Feel-Good Story Romance Short Stories & Face Slapping Novels

In the middle of a hurricane, I rush into the sea and save Simone Parker, an heiress from Kingstone who has fallen into the water and lost her memories. Right here, in this little seaside town of Faircove, I work three jobs to pay for her medical bills. I take a bottle to the head while saving her from some thugs. And when she falls sick, I carry her on my back through the storm to find the local doctor. Everyone says I'm utterly devoted to Simone—and that I would even sacrifice my life for her. Even she believes that to be true. Therefore, when she regains her memories and heads back to Kingstone to take over her family's company, she asks me what I want in return. When I ask her to grant me a wish, her expression turns icy. "I can give you a lifetime of wealth and privilege, but don't even think about asking to be my husband. The only man in my heart is Conrad." I wait in silence, choosing not to refute her. On the day Simone is formally made the chairwoman, I feel a weight lifted off my shoulders. I say, "Please give me a statement of forgiveness, Ms. Parker." She looks thrown at first, and for some reason, her expression turns cold. "Why do you insist on employing such manipulative tricks, playing hard to get just so you can get under Conrad's skin?" I'm completely dumbfounded. How am I being manipulative and playing hard to get when I'm just asking for a statement of forgiveness? The only thing I want is to finally free my unlucky wife from the detention center.

I never thought I'd end up severely injured and lose my baby on my wedding day. That day, I walked toward my husband full of excitement, only to watch him rush right past me and straight into the arms of his secretary. Confused, I turned around and saw someone in a wedding dress lying on the ground, blood pooling beneath her. It was his secretary, Quinn Fable. Steve York, my soon-to-be husband, panicked and scooped her up, but Quinn stared at me with tearful eyes, crying, “Summer, I ate the candy you gave me… Why would you want to hurt my baby? Please, Steve, save our child… please…” Steve was beside himself with rage. Without a second thought, he kicked me hard in the stomach. I collapsed into the champagne tower, shards of glass embedding into my skin. Blood poured from between my legs. Yet, they still clung to each other, crying bitterly as if I didn't exist. When the ambulance arrived, they didn't even hesitate to push me aside to save her first. “Forget about her!” Steve shouted. “Save Quinn! She's lost so much blood. She must be in terrible pain! As for Summer, that vicious witch… she deserves to die!” Due to the delay, I suffered a ruptured uterus and missed the window for proper treatment. And as if that wasn't enough, Steve personally announced that our marriage was null and void. He marched straight to the clerk's office with Quinn and made it official. On my ICU bed, I received a text from him. “Pack your things and get out. Quinn wants you out of her sight.”

On the day I finally helped my wife land the hospital's deputy director position, she told me she was ready to make our relationship public. But at her induction ceremony, the medical resident who'd always seemed to have it in for me beat her to the stage. He took her hand and cooed at her like a lovesick teenager. "Thank you for finally telling everyone about us, Megan. I promise I'll take good care of you and our baby." The room went silent for a beat, then erupted into applause, everyone gushing about what a perfect match they made. The resident looked thrilled with himself. He even walked out on a patient halfway through a surgery once, just to throw a tantrum until my wife came running to soothe him. I confronted her about it, and we had a screaming match. She didn't look ashamed at all. If anything, her voice turned mocking. "You've helped me plenty, sure. But his family background puts yours to shame, orphan. He's the only one who can give me everything I actually want." I didn't cry. I didn't fight her on it. I just nodded along and offered her a divorce instead. I wanted to see something for myself: how far she and her lover would get once my "dead" tycoon parents stopped clearing the road ahead of her.

The night before my wedding, as I was trying on my bridal gown, a line of floating text suddenly drifted across my vision. [Stop smiling. Tomorrow, right in the middle of your vows, the groom is going to bolt for the airport to pick up his first love.] I figured I was just hallucinating from sheer exhaustion until a second text flashed before my eyes. [She spent nine months planning this entire wedding, but he swapped out the ring for his first love's finger size ages ago.] I flipped open the ring box, and sure enough, the diamond band inside was a size too small. The next afternoon, the cathedral was packed with guests. Right as the officiant asked if Victor Bates took me to be his lawfully wedded wife, his phone chimed. The second he saw the caller ID, he turned on his heel and headed straight for the exit without even removing his lapel mic. "Hold on a second. Something came up with Sallie. I can't just ignore it," he said frantically. I tried to chase after him, but his mother grabbed my arm. "A man showing loyalty and compassion is a good thing! Don't throw a scene on your big day." My best friend chimed in, "Look, he's going to come back and marry you eventually anyway. Isn't securing the official title enough?" The entire room waited for me to swallow my pride and endure it. Meanwhile, the floating texts flashed across my field of vision in a frantic frenzy. [Here it comes! She's finally waking up!] I lifted the heavy train of my gown, stepped up to the altar, and took the microphone right out of the officiant's hand. I announced, "The wedding goes on. We're replacing the groom." [Holy shit! Total queen moves! She is killing it!] Sitting in the front row, a man slowly raised his head and buttoned his tailored suit jacket.

In my past life, my sister and I got married on the same day. I married Ethan Vance, a conservative, old-school business tycoon. My fiery temper clashed with his family's rigid rules, and we fought constantly. My sister Seraphina married General Alexander Marshall, a cold and ruthless military man. She was gentle and timid, and while her husband was always away on duty, his adopted sister Sophia tormented her endlessly until she fell into depression and died. The first thing I did when I was reborn was swap husbands with my sister. Before the wedding, I made a deal with Alexander: "This is just a political marriage. We each get what we need. No feelings involved." But after we married, he became obsessed with my body. He kissed me over and over, whispering in my ear: "Are you sure about that, baby?"

On my way to the bank, I stumbled across a post: [What's the most shameful thing you've done behind your partner's back?] One comment stood out: [I secretly married my first love, and my girlfriend keeps dumping money into our joint account like an idiot. She actually thinks I'm saving for a house. There's already sixty-seven grand in there. Once she hits eighty, I'm taking it all!] The flood of likes made my stomach twist. I pulled up my account balance. Sixty-seven grand. Not a penny more, not a penny less. So, my boyfriend secretly married his ex.

My mother-in-law was obsessed with picking mushrooms. She said mushroom stew with chicken was incredibly nourishing. She often made it to boost my husband’s health. However, she never let me have any, not even a sip of the broth. Every time, she came up with some excuse to send me out on an errand. If I refused, my husband’s fists and kicks reminded me to obey. So, this time, I obediently went out like always. Even though I just had a miscarriage five days ago and the sun outside was scorching, I had to go.

A week before our engagement, I finally learned that the man Madison Clarke had always secretly loved... was me. Overjoyed, I hurried to sign to her, wanting to tell her that I was LeoWinter—the gaming partner she'd been coupled with online. What I got in return was ridicule. "Charlie, how does a mute guy like you manage to pull so many tricks?" "LeoWinter already told me his account got stolen. He switched accounts ages ago. And you still want to pretend you're him?" It felt like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over my head. My entire body went rigid. She had forgotten that this game ID was permanently bound to the account. It was impossible for it to be stolen.

Jeannie Gray kicks me to the ground. I get on my feet, dust off the shoeprint she left on my pants, and smile as I straighten her shoe, which crookedly dangles from her foot. At that moment, my phone buzzes with a message informing me that Jeannie's older brother has wired my five-million-dollar severance pay into my account. I get on a flight and flee overnight, posting a link on Facebook Marketplace with the caption, "Hiring emotional support companion for S-tier psychotic female CEO from Elmsdale. Includes onboarding training. Pays 200,000 a month." Not three minutes later, young men in college looking for a shortcut to success flood the comment section with biddings. Two years later, I'm sprawled over a cot in a massage parlor. The masseuse, Rory Jacobs, has just begun kneading the knots in my lower back when someone kicks the lounge door open. As the door rattles against its frame, Jeannie storms in and pulls me into a tight embrace. Her voice is hoarse and shaking, and I feel hot tears falling on my neck. "Please come back. Gray Corporation is yours, and so am I!"

My husband, Harrison Knight, was a workaholic. When stomach pain landed me in the hospital, he had his assistant send me medication. When my mother underwent surgery, he was abroad negotiating an acquisition. In seven years of marriage, he'd missed three of my birthdays and five of our anniversaries. He always said, "The company's still getting off the ground. I can't afford to slow down." I understood. Years ago, his first love, Celeste Foster, had left him because he was poor. Afterward, he'd sworn he would make something of himself. He went on business trips, had late nights, and worked himself to the bone. For seven years, Harrison had pushed himself relentlessly, going from a penniless nobody to a CEO everyone looked up to. I'd grown used to him always being in a rush. I'd grown used to work coming before everything else. Until the day I returned from negotiating a billion-dollar deal and saw Celeste's latest post. In the photo, Harrison stood outside the airport terminal. He'd canceled his three o'clock board meeting to pick her up himself. He was even bent down in front of her, tying her loose shoelace. Her caption read: [After all these years, you're still the best.] I stared at the photo for a long time. Then suddenly, I almost laughed. So it wasn't that Harrison couldn't slow down. He just wouldn't do it for me. That night, he called. "Celeste just got back. I'm not coming home tonight. Don't read anything into it. She's just an old friend." "Okay," I said quietly. Then I opened my laptop and messaged my attorney: [Send me the divorce papers tonight.] If he could stop for an old love, then it was time I stopped too. After seven years of running myself ragged for him, I was done.

For three years, Jared never touched Lucia. But late at night, he'd sneak off and get off to a photo of Alice—her so-called sister. Lucia didn't find out until she saw his phone by accident. That's when it hit her—he only married her for revenge. She was the real heiress, swapped at birth. But when she came back, everyone acted like she'd stolen Alice's life. Crushed, Lucia walked away. Back to her true family. What she didn't expect? Jared losing his mind, tearing through the world trying to find her.

The attending physician approaches with a stun baton. Joseph Stout holds Rebecca Caldwell, the woman he's never gotten over, against his chest. He says, "Lillian, admit you're crazy, and I'll leave Noah alone." Rebecca leans against him with a sweet smile. "Just admit it, Lillian. Joseph is only trying to help you." Joseph looks at me like I'm something he scraped off the bottom of his shoe. "Sign the psychiatric evaluation papers. Don't make me force you." I wipe the sweat from my face and smile at the security camera. "Joseph, did you forget? I still have your company's master key." His expression flickers, but he quickly scoffs. "No one's going to take a lunatic seriously." Right in front of him, I hit "Enter" on my phone. "Then let's see what your billions of dollars have to say."

Everything is ready on the day of my wedding. But the bride, Adella Marlowe, is nowhere to be seen. That's when she texts me on my phone. Apparently, as a national shooting champion, there's a last-minute competition that she has to attend right away, all consequences be damned. But the next day, I see a social media post uploaded by Raiden Chase, the newest recruit in Adella's team. In the photo, I see Adella with one foot on a dead wild boar while propping her gun with a proud smile on her face. The caption goes, "I'm so glad to have a wife who's also a national shooting champion! Now, Grandma won't have to worry about her corn fields getting attacked by wildlife!" As I stare at the post, I just smile and leave a comment. "As expected of the champion whose heart goes out to the normal folk!" Adella quickly calls me the next moment. "Delete your comment right now! Also, stop being all passive-aggressive around me! It's just a missed wedding; must you be so snide about it?" This isn't Adella's first time leaving me at the altar. It's been two years, and every time she ditches me at the altar, she always has an excuse to do so. I just hang up on Adella without saying a word. She's right, though. This is just a wedding, isn't it? I might as well call it off once and for all.

At the Moretti Group's annual awards ceremony, I'd just stepped up to the podium when the screen behind me suddenly went black. A second later, it lit up with dozens of screenshots of private messages. The whole banquet hall erupted. The sender was me. The recipient was Vito Moretti, the company's chairman and the most feared Don in New York's underworld. "When's this month's money coming? Hurry up!" "I'm coming over tonight. Remember to leave the door unlocked for me." "If you don't say yes, I won't come see you tomorrow." The final screenshot showed a transfer for a hefty sum. Then Vito's chief secretary, Victoria Sloane, walked onto the stage. "Isabella is a gold digger! She's been secretly seducing the chairman for money, and she's even tried to meddle in how the company is run. "How does someone like that get to be the company's Employee of the Year?" Down in the audience, the executives looked thunderous, and countless employees stared at me with open contempt. Victoria walked up to me with her nose in the air. "Isabella, if you know what's good for you, you'll admit what you did in front of everyone and drop out of the running!" I looked at her smug, triumphant face and laughed. Wait. Isn't Vito my husband? I sweet-talk my own husband into giving me spending money, and she calls it seducing the chairman for cash?

Two weeks before my wedding to Wendy Sutton, she gets a marriage certificate with someone else. That day, a screenshot from an unfamiliar group chat suddenly pops up in our wedding-planning group. The group is named "No One Stays Young Forever". A photo of Wendy and her new husband, Shiloh Caddel, is posted. They are beaming as they hold up the marriage certificate they've just obtained. Her brother asks, "You made sure Morgan doesn't know, right? Don't let this affect the wedding plans." My best friend replies, "Don't worry, he's still waiting for Wendy to come back so she can try on her wedding makeup." Her best friend chimes in, "They're only registering the marriage to make up for a past regret. It's not like she's really going to replace the groom." Wendy says, "Keep it from Morgan until the wedding. I'll tell him after the ceremony." I feel the crushing weight of betrayal. The screenshot is quickly deleted. The wedding-planning group falls silent. Then, as if nothing had happened, Wendy's brother asks what style I want for the decorations. I calmly type my reply. "Those don't matter anymore. The wedding is off."

To focus on our archaeology project, Shane Holcroft and I had agreed not to have children until it was finished. I poured my heart and soul into that project for five years, yet with only one final site left before it wrapped up, I collapsed in front of everyone and found out I was pregnant. The team leader scolded me for being reckless, and my teammates worried I would be too weak to keep up and would slow them down. Everyone wanted to seize the chance to steal the credit I had fought for over five long years. Swallowing my anger, I sent the test results to Shane. Before I could even demand an explanation, I saw his message. It was not meant for me. He had forwarded the results to the family group chat and tagged his parents. [A deal's a deal. There's a baby now, so I'm free. From now on, stay out of my relationship with Mira. Don't even think about breaking us up again!] I gripped my phone and read the message ten times over until everything made sense. Mira Sutton was the ex-girlfriend Shane's parents had forced him to break up with years ago, and she was also the newest member of our archaeology team. By deliberately getting me pregnant, Shane could keep his family satisfied and free up my spot on the team at the same time. Our marriage had been nothing more than a blatant scheme from the start. My lips twitched into a bitter smile as I forced down the fury churning inside me. Then I sent my advisor an excavation feasibility report that had been buried deep in my files. He had set me up. He had no one to blame but himself when I unearthed what the Holcrofts had buried.

My name is Alan. I was the most legendary soldier the army had, and I once took down more than three hundred terrorists in a single day. My wife, Sophia Warren, was heir to the Warren Group. We knew each other as children, went to the same school, and married after we graduated. I went into the army and she took over the Warren Group. Five years ago terrorists took my wife, and I disappeared. My wife came to despise me, her family scorned me, and everyone said I was a coward. No one knew that I had gone in alone, killed more than three hundred terrorists, and rescued my wife. I took three bullets doing it and spent three months in a hospital bed. I told her I was away on business. Because my identity was a state secret I could not tell her it had been me. I appeared out of nowhere and vanished just as mysteriously. She took Kane, the SWAT officer who came in afterward to collect the bodies, for the one who had saved her, and she pulled away from me. She dated him, went on holiday with him, and everyone began treating Kane as her husband. She threw Kane an elaborate birthday party. It was my birthday too.

On the day of our engagement party rehearsal, the wedding company suddenly calls to tell me that someone has taken over our hotel ballroom at the last minute. I rush to the hotel to sort it out, only to see my fiance's name, Clark Zimmer, on the welcome sign outside the ballroom. But I'm not the bride. Through the half-open door, I see him down on one knee, slipping a crystal slipper onto another woman's foot. Clark's mother, Darlene Foster, stands nearby. She's beaming with delight. "You two are a much better match. As for Yvonne, let her transfer the project to you first, Clark. Then we can find a reason to call off your engagement to her." Instead of storming in, I record everything on my phone and call Clark. "There's a problem with the ballroom. Can you come over and deal with it with me?" There's a brief pause before his voice turns gentle. "Babe, I'm at the hospital with Mom. She's getting some tests done, so I might not make it home tonight." I look at Darlene onstage, looking perfectly healthy as she happily greets the guests. I can't help but smile. "Alright. Take care of what you need to." I hang up and immediately call my lawyer. If Clark wants my project that badly, I'm more than happy to give him a very special gift.

My girlfriend, Megan Sutton, was a pragmatist. On our anniversary, I gave her a bouquet of flowers. She turned right around and returned it to the florist. "That was over thirty dollars. We could've had a whole steak dinner for that." Once the renovations on our marital home were finished, we went browsing at a furniture store and came across a really comfortable ergonomic chair. She glanced at the price tag and immediately pulled me up out of it. "It costs more than a computer. Your butt isn't made of gold." I knew all about her pragmatic principles, and I hadn't really meant to buy it anyway. I wandered around the store in a funk, and in the end, we went home empty-handed. But two days later, I saw that exact chair at the place next door, where our junior labmate, Jeff Baxter, lived. "Thank you, you two! Best seniors ever! You didn't even let yourselves buy one, and you got me such an expensive birthday present. "I'm about to cry. When you two get married, I'm writing you the biggest check of anyone." I thought about the package I'd received that afternoon. It was a chair Megan had bought me online. It was shoddily made and reeked of chemicals. I'd even cut my hand on the sheet metal while putting it together. Looking around Jeff's place, I suddenly remembered when we'd picked out our sofa. She'd said genuine leather was too expensive, so we'd settled on a dark gray performance fabric. Only a few days later, Jeff had swapped his for a new sofa. Seeing me frozen in place, Megan explained, "I just thought it'd match the style of Jeff's place. It's exactly his taste." She'd furnished our new home cheaply and halfheartedly, yet whenever she saw something nice, the first person she thought of was her junior. For me, it was all about practicality and value for money. For him, it was about style and taste. If that was how it was, I'd let them have their romance and bow out of this seven-year relationship.

As Vivian Hart's husband and deputy director, I worked every day of the year without a break. But when I took half a day off because my mother was hospitalized, Vivian accused me of putting my family ahead of the company. "You took time off for something that minor? As a deputy director, the business should come first." Her voice on the phone was colder than the hospital itself. At year-end, I was the only senior manager in the entire company who received no bonus. Vivian shut her office door and spoke as though she were comforting me. "You're my husband. You should be willing to put up with a little unfairness and set an example for everyone else. I'll make it up to you privately when things settle down." But the money never came. Instead, I discovered she'd secretly paid a $5,000 bonus to an intern who took time off every other week. Her excuse? "His family doesn't have much. He needs encouragement." She'd forgotten that I'd missed six holiday seasons with my mother to help Vivian build that company. And now my mother's hospital bills were still $5,000 short. So I decided to pull my investment out.