Plot Twists Romance Short Stories & Female Growth Novels

“Strip off her clothes!” It never occurred to Gwen White that her husband would order a bunch of men to strip her! Throughout the ten years of crushing on him and two years of marriage, Gwen loved Jared Crawford madly, but he despised and hated her to her bones. That said, when Gwen decided to leave Jared for good, he personally brought her back from the depths of hell and begged her to start all over again...

For eight long years, Bryan Millan and I were married, but you’d never have known it by looking at his life. He never once acknowledged our relationship in public. Not a single post, not a single mention of me on his social media. Then came our anniversary. The day that was supposed to be about us. Instead, Bryan made an announcement on his Instagram account—just not the one I expected. There he was, hand in hand with his assistant, her draped in a wedding dress. The caption read: [When you're in love, you want the whole world to know.] The comments flooded in. [Bryan finally got married!] [Congrats! Wishing you a lifetime of happiness together!] In that moment, I could no longer lie to myself. Bryan wasn't reserved. He just never loved me. So, I decided to let go. But he wasn't ready for that. He clung to me, desperate now. But I pried his hands off and laughed—a real, genuine laugh, the kind that comes from somewhere deep inside when you realize you're finally free. Then, I looked him straight in the eye and said the words I'd been holding in, "Don't beg me to come back. Because now that I don't love you, I've never felt better."

We had been married for five years, but Chuck Gorman spent more than half his time at the condo opposite the river. He claimed that his older brother, Calvin, had passed away at a young age, leaving behind his widow, who had no one to depend on, and that as Calvin's brother, he was responsible for taking care of both families. This was a Gorman family value of upholding loyalty and kinship. I had believed his words then. To help him uphold his loyalty and dignity, I tolerated it whenever he was absent during important holidays and said nothing when he split his time between his sister-in-law and me during Christmas dinner. I even had to hold back my tongue when others mocked me for being a weak woman who was willing to 'share her husband'. However, Chuck had always been gentle yet distant when he spoke to me. This continued until we were involved in an accident with several collisions. The car we were in was wrecked. As I shielded my heavily pregnant belly, I broke out in cold sweat from the pain. I kept hitting the window while shouting, "Chuck! Save the baby…" Chuck climbed out from the driver's seat and glanced at my bleeding body, only to turn away to pry open the car door of the back seat. He shielded Sandi Lemming tightly in his arms, holding her against his chest despite her suffering only minor scratches on the forehead. "Don't look, Sandi. It's okay. I'm right here." He patted her gently on the back while comforting her over and over to calm her nerves. As for me, I was stuck inside the car due to the dented car door. I realized that it was not loyalty and kinship he was practising. He was just unable to see Sandi come to harm at all.

When I wake up, I find out that my childhood friend, Brandon Moore, is the one lying next to me instead of my husband, Jake Watson. Angrily, I berate Brandon for betraying his wife, Rachel Schneider. But he asks me in confusion, "Aren't you my wife? Are you rambling drunken nonsense, or are you having a fever? "Rachel is already married and has a child of her own. Don't go around pinning the bigamy crime on me for no reason!" I'm stunned, to say the least. Brandon and Rachel are a loving married couple, and yet here he is, telling me that they aren't married at all. Just as I'm about to call Brandon a jerk, I raise my head to see the wedding portrait. It features me and Brandon. Cold sweat soon rolls down my forehead. I ask Brandon tentatively, "Then… do you still remember my husband, Jake Watson?" In the past, Brandon used to be best friends with Jake. Both families even have a betrothal pact with each other. But Brandon angrily accuses me of cheating on him with another man. He even claims that he doesn't know Jake at all. The thing is, Jake and I have been married for ten years. How the hell is it possible for Brandon to not know Jake at all? Thinking that Brandon is lying to me, I show Jake's photo to my parents and everyone around me. They all tell me that they've never seen Jake before, and they even claim that Brandon is the one I've been married to for ten years. I refuse to accept this reality, which causes me to go dazed all the time. Gradually, I go crazy overtime. Because of that, Brandon files for a divorce from me. My parents soon admit me into a mental hospital. After dying a terrible death from the electric therapy, I open my eyes to see that I've returned to the day Brandon becomes my husband.

On our anniversary, Gus King overslept again. When he woke up, I was curling my lashes in front of the mirror. He looked apologetic. “I’m still adjusting to the time difference. Please try to understand.” For the past month, he and a junior labmate had been traveling around the world collecting marine samples. I calmly put away my mascara. “It’s fine. I made plans with a friend instead. This makeup is too nice to let go to waste.” He relaxed, though his expression turned a little strange. After all, in the past, I would have thrown a fit and cried at him. Gus hugged me from behind and smiled. “You’re getting so mature, sweetheart. By the way, I saw the new photos you posted. Where did you go?” “Oh, Seaview City,” I said casually. “While you were away in the North Isles.” He froze. I’d spent the whole first year of our relationship begging Gus to take me to Seaview City to see the ocean. He always said he’d take me when he had time. For our second, third, and fourth anniversaries, he kept telling me to be more understanding, then headed off with his junior labmate to their next destination. In the fifth year of our relationship, I suddenly stopped waiting. It turned out that traveling alone was pretty fun too.

On our wedding anniversary night, my husband, Lucian Moore, comes home with a seven-year-old orphan named Chloe Martin. He even hands her the necklace he bought me for our anniversary and lets her play with it like a toy. Because of her, my son, Ryan Moore, shouts at me for the first time. "You're a bad woman! I don't want you to be my mommy!" I watch the three of them sitting together, warm and cozy, and I say nothing. Instead, I buy a ticket to leave the country. At first, they think I'm just acting out and will come home in a few days. But when they return from Feanland after celebrating Chloe's birthday, they find out I've joined a ten-year classified research project and will not come back again. At that moment, they fall apart.

Joe Kane played five years in the NFL as a team captain. And for five years, I waited for him in our home in Kansas City. He said the season was too busy, the away games too brutal—no place for family to tag along. So I stayed quiet. I kept the house running, waiting for him to come back after every road trip. Until the day I was cleaning and found a box buried at the very bottom of his nightstand drawer. The moment I opened it, photos spilled everywhere. On top was a family travel application. Applicant: Natalie Reed. In the photo, Natalie stood beside him, wearing his jersey number, with red fireworks over Arrowhead Stadium behind her—grinning more boldly than she had on championship night. On the back, in Joe's handwriting: You're my lucky four-leaf clover through the long season. I laughed. I looked around our empty house—and couldn't find a single photo of us together. His social media was all games, training, teammates. No me. Not one. That night, I sat in the living room, listening to the second hand tick, and opened the notes app on my phone. Created a countdown. 30 days. Starting today, I wouldn't pick him up from the airport anymore. No more messages that vanished into silence. No more breakfasts no one ate. I quietly packed everything, ready to leave him.

I was pregnant and due any day. Austin Revelstone, my husband, had a sugar baby named Tawny Sully. Each time they renewed their arrangement, money came into my mother’s special care account. One day, he stayed a little longer to talk to me. Because of it, he was one minute late for his date with Tawny. Tawny was upset. She threw a tantrum and threatened to terminate their agreement. She would only stay if I aborted my baby. So, Austin slid the abortion form and a check for three million dollars across the table to me. “Please, just sign it. We can always have another kid. If Tawny cries anymore, she’ll get wrinkles.” He looked calm and unbothered. It was as if he were just talking about the weather. I raised my head and looked at him in disbelief. I trembled for a long time. Then, I finally signed my name on the abortion form. I wiped my tears and gave the check back to him. I made one additional request. “Let’s make that fake divorce certificate real this time.” I no longer needed his financial support for my mother’s surgery.

In the eighth year of our secret office marriage, Marvin lit up every LED screen in Ocean City, just to make his little assistant smile. Amidst the well-wishes from everyone, the assistant cheerfully handed out gifts to the entire office. I casually tossed my gift into the trash. The assistant immediately ran to Marvin's office, tears streaming down her face, to report me. Moments later, Marvin, furious, suspended me from my position. As I walked out of the company building, Marvin's voice echoed from the loudspeakers on the top floor. "Celebrating Wendy's successful completion of her work, the gift is ready!" Wendy—was the assistant's name. As I watched the crowd rush past me, I calmly cut all ties with Marvin. This hidden marriage had come to an end.

My husband, Adrian Locke, was obsessed with saving money. He said we needed to cut unnecessary spending, so I went three years without buying new clothes. He said our bills were too high, so I handed over my entire paycheck and lived on a 200-dollar monthly allowance. I ate at the hospital cafeteria, took the bus, and used the cheapest skincare products I could find. Then Jenna, the new intern in his department, had a birthday. Adrian spent 28,000 dollars on our joint credit card. He booked a luxury restaurant and filled a room with balloons and flowers. I texted him to see what he'd say. "The cafeteria raised the price of lunch by five cents, so I'll skip it." His reply came instantly. "Okay. Just eat more at home tonight." Then I got a notification. Jenna had posted nine photos on Instagram. The caption read, "Adrian said the internship has been exhausting, so I deserve to treat myself." So he wasn't frugal. Just with me. I cut that joint credit card in half, then called a lawyer. "Hello, I need legal advice about dividing marital property in a divorce."

I lost my hearing later in life. After I got a cochlear implant, nothing scared me more than a sudden loud noise. Every year on my birthday, my boyfriend, Ethan Crawford, would check the venue in advance, worried that a sudden noise might startle me. This year, he swore up and down that he had booked a private dining room with top-notch soundproofing. The moment I pushed the door open, a water-filled balloon burst right next to my ear. Ethan's childhood friend, Chloe Brennan, stood in the middle of the courtyard, a thumbtack pinched between her fingers, grinning as she called out to me, "Birthday present, heads up!" The balloon exploded, and ice-cold water drenched me from head to toe. The external processor of my cochlear implant flooded instantly, and a shrill buzz filled my ear. I cowered in the corner, trembling all over, but when I looked up, I saw my boyfriend pressing his hands over Chloe's ears. Chloe shouted, "Does this desensitization trick of yours actually work?" He answered casually, "Just pop a few more and she'll get over it. She's being dramatic. Birthdays are supposed to be loud." I clutched my still-dripping down jacket and finally understood. He hadn't forgotten to book a soundproofed room. He had wanted to play along with Chloe's cruel idea of fun. Water kept running down my hair, and the buzzing in my ear grew sharper and sharper. He walked over and reached for me. "There, toughening-up session over. Let's go inside and eat." I calmly removed the waterlogged external processor and hurled it into the river. "No thanks. You two enjoy your dinner."

At sixty-five, I got served divorce papers. The same day, my husband Sebastian — decked out in his wedding suit, of all things — popped a handful of sleeping pills in a suicide attempt. For years, we were the perfect couple. The kind of pair neighbors whispered about with envy. I couldn't wrap my head around it. The divorce. The pills. None of it made sense. Not until I found the photo and letter in his pocket.

My roommate Sophie is a stunning beauty who is popular across the entire school and serves as its beloved cheerleading captain. So when my online boyfriend asks for another photo, she suddenly snatches my phone out of my hand. She puts on a worried expression, as if she is only thinking of me. “Are you sure you want to send one now? You’re almost two hundred pounds. I’m just afraid he won’t be able to handle it once he sees you.” Then she tilts her head and adds, “Why don’t you send him one of mine first? At least I won’t scare him off.” The girls beside us burst into laughter. “Two hundred pounds and you’re still dating online? Isn’t that basically catfishing?” “If he ever sees you in person, he’ll probably block you on the spot.” I lower my head and pinch the soft flesh around my waist, hesitating over whether I should send him my roommate’s photo instead. Then, out of nowhere, a line of translucent text flashes before my eyes. [Don’t send it! She already knows your online boyfriend is the heir to a fortune worth millions.] [Sophie is pretending to help you, but she’s the one who wants you to send her photo first.] [Once you two arrange to meet in person, she can easily take your place and steal your boyfriend.] I freeze for only a second. Then I snatch my phone back and pull up a photo from three years ago. “No need.” “After all, once I slim down, I’m much prettier than you.”

Everyone knew that Simon Zimmer and Luna Springfield had been friends with benefits for a year, but they had chosen to hide it from Bertha Marsh, the deaf one. During a New Year’s gathering, Bertha's cold attitude caused displeasure to Simon’s friend. “Simon, is Bertha kicking up a fuss again? Seriously, that doctor of yours is more considerate. She knows how to get you into a good mood and doesn’t throw tantrums,” he said loudly with disdain. Simon’s expression turned dark, and he snapped at him. “Don’t say anything you shouldn’t. Bertha’s the most important person to me. I’ll die if she leaves.” He then anxiously signed to Bertha to ask whether she was sick. What he did not know was that Bertha had heard it all, and their future together was over.

After being in love with Dylan for seven years, I planned to propose to him at his birthday party. But then I overheard him speaking to his friend in Italian: "You like Lydia? I'll give her to you. I'm tired of her anyway. Sarah is better—she's a dancer, young and sexy." He thought I couldn’t understand, but he didn’t know that I had learned Italian for him. I threw away the ring I had designed for him, tore apart the wedding suit I had sewn and left. Our friends were all speculating how long it would take before I came back. Dylan sneered with disdain, "She’s just an orphan with no family. Where could she go without me? Three days at most." But to his surprise, I never returned and found a new home.

My brother-in-law passed away in an accident. Out of pity for his widow, my husband decided to be the breadwinner for both families. After that, my husband and son both gave all their love to my widowed sister-in-law. On her birthday, my husband and son reserved a restaurant in town for her party. I was plucking corn in the field when I started bleeding, a sign that I was miscarrying. I called my husband, begging him to come home and take me to the hospital. However, he scolded me angrily, calling me a liar. “What the hell are you talking about? I haven’t touched you in months! How could you be pregnant?” My son grabbed the phone impatiently as well. “Mom, the teacher said lying is wrong! Aunt Laura’s blowing out the candles now, bye!” We had been married for seven years, yet they had completely forgotten that today was my birthday too. Despairing, I dialed another number. “Mother, I changed my mind. I’m going back to inherit the clinic.”

After celebrating our tenth anniversary, my wife suddenly drops her ring into my palm. "Don't you feel like our life has gotten pretty boring? Maybe we should just get a divorce."

The day my son is born, my husband holds him tightly, looking overjoyed. However, while I'm asleep, he secretly swaps my son with the child next door—his first love's baby. I act like I know nothing and arrange for someone to switch the babies back. My husband wants me to raise someone else's child as my own but has no idea he's not even the father of my son. Ten years later, I transfer all my assets to my son's name as a birthday gift. That's when my husband's first love, Amanda Larkin, crashes the birthday party. She looks at me smugly and says, "The son you've treasured for the past decade is actually mine!"

My husband, Nathan Ford, was grounded for two years after a plane crash left him badly traumatized. To get him through treatment, I sold the house my mother left me. I paid the compensation he owed after the crash and sat up with him every night he was too scared to close his eyes. The day he got back in the cockpit, he held me for a long time. "I owe you a honeymoon. I swear I'll make it up to you under the northern lights." After that, he picked up more and more flights. Every anniversary, every birthday, he had a reason: a delay, a diversion, a last-minute schedule change. I knew how hard he worked, so I never brought up the northern lights again. Then the airline I worked for sent me on a business trip, and I made a point of booking one of his flights. Before boarding, I overheard Lana Pierce, the young purser, asking him something outside the crew lounge. "You keep swapping shifts just to take me to see the northern lights. Is it worth it?" He was scrolling through photos of the two of them on his phone, his voice soft. "If you like it, it's worth it." So it wasn't that he couldn't find the time. He'd already taken someone else to see the northern lights he'd promised me. Before takeoff, I signed the divorce papers and accepted a two-year posting overseas. This time, I was going to see my own northern lights.

The day she found out about the tumor, Noemi Rosales made one wild choice—she'd give her corneas to her blind husband, Daniel Gomez. Quietly. No spotlight, no drama. Too bad Daniel only cared about Ivanna Lopez. He ate up every lie she fed him and iced Noemi out like she was nothing. "I want you out of my life." Cool. Noemi could do that. "Ms. Rosales, are you certain you want Mr. Gomez listed as the cornea recipient?" "Yeah. Give them to him. Once I'm gone, the hospital can use the rest of me for science or whatever." She scrawled her signature. "Don't tell him."