Feel-Good Story Romance Short Stories & Homewrecker Novels

My uncle, Jackson Yates, was a born pervert. While studying abroad, he was arrested for harassing female classmates and making lewd comments toward a female teacher. He was expelled and sent back home. After returning to the country, under the protection of my billionaire grandfather, he lived like an emperor, keeping hundreds of lovers in a villa. All of them vied for his attention. One day, he set his sights on my gentle, well-mannered wife—the rumored piano prodigy, Janelle Sanders. “My dear nephew, all because you grabbed your grandpa’s hand during your first birthday party game, the entire family chose you as the future heir. But as long as I don’t agree, you’ll never succeed.” He constantly harassed her, both verbally and physically. Janelle never tolerated it. She reported him to the police several times, resulting in him getting detained. She even scolded him sternly, “Cyril and I grew up together. Uncle Jackson, please remember your place!” Out of respect for his seniority, Janelle usually just reprimanded him coldly and walked away. Two years later, Jackson seemed to change. He took the initiative to manage a subsidiary and handled everything with impressive efficiency. Grandfather was pleased and handed the entire branch over to him. Just when I thought everything had returned to normal… At our son’s one-month celebration banquet, I saw Janelle in the kitchen. She was dressed provocatively as she desperately pressed herself against Jackson. Jackson lifted his head from her chest and gave me a smug smile.

On our wedding night, my wife, Gwen Everett, has received a classified mission that requires her to go on an urgent business trip. After watching her leave with a smile on my face, I quickly turn on the GPS locator in her phone right away. The locator shows that she's making a beeline toward a love motel. Immediately, I hack into the motel's security cameras. In the monitor, I can see Gwen making love to my younger brother, Deacon Hopkins, passionately. After they've used three packs of condoms, Gwen shields her belly while whining cutely to Deacon, "Be gentle to me. Don't hurt the baby, okay?" Deacon just smirks as he begins peppering kisses all over her, making her blush brightly. "Then you should get pregnant for a few more times. At the end of the day, Derek's the one raising them anyway." My heart feels as though it has gotten plunged into the icy abyss. At that moment, my department calls me and asks me about Gwen's whereabouts. As I watch the couple entangling with each other on the screen, I reply calmly, "I want to report Gwen Everett for forging her schedule. She might have betrayed the nation by fleeing with core technology."

On our seventh wedding anniversary, my wife handed me a divorce agreement that was valid for seven days. She had fallen for a male intern at her company who was seven years younger than her. She wanted to experience what she called a proper romance with him, one that would last exactly seven days. On the first day, they booked an entire private cinema and made love to each other from the entrance to their seats. On the second day, they went to the seaside to set off fireworks, and the light spread across half the skyline of Veyron. On the fifth day, the intern burst into an art exhibition I hosted and cried in front of the entire press. He accused me of coming between them. That same evening, the story of a rising painter becoming a homewrecker for love reached the top of the trending searches, and the hate comments poured in. On the sixth day, my wife apologized to me on the intern’s behalf, and his punishment was a three‑day ban from shopping. On the seventh day, my wife finally sensed something was wrong. She called me ninety‑nine times and reminded me that we were supposed to reconcile the next day. I replied with a single “okay” and quietly told my assistant to arrange for my luggage to be shipped out. What she did not know was that seven days earlier, I had already made plans to go abroad to continue my studies. This time, I was done playing her game.

The university student, who was my wife’s lover, had set a KPI for them to sleep together 12 times a month. However, she was too busy this month, so they only slept together 11 times. In light of that, the lover, Sam Reid, started crying and protesting by starving himself. In order to please Sam, Tanya came to me, her husband. “John, please tell him that I didn’t sleep with you this month. Just a short explanation would do.” As she said, we had not slept together for a long time. I would not be able to breathe whenever she touched me. She tried a few times, and I ended up requiring emergency care. Since then, she no longer dared to touch me, but she still claimed that she loved me the most. However, she went on with her affair. I called Sam and said calmly, “Tanya only belongs to you, and she’ll be yours in the future.” After I ended the call, Tanya thought that I was jealous, so she comforted me. “I’ll always love you too.” However, I no longer wanted Tanya. We were separated for almost two years, so the court would grant our divorce.

After five years in a marriage without intimacy, I finally called my wife, Suzanna Jones, the youngest commander in the military, and asked her to spend the night with me. Five hundred and twenty times. That was how many times we had been interrupted over the years. Every time we came close to being together, an urgent call from her widowed brother‑in‑law, Eric Gibson, pulled her away before anything could happen. Then, on our wedding anniversary, Suzanna promised she would finally give me the perfect wedding night we never had. I held her by the waist and was about to cross the final line between us when Eric’s ringtone shattered the moment. “Suzanna… I was injured in an explosion down there. What if I am crippled for life…?” Panic filled her face. She pushed me aside and rushed for the door. I grabbed her wrist and tried to stop her. “Send him to the military hospital first.” She turned on me with anger and slapped me across the face. “Shane! Eric is seriously hurt! How can you be this heartless?” She pulled on her dress and ran out. When I caught up with her, the sight in front of me stopped me cold. The woman who once promised to give me her first night was wrapped around Eric in a position far more intimate than anything she had ever shared with me. When I asked for an explanation, she looked calm and unbothered. “Eric is in critical condition. Was I supposed to stand there and do nothing? It is not that important. If it bothers you that much, I can fix it later.” Something inside me went numb. For five years, I had been the only one trying to hold our marriage together. At that moment, I realized I was exhausted from fighting for something that had ended long ago.

After her boyfriend bailed on their wedding, my best friend broke down crying and begged my fiance to step in and save the day. Blake Keller comforted me gently. "Dawn, Noelle and I grew up together. We've been close for years—closer than family, honestly. Today is just for show. Besides, our wedding's next week anyway, so think of it as a rehearsal in advance." I felt terrible for my best friend. After struggling with myself for a long time, I finally gritted my teeth and nodded. Just like that, I watched with my own eyes as my boyfriend, who was supposed to be the best man, became my best friend's "groom." At the wedding, Blake held Noelle's hand, his eyes filled with affection. When the officiant asked whether he was willing, he answered even more firmly than he had when he proposed to me. I kept telling myself not to take it seriously, that it was just an act and I should not overthink it. That was what I believed—until after they exchanged rings. The officiant smiled and said, "You may now kiss the bride." The crowd instantly started cheering, urging them to kiss. Blushing, Noelle hurriedly reassured me. "Dawn, don't worry. We'll fake it with the camera angle." I believed her. But in the very next second, Blake lifted her chin and deeply kissed her for real in front of everyone.

I waited ten years to get married to Emily Stanton. We had applied for a marriage license seven times, and seven times it had been called off. In our circle, we were the golden couple. She had sold her own blood to help cover my hospital bills, and I had stood by her side as she built the Stanton family empire from nothing. On our tenth anniversary, I brought up the idea of finally having a wedding ceremony and making things official again. She just rubbed her temples and tossed her blazer aside. "We'll talk about it later. We've been together this long—why are you still hung up on something like this?" The words I wanted to say got stuck in my throat. Does every great love eventually fade into something ordinary? The sound of running water came from the bathroom. Then her phone buzzed with a notification. Against my better judgment, I picked it up. The contact name on the screen was impossible to miss: Honey. [Baby, when are you coming home? Jamie says she misses Mommy.] A storm of emotions crashed over me. That's when I discovered Emily Stanton had another WhatsApp account. The woman in those posts was nothing like the one I knew. At the top was a wedding photo—the two of them beaming, radiant. Tucked among the roses she'd received yesterday was a brand-new diamond ring, hidden between the petals. The water in the bathroom stopped. I clenched my fists. Then I forwarded the guy's WhatsApp info to my assistant. [Look into him.]

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.

My CEO boyfriend, Dylan Abbott, has a phobia of getting married. Because of that, he sets up a weird rule that requires me to pass all 99 trials set up by his secretary, Lynette Woods, before finally agreeing to marry me. The first time we're about to get married, I wait for Dylan at the marriage registration department for three hours. But that's when I'm informed that Lynette has lost Dylan's ID, causing our registration to get delayed. The second time we're about to get married, Lynette happens to be driving around in my car. She stages a brake failure and hits a passerby on purpose. By the time I'm done dealing with the accident and rush to the City Hall with Dylan, it's already closed for the day. The 98th time we're about to get married, Lynette laces my glass of water with rat poison. Because of that, I'm taken to the hospital immediately to have my stomach pumped out, hence missing out on the marriage registration. When it's the 99th time for us to get married, I'm under the impression that I've passed Lynette's trials, which means Dylan won't flake out on me anymore. But I spend the day waiting for Dylan at the City Hall till nightfall. I've spammed so many phone calls and text messages to him, and yet he never shows up. In the end, I come across a post Lynette has made on her social media feed about her and Dylan being officially married. "My boss loves me far too much! All I said was that I wanted to get married as well, and he was quick to marry me at the City Hall! I love him so much!" I just leave a like on the post without losing my temper or kicking up a ruckus. That's when Dylan calls me on the phone all of a sudden. "Don't misunderstand the whole thing, Felicia. This marriage is just a joke. Lynette is a graduate hailing from an overseas university. I merely married her because I want her to keep working for my company without any complaints. "Once the divorce procedures are over, I'll marry you immediately before throwing you the grandest wedding ever, okay?" What Dylan doesn't know is that I've already signed an agreement with the system. If I can't get married with Dylan in five years, that means I've lost the bet. My time will be up in three days. By then, I'll get annihilated by the system. There will no longer be a future for me and Dylan.

The battery in my artificial heart is about to run out, yet no matter where I look, I can't find the spare battery. When I turn around, I realize that my wife, Tracy Maddox, has installed it in a streaming camera. She is using it to livestream a fundraiser for her sick first love, Gavin Spade, who has a cold. "Come on, everyone. Send more gifts! Gavin feels terrible because of his cold. Once we raise enough money, I'll take him to get the most expensive imported cold injection available!" I am so enraged that my vision darkens for a moment, like I'm about to pass out. I shout, "Tracy, you know exactly what happens if my heart loses power. Are you going to just watch as I die?" Covering the microphone, Tracy turns to me and shouts back, "Gavin has a fever of 102.2 degrees Fahrenheit! Your heart is just out of power. Can't you just wait a little while? Once the livestream is over and we've raised enough money for his injection, I'll give the battery back to you!" Using the last of my strength, I activate the emergency communication system inside my artificial heart and contact the R&D center. "The artificial heart is about to stop permanently. Activating the black box... Uploading evidence of murder in real time..."

On the last day of the long weekend, my childhood best friend asked to borrow my half-million-dollar Porsche so he could drive out to the next town over and meet some girl he had been set up with. We went way back, so I did not just fill up the tank for him. I went ahead and tossed a box of condoms in the glovebox too. Then my phone buzzed. The dashcam was still synced to my account, and my wife's voice came through the live feed. "Babe, I can't believe you actually took that idiot's car to drive us to a motel on the toll-free highway. This is so hot." I stood there and felt the ground drop out from under me. The "blind date" my best friend had gone to meet was my wife, the woman I had married less than three months ago. "You two love free rides that much? Then stay on that highway forever." I opened the Porsche's remote vehicle management app and typed in a single command. "Auto-lock all doors by midnight. Kill all power." Right then, they were cruising down an icy mountain expressway at 10,000 feet, and the temperature was dropping fast. Midnight was only minutes away.

During the family gathering, my fiance's mom takes out their heirloom brooch, intending to give it to the next lady of the Sullivan household. The guests all clap and offer their blessings. "Karli, you've been dating Douglas for six years. Now, you guys are finally going to settle down for real." But there isn't even a trace of a smile on Douglas Sullivan's face. He takes away the brooch calmly and pins it on his adopted sister, Isabelle Sullivan. After that, he pinches my face and says, "Belle likes it. Let her have it." When he sees the thick disappointment in my eyes, he explains in a gentle voice, "In the future, Belle will marry someone else. Everything that belongs to the Sullivan family will then become yours. It's just a brooch. There's no need to be so hung up on it." Surprised, Isabelle clutches the brooch on her chest fondly. Then, she gives Douglas a light peck on the cheek. She says, "Thank you, Dougie. You're the best to me!" A bitter smile plays on my lips as I look at the two of them behaving intimately right in front of me. It's been six years, and Douglas still hasn't made good on his promise to marry me. I've told my parents that I agree to go through with the arranged marriage and will return in three days to honor it.

The first time I have an affair, it's with my wife, Josephine Yates' best friend, Lydia Bennett. When Josephine catches us red-handed in bed, I'm in the middle of enjoying myself, my cheeks insanely flushed. Josephine gets into a huge fight with Lydia afterward. Then, she proceeds to drink her sorrows away that night before choosing to forgive me. After we've patched things up, we grow even more lovey-dovey than when we first got married. In fact, we're known as the golden couple who are envied by all. That is, when Josephine catches me cheating on her again on our tenth year anniversary. This time, I'm sleeping with Victoria Fairfax, the senior whom Josephine admires and respects the most. Josephine is so furious that she almost suffers from a seizure on the spot. Having gone batshit crazy, she decides to commit joint suicide with Victoria. I can only sigh before pulling her into my arms. "This is my last time doing this. I promise that you're the only one I want to be with for the rest of my life." Josephine is in so much pain and agony that she's on the brink of despair. Still, she believes my words and treats me even better now. She showers me with lavish gifts, be it luxury watches, unique custom-fitted apparel, or limited-edition racing cars. As long as she can afford it, she'll strive to give me the best. Some people call me a freeloading husband. That night, Josephine makes sure that those people have vanished off the face of the earth. When I tell Josephine that I don't want children, she gets her tubes tied immediately. Everyone praises Josephine for being devoted. They also claim that I've married the right woman. I just smile and nod. "I've used up all of my luck to meet Josephine in my life." But on Josephine's 34th birthday, she spies a paternity test report on my desk. That's when she suffers from a complete mental breakdown. The child is mine, and yet she's never given birth before.

The night I found out I was pregnant, my husband stayed out to be with his first love. Without a second thought, I packed my bags, signed the divorce agreement, and walked away. Single moms could survive just fine nowadays, and splitting his massive fortune to raise the child alone sounded like the perfect, sweet life.

On the first day of summer break, my husband, Alfred Manning, cancels the family trip I have booked again. He reasons that his childhood sweetheart, Edna Moore, has just gotten divorced. She needs a trip to Flordale with her son to clear their heads. Alfred finds her pitiful, so that is how the trip my daughter, Bella Manning, has spent two semesters earning with her gold stars turns into another child's vacation. Hugging her stuffed animal, Bella looks up at me with tear-filled eyes and asks, "Is Daddy not coming again?" The word "again" makes my heart throb in pain. Alfred wires some money into my account and sends a soothing voice note. "Just take Bella to a local park or something. She's just a kid, so it's the same to her no matter where she goes." Meanwhile, Edna posts a photo on X, showing Alfred cradling her son in his arms. "You don't need a biological bond to be the best dad in the world." It hits me then that Bella and I are the only ones working hard to protect this family. That night, I change our family passes into two one-way tickets that are bound for the new city where I'm relocated for work. "What about Daddy's pass?" I tear the canceled boarding pass into shreds. "He has already made his choice."

Whitney Sands was in a coma for three years because of an accident, and when she woke up from the coma, everyone said she had changed. She used to cling to Henry Jordan wherever he was, but now, she would only see him once every few days. When Henry ended up in the hospital because he was sick, all Whitney did was instruct the domestic help to make some food to be delivered to him. Whitney did not question him whenever he came home late, and when she heard rumors of him having another woman, she acted indifferent about it as well. This continued until one night, Whitney was watching male models dancing at a bar, and her best friend, Summer Thompson, showed her a photo of a grand hall. Henry was holding a woman's hand in the photo and carrying a baby while standing at the doors to greet guests. The electronic banner at the top of his head read, 'Congratulations on your newborn baby boy! Wishing your family a lifetime of happiness.' Summer asked curiously, "I didn't believe it when they said you didn't care about Henry anymore. Do you really feel nothing seeing him having a baby with another woman?" Whitney raised an eyebrow and pushed several bills down a male model's pants before standing up from the couch. "Who says I don't care about Henry anymore? He just had a baby, and as his wife, I should pay them a visit."

When Ethan Lane came back from his business trip, he pulled two dolls out of his suitcase. One was pink, the other blue. His daughter, Nina Lane's eyes lit up for a second when she saw the pink one. But instead of reaching for it, she glanced over at Crystal Shaw, Vivian Shaw's daughter. That five-year-old girl had already stretched out her hand for the pink doll. So Nina pulled her hand back and said quietly, "I'll take the blue one." I froze. Nina's loved pink ever since she was little. Her backpack is pink, her water bottle is pink, even her hair clips are always pink. But the moment Crystal was in the picture, she stepped aside. Later, when Ethan drove Vivian and Crystal home, I asked Nina why she chose blue. She looked up at me timidly and said, "If I give up what I like, just like Mommy does, will Daddy come home more?" My throat tightened. I've given in so many times over the years. But looking at my daughter right now, I suddenly realized—I don't want to hold back anymore.

On my first night shift at the new hospital, I saw my newlywed husband, Nathan Lloyd. He was supposed to be on a business trip. He was kneeling at the operating room entrance while a pregnant woman in labor was lying on the emergency bed beside him, experiencing heavy bleeding. Nathan gripped my hand, his pleading cries echoing in my ears, "Doctor, I beg you to save her!"

Before my wife went into labor, a nurse handed me a stack of consent forms. Buried among them was an optional prenatal paternity screening offered through St. Briar Medical Center's new genetic-services program. I'd barely started signing when my mother-in-law, Margaret, charged at me and slapped me across the face. "You monster! My daughter is risking her life to give you a child, and you want a DNA test?" Before I could explain, the hospital-room door flew open. Vanessa pressed a pair of medical scissors against her neck, her eyes bloodshot. "Daniel, I've given you seven years of my life. You know who this baby's father is. Why would you humiliate me like this?" When I saw the thin line of blood on her throat, my heart broke, and I dropped to my knees. I tore up the testing form and ordered my attorney to draft an unconditional agreement transferring assets to the baby. To comfort her, I drove across Aldercrest searching for her favorite honey-lavender shortbread. But when I returned to the hospital room, I heard laughter inside. "Vanessa, thank God we reacted quickly. If he'd signed that testing form, everything would've been over." "Why worry? Daniel's an idiot. I only have to cry, and he believes me." Then a familiar male voice said, "Once the birth certificate gives the child the Raleigh name, everything Daniel owns will belong to the three of us." The words froze me outside the door. I turned away and called my attorney. "Cancel the agreement. Then hire an investigator and uncover everything." At the baby's welcome reception, I would personally present Vanessa with the gift she deserved.

Just after I finish a meeting, the parents' group chat for my daughter's kindergarten suddenly buzzes with activity. Someone shares a viral post. The poster writes, "A daughter is always her daddy's sweetheart. She's already using her allowance to buy her dad a birthday present! I wonder who my gentle, wealthy little princess will marry someday." The one who shares the post adds excitedly in the comments, "She's the one and only successor to the Webb family in Jemton! She's a true heiress!" The parents in the group chat eagerly offer their sycophantic compliments. They can hardly wait to offer their own sons as potential suitors for the little girl. But I'm puzzled. Other than my wife, Lucy Webb, I don't think there is any other family with the surname Webb in Jemton. Then, I open the photo attached to the post and instantly freeze. The sweet little girl smiling as she holds the gift is unmistakably my daughter, Emilia Webb, whom I personally drive to and from kindergarten every single day.