Feel-Good Story Romance Short Stories & CEO Novels

Vera Quinn and I spent seven years tearing each other apart in the corporate world. When we first started, she sabotaged my presentation slides, hoping to watch me humiliate myself in front of the board. I retaliated by flagging her fraudulent expense reports to HR, making sure her name was dragged through every department in the company. When we were both up for the director position, she locked me in a supply closet to make me miss the final interview. The moment I got out, I poached a major client she had been pursuing for six months, leaving her at the very bottom of the year-end performance rankings. In our industry, we were fire and water—completely incompatible. Then three years ago, the endless scheming finally felt hollow. I handed in my resignation and walked away from the industry for good. The day I packed my desk and left, Vera was leaning against the elevator door, her eyes full of mockery. "Giving up already? Mylo, a cowardly deserter like you deserves to starve on the streets". I hit the "close" button, swearing I never wanted to see her face again as long as I lived. Three years later, we crossed paths again at the industry’s annual gala. Vera was now the youngest partner in the industry. She looked at me as I stood there, humbling myself to pour drinks for an executive, and let out a sharp laugh. "It’s been a few years, and you’ve fallen this far? Working as a glorified escort to scrounge up some investments? What happened to that pride you used to fight me with?" But I wasn't there to secure any investment. I was there to beg that executive for a few more days to pay off the predatory loans my father had left behind. I just needed enough time to sign the consent form for my stomach cancer surgery with a clear conscience.

After I proposed to Kathy Johnson, my girlfriend of seven years, we went to City Hall to get our marriage license. Instead, she had her bodyguards throw me onto the street. Then, she walked through the doors, hand in hand with her childhood friend, Nate. She didn’t even blink when he saw me sitting there on the ground, shaking with disbelief. "Nate's son needs a legal guardian to secure his inheritance from the Johnson Group. The fastest way is for me to marry Nate and adopt the boy." "As soon as the paperwork is finalized, we'll get a divorce. You'll still be the one I really marry." Everyone assumed that I, the man who had been devoted to her for so long, would foolishly wait. After all, I had already waited for seven long years. But that night, I accepted the arranged business marriage my family had prepared for me and took a flight to Center City on the East Coast. I vanished from Kathy's world completely, and no one saw it coming. Five years later, I returned to Westlake City to visit my family. My wife, Rhea Weyland, was the sole heir to the Weyland family, a powerhouse that practically controlled the entire West Coast economy. She was tied up in a sudden international merger meeting. She had specially arranged for someone to pick me up from the airport. But I never dreamed that the "someone" she sent would be Kathy. The moment she saw me, her gaze immediately fell on the glittering watch on my wrist. "I can't believe that after all these years, you've stooped so low you're wearing a cheap knockoff." "Are you done with your little pity party? It's time to come crawling back. Nate's son is starting at an elite private school, and you're just in time to be his full-time driver and bodyguard." I gently stroked the watch on my wrist. What she didn't know was that this was one of the more modest gifts Rhea had given me.

After returning from a three-month business trip, I rushed to meet my fiancé and resolve our dispute over my best friend, Elena. Elena’s ex-husband left her penniless and broken. I offered her my apartment, helped her "find herself" and accompanied her through nights of tequila-soaked sobbing. My fiance, Julian, hated it. Or so he said. "She’s a leech, Clara," he’d snap, watching her try on my designer coats. "She doesn't even know how to make toast without calling for help. Are you her best friend or her maid? People like her don't want to heal; they just want a free ride." She's lost everything, Julian," I argued."Without her, I wouldn't have survived my mother’s death. Please, just be patient for me." I let myself in quietly. The house was still, the air smelling of expensive candles and something else—something sweet and floral that wasn't mine. I walked toward the master suite, expecting to find Julian asleep. Instead, the door was ajar. The wine bottle I had brought to surprise Julian slipped from my hand, leaving me paralyzed for a moment. Elena was draped across my silk sheets. Julian was hovering over her, expertly shucking oysters—my favorite—and feeding them to her with a look of doting, soft-eyed tenderness he hadn't shown me in months. "You're so much better at this than she is," Julian purred. "Because she’s cold, Julian," Elena whispered, brushing a stray hair from his forehead. "She’s all business. She doesn't know how to satisfy men in bed." I stood in the doorway, my whole self trembling, not in cold but in pure rage and disgust. "I hope the oysters are fresh," I said, my voice cutting through the room like a blade.

As the year’s end approached, the city of Portlas’ high society joked that there was no need to worship Lady Fortuna. They only had to worship me instead. That was because, after our remarriage, I became the most materialistic husband in all of Portlas. I no longer cared how much Lana Gable doted on that man. Even when my daughter called him “Daddy,” I turned a blind eye. There was just one new rule in the house. Every time they mentioned Eliot Speke’s name, they had to give me one hundred thousand dollars. Thanks to that, I saved up thirty million dollars in less than two weeks. On our wedding anniversary, Lana and my daughter mentioned Eliot once again. The two of them looked stiff, while I simply held out my hand with practiced ease. “One hundred thousand dollars. Transfer it to my account.” My daughter finally could not hold back any longer and looked at me with utter contempt. “Daddy, you’re so vulgar. Is money the only thing on your mind? You’d even demand money for such a trivial matter. You can’t even compare to a speck of dust on Uncle Speke’s shoes.” I did not argue. I simply held out my hand to my daughter as well. “One hundred thousand dollars. Since you brought it up first, you have to pay too.”

After suffering a devastating blow to the head, I unexpectedly regained my memories. Before I could share the good news with my wife, I overheard a conversation between her and the doctor. "Ms. Morgan, Mr. Johnson is showing signs of recovering his memory again. Do you still want us to inject him with the neurotoxin? This is already the tenth time. Mr. Johnson's father already went to prison after taking the blame for you, and his sister was forcibly committed to a psychiatric hospital. I know you want to protect Liam, but there's no need to do this to Mr. Johnson." "If Damien regains his memory, Liam's role in the hired attack will be exposed. His life will be ruined. Liam is innocent. He just wanted to prove himself. "Besides, Liam and I are about to get married. I won't allow anything to go wrong. "I promised Liam that he and Ben are the only family I have. I will never let them down. It doesn't matter if Damien becomes a fool. I'll hire the best caregivers and look after him as a cripple for the rest of his life. "Let me spend the rest of my life making it up to him." My entire body trembled in agony. So the people who destroyed my family had been right beside me all along. My father was sent to prison on false fraud charges. While trying to clear his name, I was attacked and left with memory loss. Since everything was nothing more than my own wishful thinking, I'll give them exactly what they want.

At yet another family gathering, Kirsten Weber's male assistant, Jordan Steele, is sitting in the seat that should be mine. I ask Kirsten, "He's sitting in the host's seat. Don't you have anything to say about that?" Kirsten shoots back impatiently, "Since you showed up late, don't blame someone else for taking your seat. There's an empty seat next to it. You can take it if you want. If you don't want it, then get out." I am about to speak when her inner thoughts suddenly flood into my mind. She is saying inwardly, "Honey, get angry already. Tell me you need me. Tell me you have to sit beside me. Prove that you love me. That's the only way I'll feel secure." This time, I do not give Kirsten what her heart desires. Instead, I lower my head and slowly remove my wedding ring. Calmly, I say, "Since you won't even save the seat for the man of the house, I suppose you don't need me anymore. Let's get a divorce, Kirsten."

Right after I got pregnant by accident, all three of my friends-with-benefits coworkers dumped me. "You're just a girl from an ordinary family. My parents would never accept you. Stop clinging to me." "Babe, my first love is back in the country. I can't keep playing this game with you anymore. It's over." "Take your dirty money and get the hell out of my life!" I didn't tell any of them. I slipped away to Europe and had the baby in secret. But the moment I disappeared, all three of them lost it: [You heartless woman.] [Anna, pulling the vanishing act again? Playing hard to get much?] [Baby, forget about her. I don't want my childhood sweetheart anymore. Just come back, please?]

Jake Carter called and asked to meet. We settled on the small hometown diner we used to hit up. He couldn't look me in the eye the entire time, and we didn't exchange a word during the meal. It wasn't until we were about to leave that he finally pulled a property deed from his bag. "This is for you," he said. "I accept my defeat. Consider it compensation for your emotional distress. Your name is already on it." I didn't bother with polite refusals. I took the deed, mumbled a quick thanks, and got up to leave. Jake scrambled to his feet, calling out from behind me with the one question he'd been burning to ask all along. "If you loved me back then, why did you let Brenda get to me first?" I turned around, looking him in the eye for the first time all day. "Are you really going to pretend you never knew how I felt? You were just playing dumb the whole time." "I-I'm sorry," he stammered. "Can we still get dinner together tomorrow?" "Forget it. I don't need your apology," I said blandly. "You were a victim in this mess, too. As for dinner, don't bother. I'm resigning from the company tomorrow, and it's best if we don't see each other again." The iron wire ring I once treasured as proof of love had turned out to be a cage. Stepping out of the diner, I threw the rusted ring straight into the trash. From now on, I would live for myself.

Back when I was young and dumb, I slapped some college guy working a side gig at a nightclub. My boyfriend had just ditched me for my best friend, Vanessa Shannon. Then, not even five minutes later, I caught her in the corner, sliding her hand under another guy's shirt. He bit his lip and just took it. Something in my brain short-circuited. I stood up and walked over. If Vanessa wanted him, why couldn't I? But the second I reached for him, he smacked my hand away. Vanessa cracked up. The whole private room turned to watch. Mortified, I slapped him. "You work at a place like this. Don't play innocent." Later, my family went broke, and I ended up working at a nightclub just to get by. The private room was loud as hell. I lost a game, and everyone at the table started chanting for me to take my bra off. My face went hot. I stood there, completely frozen. Then a low voice cut through the noise with a cold laugh. "You work at a place like this. Don't play innocent." I looked up. Our eyes locked. His stare was icy, full of pure mockery. It was the college guy I'd slapped years ago.

At the company's annual gala, my CEO girlfriend made a special exception for the new intern and let him draw from the prize box as many times as he wanted. The first time, he drew my $300,000 year-end bonus. He blinked at me and laughed. "Sorry, Evan. But you're such a good guy. You won't hold it against me, right?" The second time, he drew my vice president position. My girlfriend, Vanessa Sloane, did not hesitate. She ordered on the spot, "Clear out the vice president's office immediately. From now on, he can transfer over and work as Ryan's assistant." The third time, he drew a public three-minute French kiss with Vanessa. Amid the cheering, Vanessa blushed and kissed him with lingering enthusiasm. Only after she caught sight of my stiff expression did she pull away, still unsatisfied, and say impatiently, "Ryan won the prize. This is a company benefit. You're a grown man. Don't be so petty." I let out a cold laugh, lowered my head, and texted the chairman at corporate headquarters. "Since when does our annual gala include a benefit where the CEO has to kiss someone?" "Dad."

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.”

I had just finalized a three-million-dollar merger deal when I heard my wife, Connie Anderson, instruct the assistant, Greg Smith, outside of my office. “Change the person in charge of this merger to Pete during the announcement ceremony tomorrow.” My hand paused on the doorknob as I leaned against the door. Greg sounded a little hesitant as he said, “But Dave’s been working on this project for the last six months. Our client has also been working exclusively with him…” Connie did not even hesitate a little when she said righteously, “Pete has just graduated. He needs the network to solidify his status. Dave’s already part of the management team. Why would he need more accolades? “After this deal is signed off, I’ll buy him his favorite sports car to make it up to him.” During the announcement the next day, Connie held my hand and said, “The admin has made a mistake in the paperwork. I’ll make it up to you later.” I pulled my hand back and remained quiet for the rest of the ceremony. We had been married for seven years, but she had taken everything I had built through years of hard work and used it to elevate another man. I neither wanted a sports car nor did I want to be a part of the senior management team.

When my husband from the arranged marriage lost his memory, I couldn't resist messing with him. “Adrian. Say 'Boss.'“ The man in the hospital bed hugged his pillow and looked up at me like a good little boy. “Boss.” I nodded, satisfied. Perfect. A whole year of marriage, and he never once called me his wife. One car crash, and he'd been demoted to calling me Boss. Adrian and I had an arranged marriage. I did it for my family's dying factory. After the wedding he was colder than the fridge. We slept in separate rooms. He wouldn't eat my cooking and wouldn't take my calls. He even saved my number in his phone as “the Bell girl.” I lived in the Crane house more carefully than the hired help. His mother thought I was poor. His aunt thought I was trash. Adrian thought I was an eyesore. Then came the crash. A clot pressing on the nerves in his brain. The doctor said his mind had rolled back to about six years old. I looked at the man in the bed, clutching my sleeve and refusing to let go, and on the inside, I was glowing. Payback. My moment had finally come. I wanted money. I wanted revenge. I wanted a divorce and a clean getaway.

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."

I'm an orphan too broke to even cover my own college tuition. But I happen to have the exact same face as Cassandra Ashford, heiress to one of the richest families in the city! The young lady sitting across from me, the one wearing my face, slapped a bank card down on the table. "Sixty grand for living expenses. Another three hundred thousand once the job's done." She wanted me to take her place at a business school. The goal: to blow up her arranged marriage to her fiance, Julian Sinclair. Cassandra said she hadn't laid eyes on the guy since she was seven, so I could go ahead without a worry. She was off to chase true love. I thought about the old director lying gravely ill in the hospital, and the orphanage that was one bad month away from shutting down. I said yes without a second's hesitation. What I never saw coming was the first day of school. Riding my rented city bike, I plowed straight into the car of the guy showing up to enroll on the same day: Julian Sinclair. The window rolled down, revealing a face so gorgeous it should have been illegal. Julian stared at my face and let out a cold scoff. "Cassandra." "Haven't seen you in over a decade, and you've already learned to fake a fender-bender for cash?"

I was the Whitmore family's dirty secret, an illegitimate daughter. Growing up without anyone to rely on, despised by everyone around me. The only lucky thing that ever happened to me was meeting Damian. When people talked about my birth, he stood up for me every single time. For years, he treated me with nothing but tenderness. He was the only light in my otherwise dark and hopeless life. Until someone accidentally pulled me into a voice chat room. Our mutual friends were excitedly discussing wedding arrangements. I was about to speak up, flushed with shyness. When Damian's best friend suddenly teased, "Aren't you worried Amelia will find out you're marrying Serena and crash the wedding? But don't worry, if she actually shows up, we'll lay down our lives to protect our boy's happiness." Then came Damian's voice, still gentle and smooth as ever. "She's not the kind you bring out in public. Fine to play around with on the side, but that's all she is." "At the end of the day, only someone with Serena's status as the legitimate Whitmore heiress deserves to stand by my side."

In our circle, everyone assumed that the rebellious bad boy, Dominic Ashford, was madly in love with me. A sworn bachelor, he made an exception just for me. But no one knew that on the night I miscarried, he was out street racing with his unforgettable first love, Vivian Lane. Only after losing his child did he truly transform from a boy into a man. Trading his leather jacket for a suit. Removing his ear studs and putting on glasses. Settling down to stay by my side and manage the business. I thought he had finally understood the meaning of "home." Until the day I was preparing his fifth anniversary gift and, on a whim, tried on those black-rimmed glasses he never took off. In the glow of the smart lenses, I watched my reflection in the mirror transform into Vivian Lane’s face. At that same moment, his computer screen lit up with a message from Vivian: “Dominic, she hasn’t been giving you trouble again, has she? The baby kicked me again today. When are you coming to see us?” In an instant, my blood ran cold. So for the past six months, the love I thought had finally come back to me was nothing more than Dominic looking at me through those AR glasses and seeing another woman. And his sudden devotion, his doting attention to my every need, was all just to keep me, the “stand-in,” content, so the woman he truly loved could carry his child in peace. This time, I didn’t beg with red-rimmed eyes the way I always had before. Instead, I calmly placed the glasses back where I found them and dug out the divorce papers I’d prepared long ago from the bottom of the closet.

My fiancé spent three years fighting in underground boxing matches to scrape together enough money for me to study abroad. He didn't know that I'd been secretly working as a photography assistant the entire time. Every month, I sent my entire paycheck back home, hoping to ease his burden, even just a little. "Mr. Everett flew all the way to France to take bridal portraits with his wife. The main gown alone costs twenty-five million dollars!" "What a dream husband!" I waited outside the fitting room, listening to my colleagues gush over the day's VIP client. "Nathan, thank you for protecting me. For sending the Ashfords' real daughter away." "Good girl. From now on, you're the Ashfords' true daughter." That familiar voice stopped me cold. I couldn't move. The next second, a notification popped up on my phone from the contact pinned at the very top: "Got the money you sent, babe! More than I make in a whole week of fights!" "Once you're back, we'll have saved enough to get married!" I stared at the contact name, "Hubby Nathan," and nearly laughed at the irony. "Don't bother. I'm getting married right here in France!"

The three heirs of the Whitman family all claimed to love me. But their way of loving me was to keep me hidden. Alexander said New York's financial reporters were too aggressive and that making our relationship public would only put me in the middle of a media frenzy. Nicholas said people in the investment world were vicious gossips and he was afraid I'd become a target, so he never brought me to his partners' gatherings, private clubs, or holiday receptions. Leon said his music career wasn't established yet. Once he had a stage that was truly his own, he would acknowledge me in front of the whole world. I waited four years. This changed when Lillian Grant walked into their lives. Alexander walked her down the red carpet at the Manhattan Art Foundation gala. The next day, every entertainment outlet ran the same headline: "Eldest Whitman Heir Appears to Go Public with New Romance." Nicholas brought her to an investor reception, where his partners called her "the future Mrs. Whitman" right to my face. Leon was the most direct. He played a song at a twenty-thousand-person concert and told the livestream camera, "For the most important person in my life." The jumbotron cut to Lillian's seat. The day after the livestream. Alexander set a folder on the coffee table. "You're twenty-five now. We think it's time you had a life of your own." Nicholas continued, "This man comes from an ordinary background, but he has a stable job. He's been divorced once and has no children. " Leon slid the photo in front of me, smiling with the same easy warmth as always. "We've already met him for you. He's more than a good match." I didn't argue. I just picked up my phone and called the Whitman family attorney. What they didn't know was that the family trust Grandfather had established before his death made one thing perfectly clear. Whoever I chose would receive that twenty-seven percent block of voting shares and become the true power behind the Whitman family.

I lied to my husband, Tony Mercer, about working overtime and spent a month moonlighting at an upscale club. My coworkers were itching to land a sugar daddy or a rich cougar. All I wanted was to save up enough to buy him a nicer watch. He was in sales. A designer watch could spare him plenty of condescending looks and snide remarks. Scrimping on meals, working two jobs, I'd lost a lot of weight. My best friend Clara teased me for being lovesick. She didn't understand. How happy it made me to build a life side by side with the man I loved, working hard together. That evening, I carried a fruit platter to the door of a VIP suite and heard a familiar voice. "Tony, did you sign a prenup with Bianca?" "Obviously not. Otherwise how's he supposed to keep up the broke-guy act?" "So when you two divorce, Cinderella walks away with half your fortune? How generous of you!" I heard Tony scoff. "Generous? There's no legal marriage between us. How exactly would we divorce?" A thunderclap split through my skull. Every drop of blood in my body froze solid, and an icy chill shot through me from head to toe. Only one thought echoed in my mind. Tony, what kind of joke is this?