipping‑sauce dish in front of me. When they paid the bill, the waiter checked the membership records and reminded them with a smile, "Ms. Hilmann and Mr. Sherr, tonight was your 100th visit. You can take your customized grill pan home." A line of words was engraved on the back of the grill pan: [Heather and Liam, Together Forever.] The date was three years ago. I then remembered that Heather had been at the hospital celebrating my birthday that day. It turned out that the two hours she had been away were not for a company meeting. Liam touched the engraving and asked her with a smile, "After you and Ian Jeffrey get married, will we still have our monthly get‑together?"

Auremont City's most prominent heir, Huxton Dunne, was finally back on his feet after three years of paralysis. His friends threw him a party at a private club. Margo Myer stood outside the door, clutching a gift she'd picked out just for him. Before she could walk in, she heard voices inside. "Dude, Margo basically got you back on your feet. You wouldn't be here without her." "For real. Three years of rehab, massages, barely any sleep because she was scared something might happen to you at night? You owe her forever." "She really is amazing," Huxton said. Margo's fingers tightened around the gift. Warmth filled her heart. Then one of his friends asked, "So... when are you gonna marry her?"

Eliza and Connor had been the absolute dream couple, from high school sweethearts to walking down the aisle. Everyone envied what they had. Then came the fifth year of their marriage, and Connor cheated. Eliza did not scream or throw a scene. She simply placed the stack of unmistakable photos on his home office desk and said calmly, “Either she leaves, or I leave with the kids.” It was the very first real hardship their marriage had ever faced. In the end, Connor chose his family. On the surface, life seemed to return to normal. Connor started going home on time every single night, took an active interest in the kids, and treated Eliza with respect. Yet, a rift now stood between them, and they could never go back to the way things used to be. One afternoon, Eliza wrapped up an interview early and decided to drop by the preschool to surprise her children. As she arrived at the front gates, she spotted her five-year-old twins, Leo and Maya. They were laughing happily as they threw themselves into the arms of a slender woman in a beige dress. The woman bent down, opening her arms to wrap the twins in a tight hug, her face beaming with affection. Eliza froze in her tracks. Her heart skipped a beat. Sofia? What was Sofia—the very woman Connor had cheated on her with—doing there? Before Eliza could even process the sight, the scene unfolding right before her eyes made her blood run cold.

Celia Vaughn sent Roman Keller's mistress out of the country behind his back. That same night, he kidnapped her parents and offered a trade—their lives for his mistress' whereabouts. Roman pushed his phone in front of her. On the screen, her parents were tied to chairs with explosives strapped to their chests, the countdown ticking down steadily.

The day I go wedding dress shopping with my best friend, Alice Wilson, I catch her fiance and his female friend getting intimate inside the fitting room. I rush over to tell Alice, only to get a hard slap across the face. "I know you're jealous I'm marrying into wealth, but I never thought you'd make up such vile lies about my boyfriend! He and Fiona are just best friends. How could he ever do something like that?" Despite my desperate warnings and pleas, she marries Matthew Price anyway. She even posts about me online. "My best friend of over a decade turned out to be the one who couldn't stand seeing me happy." The post goes viral, exposing me to a barrage of relentless hate. Everyone brands me a toxic friend. Matthew holds a grudge against me for exposing his affair with Fiona and hires someone to ruin me. As I try to escape in a panic, I get hit by a car and die on the spot. When I open my eyes again, I am right back to the day I was helping Alice try on wedding dresses. From inside the fitting room, those same scandalous sounds ring out once more.

I was the 99th High Priestess to serve the Temple of Aubin. Through a potent, forbidden ritual known as Soulforging, I could rewrite a person's fate in exchange for a fragment of my life and soul. In the first year we were together, I used Soulforging to save Emile Albrecht from certain death after an arrow pierced his heart. The ritual's toll bleached my hair white. In our third year together, I used Soulforging again to save him from the executioner's blade. He was named heir apparent. In return, I lost my sight. In our sixth year together, Emile brought the woman who had once saved his life by shielding him from that arrow years before. He ordered me to perform another Soulforging ritual to save her. I shook my head and told him I could not perform it again. My soul had almost been exhausted. One more ritual would erase me completely. He seized my wrists and forced me closer despite my struggle. "You survived that ritual twice already! Why would saving a mortal from danger suddenly kill you? "You know what I think? I think you're just throwing a tantrum no one asked for. You're trying to be dramatic about it costing your 'soul!'" I performed the ritual, suppressing the blood that threatened to spill from my throat, and saw it through to the end. The next day, Emile petitioned the king to name me his future queen. As my hands slowly turned transparent, I felt my way out of the palace. I would never be your queen, Emile. Seven days from now, Undine of Cracht would cease to exist.

For eight years, my husband, Atticus Pearson, has kept one unwavering habit. Every night, at exactly 11:00 pm, he makes a phone call. It always lasts exactly three minutes. "Elena suffers from insomnia. The doctor said someone should talk to her before bed." "Why does it have to be you?" "Because she got injured saving me in that accident. She saved my life." This has been going on for eight years. That makes more than 2,900 three-minute phone calls. I keep telling myself to get over it. Then, in the third year of our marriage, Atticus finally finds the time to make up for the honeymoon we never had. On the last night of the trip, Atticus is showering while I lie on the hotel bed, picking out photos from our couple's shoot. Suddenly, a message pops up on his phone. It is a video from Elena Stitfall. On the screen, Elena is lying in our bed, wearing my pajamas, resting her head on my pillow, and smiling at the camera. "Atti, can we talk for one extra minute tonight? I miss you so much. It's only three minutes to our call time."

My friend stares at me in disbelief when I walk away from the kidney transplant. "You love Sienna. You're her only donor match. Why would you back out now?" "Because of a glass of water," I say, my voice steady. Sienna is a clean freak. She never shares anything with me. If I so much as take a sip from a glass, she refuses to touch it. Then I see a video on her male student's social media. In it, he holds out a half-empty drink right to her lips. She takes a sip right from the drink he's holding. Though she frowns slightly, a smile still lingers on her lips. "It's so sweet. You're going to ruin your teeth." I sit in the dark living room that night, watching those few seconds on repeat. When Sienna wakes up, I pour a glass of water, take a sip right in front of her, and hand it over. "Drink it." She stares at me like I've lost my mind. "Kayden, I don't drink after other people." Seven years of marriage, and to her, I am just "other people". I pull my thoughts back to the room and sign the withdrawal form, relinquishing the surgery. Outside the window, the summer sun shines bright while the cicadas buzz. I am done clinging to Sienna and done caring about that glass of water.

My grandparents, Timothy Shaw and Dorothy Elmer, show up one day to ask for 30 thousand dollars. In response, my wife, Jade Quinn, shuts the door in my face. She refuses to discuss the topic of a loan or open the door for anyone. All she does is send me a text message that reads, "I earn a fixed salary. How could I possibly come up with 30 thousand dollars on the fly? Don't you have other colleagues and classmates? Just ask them for a loan." I mull over the message as my hand hovers over the study door's knob. Through a crack in the door, I can see her on a video call with a male student named Nicholas Dion. She says to him, "Nicky, I've transferred 200 thousand dollars to your bank account. It's not safe for a young man like you to live in a rented place off-campus. Consider the money a gift from me for you to use as a down payment." My hand freezes in midair, trembling slightly. Just then, the door is opened, and Jade sees me standing outside the door. She offers no explanation and shows no sign of guilt. She simply explains unhurriedly, "I married you and not your entire family, so I'm not letting just anyone mooch off of me. I worked hard to earn my money too." She closes the door in my face. She was a mere inch away from catching my hand in the doorframe, but she showed no hesitation. I clench my hands into fists, understanding abruptly dawning on me. It turns out that our marriage is worth less than 30 thousand dollars to her.

On the day our couple channel hit thirty million followers, the milestone video was supposed to be my official debut on camera. I woke up at five in the morning to do my makeup and tried on a dozen different dresses. However, right before the cameras rolled, Julian stopped me. "Willow, let's have Evangeline do it instead. She's just more camera-ready. The fans will love her." Evangeline was my best friend. I stood frozen for a long time, but in the end, I simply nodded. From that day on, Julian and Evangeline played a romantic couple on screen for three years. I stood behind the lens, writing their scripts, setting up their lighting, and editing every single frame. I watched the comment section explode day after day. [They look so deeply in love! My favorite ship ever!] And I watched Julian hold Evangeline's hand with more and more ease. Until the night of our three-year anniversary stream, when the host asked them a question live on camera. "When was the exact moment you two felt the strongest spark for each other?" Julian and Evangeline smiled in perfect sync. "The very first day we shot together on camera." In an instant, the live stream chat erupted into wild cheers and screams. Sitting in the dark corner of the studio behind the control monitor, my heart sank. They had spent three years pretending to be in love, and I was the only fool who treated it like an act. As soon as the broadcast wrapped, I logged into the channel dashboard and revoked all my admin access. Then, I opened an email invitation for an overseas film project I had received two weeks ago and accepted it. From now on, I was done writing their love story.

After I marry Yannick Harker, I become the laughingstock of Grisport. They call me the "Voucher Wife". Whether it is doctor's visits, meals, or even a pack of sanitary pads… I can only pay for them with vouchers that are only redeemable at designated stores. The Harkers impose an unwritten rule—every expense I incur must be approved by the female butler, Tracy Swain. The vouchers bearing her personal seal become my only source of money. On our wedding anniversary, I'm injured in a car accident and end up covered in cuts and bruises. But when I try to pay my medical bill, I'm told that every medical voucher I have is invalid. With nowhere else to turn, I ask Yannick for help, only to be met with his impatient refusal. He sneers, "You need money? Isn't the 200 thousand dollars in vouchers you get every month enough for you? Or is one of your relatives waiting in the operating room waiting to undergo surgery again? "Colette Skelton, you once put a price tag on yourself and sold yourself into the Harker family. But now, you're not even worth that much anymore." I know Yannick hates me. He hates me for demanding an extra one million dollars at our wedding. That has made him the laughingstock of the entire city for marrying a gold digger. So, Yannick cancels all my bank cards and cuts off every job opportunity I have. With those vouchers, he humiliates me openly without the slightest attempt to hide his overbearing ways. The glaring lights of the emergency room make my eyes sting until tears form. With the last valid voucher I have left, I exchange it for an abortion procedure. Later, Yannick finds me like a man possessed. With bloodshot eyes, he demands to know why. I calmly slide the remaining vouchers across the table to him. "Here's your 200 thousand dollars in vouchers. Yannick, I've settled my debt to you. From now on, we owe each other nothing."

On the day I receive my acceptance letter from my dream university, Jaxson Ludlam rents out an entire bar to celebrate with me. During a tipsy round of honest confessions, someone asks him what's the most outrageous thing he has ever done in high school. Leaning back on the couch, Jaxson looks toward Ingrid Rice, who has been sitting silently in the corner all this while. With a soft chuckle, he says, "Well, I guess it's probably taking the blame for someone and getting a detention right before the SAT." The entire room gasps in shock. Even I am stunned. A month before the SAT, Ingrid is caught using the school's computer lab without permission and very nearly got expelled. Jaxson steps forward and claims that he forces her to unlock the lab, taking all the blame himself. I always believe he did it simply because of his sense of responsibility as the class president. Under everyone's curious gaze, Ingrid blushes, and tears brim in her eyes. Jaxson gets up and walks over to shield her from everyone's attention before turning back to me with a reassuring smile. "Mira." Lowering his voice so only I can hear, he gently coaxes me. "If this goes into Ingrid's record, it'll ruin the rest of her life. You're always so understanding. Let's just treat it as doing a good deed for a friend, okay?" Looking at the way he takes it all for granted, I suddenly find the noise in the bar unbearably nauseating. I stand up and slip my acceptance letter back into my bag. "I understand." Meeting his startled eyes, I say, one word at a time, "Let's break up."

After seven years together, Joan Quinton and I finally walked into the studio for our pre-wedding photos. Derek Blake—my old college roommate and the guy who'd introduced us—tagged along. The second he put on his custom best-man suit, Joan's eyes lit up. She immediately wanted a few pictures with him. I was standing in the middle in my wedding suit when Derek rubbed his nose and laughed. "Dude, I look like a bodyguard." Joan instantly pulled me aside and gave him the center spot. The camera flashed. The two of them looked way too natural together. Like they were the ones getting married. While we picked out photos, Joan tapped the shot of all three of us. "Let's blow this one up for the reception." I looked at her. "Why would another guy be front and center in a photo at our wedding?" She shoved the mouse away. "You're a grown man. Why are you being so petty? If Derek hadn't introduced us, would we even be together?" "It's just a photo. I'm still marrying you, aren't I?" I stared at myself on the screen. Even in my best suit, I looked like I didn't belong. Just because you're standing somewhere doesn't mean it's your place. And just like that, I was done fighting to be front and center.

Vivian sat alone in the shadowed corner of the bar, watching strangers drift beneath the amber glow of the lights. She could not believe she had actually fallen for a rumor. “The real reason the Hayes and Carter families postponed the wedding? Sebastian’s ex was kidnapped. He’d rather call off the marriage than leave her to die.” One reckless sentence was all it took for her to book the first flight to Harbor City. Sebastian was the untouchable heir everyone admired—a fixture on the covers of financial magazines and the polished businessman delivering keynote speeches at charity galas. What could a man like him possibly be doing in a place like this? Vivian shook her head, set down her glass and rose to leave. Bang! A gunshot ripped through the bar.

Antonia Wood caught her husband, Ian Hoffman, on a date with his ninety-ninth mistress, Nicole Hallet. Then, in yet another “accident,” she was pushed down the stairs. She lost the baby she had carried for eight months. This was the fifth such “accident.” Yet Antonia neither confronted them nor made a scene. She went to the hospital alone and underwent treatment without uttering a word of blame. This was all because of the humiliating agreement Ian’s grandmother, Gillian Hoffman, had forced her to sign eight years ago. She would receive one hundred million dollars if she could give birth in a year. She would receive fifty million dollars if she could give birth in three years. If she remained childless after eight years, she would no longer be allowed to interfere with her husband’s affairs. This year marked the end of those eight years.