CEO Romance Short Stories & Face Slapping Novels

I was five months pregnant when my husband, James Fletcher, allowed his mistress to invade our lives—on the very night of our wedding anniversary. But she didn’t just come to flaunt her presence. She came to take my life. Pregnant and vulnerable, I confronted her, desperately clinging to my dignity. But the fight ended with me tumbling down the staircase, my swollen belly crashing against the cold, hard ground. Blood seeped across the floor, vivid and unrelenting. James only arrived after hearing about his precious mistress’ ordeal. He stood there, staring at the pool of blood, at my broken body. But instead of helping me, he rushed to her side. She had nothing but a few superficial scratches, yet he swept her off to the hospital like she was the one dying. By the time he returned, my child was gone. The doctors barely managed to save me. And what did James do? He struck me in front of everyone, his words sharper than the sting of his hand. "Lisa only wanted to bring you a Christmas gift, and you attacked her out of nowhere! You shameless witch!" “She didn’t force her way in! What nonsense! I gave her the house key ages ago. You just can’t stand that she’s prettier and kinder than you!" “You didn’t just hurt her. You killed my child! You vile, despicable woman. Why couldn’t it have been you instead?” Lisa stood beside him, pretending to comfort him while flashing me a smug, victorious smirk. James’s vicious tirade didn’t stop there. He dragged my name onto the internet, painting me as a monster.

After five years of washing dishes overseas, I finally paid off every debt my husband owed and brought my child home, ready to surprise him. But when we reached the rental apartment, it was dusty and locked. A passing neighbor looked stunned. "Didn't you and Mr. Guilfoyle break up? Why are you back?" I went straight to my husband's office, only to be stopped by the receptionist. "Looking for Mr. Guilfoyle? He isn't at the office today. He's at his baby's one-month celebration." My phone lit up with a news alert. "Guilfoyle Group president Adrian Guilfoyle spends millions on lavish one-month celebration; couple appears deeply in love." At the same time, a voice message from Adrian came in. "Honey, I found a few baby clothes online for our son. They were only a few dollars. Remember to pick up the package." In the background, a woman laughed softly and teased him. "The bet's over. How much longer are you going to keep using that fake marriage license to fool Maya Liddell? Aren't you tired of pretending to be poor after all these years?" So I was the only one who had ever been truly poor. After going in circles for years, I had somehow become the real other woman.

For three years, I played the humble housewife to protect Gabriel’s ego, secretly using my power as the Pearl Group’s heiress to build his empire from the shadows. But at his victory gala, the man I made a King crowns another Queen—the woman who abandoned him when he was broke. "While others were just present," Gabriel sneers, his arm around his ex, "Anna was the fire behind my success." He thinks my silence was weakness. He thinks his contract was earned by merit. He’s about to find out that the humble woman he sidelined owns the very stage he’s standing on. I’m done being your sun, Gabriel. Enjoy the darkness—because by morning, I’m taking the light with me.

On our wedding day, my boyfriend, Hayden Grant, had me thrown out of the chapel. Instead, he walked down the aisle hand-in-hand with his childhood sweetheart. I went back in and collapsed at the side of the aisle. The bouquet slipped from my hands, and scattered petals fell everywhere. However, his eyes did not linger on me for even half a second. "Selena's child needs a dad. Once that's taken care of, I'll marry you." Everyone thought I, the lovesick fool, would willingly wait another month. After all, I had already waited for him for seven years. However, that night, I did something no one expected. I agreed to my parents' arranged marriage and left the country. Three years later, I returned home to visit my parents. My husband, William Fields, was the CEO of a multinational corporation. When an unexpected, important meeting came up, he asked me to head to the company's branch back home ahead of him, where his subordinates would take care of me. To my surprise, one of those subordinates turned out to be Hayden, the man I had not seen in three years. His eyes went straight to the sparkling diamond on my ring finger. "Is this a knockoff of that pink diamond Mr. Fields bought for his wife that's worth five million dollars? I didn't expect you to become so vain after all these years. "You've stirred up enough drama. Come home. Selena's kid is in school now, so it's the perfect chance for you to take care of his lunches." I did not say a word and just traced the ring with my fingertips. He had no idea that this was the cheapest of all the gems William had ever given me.

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.

At the medical summit, my husband's precious first love thought the old professor's clothes were too shabby for such a grand occasion. So she dropped his conference badge into the trash. The old man shook with fury and threatened to pull his company's partnership with us on the spot. In my last life, I slapped her across the face right there, then bowed and scraped until the professor forgave us, and that was the only thing that saved our company. My husband, meanwhile, was heartbroken that his darling had been hit, and took her home to comfort her. Later, our company rode the professor's patented miracle drug all the way to its IPO. On the day of the celebration, indecent videos made with my face swapped via AI rolled continuously across the giant screen. And in front of a hall full of sneering guests, my husband pulled his first love tight against his chest. "You love slapping people in public, don't you? Today you get to taste what it feels like to be finished." I ran out of the hotel, sick with shame, and a runaway truck flattened me into the pavement. Then he turned around, threw the wedding of the century for his golden girl, and drove my parents into the street to die alone in the cold. When I opened my eyes again, I was back in the exact second she tossed that badge into the trash. This time, I didn't fly into a rage to stop her. Instead I curled my arm sweetly through my husband's and laughed louder than anyone in the room. "Babe, Tiffany's got such a sharp eye. Security should've thrown this ragged beggar out ages ago."

By the time I hit twenty without a husband, I'd become the joke of Butcher's Alley. I wasn't about to just take it, so I marched out to the pauper's graveyard and dragged home a half-dead man I found there. He was gorgeous. More handsome than any portrait I'd ever seen. It didn't matter that he'd lost his memory and wasn't quite right in the head. It didn't matter that he couldn't lift a crate or carry a load, that he nearly fainted dead away the first time he watched me slaughter a pig. I slapped my knee and made up my mind. "You're the one. You handle looking pretty, and I'll handle bringing home the bacon." I named him Walt and treated him like he was made of glass. I fed him well, kept him comfortable, and slowly nursed him back to health until his cheeks were full and his skin was soft. Then I started planning the wedding. On our wedding night, I'd just gotten his wedding coat off when the front door flew off its hinges. Hundreds of royal guards dropped to their knees all at once, their voices shaking the walls. "Welcome back to the capital, Grand Chancellor!" I looked down at the man beneath me. The warmth in his eyes was gone, replaced by something cold and sharp. The belt I'd been holding snapped right in two. I was done for. I'd been bossing around the most powerful man in the empire for six months and using him as a house husband. Was I looking at death by slow torture, or would they wipe out my entire family?

On the day I reunite with my ex-boyfriend, Zachary Carter, I'm in my electrician's uniform, arguing with a client. "I'm not leaving until you pay me, you pervert! You asked for an attractive woman to come over to your house, and now you're refusing to pay? Let's see what will happen when your wife gets home!" I yell. The door slams shut with a loud bang, and several bills are thrown onto the floor. As I crouch down to pick up the money, Zachary stands before me holding the keys to his Porsche. "You'd rather scam people and risk getting beaten to death than come back to me to ask for help?" he asked. Behind me, the client is still screaming at me. "You're crazy! I paid for an attractive woman to come over—not for an attractive woman to come over and fix my wiring!"

HR sent out the Christmas holiday schedule at 3 p.m. Every employee received seven days off and a Christmas gift box. Well, all of them… except for me. I was given only half a day off. I had my medical records tucked in an envelope as I pushed open the conference room door. My husband, Matthew Westbrook, sat at the far end of the table, focused on something on his laptop. He didn't even look up as I entered. "The holiday schedule's already finalized," he said. "If I change yours now, HR will have to shift everyone's schedule around. Besides, it's just a shoulder procedure, Elena. It's not like you're dying. Once the surgery's over and done with, you'll be as healthy as a horse." I stared at him, not quite believing what I was hearing. Matthew finally looked up, already sounding annoyed. "What? You expect me to change everyone else's plans just because you're my wife?" He frowned. "Being married to me doesn't mean you get special treatment at work." There it was again. I had heard those words, "special treatment," more times than I could count. I'd worked myself into the ground for Westbrook Group for five years. Yet, I somehow still had nothing to show for it. I could negotiate three major international routes and bring in over ten million dollars in revenue, but Bianca Brooke could revise a presentation deck and somehow get more recognition than I did. And the one time I disagreed with one of her proposals? That day, Matthew took away my entire annual bonus. Apparently, five years of loyalty meant nothing when Bianca was involved. I wanted to argue, but Matthew already shut his laptop and stood up. He put on his coat as if the conversation were already over. "I've got to jet." He walked straight past me without even a glance. "I'll have Finance double your holiday pay," he added as he reached the door. "Consider it compensation for staying behind." He left right after that. The conference room door had barely closed behind him when my phone buzzed. It was an Instagram notification from Bianca. I opened it to find a selfie of her seated on a private jet. Her passport lay casually on the table beside her, cream leather seats stretched out behind her, and a custom gold Westbrook pin gleamed on her coat collar. Her caption read, "Seven days in Monteluce, courtesy of the company. And I get to attend the gala with the CEO. What a way to end the year!" I stared at the screen, thinking, 'So, that's why he's got to jet.' Matthew had just told me that giving his wife time off for shoulder surgery would be unfair to everyone else, but Bianca was being flown to Monteluce for a seven-day Christmas vacation. She got seven days, while I got half a day. For a moment there, I could barely breathe. My grip tightened around my phone as I reached for the wall to steady myself, the envelope containing my medical records still clutched in my other hand. I looked at Bianca's smiling face one last time before closing Instagram. Then, I opened my contacts and made a call. "Uncle Gabe?" To my surprise, my voice came out perfectly calm. "That 80-million-dollar credit line Harrington Bank approved for Westbrook Group? I want you to pull it." Silence filled the other end of the line. I looked down at the medical records in my hand, and something fragile inside me finally settled. "My husband made something very clear to me today," I continued, staring at nothing. "Being married to him doesn't mean I deserve special treatment." A slow smile spread across my face as my gaze sharpened. "So, I don't see why his company should be funded 80 million just because he's married to me."

On the day of my wedding, my fiance, Oliver Parker, asks me to take off my wedding gown. He wants to let his childhood friend, Angela Summers, be the bride instead. In helplessness, he tries to explain, "Angela has leukemia. Her dying wish is to be a bride and have a wedding. Once I've fulfilled her wish, I'll marry you." Everyone seems to think I'll just go along with it and wait for him to come back and marry me. After all, I've spent three years preparing for this wedding. I've poured my heart into every detail and devoted so much time to making it perfect. However, while Oliver and Angela celebrate their wedding that night, I gave my biological parents a call to tell them I'm coming to be with them. I board a red-eye flight out of Stonevale, leaving everything behind without looking back. … Three years later, I flew back to Stonevale with my husband, Daniel Holden, to attend the anniversary celebration of the Holden Group's Stonevale branch. However, I never expected to run into Oliver at the airport. "You've been gone for three years. Isn't that enough time to let things go? Angela's leukemia is cured, and we're divorced now. Come back to me. Let's finally have our wedding. Don't be so stubborn anymore!"

The girl my family sponsored was a manipulative opportunist. She had my childhood friends wrapped around her finger. I helped her out of pity for her poor background, but she climbed her way up, slowly taking my place. She faked innocence in front of the brothers while sabotaging me behind my back. When they found out, they called me petty rather than blame her. I got fed up, married my college crush, and moved on. But they flew in overnight, begging for forgiveness.

Noah Lloyd has long since gotten sick of me—we dated for three years and have been married for another three. He uses divorce to threaten me. He wants me to give up the racing championship title I risked my life to win to please his new lover. He's caught off guard when I sign the divorce papers without hesitation and kick him to the curb. Later, he comes to me with a bouquet and the ring I've discarded. He also rents massive billboards to beg me to remarry him. Asher Princeton has someone turn off all the billboards. Then, he wraps an arm around my waist and whisks me away. "Haven't you asked around about me? How dare you propose to my wife?"

The day before the wedding, my fiancé James's childhood sweetheart had a severe depressive episode. Threatening to take her own life, she demanded the destruction of the wedding gown my grandmother had painstakingly made for me before her passing. To calm her down, James locked me in a room and stayed by her side, helping her cut the gown into shreds. Amid the mess, he spoke indifferently. "Be reasonable. It's just a wedding gown. Do you want to see her die?" Later, James's hot uncle approached me, asking me to carry on the family lineage. I nodded in agreement. But James, with reddened eyes, confronted me. "Are you really going to have his child? Have you completely given up on me?" Covering my slightly rounded belly, I replied, "Be reasonable. It's just a child. He’s your uncle. Do you want to see him with no heir to carry on the family name?”

"System, I request to leave the mission world." The summoned system quickly appeared. "Ms. Young, your request has been approved. You have half a month to say goodbye to your family in this world." With that said, the system disappeared again. Andrea Young paused for a long time at the mention of the word "Family" before slowly looking toward the family photo on the table beside her. In the photo, her husband and son were each lovingly kissing her cheeks. The happiness captured in that moment suddenly left her stunned. No one knew Andrea was on a mission. Ten years ago, the system brought her into this world to win the heart of Gabriel Fulton, the crown prince of Capital City. They went from attending school together to the wedding altar over the past decade. She not only completed her mission, but also fell in love with the target of her mission.

When I'm dragged onto the auction stage, my ex-boyfriend, Clifford Mitchell, is sitting among the audience. He has his arm around Selene Graham, the woman who framed my father and sent him to prison back then. He leisurely raises his paddle. "A hundred million dollars. I want her to strip naked in public and play that video from back then." The compromising photos he coaxed me into taking when I was 18 instantly appear on the massive screen, and the whole venue bursts into laughter. I bite down hard on my lip and, with trembling hands, slowly undo my buttons to cover the cost of my son Brooke Sullivan's surgery tomorrow. Just then, Brooke bursts in. His head's covered in blood as he throws his arms around Clifford's leg. "You big bully! Don't hurt my mommy! You can have my kidney, so please save my mommy!" Staring at the face that is practically identical to his own, Clifford loses his composure for the very first time. "Kyra, this child—" I slap him hard across the face, a bitter smile on my lips. "Don't you think I'm filthy, Mr. Mitchell? He's just a bastard child. I wouldn't want to sully your precious eyes."

I was dumped because of my weight. My stepmother tried to comfort me, saying, "It's okay, it's okay. A little extra weight is good." I watched as my graceful sister took my place and married my fiancé. Meanwhile, I was sent abroad to be "fattened up like a pig." I barely escaped with my life and endured unimaginable hardships. Now, those who hurt me should, at the very least, face justice for their actions.

Five years ago, at our engagement party, I broke my fiancee's assistant Richard Greer's nose with a punch because I saw his hand slip under my fiancee Pearl Moran's skirt, groping her right out in the open. Yet when security arrived, Pearl stepped in front of Richard and frowned at me. "Alex, he was just messing around. Did you really have to hit him that hard?" To get back at me for Richard, she pulled strings to throw me in prison. My first day behind bars, I ended up in a cell Richard prepped for me. My ribs were broken in a beating. I was fed spoiled leftovers and forced to sleep on the cold concrete floor. The moment I got out, I boarded a flight to Eldermere without looking back. Five years later, I return to Sovrane with my wife, Catherine Carter, to take over her family's Bellmont division. She gets held up with an arms order and tells her local crew to pick me up. I never expect to run into Pearl, whom I haven't seen in five years, the moment I step out of the airport. A black sedan pulls up in front of me, and the window rolls down. She looks at me like nothing ever happened. "You've been gone long enough. Time to drop the grudge. Richard's driver just retired. Since you're back, you can take over."

On the company's designated monthly day off, Gigi Lott, Donald Hoover's secretary, posted an Instagram story. The caption read, "So what if you're the boss of me when we're at work during the day? At night, I'm the one on top!" In the photo, she was lying atop a water bed covered in rose petals, and the usually stern Donald was kneeling down to massage her feet for her. From his pocket hung a brand new golden necklace. Just that morning, I bought several gold bars and gave them to Donald while beseeching him to make our relationship public. He happily took the locket from me, but when I tried to take a photo of us with our phone, he smacked my phone out of my hands, smashing it into pieces. With a look of pure derision, he declared, "Why don't you take a good look at yourself in the mirror first? You really are a motherless wretch who wasn't raised right. Look at the lengths you'd go to just to ruin me!" Throughout the last five years, I had meekly gone along with his demand that we keep our relationship a secret, claiming it was because office romances were forbidden. But now, I was abruptly hit with the realization of how laughable it all was. The next day, I sent my father a message. "I admit defeat. I'm willing to come home and inherit the family business."

People in our circle told the same joke at every gathering. "Jason's wife can't give him children, so she sends women to his bed every day. I wish the hag at my house had that kind of sense." They had no idea that my mother-in-law, Kate, was the one who had found those women and used my name to send them in. The first time, Jason Gibson threw the woman out and had a terrible fight with me. Afterward, he spent over ten million dollars on jewelry to make it up to me at the auction house. The second time it happened, he had barely touched her hand when he threw up. Then, he fought with me again. Afterward, he bought an estate and told me I would be the only woman by his side. - That was until the tenth woman. This time, he shut the bedroom door and did not come out all night. We stopped fighting. We stopped speaking. Everyone thought I would do anything to secure my place in the Gibson family and hang on to them for the rest of my life. But when I finally took out the divorce agreement, no one believed it. Not even Jason himself.

I called my husband while I was bleeding out, but he rejected all my calls. Later, I discovered he had been reconnecting with his first love while I lost our baby and almost died. “Who's she to you?” the news host asked him. “She's just someone very special,” he said with a smile. I realized I would never be first in his life. So I left. Until he found out who I really was: the only daughter of the wealthiest family in the country. Then he began chasing after me and begging at my feet. My brothers wanted to destroy him but I stopped them, because I had better plans. “Leave him to me. I'll show him what regret means.”