After Death Romance Short Stories & CEO Novels

On the day I was kidnapped, my husband was looking after his sick sweetheart. I called him, asking him for help. Yet, he merely replied coldly, "Danica, you are a bad liar." After that, he heartlessly hung up the phone call on me, causing me to get brutally murdered by the kidnappers. I failed to show up as scheduled on the day we agreed to finalize our divorce. He called me in exasperation, only for the phone call to be answered by the police. "Mr. Ferguson, are you a family member of the deceased Danica Reed?"

I came home a day early from my business trip and hid in the closet to surprise Eric Carter. At seven, he told the housekeeper to cook several dishes. At nine, he told me hoarsely that he had taken a bath and changed the bedsheets in my room. He was sure that I would love it. I did not believe him because I had heard him moaning in bed with Willow Summers for three hours from the closet. Willow Summers was his childhood sweetheart and my sister. I clicked on a webpage from my cell without hesitation. "Miss Summers, your appointment for creating a fake death has been confirmed. Time of Death: One week later Location of Death: The wedding hall on the top floor of the Century Building Cause of Death: Suicide from jumping off a building!"

My cancer relapses in the middle of the night. I beg my husband to take me to the hospital, but he turns and leaves to be with his true love. Before leaving, he says, "Your acting is getting more believable." All I get in return for a decade of my love is a broken heart. Later, his true love gets in an accident and needs to be operated on. I decide to let go and give them the happy ending they always want, so I donate my heart to her. My husband has always detested me, but he loses his mind after my death.

I've loved my husband for five years, but he's never reciprocated my feelings. In fact, on the day after my death, he runs straight into his true love's arms. During my absence, he sneers and says, "She's up to her old tricks again." When he receives a call telling him to identify my body, he's excited. He thinks he can see my reaction to having my scheme exposed. He doesn't know that I'm long dead, though.

After Roman Archer and I broke up, he devoted himself to academic research. He had finally become successful. During a television interview, he looked just as confident and high-spirited as he had been back then. The host asked whom he most wanted to share this news with. After a brief silence, he called me. “Celeste, thank you for leaving me. My career is thriving now.” I smiled. “Congratulations, Mr. Roman.” He would never know that if I had not left, he would have died.

While I was nine months pregnant, the apple of my husband’s eye moved into our house. Whenever she saw me, she would make a sad face. My husband was sure that I was flaunting my pregnancy to make her angry. “Rachel is frail, and she can’t get pregnant, yet you’re walking around making her upset?! Do I seriously have to teach you a lesson?!” He ordered the bodyguards to lock me in the attic that had not been in use for a long time and told them not to give me food. I pleaded for mercy and told him that the ultrasound scan showed that the twin babies were too big. I told him that the doctor had claimed that I had to be hospitalized while I waited for my delivery. But he laughed as if he had heard the world’s greatest joke. When he spoke, his voice was as cold as ice. “You’re still three days away from your delivery date! Enough with the pitiful act! Repent while you’re in the attic! This is what you get for making Rachel upset!” The contractions hurt so much that I clenched my fists to the point that my nails broke, but no one unlocked the door to the attic. My piercing screams echoed in the attic for a long time until my whole body was soaked in blood, and one of my babies was stuck between my bloody legs. Three days later, my husband ate his breakfast that was not up to his taste and said, “Have Jane make breakfast for me, then have her apologize to Rachel with a gift. If she’s sincere enough, I’ll send her to the hospital to deliver the babies.” But no one dared go up to the attic because the blood that flowed down from it had already reached the second step of the stairs.

After being pushed down the stairs by my husband's first love, I suffered a difficult labor with our second child and died in a corner of their family's private hospital. Before I died, my six-year-old son cried and begged for his father to save me. The first time, Shawn sneered. "Your mom's gotten smarter, using you to play the victim and trick people." After that, he flung my son's hand away and left heartlessly. The second time, my son told him I was bleeding uncontrollably. Shawn was clearly impatient. "She's being so dramatic, it's just a miscarriage, nothing serious. She's always made mountains out of molehills!" After chasing my son away, he even told the doctors not to care for me. "It's my fault for spoiling her. She'll know what she did wrong once I let her have a hard time for a few days." The last time, my son went to my husband's first love Jasmine, kneeling in front of her and knocking his head on the ground, begging her. Shawn flew into a rage and ordered bodyguards to throw my battered and bruised son out of the hospital room, allowing others to laugh at his misfortune. "If you come bother Jasmine while she's resting again, I'll kick your mom out of our family! She'll never see you again!" My son crawled to my side, leaving behind a long trail of blood. And so, I laid there helplessly as I felt the warmth escape both my son and I. 'Are you happy now, Shawn? You'll never see us again.'

My sister and I are twins, and we both have kidney failure. After a long wait, we finally find two matching kidneys. The doctor is prepared to transplant one for me and one for her. However, she breaks down in tears in my fiancé's arms—she wants both kidneys for herself. When I object, my fiancé locks me up at home. He has my sister undergo surgery to have both kidneys transplanted. "You haven't been sick for as long as your sister has. She just wants to live like a normal person—how can you be so selfish? Can't you wait for the next matching kidney?" He doesn't know that I can't wait any longer, though. I'm going to die soon.

When Joseph Belfort was at his lowest, he caught me lying in bed with another man. Later, he made it big and married me in a wedding of the century. Everyone said he loved me more than life itself, but I knew he only did it out of revenge. Every day, he brings different women home. He sleeps with them to my face, even telling me to serve them. I do as told as long as he pays me. He's thoroughly disappointed in me and asks for a divorce. Then, he gives everything I once wished for to Yarra Quinton. He doesn't know everything I did in the past was just a lie, though. I'm about to die.

When I was eight months pregnant, my husband's foster sister invited me to hike a snow-covered mountain. Midway up, an avalanche hit. We were both buried. My husband rushed to the scene, but before I could utter a word, his sister accused me: "She planned this! She tricked me into coming today!" I tried desperately to explain. He didn't listen. Instead, he lashed out at me. "Sandra doesn't know any better, but you should! So what if she's blunt? Is this your petty revenge? Your pathetic life couldn't even begin to repay hers if she'd been hurt!" Then he left. Took her hand. Walked away. I screamed after him, begging him to save our baby. He didn't even glance back. Worse, he unhooked my safety harness and shoved me out of the rescue group. "Since you're so clever, find your own way down." Not long after, another avalanche hit. This time, I couldn't get back up. Three hours later, Sandra was in a car accident. She needed a blood transfusion. That's when he finally thought of me. But by then, he didn't know—I was already gone. Me, and the child I'd never hold, were still buried under the snow.

Back when I was 20, I supported a girlfriend. I paid for her education and even found the best doctors for her mother, who had cancer. The sweet, brilliant girl stayed with me for four years. However, my family went bankrupt after my parents died. I even injured my eyes and broke my legs. I watched her have a heart-to-heart talk with her childhood friend, tears in her eyes. I left without a word, and she never sought me out. Years later, I saw her again while picking up trash outside a hotel. She had become a wealthy CEO and was about to marry her childhood sweetheart. Her gaze at me was cold and indifferent. I bitterly asked, "Do you still hate me?" Yet, with tears streaming down her face, she replied, "Yes… I wish you were dead."

I have been dating my manager boyfriend, Caleb Frost, for five years. He calls off our wedding 52 times for Gina Lowe, an aspiring actress on the set. On the day I am ready to give up on him and walk away, Gina falsely accuses me of using expired makeup on her that caused an allergic reaction. So Caleb shoves me into a sealed cellar and locks me inside. As he pushes me down, his face is twisted in disgust. "It's one thing to pick on Gina, but to use expired makeup on her and cause an allergy? Do you know how important an artist's face is? "Stay down there and think about your wrongdoings." With that, he drags the crying Gina to the hospital. The cellar's air vent is blocked. Every breath I take grows harder until I suffocate to death inside. Three days later, Caleb remembers me only after attending a gathering with Gina. But little does he know, I am already dead from the lack of oxygen in that dark cellar.

My three older brothers, Marcus, Jeremy, and Andrew Graham love me to the moon and back. Marcus clumsily practices peeling apples for me when I lie on a hospital bed. Jeremy blushes as he buys sanitary pads and prepares a warm drink for me when I have my period. Andrew spends all his pay to buy me new clothes and even declares, "Whoever bullies you will pay the price." He isn't shy to express his brotherly love for me. I once believed that my life would stay happy like this forever. However, my adopted sister, Mackenzie Falk, accuses me of swapping the graduation thesis she has been working on for three years. I suffer a heart attack on the spot.

My girlfriend had always been drawn to powerful men, yet she was perfectly content to keep a useless intern on her payroll. She said she loved me with her whole life. When a routine health screening showed that the intern and I shared a rare blood type, she chose to keep him close. She claimed it was just a precaution, a backup source of blood in case I ever needed it. She cooked for him, took him on trips, made him gifts by hand, and fussed over him at every turn. She insisted it was all for my sake. To build good karma for my future. Then I was in a car accident. She arranged for blood to be brought in from over 60 miles away rather than let the intern donate a single drop. She said he had a cold and worried his blood might make me sick. The next day, the intern was diagnosed with uremic nephropathy. My girlfriend drugged me and had me wheeled into the operating room to donate a kidney before I could say a word. Her voice was gentle when she explained it afterward. "Daniel is our trump card. He has to stay healthy. He can only be used when your life is genuinely on the line, not wasted on every small setback. I had you donate the kidney for your own future, so you would stop overthinking everything. Once you are out of surgery, I am marrying you." What she did not know was that I already had mid-stage leukemia. The surgery accelerated its spread. I was dying, and I would never have the chance to marry her.

At the company dinner, my coworkers started a game: everyone texted their lover saying they’d fallen ill. Whoever’s man replied first won. No surprise, I came in dead last again. Both my calls and my texts went completely unanswered. “Claire, don’t feel bad. Mr. Blackwood is so busy, it’s completely normal he hasn’t seen your message.” A coworker smiled and tried to comfort me, but the truth was, I’d gotten used to it long ago. Forget a cold or a fever. Even the day I was diagnosed with cancer, I called him nineteen times, and he didn’t pick up once. When I stayed quiet, everyone turned to look at Vivian in the corner, and one coworker teased her with a grin. “Vivian, didn’t you say your boyfriend was super clingy? How come he still hasn’t replied?” Vivian clutched her phone, her face full of unease. “I’ll pass. What if he’s in a meeting? I don’t want to bother him.” The mood had gone stiff, and looking at her pale fingertips, I suddenly smiled. “It’s fine. It’s just a game.” Before she could refuse again, I leaned over and hit the speaker-dial for her. The call I’d expected no one to answer was picked up in an instant. The huge private room fell dead silent. Because the voice coming through the phone belonged to Adrian Blackwood, my forever-busy boyfriend of seven years. “Babe, don’t forget our date tonight.” “Seven o’clock. I’ll see you at The Laurent.”

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.

My fiance, Adrian Hale, and I had planned to go snorkeling on Valentine's Day. The day we landed in the south of France, I discovered that his first love, Vivian Clarke, had come with us. They insisted on heading into unpatrolled waters. "But those waters are dangerous, shrouded in strange rumors..." Adrian frowned at me. "Sophie, do you have to ruin the mood right now?" Vivian smiled and hooked her arm through his. "With you here, nothing is going to happen to us." Once we were in the water, Vivian recklessly swam toward the deeper channel. A swell shoved half her body into a narrow opening. I swam over to pull her free, but she thrashed and drove her heel hard into my knee. Her elbow knocked my mask crooked. Before I could straighten it, Vivian kicked me into the opening. Adrian came up behind us, grabbed Vivian, and held her hand tight. The voices over my underwater headset were muffled, but I still heard Adrian's cold warning clearly. "Vivi doesn't know these waters. You do, don't you? "You led her into deeper water on purpose. Who exactly were you trying to hurt? "Figure your own way out. Consider it the lesson you've earned!" Briny seawater flooded my throat. My aching legs kicked uselessly. My body was wedged fast in the opening. I closed my eyes in despair. My last thought was this: if I died, they deserved to pay with their lives.