Tragic Love Romance Short Stories & Face Slapping Novels

The night before the wedding, the groomsmen and bridesmaids were too excited to sleep, so someone suggested writing down what they wanted to say to me on a slip of paper anonymously. I closed my eyes in anticipation, thinking I would receive all kinds of blessings. But when I opened the first note, I froze. [You witch. If you hadn't forced my brother, Nora would be my sister-in-law by now!] Nora Harris… She was my best friend. She had called me three hours earlier with red eyes, apologizing, saying that she had to go on a business trip all of a sudden and could not attend my wedding. With trembling hands, I kept reading… [The wedding ring he bought you was the one Nora rejected. She said it was too cheap, so he gave it to you.] [You didn't know, did you? On the day your mother died, he was holding Nora in his arms and slept with her in your marital home.] [The reason Nora isn't coming to your wedding is that she gave birth to Shane's child and is still recovering.] When my eyes landed on the last note, I recognized the handwriting at once…

The night before the Fourth of July holiday, my husband gathered the entire company for what I thought would finally be our long-awaited public announcement. Instead, his clueless assistant burst into the room wearing a wedding dress. "Cameron, I'm here to marry you." He didn't turn her down. If anything, his eyes softened with unmistakable affection as he promoted her to vice president on the spot. The entire company erupted in cheers for their love story. When my coworkers noticed me standing frozen off to the side, one of them couldn't resist reminding me. "Stephanie, you've been with Mr. Cox for nine years. You can't let a moment this special pass without saying something!" I smiled, walked onto the stage, slipped off my wedding ring, and tossed it to Poppy Campbell. "What kind of wedding doesn't come with a ring? Here, take it."

My girlfriend never felt safe with me. She was always testing whether I'd leave her. We were together five years. In that time, she ran three hundred tests. A month into the relationship, she called me drunk and said a man was harassing her at a bar. When I got there, I found a man holding her down, kissing her. A year and a half in, I was about to pay for my mother's surgery and found every dollar gone from my account. After I'd scrambled and borrowed and finally covered it, my girlfriend texted me, laughing: "Congratulations. You passed." It wasn't until our wedding day, when she walked in holding another man's hand, that something in me finally died.

I have an ability that I can't tell anyone about—whenever I'm intimate with my girlfriend, I can see what she was doing exactly one hour earlier. In the past, what I see is her secretly buying sexy lingerie to surprise me; or her carefully following a recipe to cook my favorite dishes; or her nervously standing in front of a mirror, checking her makeup and dress over and over as she nervously prepares to propose to me. For seven years, everything she does in that one hour is always about me. Until three days before our wedding. The moment she kisses me, a vision suddenly flashes before my eyes. In a dimly lit lounge, she has my best friend, Tyler Reed, pinned against the door. He turns his head away, his voice strained as he speaks. "We can't keep doing this! Logan is my best friend. I can't betray him…" But Avery Goodwin unbuckles his belt, her voice hoarse with desire. "I'm marrying him in three days. Let's just have fun one last time." The scene vanishes in a flash. Back in reality, Avery is still nestled in my arms, gently kissing my cheek. "Logan, we're going to be married soon. Are you happy?" I stare into her loving eyes, and suddenly let out a soft laugh. So, it turns out there is a third person in her one hour after all.

My girlfriend, Laura Dawson, once asked me a question. "If you ever made it big, would you leave me behind?" I told her no. For six years after that, I stood beside her through every low point in her life. Then the tables turned, and she was the one who made it big. At the Best Actress awards ceremony, she stood there with tears in her eyes, ready to announce the man she'd loved for years. The spotlight swept right past me and landed on the young man I'd sponsored. He stood beside Laura, his eyes red. "Will, thank you for taking care of Laura all these years. But gratitude isn't love. You can't use it to hold her hostage." Laura turned her own gaze on me, cold with warning. "I've had ten thousand dollars transferred to your card. As far as I'm concerned, we're even now." Six years of my youth, poured into her, reduced to one unremarkable number on a bank statement. I watched the internet fill up with people calling me a homewrecker. I made one phone call. "Pull every film Laura Dawson has ever made. All of them." Laura, I regret it now. Now that you've made it big, the first thing I'm going to do is leave you behind.

Three years ago, I casually created an Instagram alt account and followed my husband. On that account, we talked about everything. The weather. Our day. Work. Whatever was bothering us. We could talk for hours. But on my main account, and even in real life, we barely exchanged ten sentences in an entire year. I always thought it was just our little secret. A private game between husband and wife that neither of us needed to acknowledge out loud. And honestly, I enjoyed it. Then, just before our third wedding anniversary, a new message popped up on my second account. ‘I’m divorcing Joanna Simpson.’ ‘Jess, I want to be with you.’ That was the moment I finally realized the truth. My husband had never known that the woman behind that account... was me.

Five years ago, I catch my husband, Henry Lancaster, cheating on me. He's a college professor, and the other woman is his teaching assistant, Vera Ashmore. Henry begs me not to go public, saying it'll ruin her reputation. I agree, but only if she drops out of school, leaves the city, never comes back, and signs a binding agreement. Everyone around me calls me vain, saying I care more about money than feelings. And yet Henry is willing to turn on his entire family just to protect her name. Five years later, I travel to that same city on a business trip to attend a lecture and end up finding a little boy wandering by himself. I take him to the police station so he can get in touch with his family. The officer dials the number the boy recites from memory, and a familiar voice comes through the line, "Hey, it's okay, don't be scared. Daddy's coming to get you right now." Less than half an hour later, Henry, who's supposed to be teaching classes a thousand miles away, rushes through the station doors. I'm sitting on a bench when our eyes lock, and he freezes on the spot. I smile and rise to my feet. "Henry, I had no idea you had a secret son behind my back this whole time. Looks like that spotless professor image of yours isn't going to last much longer."

At the bachelor party, someone suggests playing a game of "Of Course". Whatever we're asked, that's the answer we have to give. Rowena Jennings' childhood friend, Lucas Foster, takes the first shot at me. "You're always snooping through your girlfriend's phone, aren't you?" Before I can react, Rowena cuts in, "Of course. Why else would he keep checking on me until the wee hours of the morning?" Everyone cracks up, and her best friend turns to me next. "Do you always have to make a big deal out of nothing?" "Of course," Rowena answers for me. "How else would he make himself look unreasonable and get himself some attention?" The laughter grows louder. Her cousin, Amelia Jennings, joins in, "You get all teary-eyed over a little criticism, don't you?" "Of course. How else would he guilt me into feeling sorry for him?" Rowena replies. My palm is slick with sweat as I tighten my grip on my glass. When my turn comes, I look Rowena in the eye. "You're… pretty good at pretending to be in love, aren't you?" "Of course." She doesn't even blink. "How else would I trick you into marrying me?" The room goes quiet for a second before everyone erupts into laughter. My nails dig into my palm as I turn to Lucas. "Do you have feelings for her?" "Of course. Did you think I was into you instead?" he said. Everyone's laughing, and no one seems to think there's anything wrong with this. I force myself to hold it together as I head to the restroom. On my way back, I overhear them talking. "Forget about him. He'll put up with anything as long as he gets to marry Rowena." I turn to leave, tossing the wedding invitations into the trash. Since none of them can wish me well, there's no reason to go through with this marriage.

Six years into our long-distance relationship, I tell my girlfriend, Claire Whitmore, that I'm too busy with work to spend her birthday with her. Behind her back, I secretly take the property deed with me and board a ten-hour flight to her city. I want to propose to her in front of all our friends and surprise her. While waiting for my ride, I use my work phone to reply to a few messages, then casually scroll through my social media feed. The first post I see is from my childhood friend, Ryan Cole. "I'm going to be a godfather! My goddaughter is 8.5 pounds. I'm so happy!" I open the photo and see Claire and Damian Pierce posing together, a baby between them. My mind goes completely blank. I scroll through Ryan's other posts and discover that they're all about Claire and Damian's life together. Every moment from the past six years has been documented, from when they first met and fell in love to their marriage and the birth of their child. In their wedding group photo, I even spot several of my closest friends. My heart sinks. They all know about this. I'm the only one who's been kept in the dark for six years.

My husband, Nathan Sidney, is the top doctor in the municipal hospital. However, he refuses to treat my stepsister, Jessica Jepson. He tells me that it's because Jessica's mother, Janice Ferguson, is Dad's mistress, which makes Jessica a mistress' daughter. They don't deserve to be treated by him because they're the ones responsible for tearing my family apart. During a family get-together, we play the "Have You or Haven't You" game. When it's my turn, I confidently say, "I've been treated by Nathan. You haven't." Jessica smiles and pulls out a medical report from her pocket. "Sorry, Cassie. You've lost." Nathan's signature is penned on the report. As I clutch the medical report, I ask hoarsely, "When did this happen?" "Last Wednesday," Nathan replies. "She cut her hand. I can't just ignore her when she's bleeding right in front of me." He smiles and ruffles my hair, saying, "I'm a doctor. I can't ignore a patient. You're so kind, Cassandra. You understand why I had to treat her, right?" In the past, when Jessica secretly tried on my wedding dress, Nathan said that she just liked feeling pretty. When she pawned off the gold bracelet Mom left me, he said she was just greedy, while wiring me money as compensation. I was hospitalized for two weeks after accidentally drinking white wine instead of water because the doctors were trying to protect the pregnancy. When I tell Nathan that Jessica's the one who mixed up the drinks, he says, "She's just a little stupid. You're so kind, Cassandra. You understand that she just made an honest mistake, right?" Today, Nathan has not only broken his promise, but he's also trying to emotionally blackmail me. I simply smile and softly say, "I don't want to understand. I'm done being understanding, Nathan Sidney."

During my wedding, someone suggests that we play the game "one dollar and 50 cents". The host will call out an amount that the players will have to match by forming groups. I draw the 50-cent straw, and so does my best friend, Rebecca Cross, who is also the group favorite. My fiance, Ian Chilton, his childhood friend, Richard Price, his older sister, Anne Chilton, and my stepsister, Chelsea Whitmore, all draw one-dollar straws. For the first round, we need to make up a total of 1.50 dollars. I make a beeline toward Ian, but he gazes distractedly at Rebecca. It isn't until he is assured that she won't be eliminated that he finally loosens his painfully tight grip on my hand. Before I can truly feel my disappointment, the second round begins. This time, we need to make up a total of five dollars. Everyone instinctively surges toward Rebecca. I don't pester Ian this time, and he naturally fails to notice that I've been left out. It isn't until the host reminds them that they're 50 cents short that they reluctantly let me into their group. For the third round, we need to make up 2.50 dollars. It's clear that the six of us can conveniently form two groups of said amount, yet they debate heatedly over who gets to be in the group with Rebecca. As time is running out, Richard and Chelsea finally walk reluctantly toward me, having lost in a game of rock-paper-scissors. In the final round, we need to make up 4.50 dollars. As soon as the whistle is blown, they crowd together merrily. Ian even considerately wraps his arm around Rebecca's shoulders out of fear that she'll be jostled. Meanwhile, I'm knocked to the floor by the crowd, my palms digging deeply into splinters sticking out of the wooden floor paneling. From start to finish, nobody spares me a glance. In that instant, everything feels pointless to me. When we played hide-and-seek as children, they only realized I hadn't been "found" after nightfall. When we visited the amusement park as adults, they would always forget to buy my ticket. All things considered, it simply isn't polite to keep trying to fit into a small group that doesn't have room for me.

It's our fifth year together, and I accompany my fiance, Theo Montague, to see the aurora he has always yearned to see. Fortune favors us that night as vivid green lights stretch across the snow-covered plain. He wraps his arms around me from behind and suddenly murmurs, "It's beautiful. Too bad we're still one step short of perfect." I freeze for a moment and ask him what we're missing. He doesn't answer, and I don't press him, either. After all, I've heard this phrase far too many times. When I go to great lengths to get him the out-of-print book he has his sights on for ages, he sighs. "We're still one step short of perfect." When we move into our beautifully furnished house and finally have a place of our own in Northshire, he laments, "We're still a step short." Even when he becomes a professor, our wedding's set, and everyone envies us for having it all, he still tells me, "This is wonderful, but it's still one step short of perfect." I've heard it so often that I assume he's simply harder to please than most people. The "one step short" he always speaks of seems nothing more than the small imperfection a perfectionist can never let go of. Everything changes when his most prized former student returns from abroad. For the first time ever, the man who rarely posts on social media shares a photo of himself picking her up at the airport. The woman standing next to him looks eerily like me, sharing at least 70% of my features. The caption reads, "My life's complete now that I've reunited with an old friend." That's when it hits me—the one thing he's missing is a person. I'm merely someone he settles for because I happen to look 70% like her. Since I'm only 70% similar to the woman he truly wants, how can I possibly give him the perfect life he longs for?

It's Valentine's Day, and I'm at my desk at the county courthouse when my fiancee, Shelby Smith, walks in to get a marriage license with her male best friend, Liam Pearson. She slides her ID across the counter and offers a casual excuse. "Rowen, don't be mad. I lost a game of Truth or Dare. The penalty is being married to Liam for just one day. I'm bringing him back tomorrow for a divorce." Liam, who has a woman's jacket draped on his shoulders, pipes up with a snide grin. "I don't think Rowen is going to process this for us. After all, he's always had a problem with me. I just don't get men—" Before he can finish, I slam the official stamp down on their application form. "Why wouldn't I? I get it. You two are best friends, nothing more. You just lost a dare, that's all. Take this form over there to pay the marriage license fee. Congratulations." Shelby's face instantly falls when she sees how completely unbothered I am. She hooks her arm through Liam's and storms out. The next day, she shows up at the courthouse with Liam again. I take one look at the vivid hickey on her neck, smile, and hand her a waiting-period notice instead. "Sorry, but a new policy has just been communicated to us. Couples rushing into a quickie divorce like you two need to go home and really think things through. If you still want to call it quits, come back in six months."

Right before the wedding, my fiancé asked to postpone it by seven days. All because he wanted to spend time with his childhood sweetheart, who was terminally ill. "This week I am completely free. I want to be with Lily and help her fulfill her last wish." I asked, somewhat taken aback: "Tomorrow is our wedding. Are you trying to humiliate me?" Alexander's eyes darted away, but his tone was firm. "Lily has only a month left to live. I owe her a love story worth remembering." I didn't agree, but Alexander left anyway. The wedding was postponed at the last minute. [Joanna, we won't cross the line. I will give you a grand wedding.] Every day after that, Alexander sent me updates on his itinerary. On the first day, they took my wedding photographer and went to shoot their own wedding photos. On the second day, he gave the custom wedding jewelry to Lily. But by the third day, Lily sent over a video. Alexander was drunk, and they were pressed close together. Lily stared into the camera, her eyes full of defiance. "So what if he finds out I was faking my illness? He still chose me over you — just to fulfill my wish." I laughed. The only reason he succeeded was because of my unique business acumen and instincts. And now, sixty percent of the company's shares are registered under my name. Once he loses me, everything he has will turn to dust.

My fiance, Adrian Hale, and I had planned to go snorkeling on Valentine's Day. The day we landed in the south of France, I discovered that his first love, Vivian Clarke, had come with us. They insisted on heading into unpatrolled waters. "But those waters are dangerous, shrouded in strange rumors..." Adrian frowned at me. "Sophie, do you have to ruin the mood right now?" Vivian smiled and hooked her arm through his. "With you here, nothing is going to happen to us." Once we were in the water, Vivian recklessly swam toward the deeper channel. A swell shoved half her body into a narrow opening. I swam over to pull her free, but she thrashed and drove her heel hard into my knee. Her elbow knocked my mask crooked. Before I could straighten it, Vivian kicked me into the opening. Adrian came up behind us, grabbed Vivian, and held her hand tight. The voices over my underwater headset were muffled, but I still heard Adrian's cold warning clearly. "Vivi doesn't know these waters. You do, don't you? "You led her into deeper water on purpose. Who exactly were you trying to hurt? "Figure your own way out. Consider it the lesson you've earned!" Briny seawater flooded my throat. My aching legs kicked uselessly. My body was wedged fast in the opening. I closed my eyes in despair. My last thought was this: if I died, they deserved to pay with their lives.

Jaime Barthes was the only son of the wealthiest family in Hartow City. Ever since he was a child, he could have anything he wanted. On his fifteenth birthday, he fell for Eden Hawthorn the moment he first saw her. Right then and there, he boldly declared, "She belongs to me, and nobody should ever think about touching her!" During the entire decade of their marriage, he was obsessively protective of her. She was forbidden from any kind of interaction with men, and she had to employ the help of her assistant for something as mundane as handing a report to a male colleague. Everyone assumed this was simply Jaime's love language. One day, he caught a terminal disease. The entire nation frantically searched high and low for a matching heart donor, and when they finally found one, Eden decided to give the heart to another man named Jericho Brown.

Everyone says that the Crown Prince of the Kingdom of Landor, Prince Colin Livingston, loves me to the core. But on the day of court presentation, he bypasses me and presents the princess consort's diamond ring to my elder sister, Monique Payne, instead. However, I'm not the least bit upset. I even smile and congratulate Colin, saying, "I wish you and my sister a lifetime of happiness, Your Royal Highness." In my past life, I caught Colin rolling in the sheets with Monique when I was six months pregnant. I flew into a rage and accidentally killed her with a sword. Colin hated me for the rest of my life after that. When he finally ascended the throne, he posthumously crowned Monique as his Queen and even registered the many children I risked my life bearing for him under her name instead. I was heartbroken, requesting a royal decree to depose me as his wife. However, he tore up the royal edict and imprisoned me inside the palace instead. "You are my wife. And you will never escape me in this lifetime!" Ultimately, while I was still locked up in my room, our enemies ambushed and attacked the palace, setting fire to the place. And despite being struck down by numerous arrows, Colin still used every last ounce of his strength to protect me and save me from harm. Just before his death, he wiped away my tears with bloody hands and whispered into my ear, "Don't cry for me, Merry. I was the one who let you down in this lifetime. "But if there ever is a next life, I hope that you will let me be with Monique instead." I agreed in a trembling voice. But when I open my eyes again, I realize that I have gone back in time to the day the Crown Prince chooses the princess consort. So, I help him fulfill his wish this time.

When I was five, the wealthy Whitmores adopted me from an orphanage so their only son, Caleb, would have someone to grow up with. The first time we met, Caleb pulled his best friend Audrey Ellis over and gave me half his candy. After that, the three of us were inseparable. That changed in the summer after our college entrance exams, when Audrey confessed her feelings to me—and I accepted. Caleb quietly chose a university a thousand miles away. The night before he was supposed to leave, he went drinking alone. Someone dragged him into the alley behind the bar and beat and humiliated him until he died. Audrey and I spent the next two decades burdened by guilt. At forty, I was diagnosed with ALS. The night before I died, she held me and cried so hard she shook. "Julian, I love you. I always have." "But if there is a next life, I have to stay with Caleb. I can't let anything happen to him again." When I opened my eyes, I was back. I had returned to the day Audrey was going to tell me she loved me.

My CEO wife, Quinn White, and I have been married for seven years. She suffers from severe insomnia, and only the medicinal bath I blend can relieve her symptoms. On the night of our seventh anniversary, after I prepare her bath, she takes the initiative to check into a hotel room with her ex-boyfriend, Oliver Green, to play poker. Oliver sends me a photo to gloat and mock me. So, I toss the medicinal herbs into the trash, draft a divorce agreement, and send it to Quinn. After searching high and low for renowned doctors and suffering through innumerable sleepless nights, she realizes I'm the most important person in her life.

The Sanders family has one rule: if a daughter attends her debutante ball without a partner, the family gets to decide whom she marries. And as the Sanders family's unwanted adopted daughter, I know no one will ask me. Desperate to escape an arranged marriage, I finally work up the courage to ask Jonathan Bale, the man I've secretly loved for years, to be my partner. He smiles, ruffles my hair, and says yes. But that night, Jonathan arrives at the ball with Raine Sanders, the family's real daughter, on his arm. I beg him not to do this to me, but he only seems annoyed. "Stop making such a big deal out of it. If you're that worried, I can just marry you tomorrow," he jokes. "Don't worry. You're not even a real Sanders anyway. Who else is going to want you?" Laughter erupts around us, and I slowly let go of his sleeve. And just like that, I stop fighting it. The next day, Jonathan actually shows up at our house with a marriage proposal in hand. He has come to ask for my hand. But Dad looks at him with a complicated expression. "She was sent to the Fairmont family before dawn," Dad says. "She's about to get married."