Fake Death Romance Short Stories & Novels

After my birthday party, I got far too drunk and made a mistake I could never take back. I slept with my friend's daughter and got her pregnant. To make things right, I handed over more than half of my company shares as compensation. I promised him I would marry his daughter, Nancy Cooper, and give her the grandest wedding possible. After the wedding, I willingly stepped into the role of a househusband. I cooked, cleaned, and kept the home running. However, Nancy spent less and less time at home. Her business trips grew more frequent, and even our son began to look down on me, as if I were nothing more than a man circling the kitchen all day. At my mother's funeral, I noticed Nancy was nowhere to be seen, not even greeting the guests. I went looking for her around the venue. Just as I was about to return to the lounge to call her, a familiar voice drifted out from inside. "Easy… Don't let him find out. I won't be able to explain it when I get back." "Relax. He's an idiot, so easy to fool. Your dad set him up on purpose and drugged him because he wanted his family's assets. And you…" The man chuckled softly. "You made him play the role of our kid’s father. The whole trap was so obvious, yet he still didn't see it. What makes you think he'd notice us sneaking around at his own mother's funeral?" "He's just that stupid," Nancy said lightly. "He believes everything I tell him. Gilbert, just wait a little longer. Once I deal with those stubborn old shareholders, I'll rename Lawson Group to Shaw Group. Then, you can finally enjoy being the one in charge." I stood in place, frozen. It felt like the blood in my veins had turned to ice. This was the ugly truth. Every bit of it, every promise, every sacrifice, had been nothing but a carefully staged lie. Something inside me went cold and quiet. Whatever hope I had been holding onto was shattered completely. I decided then that I would disappear. Not just leave, but vanish. I would stage my death and make a clean break. I would erase myself from Nancy’s world forever. However, after I left for good, she lost her mind, telling the world she loved me and begging me to come back.

Three years ago, my childhood sweetheart, Eleanor Carter, left me at the altar to marry Dillan Perez—the adopted son of my family. The church erupted in whispers. I became the laughingstock in a single breath. Then Victoria Brown—the aloof, formidable CEO of the Brown Group—stepped forward. "I'll marry you, Lambert," she said, her voice cutting through the wreckage of my pride. I said yes. For three years, she was the perfect wife. Gentle. Attentive. She was my salvation. But there was one thing that always hung between us like a quiet ache—we never had a child. The doctors found nothing wrong with either of us. Victoria would just smile softly and say, "It will happen when the time is right." Today, I came home early. The door to our bedroom was slightly open. I heard her voice. She was on the phone with her best friend. I didn't mean to listen. But then I heard my name. "Lambert wants a child with me," she said. "But he doesn't know I've been on birth control the whole time. That's why we never got pregnant." My blood turned cold. "As long as he has no heir," she continued, "Dillan's place in the Clark family stays secure." I stood there, frozen. My hands went cold. My heart shattered into pieces. I was just a tool to protect the man she truly cared for. I didn’t confront her. Instead, I calmly planned my death—a quiet disappearance from her world.

My wife, an airline captain, was eight months pregnant when her plane crashed. In the middle of the disaster, she carried out an emergency landing. I searched through the wreckage for any sign of my wife, Candice Jenkins, only to be told that not even her remains could be found. Other than me, the only survivors were my wife’s younger sister and her brother-in-law, Austin Ryles. I searched frantically for my wife’s whereabouts, but five months later, I accidentally overheard my sister-in-law arguing with a friend while drunk. "Austin suddenly lost his wife, and his arm was injured in the crash. How could I just leave him alone? "Back then, Jon Cole’s mother drugged me and forced me to marry him. After all these years, it’s impossible for me not to feel some resentment. I might as well use this chance to make up for my regrets. Once Austin’s arm recovers, everything can go back to normal." Only then did I realize that the 'sister-in-law' standing before me was actually my missing wife, Candice Jenkins. My heart turned cold. I threw her memorial portrait into the trash and called my parents. "Stop looking for Candice. Just erase her records. "I’m remarrying."

On the day I donated my kidney, I never thought my wife, Rebecca Tanner, would cut open her own heart and confess her regrets. After all, she had staged her own death in a bombing, all so she and Mason Sanders could test my loyalty. All she left me was two billion in gambling debt and a contract selling me into slavery. The creditor said they would leave her body in the grave and spare it from being fed to the hyenas. But to do that, I had to sign a contract with my blood and become their pet from then on. After that, I was locked in an iron cage beneath an underground fighting ring. By day, they chained me up and forced me to lick the blood from the winners' shoes. At night, they injected me with drugs and threw me into the fighting ring, turning me into a living toy for the wealthy to bet on. One broken rib doubled the stakes. One lost tooth added another ten thousand dollars. When I heard that my parents had been stripped and thrown into the mouth of a volcano alive, I broke completely. Covered in blood, I snapped the iron chain and rushed to the volcano. Instead, I found my "dead" wife gently lighting Mason's cigarette. Mason puffed out a ring of smoke and sneered. "We still have ten seconds left on the bet, Rebecca. You've lost."

I accidentally clicked on a viral post. [What’s one regret that you can’t get over in your life?] Everyone in the comments said things like not studying well or not purchasing a house when it was cheaper. I felt a little bored by it. I was about to scroll past when I accidentally came across a comment with the highest number of likes. The account had a profile picture that was very familiar to mine. [Five years ago, to elope with my first love, I faked my death to leave my husband. [And I used my husband’s research to help my first love kickstart his business. [Now, my first love is a billionaire, and my husband became a butcher.] Some people reprimanded her and her first love in the comment section. Others reminisced about their past. I scrolled to the end of the post and saw the latest reply. [I’m back in the city, and I’ve decided to meet him.]

When my wife, Emilia Sinclair, tortures me for the 98th time just to appease Wyatt Mercer, my love for her officially dies. That's when I decide to be with her best friend, Celia Ashford, who has been pursuing me for quite some time. After spending a wonderful night with Celia, she agrees to help me fake my death so that I can receive a brand new identity and marry her in an overseas country. So, I ingest the drug that can fake my death, only to wake up in the casket in advance. I can't move an inch no matter how hard I try. That's when I overhear Celia speaking with a subordinate outside the casket. "Ms. Ashford, you first told Emilia to torture Elliot, then you pretended to become his salvation. Now that you've completely earned his trust, why are you still arranging for his burial after faking his death?" "Only by doing this will the Mercers fully believe that Elliot is truly dead. That way, Wyatt can secure his position as the heir even more. No one will ever bring up the fact that he's a bastard child." The subordinate hesitates for a moment before asking, "Isn't leaving Elliot in the casket for one week a little too long? After all, we're only digging him up on the seventh day after you hold your wedding with Wyatt." "The drug can last for five days. I've already had someone place food, water, and an oxygen tank inside the casket. There's no way Elliot will die."

On Mother’s Day, I was driving an intoxicated wealthy woman home when she suddenly said, “You know, I stole my husband from another woman.” Then she handed me a photo. The moment I saw it, my entire body went numb. The man smiling with his arm around her looked exactly like my husband — who had supposedly died eight years ago. After my husband, Cedric Foster, died in an accident, he left me drowning in debt and caring for his comatose mother. To pay everything off, I worked a day job and drove for a rideshare service at night. When creditors came knocking and I had no money left, I sold my blood more times than I could count. “Handsome, isn’t he?” said the woman with a smug smile. “He was married back then, but for me, he walked away from his wife and abandoned his family.” As we entered an exclusive luxury neighborhood, the woman rushed toward two figures waiting ahead. The moment I recognized them, every drop of blood in my body seemed to freeze. I could barely breathe.

After Emily Cross died in an accident, I went through three years of absolute hell. This year, on the anniversary of her death, I escaped from a rehab facility overseas just to see her one last time. Stumbling into the cemetery in a daze, I passed a couple walking the other way. The man's voice was laced with annoyance. "You're almost at your due date, and you still insisted on coming to the cemetery. What a hassle." The woman gave a soft laugh. "We agreed we'd come pay respects to your father. I couldn't just back out." That voice stopped me cold. Turning my neck stiffly, I saw the face that had haunted me for three years. Emily Cross, heavily pregnant. And beside her was my mother's illegitimate son, Jake. A chill ran through me. Shaking, I pulled out my phone and snapped a photo. Then I sent it to her forensic pathologist friend. [She's not dead, is she?]

Two years after the death of my husband, John Foster, I get a video call from him—except it's him from five years in the future. "John! You're still alive! Tell me where you are. I'm coming now to bring you home!" Crying tears of joy, I scramble to pick up the car keys I dropped, only to hear him say, "Actually, I faked my death to be with your friend…" As my mind goes blank, he continues to tell me everything as if none of it is a big deal. "I attended my funeral. The whole time you were crying beside my casket, I was in the back room with Adaline, getting it on with her. You thought her eyes were red because she was crying in grief. "Oh, my mother and our son know that I faked my death, too. Every year, they've found all kinds of excuses to come spend time with us instead…" My blood turns cold. My hand shakes as I clutch the phone. Meanwhile, John exhales, looking like he has taken a load off his chest. "I've already told you the truth about everything now, Cecilia, so it's up to you whether you want to continue living like a widow."

Before Cameron Finch goes on a business trip, he gives me a doll that looks exactly like him. "Babe, whenever you miss me, you can press this button on the doll. Once you've unlocked the easter egg, I'll come back and spend time with you." Later on, the plane Cameron had boarded crashes. I can only hug the doll he's given me, unable to sleep a wink at night. All I can do is press the button repeatedly until my fingertip goes numb and stiff. When I press it for the thousandth time, the doll lags momentarily. Then the recorded voice takes on an entirely different tone. "This marks the thousandth time you've hit this button! Congratulations on unlocking the easter egg! "Gwen, Mari and I have already registered our marriage. Our wedding will take place at the end of this year. I know this is unfair to you, but there's no such thing as 'first-come, first-served' in romance. I hope that you can give us your blessings. "Mari wants me to tell you that you will always be the bridesmaid of her wedding. I really hope you can attend our wedding since our families are friends and all. I will always be an older brother figure to you." My finger freezes at the message. As soon as the last word falls, I feel my phone buzzing. Marissa Becker has texted me. "Gwen, I'm getting married soon! I've reserved a slot for you as my bridesmaid! You must attend the wedding, okay?"

After three years, I finally found my husband, who had gone missing during our honeymoon. However, no matter whether I broke down in despair or became hysterical, he remained completely cold and calm, having suffered from amnesia. "The heir of the Wingers you keep talking about really isn't me. "Don't come looking for me again, or Nora will make me sleep on the sofa." The doting on another woman in his every word pierced my heart with a thousand holes. Just as I was about to give up, I accidentally overheard his friend asking him. "Three years ago, just to be with Nora, you faked your death during your honeymoon with Hazel. Now, you want to go back to living the good life as the heir of the Wingers, so you're pretending to have amnesia in front of her. "Don't you think you're being too hard on her?" Jeff slammed down a glass of alcohol. "Nora is already pregnant with my child. I must let her into the family." I gave up all hope then, turning around to stop my in-laws who were about to rush over. "Lydia, Daniel, I've seen him in person. This man is not Jeff."

After catching my supposedly frigid wife, Emmy Winslow, aroused by our household robot butler, I swallowed my disgust and sent the machine to a destruction facility. I never expected that decision to cost her life. On the way to chase after the robot, Emmy was involved in a horrific car accident and died at the scene. From that day on, I became notorious in our social circle as the jealous husband who drove his wife to her death. Five years passed. Night after night, I tortured myself by wondering if she would still be alive had I not been so petty over a machine. Until today, while discussing business at a private club, I passed a half-open VIP suite and heard one of Emmy's closest friends teasing her. "Emmy, how much longer are you planning to keep up this fake-death act?" A familiar voice answered, one I could never mistake, that was tinged with indulgence and amusement. "As soon as Corbin Ellery's heart condition is cured. Back then, if Grayson hadn't insisted on sending the butler to the destruction plant, Corbin wouldn't have needed to pretend his system malfunctioned. And I wouldn't have had to fake my death to help him disappear completely." Another friend clicked her tongue. "Still, nobody expected you to go this far. Having Corbin wear a custom synthetic skin suit and pose as a robot butler right under your husband's nose all those years? That's insane." Fake death? Corbin? The blood drained from my face. The woman I had mourned for five years was alive. And the robot that had stirred her desire had never been a robot at all. It was my closest friend. A passing server accidentally slammed into me, sending a tray crashing to the floor. The conversation inside stopped instantly. Emmy turned toward the doorway, and our eyes met.

After my wife died, I stayed on as a chauffeur for a female CEO just to keep myself and our daughter fed. Five years later, an anonymous message reached my phone: [Tonight. Eight o'clock. The little garden. There's a surprise waiting for you.] I didn't know what to make of it, but curiosity won out, and I went anyway. The moment eight o'clock struck, I looked through the window and watched the CEO peel a mask of human-like skin off her own face. Underneath it was, unmistakably, the face of my dead wife. Beside her, Marcus Kane shot me a scornful look before pulling her into his arms. "Sweetheart, you're too good to me," he said. "Giving up your husband and daughter, hiding your identity, just to help me build this business empire." He let out a theatrical sigh. "Then again, maybe you should go back to him. Cooper has had it rough. I could probably manage taking care of little Tobias on my own..." She melted against him. "Don't be silly. If I left, what would people think of you, raising a child alone? Back when Francesca died in that accident, my heart broke for the two of you—a widower and his little boy with no mother. So I made the mask that very night, and let the world believe I was the one who'd died." "Cooper is strong. He can handle a little hardship. I'll pay off what I owe him and our daughter in the next life." I stood frozen, tears sliding down my cracked, calloused hands, stinging where they fell. With nothing left to lose, I gave my reply to an anonymous number: [Alright. Let's work together.]

She had served the king for three years, but the king, seemingly devoid of passion, had summoned her to his bedchamber no fewer than 999 times. When, at last, he succumbed once more to slumber, she slipped carefully from the bed, taking great care not to disturb him. Every mark of their recent intimacy remained upon her person. Very softly, she whistled. Within moments, a dark-cloaked figure alighted upon the window ledge with scarcely a sound. “Have you considered this thoroughly?” Ciaran Noche’s voice was cooler than the night itself. Gathering her robe more tightly about herself, she answered in little more than a whisper. “I have. I wish to quit the palace.” Ciaran regarded her. “Your name is entered in the palace rolls. You cannot simply walk away. Unless you are prepared to feign your own death and forsake your present face for the remainder of your days, there is no escape.” “So be it.” Snow nodded. Whether she must die in the eyes of the world or assume another countenance altogether mattered little. If it purchased her freedom, she would pay the price without hesitation. “I shall return for you in a fortnight.” Ciaran disappeared into the darkness, leaving no trace that he had ever been there. Snow looked up at the slender crescent moon in the sky and released a long, weary sigh. Soon, it would all end. She had never been meant to belong within the palace. Her arrival at court had been nothing more than an accident of fate.

The yacht carrying my parents and my younger brother, Dylan Marsh, exploded at sea. There were no survivors. I came home to an empty house and a mountain of debt I had no way to pay off. Numb with despair, I climbed onto the roof, ready to jump—when a stream of comments suddenly scrolled past my vision, as if I were watching myself from the outside. [Plot twist: your parents actually won three hundred million dollars in the lottery. They took your brother abroad to live it up.] [Lol, Dylan has no idea the poor, blind girlfriend he dumped is actually the eldest daughter of the Ross family. She's just been playing along, pretending to be broke.] [Once Dylan blows through all his money and comes crawling back, Celeste Ross is going to lock him in a room and make him pay for it.] [Come on, cannon fodder, jump already. Everyone's waiting for Dylan's big comeback.] I decided, right then, that I wasn't going to die after all. That night, soaked to the bone and half-drunk, I knocked on Celeste Ross's door.

Before she passed away, my best friend begged me to meet her online boyfriend in person. “Zia, please love him for me. This is my final wish.” I promised her I would. After meeting Greyson in person, we dated for three years before finally getting married. Three years into our marriage, Greyson held my late best friend’s hand and looked at me coldly. “Let’s get a divorce. I won’t hold a grudge against you for stealing Scarlett’s place to meet me.” I stared at them, completely paralyzed by disbelief. “You lied to me... You’re alive…” With tear-brimming eyes, Scarlett said, “Zia, this happiness was supposed to belong to Greyson and me from the very beginning. Please, just let go.” Refusing to give up, I desperately tried to explain the truth to Greyson. But he only sneered at me. “You’re nothing but a thief and a liar.” Driven to the brink of madness, I tried everything to tear them apart. I made scenes at his corporate office, exposed them to the media, and tore up the divorce papers he shoved in my face time after time. But Greyson controlled the media narrative. Under his manipulation, the public branded me a lunatic, a hysteric, and a thief. My love for him was finally stripped away to nothing. When he handed me the divorce papers for the ninety-eighth time, I calmly took the pen and signed my name.

In the fourth year after my husband, Jayden Stone, falls to his death, I finally save enough to pay off the 300,000 dollars in debt he owes. I drag my sick body there to repay the debt, but a security guard shoves me to the ground. "Today is the wedding of the century for Marilyn Jagger, the Jagger family's true heiress. Get lost, you filthy beggar!" I turn my head and see Jayden's face in the wedding photos. How is that possible? I watched him fall off a cliff and die! I go around to the hotel to find out the truth. Instead, I overhear Jayden's friends joking. "Jayden even faked his death just to marry Marilyn. Now that's true love!" "She's the real Jagger heiress, after all. A fake like Vivian Jagger doesn't even deserve someone like Jayden." Jayden clears his throat. "With Marilyn's health, she won't make it through this year. I'm marrying her to fulfill her final wish," he says. "When the five years are up, I'll go back to Viv." I clamp my hand over my mouth as blood seeps through my fingers. But Jayden, I won't make it to the fifth year.

I stand before the grave of my late wife, Casey Hill, having repaid her debts for five years. When I return home, I realize that our dog, Pudding, has gone missing. It is the only memory Casey has left me. I search everywhere frantically, eventually finding it hovering between life and death in an alley. Standing at the side is a girl. She points at Pudding and laughs gleefully to her friends. "Are you guys seeing this? This little guy is tough. We've played with it for so long, and it's still breathing!" I shove her aside and pick it up, my eyes bloodshot. The blood on Pudding's fur makes my heart ache so much I can hardly breathe. The girl utters a yelp as she falls to the ground. Furious and embarrassed, she picks herself up and kicks me hard in the head. "You bastard! How dare you push me for this filthy little beast! Do you know who my mom is?" With my head spinning from the blow, I suddenly hear a woman's voice. "Jenna, what's wrong? Who bullied you?" I snap my head up. There it is, the face I have wished to see in my dreams for the past five years.

Lucien Arden took the throne. He crowned Rosalind Hartwell empress. And Evelyn Hartwell—the principal wife who had fought at his side all the way from embattled prince to emperor—was given only the rank of Imperial Consort. The day the decree came down, Silverleaf Palace was completely silent. Every servant kept their head lowered and hardly dared to breathe, afraid that Evelyn would weep, or throw things, or come apart the way any consort does when the emperor's favor leaves her. Evelyn simply accepted the decree, calmly. “I thank His Majesty for his generosity.” There was no movement in her voice and nothing in her face. Even her beautiful eyes held not the slightest trace of grief. She turned, went back into the inner rooms, and picked up her book where she had left it. As though the decree that had just stripped her of her place as his principal wife had nothing whatever to do with her.

For ten years, I lived as an invisible daughter in my own family. My parents and brother never forgave me for the death of Emily, the adopted daughter they truly loved. They gave me a room, money, and their last name—but never their affection. When our cruise ship sank, they sacrificed themselves to save me. For one foolish moment, I thought it meant they had finally chosen me. Then my brother spoke his last words. “We’ve regretted bringing you home for years. If we hadn’t found you, Emily would still be alive.” “If there’s another life, please don’t come looking for us again.” Only then did I understand. They hadn’t saved me because they loved me. They were only repaying the daughter they wished they had never found. So I released the life ring and let the ocean take me. When I opened my eyes, I was back before the day I reunited with my biological family. This time, they remembered our previous life too. Certain I would still beg to become their daughter, they offered me money, a house, and a place in their lives—as long as Emily remained their only daughter in public. They thought I would eventually accept. They didn’t know I had decided to give them exactly what they wanted—a life in which I never became their daughter.