Tragic Love Romance Short Stories & Bias Novels

After my brother and fake heir, Damon Stewart, runs someone over, he frames me for it. My fiancee immediately breaks off our engagement and marries him. I'm facing prison time, but Crystal Morgan—my childhood sweetheart who's also a lawyer—resolutely chooses to marry me. She works tirelessly to clear my name, and eventually she gets Damon sent to prison. However, her family runs into financial trouble, and her ailing mother is facing prison time herself. To repay a debt of gratitude, I, an accountant, take the blame for the crime and spend seven years in prison. But on the day I'm released, I overhear Crystal and her mother, Lilian Murphy, talking from behind the gates. "Crystal, Elijah loves you so deeply. If he knew that you married him to get Damon off the hook and sign the leniency agreement for his parents' deaths, how heartbroken would he be?" Lilian questions angrily. "I didn't want to either, but his parents are already dead," Crystal replies. I feel my mind reeling. Damon is the one who killed my parents? Lilian sighs. "You signed the leniency agreement, so Damon didn't even have to go to prison. Why did you still frame Elijah and send him to prison?" "If I didn't send him to prison, there was no way we could keep the truth hidden. What, was I supposed to sit back and watch Damon spend seven years behind bars?" My heart clenches painfully. Seven of the best years of my life were spent behind four prison walls, all for Damon's sake. It turns out the mutual love I thought we shared is nothing but a lie. Since that's the case, I'm done with Crystal.

My wife, Ally Martin, is a CEO who's convinced that every man who married her only wanted her money. Any expense of mine over a hundred dollars has to go through her for approval first. I loved her enough to become the man standing quietly behind her empire. But the day I got into a car accident, she turned down my three-thousand-dollar surgery request. "Do you have any idea how many people live on three thousand dollars a month? I don't make money so you can leech off me!" The surgery came too late. My hand was left permanently disabled. I'd only just come off the operating table when her childhood friend, freshly back from abroad, posted on Instagram. The photo showed off a watch worth five million dollars. The caption read: [Guess some girls never really grow up. She's still willing to give me the best of everything, just like when we were kids.] He'd tagged Ally. I didn't blow up the way I used to. Instead, I liked the post and left a comment of my own: [Good for you two. Spend the rest of your lives like this.]

I receive a message from Theo Clark, the college student I financially sponsor. He wants to know what he should do because a wealthy woman wants to be his sugar mommy. He is only a sophomore, so I advise him not to take shortcuts and to prioritize his studies. But before I finish typing my message, he blocks me. One day, I sprain my wrist, and my friend Daniel Colgan accompanies me to the hospital for a checkup. He points at a couple standing outside the orthopedics department. "If your wife were here, she'd definitely be taking care of you just like that. Seriously, has she lost her mind? Why did she insist on expanding her business to a place like Nenton?" Without looking up, I tell him, "She's doing it for our future. I don't blame her. She loves me, and that's all that matters." We are about to leave when I run into the couple. The woman cups the young man's face and kisses him, his leg in a cast. Her voice is gentle as she says, "Theo, I love you. Please don't get hurt again. It breaks my heart to see you like this." I freeze. The woman is my wife, Esme Lambert, who is supposed to be in Nenton at this moment, and the man next to her is Theo, the college student I've been sponsoring for three years.

Victoria Graham told me we'd have to postpone getting our marriage license again just as I was picking up my fork. Victoria set down her cutlery, her tone as casual as if she were commenting on the weather. "Next time." I took a bite, chewed, and swallowed. "Okay." She glanced at me, then lowered her head and reached for another bite. Before taking it, she looked up at me again. "You're not angry?" I took another bite and answered calmly, "I'm not." We'd been engaged for six months, and this was the 17th time she'd postponed getting our marriage license. She was used to it. So was I. I ate slowly and finished my meal, one mouthful at a time. She didn't touch her food again. After taking my last bite, I got up to clear the dishes. As I passed her, she grabbed my wrist. "Lucas, next Monday. I'll definitely be free next week. We've already had the engagement party anyway. A few more days won't make a difference. Don't worry. I definitely won't stand you up this time." I lowered my gaze to the hand wrapped around my wrist, then looked back at her and smiled. "Okay." Over the past six months, she'd said "next week" 9 times, "definitely" 13 times, and "don't worry" 16 times. Even so, we had still never gotten our marriage license. And next week wouldn't be any different. Because this time, I was the one who was going to stand her up.

My sister Kira and I had shared one body since birth, each controlling it for half the year. Even so, my CEO boyfriend Aiden loved me more than life itself. He built me a glass-domed garden where it was always spring so I could experience the seasons I slept through, tattooed my name over his heart, and promised, “You’re the only one I love.” I believed him. Yet our wedding was postponed eighteen times in six months. Before every wedding date, I was caught in an accident. Each time, I was badly injured but never killed. After I woke from the eighteenth accident, my private doctor told me my soul had suffered too much damage. When Kira woke in three days, I would disappear for good. I stumbled home in a daze and overheard my father talking to Aiden. “Eighteen accidents are too many. What if you really hurt Roxy?” “I calculated the risks in every accident,” Aiden said calmly. “None of them was supposed to kill her. How else was I supposed to keep postponing the wedding until Kira woke?” Tears blurred my vision. “As you wish.” Three days later, Kira woke as usual, and I never woke again. But after I died, Aiden went mad with regret.

Ever since my best friend, Aurelia Westbrook, moved in next door, my boyfriend, Xavier Whitmore, couldn’t stop complaining about her. “She’s so completely useless,” he’d scoff. “If she doesn’t know how to cook, she should just order takeout. If she can’t figure out the washing machine, she should take her clothes to the dry cleaner. Why does she have to keep bothering you all the time?” I smiled and tried to explain. “Aurelia’s family went bankrupt. Her mother had to let all the household staff go. Normally, she doesn’t know how to do these things yet.” Xavier still wasn’t convinced. He started making bets with me every single day. “I bet that woman cuts her finger trying to cook again.” “I bet she leaves the house without turning off the faucet.” “I bet she doesn’t even know how to reset a tripped breaker.” At first, I didn’t think much of it. That was until Xavier made another bet. “I bet she comes over after washing her hair to ask you to blow-dry it for her.” Sure enough, a moment later, Aurelia stood at my front door with dripping wet hair. Except Xavier grabbed the hairdryer before I could even move. “I won the bet, Arabella. Let me go give her a hand.” After that, Xavier went to “give her a hand” every single time. Xavier, who had never done a single household chore in his life, cleaned Aurelia’s air conditioner. Xavier, who had never set foot in a kitchen, simmered soup for Aurelia. He ended up spending far more time in Aurelia’s apartment than he ever spent with me. Eventually, I couldn’t hold back my temper anymore. “Xavier, you make a bet every time, and every time, you go help Aurelia. Have you ever considered that I’m actually your girlfriend?” Xavier didn’t even pause as he twisted open a bottle cap for Aurelia. “Arabella, stop being so unreasonable.” Me? Unreasonable? The next time Aurelia stepped out, I made a bet before Xavier could. “Aurelia left the faucet running. “And the stakes are: let’s break up, Xavier.”

The first time I went to the boutique to try on wedding dresses, I stumbled upon the staff playing their game of “Guess the Bride.” The big screen inside was displaying the package my fiancé had reserved. Eager to snag the commission, the makeup artist spoke up first: “I remember the bride is petite and delicate. She looks absolutely stunning in a mermaid dress.” The photographer chime in: “She has straight bangs and two dimples when she smiles.” “Oh, right—and a red mole on her collarbone. She looks best in an off-shoulder gown.” I froze right on the spot. I had waist-length, voluminous waves, no dimples, and certainly no mole. The person they were describing fit my best friend—Charlotte Holmes, whom I was closest to—to absolute perfection. Just as I was about to confront them, a store employee walked up to me. Roughly shoving a DSLR camera into my arms, she snapped: “Are you the new assistant? What are you waiting for? Go check the behind-the-scenes footage!” My finger accidentally grazed the playback button, and the screen lit up. I saw Charlotte wearing the very wedding dress I had set my heart on. Meanwhile, Jeremy Sanders, my fiancé, had his arm wrapped around her waist. They both were smiling sweetly at the lens. Going through a string of intimate photos of the two of them, a bone-chilling cold swept through my entire body. In the five years I had been in a relationship with him, Jeremy had never taken a photo with me. Every time I wanted one, he would say the camera made him anxious, indifferently pushing me away. Turned out he didn’t mind the camera at all, only the person standing in the frame. After staring at the footage of the two of them wrapped in a passionate embrace, I stepped forward and placed the camera back on the front desk. “Since you’re all so fond of this woman, I guess the wedding dress should be hers.”

For the national championship final, I took time off work and flew halfway across the country to surprise my boyfriend. I'd barely settled into my seat when the girl beside me started gushing to her friend. "See his tie? I picked it out for him last night. Good taste, right? He even said I was the inspiration behind his entire Human Emotion Thesis for this tournament." Her friend gave her a knowing smile. "You actually landed Lucien Grant, the debate star. You should be thrilled." I froze. My boyfriend's name was Lucien Grant too. And the Human Emotion Thesis she claimed to have inspired? It had been born from seven years of pillow talk between Lucien and me.

After being abroad for five years for work, I followed the address given by my boyfriend, Gavin Hayes, and arrived at what was supposed to be our future home. The door swung open, and a young woman stood there holding a child in her arms. “Who are you looking for?” Before I could even gather myself from the shock, she spoke again. “A colleague of my husband Gavin, are you? “Did he trouble you with dropping off food for me? “I’ve told him countless times. It’s my second pregnancy—he really needs to stop getting so worked up over it.” She stepped back, then invited me inside. “Why don’t you come in and sit for a bit?” Watching her beam with joy, all I could think of was Gavin’s promise to take me, Clara Stone, as his wife, upon my return. My nails dug into my palms until they drew blood, and tears welled in my eyes as a bitter smile broke across my face. “Sure.”

I've always been clingy. Even when I'm asleep, I like having someone close. However, I end up with Dylan Ladner, a man who seems completely incapable of affection. Everyone says we're all wrong for each other. What they don't know is that Dylan is even clingier than I am. Whenever I'm fast asleep, he drops the cold act and whispers in my ear, "Babe, you're so cute. Give me a kiss." I'm usually too sleepy to respond. Then one night, a nightmare startles me awake, and I hear him murmuring those same sweet words again. My heart softens, and I reach for him. That's when I notice the earbuds in his ears. He's on a call with someone else. I go completely still. I yank the cord out, and a woman's breathy voice fills the room. "Dylan, let me hear you pant for me, okay?" I know that voice. It's my younger sister, Julia Farwell.

My fiancé sent me overseas and immediately burned my wallet, threw away my phone, and tore up my visa. He did it all to make sure I couldn't return home and ruin his wedding to his first love. His friends tried to warn him. "Don't go too far. What if your fiancée really gets angry?" But my fiancé didn't care at all. "She's gotten too spoiled because I've always treated her too well. I'm just teaching her to be more understanding. Besides, Yvonne and I aren't really getting married. I'm only doing this so her dying grandmother can pass away without regrets. Nothing will happen between us. Once the wedding is over, I'll make it up to Winnie." The moment his wedding ended, he rushed to find me and apologize. But he never got the chance to see me. Later, he even took my documents and planned to register our marriage first as a way to make it up to me. It seemed he truly had no idea that I had already died the night he sent me overseas.

On the day of her daughter Nina’s funeral, before the pastor could finish the eulogy, Rosalind answered Samson’s phone call. “Change of plans. Let’s meet earlier. I’m on my way now.” Ethan held the small cremation urn in his arms. His knuckles turned white from gripping it too tightly. Nina had been critically ill with leukemia. Only Samson’s bone marrow matched hers. Driven to the brink, Ethan desperately begged Rosalind to go along with Samson’s request. She promised that she would only be playing pretend and would not fall for Samson. However, as time passed, she eventually fell for Samson and indulged him in every way. On the night when Nina needed the transplant the most, Ethan called her, frantic. However, she was unreachable because she was camping deep in the mountains. Ethan helplessly watched the three-year-old die in the emergency room. Later, Rosalind even protected Samson and let him stomp on Nina’s cross necklace. She even forcibly confined Ethan to a sanatorium and forced him to donate blood to Samson. It was not until Rosalind learned that Samson had deceived her from the very beginning that she felt piercing regret. She gave him fifty percent of her shares, knelt for hours at the cemetery, and tried to make amends wherever she could. However, no amount of regret could bring back the man she had deeply wounded.

The first time I meet my girlfriend, Nadine Grant‘s parents, she stops me at the door. Her childhood friend and neighbor, Nick Lockwood, has just pulled a tarot card. The card says I'll attract trouble today, so I shouldn't go inside. Before I can say a word, Nadine reaches for the gifts in my hands. "Wait in the car for a while," she says. "When dinner's over, we'll go home together." I don't let go. "I've spent over a month getting ready to meet your parents, and you're not even letting me in?" Displeasure is written all over her face. "Andy, I'm doing this for your own good!" Before I can argue, she shoves me back into the car. Nick smiles at me through the car window. He says, "Andy, don't take it the wrong way. I'll go in and keep Mr. Grant company for you." Nadine stands beside him without looking back once. This is all happening because of one tarot card Nick pulls. I'm the one who's here to meet Nadine's parents, yet I'm somehow the last person they want inside. Then, I have no reason to become part of this family either!

During the groom's challenges at my house on my wedding day, my best friend, Lexie Powell, suddenly pulls out a coin. "Heads or tails? Guess wrong, and the wedding is off." Ignoring my attempts to stop him, my fiance, Elliot Stewart, responds with absolute confidence, "Heads." Lexie bursts into laughter and opens her hand to show the tails side of the coin. "Looks like today isn't the day after all. Party's over, everyone." The room freezes, and the air turns dead silent. Elliot fondly ruffles her hair. "A deal's a deal. No worries. We can always reschedule." Ignoring my pleading look, he scoops Lexie into his arms and walks toward the door. "I told you not to wear high heels. What if you fall?" Lexie playfully punches his chest, blushing. "Are you stupid? You pick heads every single time, and you lose every single time." This isn't his first time guessing wrong. He guessed wrong on Valentine's Day, giving our reserved candlelight dinner to Lexie and leaving me to walk home alone. He guessed wrong when meeting my parents, leaving them waiting all night while he took Lexie to a private cinema. He guessed wrong for our trip, rescheduling the flights last minute to take Lexie on a romantic getaway to an island instead. Even at our wedding, they have to play their coin-tossing game without a care for anyone else. The coin rolls over to my feet. Only then do I finally see that both sides are tails. I clench my fists. I'm done with a relationship that's rigged for me to lose.

Seven years with Luke Bates, and he still can't remember that I have a seafood allergy. Yet he treats that faded lucky charm locket in his car like a sacred treasure. Inside lies a note that says, "May God bless that specific someone with top marks. If it works, I'll go vegan for three months." Luke calls it a prank by his high school buddy and tells me not to get jealous over nothing right before we register our marriage. I believe him, happily pouring my heart into planning our wedding. Then comes today. I accompany him back to his hometown for a banquet, only for a woman in a floral dress to burst through the door with tears pooling in her eyes. The elders pulled her over, their faces full of concern. "Phoebe, you must be exhausted from that pilgrimage. Come, sit next to Luke." A few drinks in, someone speaks, slurring their words. "Remember when Phoebe casually mentioned praying for a favor? Luke went vegan with her and ended up with a stomach ulcer." I take a quiet sip of juice, listening in silence. It turns out the charm locket that has hung in his car for seven years wasn't for a buddy at all. It's for his first love.

On our first wedding anniversary, my husband's childhood friend, Sophia York, is busy policing what I eat. "This one's too spicy. You can't have it." "This one won't do. It's far too greasy." "This one is deep-fried, too. You can't eat it." She smacks my fork away before taking my glass of orange juice away from me too. Once she's done, all that's left in front of me is a bowl of plain pasta. There are 12 dishes on the table, but plain pasta is the only thing I'm allowed to eat. Looking at me sympathetically, my husband, Ivan Jefferson, picks up a piece of beef that's been rinsed with water and places it on my plate. "Listen to Sophia, okay? She's a nutritionist. Once you recover from gastritis, you'll be able to eat whatever you want." I've been eating like this for three whole years, and my gastritis still hasn't gotten any better. Later, I become pregnant. As I struggle with morning sickness, I suddenly crave blueberries. Ivan rushes out to buy some, only to return with Sophia in tow. She slips into one of our indoor slippers as if she belongs here and immediately starts to clear out my refrigerator. "You've always had a sensitive stomach, Lily. Now that you're pregnant, it's even more important for you to watch what you eat," she says. "Let me take care of you for the next couple of months." Ivan feeds me a blueberry and gently coaxes, "I feel uneasy about leaving you home alone while you're pregnant, Lily. Sophia's a professional." Sophia pulls out her credentials and shows them to me. I stare at the name of the shady association and suddenly burst out laughing. Is this what he calls a professional? All that's left in my refrigerator are vegetables and some beef. As I stare at the nearly empty refrigerator, I suddenly feel tired of living this way. Once my morning sickness eases, I'll move somewhere else and start a new life.

In my fifth year of climbing the mountains to search for my wife's remains, I fell into an ice crevasse by accident. As the cold dragged me toward unconsciousness, I opened my phone to Maddie Paisley's silent, years-untouched messenger thread, meaning to record a final goodbye. Instead, a wedding invitation popped up on the screen. [Ten years of devotion, and at last we've found our happy ending. We warmly invite our friends and family to join us as we marry!] [Groom: Jace Lowe] [Bride: Maddie Paisley] The background photo was a wedding portrait. My foster brother held her against his chest, his smile bright and tender. After I was pulled off the mountain, I ignored my frostbitten legs and sprinted for the hotel like a madman. The moment I pushed through the doors, I froze in place. My sister, Ashlyn Lowe, who had begged me with red eyes just the night before to give up the search, was cheering as she pulled the cord on a confetti cannon. "Jace, you finally won Maddie over. If you ever wrong her, I swear I won't let you off easy!" Below the stage, my parents sat in their formal wear, eyes brimming with proud tears. A voice spoke up behind me. "What are you doing here?" I turned and saw my childhood friend. My hand trembled as I reached toward him, ready to pour out how absurd all of this was. Instead, he just sighed. "Ronnie, go home. Everyone's tired of playing along with this. "Maddie faked her death just to get away from you. Jace waited five years for her, and that wasn't easy either. "It's their wedding today. Don't force your way in and play the homewrecker. You'll only embarrass everyone." With that, he walked past me, smiling as he crossed to the stage and handed the newlyweds a huge bouquet of flowers. "Jace, Maddie, congratulations!" Streamers rained down over my head. As I listened to the emcee up on stage shout for the groom to kiss the bride, my tears fell without a sound. So this was it. During the five years I had spent desperately searching for Maddie, she had been in love with another man the whole time. Everyone had known. They had all just chosen to hide it from me.

It took Daisy ten years to transform from a humble street vendor into a star investor in the corporate world. I stood by her side for every single one of those ten years. During our darkest year, I threw away every last drop of my self-respect and begged my estranged mother just for twenty dollars to buy us a decent meal. Looking back into Daisy’s heartbroken, tear-filled eyes, I gave her a soft smile and asked just one thing: "On the day the company finally goes public on Nasdaq, will you bring me with you?" She held me close and promised she would. Years later, when her company’s empire was soaring at its absolute peak, I gently brought up my old request once more. She didn't even bother lifting her eyes from her desk. "I’m way too busy right now. We'll talk about it later." So, I never brought it up again. Until one evening, I accidentally stumbled across a viral short video of her company’s grand public listing online. Daisy, who had told me she was merely away on a routine business trip, was standing right there on the Nasdaq trading floor. However, the man standing proudly beside her wasn't me but my younger half-brother, Jason. Holding hands, Daisy and Jason struck the ceremonial bell together, ringing in her billion-dollar empire. As fireworks exploded across the digital screen, she pulled Jason into a gentle, tender embrace. "Thank you for being here to witness the most important moment of my life," her voice echoed through the video. "I’m so happy." Jason wrapped his arms around her waist, whispering back, "Me too." I turned off my phone screen and let out a faint, quiet laugh. Then, I went about my day as usual, buying groceries and cooking dinner. After finishing my meal, I sent Daisy a short, simple text message. [Got twenty bucks to spare?] She didn't bother asking me why. She simply transferred twenty thousand dollars straight into my bank account without a second thought. I kept twenty dollars, and immediately wired back the remaining nineteen thousand nine hundred and eighty. I sent her a final two-word reply. [Too much.] Then, I wired that twenty dollars straight to my mother, officially settling a decade-long debt. Ten years ago, for twenty dollars, I discarded my pride and dignity for Daisy's future. Now, with that same twenty dollars, she brought our relationship to an end. There was never any room for me in her grand Nasdaq victory, and the quiet life I built from here on out will never have any room for her.

The day after our wedding, Deanna Somerhalder secured her seatbelt and offhandedly told the car’s GPS, “Let’s go home.” The screen lit up, and the GPS said, “Now navigating to Harvey Bishop’s home.” My back stiffened. From the corner of my eye, I saw Harvey look up from the backseat. Deanna started driving. She sounded unbothered as she said, “The GPS is just using the most frequently used saved location. It’s just numbers. Anyway, this way we can drop Harvey home first.” Harvey said calmly from the backseat, “Don’t overthink this, Andrew. The GPS might just be used to this route because Deanna frequently picks me up.” I did not respond. Instead, I reached out to check the GPS history. The saved locations included Deanna’s workplace, her yoga studio, her parents’ house, and Harvey’s place. It did not have our new apartment address. We had picked every single thing in the apartment, built the wardrobe together, and painted every wall. Every corner of the apartment held memories. But it seemed that the home we built together was not worthy of a place in her car’s GPS. As for Harvey, he seemed to be the destination she truly wanted.

It's pouring, and after half an hour in the rain, a cab finally pulls up. My boyfriend, Harvey Moore, rushes to grab the door before I can and tells the driver, "My friend here has some trauma. Could you drop her off first?" That friend is his ex, Vivian Blake. The driver catches sight of me behind him, looking uneasy. "Actually, this young lady called the ride." Only then does Harvey seem to remember I exist. But he still says, "She won't mind. I'll pay extra." As Vivian gets in, he instinctively snaps a photo of the license plate and repeatedly asks the driver to make sure she gets home safe. He doesn't check on me once. He just gets in his own car and drives off. To keep our personal lives separate, he never gives me a lift to or from work. So I stand alone in the downpour. Two hours pass, and not a single driver accepts my request. I open my phone and see Vivian's latest post, containing a dense grid of license plate photos. Her caption reads, "After all these years, he still hasn't forgotten the habit." I zoom in on the grid. From the day they met until now, Harvey has taken over 1,300 of those photos. He preaches discretion with me, yet under the guise of being "just friends", he ensures her safety every single day. He claims he moved on long ago, but his instincts tell a different story. It hits me all at once. If my safety doesn't even matter to him, I don't want this relationship anymore.