Plot Twists Romance Short Stories & Countdown Novels

On my birthday, I found a hidden playlist on Adrian Beckett's phone. It was called "Lost." The cover image was a photo of his ex-girlfriend. He had lost the woman he loved most. In the three years we had been together, Adrian had never once let her go. I was simply the person he turned to when loneliness caught up with him. I was a compromise. I was a habit. Right in front of me, Adrian deleted the playlist, then looked at me and asked in a flat voice, "Satisfied now?" I said nothing. Adrian reached over and gave my hair a halfhearted ruffle. "That's enough. Hayley, be good. I'll take you home to meet my parents over New Year's, all right?" But Adrian, I was going home to have a blind date on New Year's.

Three years ago, my best friend was hit by a car trying to save me. She had been in a coma ever since. I sat by her hospital bed, holding her hand. "Serena, you promised you'd be my maid of honor, remember? Julian and I finally set the date. Please wake up soon, okay? I miss you so much." My choked sobbing was cut short by a phone call. The nurse was asking me to come pay next month's hospital fees. But when I came back, I heard the voice I had been desperately waiting three years to hear. "Julian, you told me to wait for you while you broke things off with her." "I've waited three years for you! She comes to see me every single day, and all I can do is lie here." "Now you two are getting married. What about me!"

“Miss Bray, are you sure you want to release these photos and videos of Mr. Loader and Miss Nash on the day of the wedding?” Tabitha paused before replying firmly, “I’m certain. I also need you to take care of a visa for me. I’m flying out on my wedding day. I expect you to keep this between us.” After the call, Tabitha stood in the silence of the room. Just this morning, Tabitha stumbled upon a secret love nest Christian had set up with his old flame. “Kelsey, since you’re so against the wedding, you should come and steal me away at the wedding next month.” Tabitha reached the door of Christian’s other residence, only to overhear Christian telling Kelsey to crash the wedding. Soon enough, Christian and Kelsey locked arms and shared a hot kiss. Tabitha watched on, her heart breaking into pieces. Fighting back the urge to barge in on them, she turned on her heel. Right there and then, she made a choice that would leave everyone reeling. She planned to leave Christian at the altar before Kelsey would come and whisk him away!

There are only 12 minutes left until the lucky moment for me to leave my family home as a bride. Charles Lumley finally makes it past the games and hands me my bouquet. My relatives crowd around the doorway, urging him on. "Hurry up and take your bride to the car! The lucky moment is almost here!" With red-rimmed eyes, Mom carefully straightens my veil. Just as we're about to leave, I hear my bridesmaid, Winnie Simpson, cry out behind me. "Wait! My eyeliner is smudged. I need a quick touch-up!" I stop in my tracks, and Charles comes to a halt too. "Sure. No rush," he says. As Winnie rummages through her makeup bag, she smiles at me. "Don't worry, Nat. I'll be quick. I wouldn't want to embarrass you at your wedding by showing up with ruined makeup." Then, as casually as if it's the most natural thing in the world, she hands her bag to Charles. "Hold this for me." He takes it. The room falls silent. Mom's face grows paler by the second. I look at him. "Charles, the lucky moment for me to leave is 8:58 am. If we leave now, we'll make it just in time." But he frowns and argues, "I'm already here. A few more minutes won't make a difference." I look at the pink makeup bag in his hand and suddenly smile. Turning around, I pick up my phone and send a message to a number. I text, "Weren't you going to steal me away? Come get me at 8:58 am."

My husband, Colonel Ronan, swore to protect the wife and son of his fallen comrade. Everyone in Greyhaven admired his devotion. At home, our seven-year-old daughter learned to eat her birthday cake without him. Then her teacher sent home an assignment. [My father is dead. He died at Mara's house. Whenever she calls, he goes to her, and I have to wait until he remembers me.] Ronan came home demanding an explanation, with a birthday present tucked beneath his arm. Our daughter thanked him. "Good evening, Colonel." He wanted me to tell her to call him Dad. Instead, I answered the letter I had kept hidden in my desk. My father, the King of Northmere, had asked me to come home. He wanted me to return to the palace and take my place as the next Queen of Northmere. And Ivy would return with me—not as the daughter everyone had overlooked, but as a princess. In fifteen days, we would leave everything behind and go home to a family that had been waiting for us all along.

My wife, Clara Ellis, had just died. By law, I inherited her entire data archive. Among the files, I discovered an AI version of her that she had created so her surviving family could remember her after she was gone. My daughter asked, "What's the happiest moment of your entire life?" The Clara on the screen laughed. "Why, marrying your father, of course." Her friends asked if she had ever had any regrets. "Clara" shook her head. Then another question appeared, one the real Clara had prepared for herself. "If you could restart your life at 22, would you still choose to marry Darren?" For a full minute, Clara AI said nothing. Finally, she shook her head. "No. I'd rush to the airport and convince Logan to stay." Logan Pearce had left the country when Clara was 22. She never tried to stop him because, at that exact time, I was in a car accident that took both my parents' lives. At the most devastating moment of my life, she gave up on the man she loved and chose to stay by my side for the next twenty years. Everyone had always called it an act of love. Now I knew it had been an act of pity. The next time I opened my eyes, I discovered that I had somehow returned to the third day after the accident. Clara sat beside my hospital bed. Her phone showed that Logan's flight would be boarding soon. In my previous life, I had stopped her from going. It was the first time I had ever swallowed my pride and begged someone to stay with me. That night, I had spent hours trying to convince her not to leave. This time, I ordered an Uber for her. "Logan's flight leaves in 40 minutes. You can still make it, Clara."

My husband can't find his way anywhere. He can't read a map, and turn-by-turn directions only confuse him more. He got lost on our wedding day and turned up so late the ceremony had to be pushed back three days. He got lost on our anniversary while a table of food I'd cooked went cold. Eight months pregnant, I fell in the bathroom and called him for help. He sounded frantic on the phone, and then he got lost on the road home, the one he'd driven for five years. By the time he reached the hospital, our son had already been taken to the funeral home and cremated. I couldn't climb out of it, and everyone around me took his side. "That thick head of his can't hold a road. He wasn't late on purpose. Don't start a fight over it. You'll have another baby." I nodded, numb. Then, on the way to my son's funeral, I found out my husband had sent the driver away and taken a long detour to his assistant's house without a single wrong turn. "Grace, the service won't start for a while. I'll run Paige to the airport first. She's got to get back home." Before I could say no, we were already at her door. His assistant slid into the front passenger seat like it belonged to her, and every word out of her mouth landed somewhere tender. "See how well I've trained you? You forget the way to my place and I'll pull your pants down and deal with you." It was only when she noticed me in the back seat that she stuck out her tongue, embarrassed. "Sorry, Ms. Ellison. I was joking." I swallowed it and said nothing. And after Owen dropped her off, he lost the route to the cemetery again, and my son's service started half an hour late. Holding that small urn against me, I stopped hoping. So there was someone he could make an exception for. It just wasn't me, and it wasn't our son.

Married three years. Stood up three years. Today was the last time I bothered showing up. Surprise—he bailed again. Still clinging to hope like a total idiot, I called. One last shot. "A-Aurora, I'm busy. Just wait," he muttered. And then her voice cut in. All breathy and smug: "That old woman can't satisfy you, huh? Paolo, be gentle." Click. Right on cue, Marco Medici—loyal, patient, saint-like Marco—sent his 99th proposal. This time, I didn't leave him hanging. [Want to come over for bollito misto?]

I'm Sabrina Pembrook, Axel Callahan's stepsister, and the lover he's kept hidden for seven years. At first, I think that he'll keep me hidden for a lifetime… until the night of my birthday when he proposes. I'm so excited I can't fall asleep, and apparently, neither can Axel. In the middle of the night, I hear him walk out to the balcony to answer a call. "She said yes. Everything will proceed as planned." The voice on the other end hesitates slightly before saying, "Are you sure you can go through with it? She's your darling whom you've doted on for so long." Axel's voice turns to ice. "Well, it's her mother's fault for being a homewrecker. If it weren't for Elaine, my mom wouldn't have died. I want Elaine to die in the wedding car, just like how my mom died in a car crash." The person on the other end falls silent for a few beats before sighing. "You sure are cold-blooded. You've slept with Sabrina for so many years, and you're still going to kill her mother on the day of her wedding. And if she ever finds out she's not even the bride, she's going to lose her mind." Axel falls silent. Then, he says something else, but I don't want to listen to another word. What I thought was seven years of love finally coming to fruition… turns out to be nothing more than a plot to murder my mom. But Axel Callahan, I'm not going to let you get what you want.

A hostage situation broke out at a shopping mall, and a female college student and I were backed into a corner by the attacker. My husband, hostage negotiator Logan Callum, was the first to arrive on the scene. I shielded the girl behind me and discreetly flashed Logan a tactical hand signal. If he could pull the attacker's attention away for just one second, I could take the man down. We had drilled this kind of life-or-death coordination countless times. But this time, Logan, who was always so composed, lost control. He ignored my signal, his eyes bloodshot as he roared at the attacker, "She's pregnant! Don't hurt her! I'll give you anything you want!" My heart softened, and my hand drifted to my belly. He must have seen the pregnancy test results I'd picked up last night. The attacker was spiraling out of control, his blade a hair's breadth from slitting our throats. Then Logan broke every rule of negotiation. He forced his way past the cordon and yanked the girl out from behind me. Losing his hostage sent the attacker into a rage, and he brought the knife down. With no time left, I had no choice but to grab the blade with my bare hand to save myself. The steel sliced open my palm, and warm blood gushed out, but I didn't feel a thing. I stared numbly at the scene a short distance away. Logan was crushing the girl against his chest, comforting her in a trembling voice, "Don't be scared. I won't let anything happen to you or the baby." Only then did it hit me. The "she" Logan had been talking about wasn't me.

I dated my lawyer boyfriend for five years. He canceled our wedding. Fifty-two times. First time? His intern messed up some paperwork. He ditched me at the beach to fix it. I waited all day. Alone. Second time, we were mid-ceremony when he bolted. Heard that intern was getting heat from another lawyer and left me to face the guests and their stares. After that, every time we tried again, there was always some "emergency" with her. Always. I finally hit my limit. I was done. Packed up and broke it off. But the day I left Ainsley? He totally lost it trying to find me.

For eight years, Damian Caruso kept me as his secret wife. I handled his family's lawsuits, protected his empire, and raised the son he refused to acknowledge in public. Ethan wasn't even allowed to call him Dad when anyone else was around. I told myself Damian had his reasons. Until our son's seventh birthday. Damian promised he would come home. Ethan waited beside an untouched birthday cake until nearly midnight. Damian never showed. Because Sofia Bellini—the childhood friend everyone already treated as Damian's real woman—had the same birthday. And Damian had chosen hers. That night, I stopped waiting. I signed the divorce papers. The next morning, Damian was in such a hurry to rescue Sofia that he signed the documents I placed in front of him without even reading them. He didn't realize he had just given me permission to take Ethan out of New York. Then he moved Sofia into our home—and asked his wife and son to leave so she wouldn't discover we existed. Ethan looked at the father he had spent seven years trying to love and called him "Mr. Caruso." Damian finally looked shaken. But it was already too late. On the day we left, he told me he had to fly abroad to handle a divorce case for a client. I said nothing. Because that divorce case was mine. He was flying across the ocean to finalize the end of our marriage—and he still thought I was just taking our son out of town for a few days.

My boyfriend, Yves Warren, had a memory disorder. No matter what I told him, he could only hold on to it for half an hour. Once those thirty minutes were up, everything was wiped clean. Then, at a party, he drew a challenge that required him to tell everyone everything he knew about my best friend. Worried he'd be embarrassed, I quickly tried to bail him out with a laugh. "Let him draw another one. He won't remem..." Before I could finish, Yves spoke. "Xenia Quade. Twenty-three years old. Five foot five. Weighs ninety-four and a half pounds. "Allergic to mangoes. Laughs a lot. Loves the water. Doesn't like sleeping alone at night..." The words rolled off his tongue as if he'd rehearsed them in his head a thousand times. I froze, swallowing the rest of my sentence. One of our friends laughed and teased him. "Look at you. You've gotten way better." "What about your girlfriend? You must know her inside and out by now, right?" My heart gave a jolt. Slowly, I looked up. Yves stared at me, his brow furrowing deeper and deeper. "Sarah Cole." That was all he managed. I waited, still hoping he would say something else, but he only gave me an apologetic look and nodded. "Sorry. I don't remember." Everyone else was busy praising how much he'd improved. I was the only one who felt exhaustion seep into every part of me. Yves and I had known each other for twenty-three years. We'd been together for seven, and our wedding was next week. Yet he couldn't even get my name right. This time, I wasn't going to correct him.

When the kidnappers shoved a gun into Elena Vaughn's mouth and demanded ten million dollars from her husband, Julian Vaughn was busy with another woman. He focused all his attention on slowly zipping up Chloe Bennett's gown, without a thought for what Elena was going through. Julian only agreed to pay the ransom after Elena said through gritted teeth that the kidnappers might actually kill her. Soon after, a transfer landed in the kidnappers' account. Amount received: one dollar. Then Julian's ice-cold voice came through the phone. "Elena, consider this dollar your acting fee. "Chloe's having an asthma attack. I don't have time for your little show." The line went dead. Her face covered in blood, Elena begged the kidnappers for three days. This time, she didn't want his love. She wanted to survive.

Everyone in the city's elite circle knew that the most eligible bachelor in the city loved me like his life depended on it. To marry me—a woman living with HIV—Michael Dalio deliberately destroyed his own reputation. Night after night, he paraded through clubs, bedding forty-nine women in a row. He even went so far as to force himself on his widowed sister-in-law, whose husband had just died. Finally, he pushed the Dalio family patriarch into giving in. The old man, holding his tongue in reluctant acceptance, allowed me to enter the family. To give Michael a child, I humbled myself before my sworn enemy, kneeling to beg for a secret medicine. Just as I was about to share the good news with him, I found him hard at work on his widowed sister-in-law's body. "Nancy, you're finally mine. She has HIV—she won't last long. The only woman I'll ever love is you." Turned out I was nothing more than a convenient cover for Michael to marry Nancy. Tears streamed down my face as I pressed send on the message. [I agree to your terms. See you in three days.]

I was selling some furniture that was collecting dust on a used-goods site when a girl messaged me about discounts. "Can I get it for a bit cheaper? I'm still in college, and I moved out of my dorm because I got into a fight with my roomies. My boyfriend found me a new place. He's rich and said he'd marry me after I graduate, but I don't want to burden him so much. Please, just twenty dollars off? I can pick it up myself!" I was reminded of my college days with Jonathan Mueller. We used to take shared bike rides for two hours just to save five dollars. I was only an ordinary employee now, but I still had more spare cash than a college student. My kindness took over, and I agreed to the discount. That night, two figures appeared at the entrance of my neighborhood. The girl looked proud of herself. "I spent less than a hundred and got a barely-used washing machine! Brilliant, right?" The man looked at her with unmistakable affection in his eyes. "Yes, darling. You're the best. But I'm making money for you. You don't have to save for me. I'm the CEO of Mueller Group. I can support you. Don't haggle next time." The man raised his head, still smiling. When our eyes met, I froze. That man was Jonathan Mueller—the same man who had told me he was on a three-month business trip to earn three times the travel expenses..

I agreed to leave the firm with Adrian Cross, my childhood friend, after he claimed he was being bullied out of his job. But the day before we were supposed to resign, he changed his mind for Mia Foster, a new intern. One of his colleagues laughed. “Impressive. You pretended to be bullied at work for months just to trick Evelyn into leaving.” “But you two grew up together. You’re really going to send her to a new firm alone?” Adrian rolled the bourbon around his glass. “She’ll still be working in the same city. How far away can she possibly go?” “Besides, isn’t she always saying she’s independent and the department can’t function without her? This works out perfectly.” I stood outside the office for a long time that day. In the end, I turned around and walked away. I withdrew my application from the firm we had planned to join together. Instead, I accepted the offer my parents had arranged for me at Bennett Global’s London headquarters. Everyone had forgotten one thing. Adrian was the one who begged me to stay.

I'd been with my CEO boyfriend, Stefan Walsh, for seven years, and we'd finally set a wedding date. But whenever it mattered, he was never there—and somehow, he always had a good excuse. On the day of our civil ceremony, his intern assistant, Caroline Doyle, messed up a contract, so Stefan rushed off to deal with it, leaving me alone at the courthouse all day. On the day of our engagement photo shoot, I'd barely started on my makeup when he took off. Apparently someone at a partner company was giving Caroline a hard time. After that, it didn't matter if we were booking the venue or shopping for the wedding. All she had to do was ask for help. One word from her and he'd walk away. Every single time. Then I saw it with my own eyes: he was trying on his wedding suit beside another woman wearing my dress. "How do I look?" Caroline did a little spin. "Do I look better than Nina?" "Of course. It looks like it was made for you." Stefan clapped, beaming. That was when it finally hit me. I'm done. The wedding's off.

A year ago, when Bailey Knight's side girl, Lucy Day, showed up in front of me, causing a scene, he had his people beat her until she lost the baby and tossed her out. Then he groveled before me for three straight hours, begging me to forgive him. Looking at the man I'd loved for ten years, looking so pitiful and broken, I eventually caved. Later, I caught Lucy sneaking around Bailey's villa in the suburbs, so I had her thrown out again. Three days before our wedding, Bailey grabbed me by the neck and shoved me up against the railing on the second-floor balcony, yelling so hard that his voice broke. "We already took Lucy's baby once! She can't handle it happening again. She's fragile. You're a woman—how can you not understand that? "I've given you the title of Mrs. Knight. I'd give you my life. Isn't that enough? Why can't you just accept her?" The next second, his secretary ran up to say they'd found Lucy. He shoved me down the stairs. The pain when my arm snapped made me feel like my whole body was being torn apart. But he didn't even look back. Staring at the cold, heartless man in front of me, I felt something inside me go completely dead. I picked up my phone and called Arnold Greenwood. "I don't wanna marry him anymore. Come get me."

The ninth time Julian Hale chose Vivian Cross over me, I held a knife to Vivian's throat and made her beg for forgiveness in the middle of a crowded downtown plaza. I thought that would finally be enough to end the affair. Instead, Julian made me pay for hurting her. He went after my father's company and destroyed it, leaving my family broke and buried in debt to loan sharks. In the end, my father, Martin Ellison, couldn't take it anymore. He swallowed an entire bottle of pills beside my mother, Diane Ellison. The shock was too much for her heart, and she died soon after. I lost both my parents in a single day. The day after the funerals, the doctor gave me more bad news. I had late-stage stomach cancer. I had three months left, maybe less. And just like that, I was done fighting. I moved out of our bedroom, threw away my wedding ring, and stopped calling him hundreds of times whenever he stayed out all night. Even when he brought Vivian home just to provoke me, I didn't argue. Instead, I hired a top chef to cook her favorite dishes. Julian thought I had finally learned my place. Then came Vivian's birthday. With a shy smile, she said her birthday wish was to marry Julian. I pulled the signed divorce papers from my bag and slid them across the table. Julian panicked. He ripped them apart and grabbed my wrist, his eyes bloodshot. "Nora, what game are you playing now? Trying to make me chase you? Where did all that fight in you go?" Before I could answer, I coughed up a mouthful of blood.