Tragic Love Romance Short Stories & Face Slapping Novels

Vanessa Langley lay on my operating table, pregnant for the eighth time by the man she'd grown up with. This time, I didn't break down the way I had the previous seven. Instead I calmly closed the incision and went over the aftercare with her. Seven times I'd performed the procedure on my own wife because she was carrying another man's child. I had long since become the joke of the hospital, the story everyone traded over coffee. From getting pregnant by him to pressuring me into ending it, she always had a reason she considered perfectly respectable. This time, Vanessa's eyes reddened and she caught my sleeve. "Adrian, someone drugged Damian. I couldn't just leave him... "Don't worry, I'll end the pregnancy. You're my husband. You're the only man I'd ever have a child with." Even the nurses talked during the procedure, wondering whether I'd fold the way I always had, worn down by a few soft words and a few tears. But nobody knew we'd signed an agreement before the wedding. I gave Vanessa eight chances to get it wrong, and she had used them all. The agreement took effect, and every asset in her name passed to me.

On the way to the Spring Garden Ball, I was seized by men with murder on their minds, and the undercover guard meant to protect me vanished without a trace. I clawed my way through three days that should have killed me and finally dragged myself back to the estate, only to find a whole line of men kneeling in front of my guard. "Your Highness, if you fancy Lady Melanie, you could simply ask for her hand. Why disguise yourself as a bodyguard and stay glued to her elder sister, Lady Elizabeth's side, going so far as to have men dump her out in the wilderness just so she wouldn't outshine your beloved?" Julius Fitzroy's expression didn't so much as flicker. He kept turning the sapphire ring on his finger. "Melanie is only a concubine's daughter. She's sensitive by nature, and I was afraid a hasty proposal would frighten her off. This was the only way." That was how I found out. The Prince Julius had been living at my side in disguise this whole time, and it had never been about me at all. It was always about getting close to my half-sister. My heart turned to ash. I shoved open my father's door. "I'll marry the Crown Prince, sickly or not."

A sudden burst of screams erupted in the living room at 3 AM. I pushed open the door to hear the commentator announcing that my fiancé Noah Lucas' favorite team had advanced to the quarter-finals. Our best friend, Jessie Newman, jumped up excitedly and kissed Noah on the cheek. I would be taking wedding photos with Noah in another five hours. The hangover soup on the table had long since gone cold, with a cigarette butt floating in it. I could not help coughing. The two of them froze mid-conversation. Jessie realized what it looked like and stepped over the wine bottles on the floor with her fair legs. She hugged me and kissed me on the cheek, too. Her voice was gentle and innocent. "Lola, why are you awake? Don't overthink. I've been best friends with Noah since kindergarten. We were just messing around! Noah was too noisy, wasn't he? I'll teach him a lesson for you." Noah casually tossed a cushion at her, hitting her squarely on her bottom, and teased with a laugh, "You're blaming me? You were the one shouting!" Then, he nonchalantly reassured me, "Lola, we're about to take our wedding photos soon. Go and get some more sleep. We'll turn the volume down." There was no apology or explanation. They were just trying to brush me off, as always. They assumed I was being paranoid and petty, tainting their 20-year friendship by overthinking. I loosened my grip on my nightgown. "It's okay. You guys continue." I had had enough of this three-person farce. I was done.

On the day the channel Edith Parker and I run as a couple surpasses 30 million followers, I finally step in front of the camera for the first time as a fan event reward. I woke up at 5:00 am to get styled and try on more than ten suits. But right before filming starts, Edith stops me. She says, "Holden, let Caden appear on camera instead. He looks better on screen. The fans will like him more." Caden Sparks is my best friend. I stand there stunned for a long time, but I eventually nod. From that day on, Edith and Caden pretend to be a couple on camera for three years. I remain behind the camera. I write their scripts, set up the lighting, and edit their videos. I watch the comments flood in again and again. Someone writes, "They really look like they love each other. I'm obsessed!" I also watch Edith grow more comfortable holding Caden's hand. Then, on the three-year anniversary livestream, the host asks them, "What was the moment that made your hearts race the most?" Edith and Caden smile at the same time. "The day we appear on camera together for the first time." At that moment, the entire comment section explodes. And I sit alone in a dark corner, suddenly barely able to breathe. So, for three years, they pretend to be a couple. But I am the only one who still believes that is all it is. After the livestream ends, I remove all my access from the channel dashboard. Then I open the overseas filming invitation sitting in my inbox for half a month. I calmly reply, "I accept." From now on, I won't play a part in their romance anymore.

A week before Christmas, I received a year-end report titled "My Business with Your Wife." [Item one: this year's goal was to sleep with your wife a hundred and fifty times. — Exceeded.] [Item two: get your wife to buy me a mansion and a luxury car. — Done.] [Item three: get your son to call me "Dad" ten times a day. — Exceeded.] [Item four: stand right in front of you and claim what's mine. — Done.] [Mr. Wolfe, I've been taking care of your wife and looking after your son too. So, are you going to give me a bonus, or step aside like a smart man?] He'd attached a photo, labeled it "family portrait." In it, Allyson Fowler had her arm looped through his, and my seven-year-old son stood in front of them. This guy was my son's kickboxing coach. Allyson walked in just as I finished reading that special year-end report. Nervous, she said to me, "Don't go looking for trouble with him. I was the one who made the first move. It's not his fault. Take it out on me any way you want, and I'll make it up to you however you ask." My blood ran cold. I just looked into her eyes and said, "I just want you to go back to how things used to be." Back to when she was broke, stuck in the mud with nothing. She misunderstood and let out a relieved breath. "Even with him around, I won't neglect you."

On our wedding day, right as the officiant told us to exchange rings, Charlotte suddenly leaned in and whispered, "I’ve been sleeping with your best friend." I stood frozen at the altar, completely paralyzed, yet she didn't even blink. She said it so casually, as if she were just talking about the weather. "While you were trying on your tuxedo, we were going at it in the fitting room right next to yours. "He couldn't hold back a groan, and you actually thought he was sick and spent twenty minutes checking on him. "By the time I stepped out to stand next to you, my legs were shaking so hard." All the blood drained from my face. I turned toward my best friend standing below the altar, and he beamed back at me, raising his glass in a proud toast. Just an hour ago, he had slapped my shoulder and told me I was the luckiest guy alive. "Even earlier today, while you were getting your hair styled, I was sitting in his lap. I got so nervous I bit his lip until it bled." Charlotte looked down at the ring resting in her hand before saying indifferently, "Dean, now you know everything. Whether you still want to go through with this wedding is up to you."

On my wedding day, 12 confetti cannons go off as the bridal car pulls up to the venue. My fiancee, Giselle Warren, accepts the cash gift Dad offers her—but she refuses to step out of the car. Assuming the amount isn't enough, Dad quickly reaches into his suit jacket for another envelope, but Giselle shakes her head. "That won't be necessary." Then, with every guest watching in stunned silence, she pulls out a bag filled with electronic tracking monitors. They're numbered 1 through 63, each tag labeled with the name of a relative on my family's guest list. "Tell your family to put these on right now," she says coldly. "Otherwise, I'm not getting out of this car." Dad forces a nervous, accommodating smile. He doesn't know what the devices are—he just knows this is the most important day of my life. He reaches out to take the bag. My fists clench, and I step in front of him, blocking his hand. Giselle's face hardens. "Last month, when Shawn invited your family over for dinner, an expensive watch and 20,000 dollars in cash went missing from his room! "This is the most important day of my life. If your redneck relatives start swiping bottles of wine, hoarding party favors, and stealing from my guests today, I won't survive the embarrassment!" Shawn Warren is her foster brother. They aren't related by blood, but she defends him like family. Dad's face flushes a deep, painful red, but he still places a trembling hand on my shoulder. "Just let them wear them. Don't upset your bride on your wedding day. Your mom and I will explain it to the relatives. Don't let this delay the ceremony. "If they haven't done anything wrong, wearing them won't hurt." I watch Dad's shoulders slump in humiliation as he turns away. Without hesitation, I pull out my phone and dial the venue manager. "Cancel the reception. The wedding is off."

Three years ago, I wore my sexiest dress. I handed billionaire tech mogul Victor a spiked bourbon. I lit an aphrodisiac candle. After that wild night, he didn't push me away. He claimed me over and over. I shook from the climax. He whispered in my ear, "My Angel. You're mine." I was ready to propose to him. Then his fragile first love, Chloe, came back. To win her smile, Victor shoved me into the path of a collapsing stage light. Just to protect her. He let her stomp on my dead mother's vintage couture jewelry. She even used it as a dog collar. He used his lawyers and wealth to throw me into a freezing jail cell. But when my love finally died, I flew to LA to marry a man in a wheelchair. That was when Victor completely lost his mind. He tore the entire city apart just to find me.

When it's almost time to get off work, Mason Lakeworth's coworkers drag him over to the window and point excitedly at a gorgeous woman downstairs. She's shown up outside their newspaper's building at exactly the same time for seven days in a row. "I did some digging! That's Lindsay Statham, the heiress of Heronvale's richest family. No wonder she drives a supercar with a custom vanity plate!" "And she looks good, too… Too bad she was set up and forced into getting married at a young age five years ago. I wonder which guy hit the jackpot and landed a woman like that." "But seriously, she's been coming to our crappy building for a full week. What is she even here for? Mason, you're always the last to leave. Have you seen who she's waiting for?" Mason stands off to the side in silence, saying nothing for a long time. His coworkers don't really expect him to answer anyway. They all start talking over each other, throwing out ideas. "Wait, Mason—you've been desperate for cash lately, right? Here's your golden ticket. Our new finance column is still short on a star interview. If you can land an exclusive with Lindsay Statham, the boss will definitely give you a huge bonus. You won't have to worry about your son's medical bills anymore!" Mason still doesn't respond. After a while, he withdraws his gaze from the window and finally speaks, his voice so calm it's almost numb. "My son died two weeks ago." He pauses, then adds, "And Lindsay… is my wife—the one I've been secretly married to for the past five years and the woman you're all so curious about."

While shopping for our wedding jewelry, my fiance, Xavier Shepherd, buys two pieces so that my sister, Abigail Young, can get the first pick, as always. One is a pink diamond necklace that he tracks down across three cities before winning at auction for a fortune. The other is a cheap black brooch that comes free with the necklace. It doesn't even go with my wedding dress. For the first time, I point to the necklace before my sister can. "Can I choose first this time?" Xavier ruffles my hair. "Abigail has always liked being first. If she can't have what she wants, she'd rather have nothing at all," he says. "You're not picky. Whatever's left will do." I say nothing. An empty feeling settles in my chest. I've known Xavier for 20 years. Whenever I'm with him, I'm always the one who gets my sister's leftovers. Whenever he cuts up a watermelon in the summer, he would always serve Abigail the first slice. She would always choose the reddest, seedless piece from the center. Then, he would hand me the slice closest to the rind that's ridden with seeds. "This one's ripe too. It's not as sweet, but it'll do." When he buys a new car, Abigail gets the first pick again. She takes the front passenger seat because it's the least likely to make her carsick. Xavier gestures toward the back. "It's a little cramped back there, but either seat is yours." Later on, I realize that his love is no different. He loves Abigail, but she chooses her academic career and dreams over him. With her gone, he switches sights and confesses to me instead. To him, I have always been the second choice. I stare at the black brooch and push it away. "You can have them both, Abigail. I don't want it either." I'm done settling for her hand-me-downs.

Silas Kendrick is half a dozen beers deep in a private room, ears flushed. The bottle lands on "truth", and the whole table erupts. He lights a cigarette, watches me through the smoke with a lazy grin, and says, "Let me go with something bold." He leans in until his lips almost brush my ear. "Have you ever doubted, even for a second, that I love you?" Everyone laughs. "That's your truth?" I laugh too. "Never." He pulls back half a step, the smile still hanging on his lips. "Good. Because my fiancee asked me the same thing, and I gave her the same answer." My smile freezes. "What do you mean?" He reaches over and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, his voice breezy, almost bored. "Natalie's been with me for three years. She never once asked for a title. Now she's pregnant, and I can't exactly let the kid be born illegitimate." My voice quivers. "Then what am I?" "Call it bad luck. You showed up right when I needed someone on the side." He lifts my hand and presses a soft kiss to my fingertips. "Your mother used that pretty face to claw her way from mistress to wife. I'm just helping you follow in her footsteps. "Being a mistress is a craft. Your mother passed it down, mother to daughter, so you'd better live up to it."

After my wife was promoted to chief conductor, her work kept her so busy that I saw her only twice in three years. Each time, she came home in the middle of the night and left before dawn with her bag in hand. When my father‑in‑law fell seriously ill and urgently needed money, I wrote to her several times but never received a reply. I had no other choice, so I went to the train station to find her. I handed over our marriage certificate. The ticket clerk frowned and read the document three times before handing it back. "Sir, you are not listed as Chief Conductor Lewis' spouse in our system. Please do not cause any trouble." My heart skipped a beat. I thought something terrible had happened to Olivia. I bought a standing‑room ticket without hesitation and boarded the train, heading straight for the driver's cabin. Before I knocked, I heard her subordinates cheering inside. "Olivia, you really had it made! Hiring a caregiver for your father‑in‑law for three whole years must have cost a fortune!" My hand froze on the door. Shock covered my face. My parents had been dead for nearly ten years. Where did Olivia get a father‑in‑law? As I stood there in disbelief, a man in a ticket inspector's uniform brushed past me, pushed open the door, and pulled Olivia into his arms. Everyone in the cabin stood and joked, "Julian, you were late today!"

I was always a step behind, while Ryan Walker, my childhood friend, and Claire Morgan, my best friend, were always in a rush. Whenever we ate together, they would finish before I was even halfway through. Then they would start talking about heading to the gaming lounge next door and leave me sitting alone in the restaurant. Once, while we were swimming, my leg cramped halfway across the pool. I called out for help, only to realize they had already gotten out and left. When it was time to submit our college applications, I had not even logged in when they submitted theirs and got up to leave. "Wendy, you take forever. I need to help Claire snag concert tickets, so we're leaving without you. "Claire and I both applied to Eastbridge University. Make sure you apply there too." As soon as Ryan finished speaking, Claire grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the door. They left in such a hurry that he never heard me say, "I'm not applying to Eastbridge University. "You won't ever have to wait for me again."

Before my wedding, I was diagnosed with a progressive autobiographical memory disorder. The neurologist said I'd gradually forget everyone, including myself. When I got back to the Winslow estate, my parents had moved the entire wedding fund meant for me into the room of their adopted daughter, Marissa. "Elise, you're the older sister. You need to give way to Marissa. Stop bullying her and making us dread the sight of you." I lowered my head and agreed, then cried in my room all night. The next morning, I couldn't remember why my pillow was wet. That afternoon, I saw my fiance, Graham Ellsworth. He was wiping tears off Marissa's face and looking at me with disgust. "Elise, I was only being affectionate with Marissa. Was that enough for you to threaten to end our engagement? You're unbelievably petty." His words made me cry. But at dinner the next day, when Graham spoke to me with the same cold contempt, I stared at him in confusion. "Sir, who are you?" I was forgetting faster. Then, one evening, Graham offered to take me for a drive outside the city. He stopped on an isolated county road. "The tire's caught against something. Get out and see whether a rock is blocking it." I did as he said and stepped out of the car. Graham drove off and called through the open window, "Since you can't stop tormenting Marissa, stay here and think about it." The car disappeared. I stood beside the road with nothing in my head. I wanted to go home, but I didn't remember where home was, or what my parents were called. By the time the Winslows panicked and Graham had searched every road beyond Stonewick, they finally understood. I really had disappeared.

For seven years, my girlfriend, Sienna Jacoby, struggled with emotional avoidance. She never initiated a conversation with me. Whether I discussed major or minor matters with her, she only replied with either [1: Yes] or [2: No]. Even when I showed her the medical record that confirmed my uremia diagnosis, she gave a curt response and turned to go to work. My best friend, Ethan Quinn, once advised me, "A woman like her is worse than an air conditioner. At least an air conditioner knows when to cool you down and when to warm you up. What is the point of being with someone like her?" I stroked the ring on my ring finger and smiled. "She is just sick and does not know how to express herself. She loves me." A month later, on my birthday, I arrived at the restaurant late and saw Sienna sitting next to Ethan. They leaned closely together. The woman who always acted cold toward me beamed as she carefully wiped the rain from my friend's forehead. Ethan wore Sienna's coat. I looked away and fixed my gaze on the text message I sent to her a few minutes earlier. Clint Button: [Sienna, it is raining heavily today. I did not bring an umbrella. Could you come and pick me up?] Sienna: [2: No] I stood still and realized that I was the sick one. I had been blind as a bat.

I see a post on Facebook Marketplace that someone is offering a used baby stroller for free, but it's pick-up only. The villa address listed is in Oak Springs, a wealthy area across the city. I strap my son, Timmy Powell, securely into his baby carrier. Then, we travel two hours by bus and another half-hour on foot under the scorching sun before finally reaching the villa. I'm soaked in sweat by the time I arrive, and Timmy also starts crying loudly from the heat. I'm surprised to find out that the seller is also a stay-at-home dad, just like me, but he exudes a relaxed and wealthy air instead. He glances at my disheveled appearance and speaks in a tone laced with disdain and pity. "Did you come from East Bay? And you're planning to walk home like this? "My driver's about to send my wife to her company. They can give you a ride back. I'll just take it as doing charity for the poor." I thank him for the pleasant surprise and pull open the car door. However, the woman in the back seat gets out with a look of disgust on her face. "I'll sit in the front passenger seat instead," she says. I feel embarrassed at her statement. However, the moment our eyes meet, I freeze on the spot and stare at her. As it turns out, the woman is my wife, Janice Hyde, who works extremely long hours at the office every day. She also hasn't come home for Christmas for three consecutive years, claiming it's for triple pay.

While waiting for my next ride request, I pick up a father and his son. As they get into my car, rainwater drips onto the seats. The man, Cory Quick, hands me five 20-dollar bills. "This should cover the car wash." Before I can refuse, Cory has already stuffed the money into the crack between the seats. "You drivers have it tough these days. My wife gives me so much allowance every month, and I can't even spend it all. "She's swamped with work today. Otherwise, she would've picked me up earlier. Isn't that right, Joel?" Cory holds his son, Joel Quick, in his arms, like he's showing off a little. I force a polite smile as I watch them through the rearview mirror. "Your wife treats you really well." Cory shrugs. "She's alright, I guess. Actually, she has a boyfriend, but she's worried he's after her money. That's why she's pretending to be broke. I married her overseas. Oh, right. Her boyfriend is a rideshare driver too." I freeze for a moment. After all, I also have a girlfriend who's drowning in debt after going bankrupt. Before I can even respond, the man holds up his phone and shows it to me. "Look at that. She knows I'm still not home, and she's sent me money again." Beneath the string of zeroes is a voice message. Cory taps on it, and Hannah Judd's voice comes through the phone. "Honey, are you in the car yet? I bought us supper, and I'll be home soon." A chill runs through me, and my hands start trembling on the steering wheel. Just a moment ago, I got a message from Hannah too. "I have a business dinner, so I don't think I'll make it home tonight."

Ten years of marriage, and my wife always insisted she was asexual. She never once let me touch her. Then, during a visit to her parents—who had been pressing us about having a child—she suddenly started throwing up. She announced to everyone that the baby was mine, and told me flatly, "This child will be born as your son, whether you like it or not." So I smiled, encouraged her to keep the baby, and quietly signed the divorce papers.

Everyone knew that the crown prince, Mathias Cavendish, was a handsome man with a calm and composed demeanor. He was a dream suitor for every woman of marriageable age in the city. However, no one knew how wild he was with Seraphina Montclair when his body pressed against hers every night and he thrust hard into her in all sorts of positions in bed. On the 1,001st night he met her through the secret passage, Seraphina lay weakly in the messy sheets, feeling sore all over. Mathias looked down at her after being fully satisfied, and she finally worked up the courage to say, "Your Highness will be marrying my older sister at the end of the month…" Her fingers clenched the corner of the covers as she said almost inaudibly, "Would you be willing to give me a place by your side on the same day?" Mathias was wearing his clothes when he suddenly paused. "No." He turned to look at her, his cold yet handsome face lit up under the flickering candlelight. "I promised Cordelia that she would be the only woman by my side. Your presence shall never be known to her." Seraphina turned pale instantly. "What would that make me?"

30,000 emergency meals meant for the disaster-stricken area were all sent to the incinerator as hazardous waste. The order to destroy them came from the deputy chief of the Health Department, Joanne Shea, my wife. The whistleblower was her childhood friend, Kevin Stafford, who claimed to be a retired undercover journalist. This was already the third time he had targeted my company. The first time, he reported my truck for illegal parking. Joanne then forced me to issue a public apology. The second time, he conducted an undercover investigation and accused me of violating packaging label regulations. Joanne issued a fine without hesitation and ordered my company to undergo a month-long rectification. Each time, Joanne has sided with him, using me as an example for others to learn from. This time, with water and electricity cut off in the disaster area, I rushed supplies there overnight only to be blocked at the entrance once again. Holding the certification of compliance, I pleaded, “The front lines can’t wait. If anything goes wrong, I’ll take the blame with my life!” However, Joanne coldly waved me off. “Kevin is a journalist. He would never take the disaster area lightly! Destroy the supplies immediately!” Two days later, the lab report confirmed that the food met all standards. However, the emergency rations had already been destroyed, and the “‘Poisoned Meals for Disaster Relief” scandal had spread like wildfire online. The company faced a widespread online boycott, and major clients terminated their contracts overnight. Joanne looked at the lab report. She felt guilty but still kept her arrogance. “I guess Kevin misjudged the situation, but he meant well.” I found it all hilarious and slipped off my wedding ring. “I’ve given you three chances. Let’s get a divorce.”