Independence Romance Short Stories & Face Slapping Novels

The night before my wedding, as I was trying on my bridal gown, a line of floating text suddenly drifted across my vision. [Stop smiling. Tomorrow, right in the middle of your vows, the groom is going to bolt for the airport to pick up his first love.] I figured I was just hallucinating from sheer exhaustion until a second text flashed before my eyes. [She spent nine months planning this entire wedding, but he swapped out the ring for his first love's finger size ages ago.] I flipped open the ring box, and sure enough, the diamond band inside was a size too small. The next afternoon, the cathedral was packed with guests. Right as the officiant asked if Victor Bates took me to be his lawfully wedded wife, his phone chimed. The second he saw the caller ID, he turned on his heel and headed straight for the exit without even removing his lapel mic. "Hold on a second. Something came up with Sallie. I can't just ignore it," he said frantically. I tried to chase after him, but his mother grabbed my arm. "A man showing loyalty and compassion is a good thing! Don't throw a scene on your big day." My best friend chimed in, "Look, he's going to come back and marry you eventually anyway. Isn't securing the official title enough?" The entire room waited for me to swallow my pride and endure it. Meanwhile, the floating texts flashed across my field of vision in a frantic frenzy. [Here it comes! She's finally waking up!] I lifted the heavy train of my gown, stepped up to the altar, and took the microphone right out of the officiant's hand. I announced, "The wedding goes on. We're replacing the groom." [Holy shit! Total queen moves! She is killing it!] Sitting in the front row, a man slowly raised his head and buttoned his tailored suit jacket.

Dario brought me a silver bracelet engraved with pomegranate blossoms when he returned from Madrid. He pulled me into his arms and nuzzled my temple with the tip of his nose, as tender as every reunion over the past seven years. "Mira, tell me, what does your family value most in a relationship?" I looked down at the bracelet on my wrist, sure he was finally about to keep his promise. Seven years earlier, he'd met me in a whitewashed town outside Granada, moved into the courtyard I'd inherited from my mother, and left a pair of handmade leather shoes beside the front door. I come from a Romani family, and my grandmother's side kept an old custom: when a man truly meant to make a place his home, he left a pair of shoes at the door. If the woman put them outside, the door was closed to him for good. I smiled and answered, "Sincerity, of course. " Dario kissed the side of my neck and chuckled. "I knew it. " "Sofia and I got married yesterday. She's carrying my brother Javier's baby, and the Vega family won't let its first grandchild be born without the Vega name." The smile froze on my face. "Then what are we? Nico is already four years old." He reached up to touch my cheek, soothing me as if I were a child who didn't know any better. "Since when did you start using a piece of paper to pressure people? Don't Romani families care more about family acceptance and building a life together? I never said I was leaving you. So what exactly are you upset about?" I looked at his self-righteous face and suddenly laughed. He had probably forgotten that those shoes were still by the door. My family had lived here for three generations. Yet the moment Dario needed me to excuse his betrayal, he reduced me to a Romani woman too ignorant of the law to deserve recognition in public. Now he simply dressed the same prejudice in a gentle voice and spoke it to my face. All I had to do was put those shoes outside. Then this courtyard, this home, and I would never wait for him again.

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.

Susan Langley has always said that her father was a difficult man. That's why, after eight years of dating, Shawn Carter still hasn't met her parents. Determined to win over his future father-in-law, Shawn disguises himself as a staff member and deliberately orchestrates a chance encounter with Susan's father, Thomas Langley. Before long, the two become unlikely friends despite their age difference. Just as Shawn finally works up the courage to reveal his true identity, Thomas suddenly announces, "My picky daughter is finally getting married!" Shawn is overjoyed. But before he can tell Thomas who he is, he sees a photograph of Susan standing beside a man he's never seen before. "Susan insists on marrying him," Thomas continues. "She says that if she can't marry him, she'd rather remain single for the rest of her life. What do you think of my future son-in-law?"

On my wedding night, I find out my childhood sweetheart, Sean Clay, has a mistress who is highly fertile. She's already given him a son and a daughter. "My family line is dying out, and your health has always been fragile. Paige gets pregnant easily. With her around to take the pressure off, it'll be easier on both of us. As long as you don't make a fuss, I promise she'll never take your place." I can't believe what I'm hearing. I trash everything in the room and kick everyone out. Clutching my chest, I collapse in front of the bronze mirror, only for the glass to reflect me ten years into the future. The woman in the reflection is gaunt, her hair completely white. "I've already tried throwing a fit and divorcing him. It only led to mutual hatred and absolute ruin. Let me give you a piece of advice. Accept Paige. "She might be fertile, but most of her children won't survive past the age of five. The ones who do will end up mentally impaired." She taps the surface of the mirror, and a flood of unfamiliar memories rushes into my mind. When I come to, tears are streaming down my face. Looking at the aged face in the bronze mirror, I reach out to touch it. "I will save you. And I will save myself."

I was the 99th High Priestess to serve the Temple of Aubin. Through a potent, forbidden ritual known as Soulforging, I could rewrite a person's fate in exchange for a fragment of my life and soul. In the first year we were together, I used Soulforging to save Emile Albrecht from certain death after an arrow pierced his heart. The ritual's toll bleached my hair white. In our third year together, I used Soulforging again to save him from the executioner's blade. He was named heir apparent. In return, I lost my sight. In our sixth year together, Emile brought the woman who had once saved his life by shielding him from that arrow years before. He ordered me to perform another Soulforging ritual to save her. I shook my head and told him I could not perform it again. My soul had almost been exhausted. One more ritual would erase me completely. He seized my wrists and forced me closer despite my struggle. "You survived that ritual twice already! Why would saving a mortal from danger suddenly kill you? "You know what I think? I think you're just throwing a tantrum no one asked for. You're trying to be dramatic about it costing your 'soul!'" I performed the ritual, suppressing the blood that threatened to spill from my throat, and saw it through to the end. The next day, Emile petitioned the king to name me his future queen. As my hands slowly turned transparent, I felt my way out of the palace. I would never be your queen, Emile. Seven days from now, Undine of Cracht would cease to exist.

Three years back, a crash wrecked Rhea's hearing—and the future she'd built her life around. At her lowest point, Eddie stayed by her side like a hero, pulling her out of the shadows. But the second she got her hearing back and thought she could finally tell him... she heard the truth: he'd planned the whole thing. For his beloved. So she could win. Yeah, he was already engaged. To that girl. Rhea didn't cry. Didn't scream. Just picked up her phone. "Grandpa, I'm ready. I'm taking back the Cliburn name. And I'm entering the international piano competition as your heir."

I was in a temporary shock from an allergic reaction. The two guys I had grown up with didn't even look my way. One of them was busy helping Vivian Byrd carry a pile of gifts, while the other was snapping pictures of her at some popular social media spot. It was a stranger passing by who called an ambulance and got me to the hospital, saving my life. The next day, Vivian called, her tone almost smug. "Trish, Zeke and Hendrick were so exhausted after shopping with me yesterday. I heard you threw a tantrum and ended up in the hospital. Should I come visit you?" I simply replied, "No need." Zeke Benson and Hendrick Peay were my childhood friends. They once treated me like I was everything to them—promising to pluck the moon and stars from the sky and to protect me forever. But ever since Vivian came into the picture, their world no longer revolved around me. I thought for a moment and then dialed my mother's number. "Mom, I'll accept the marriage arrangement."

My husband called me fat, ugly, and disgusting. Then he used that as an excuse to cheat on me with his secretary, Joanna. I threw him a birthday party, hoping to make him happy, but he chose to spend the night with her instead. Tired and fed up, I signed the divorce papers and walked out of his life. Three years later, I was no longer the unwanted XXL wife of Adrian Wellington. I was Miranda Wright, a billionaire heiress who had just bought my ex-husband’s company under a fake name. When Adrian finally discovered who I was, he was shocked. Then he fell at my feet, pleading for another chance. “Miranda, don’t do this to us.” I ignored him, pulled my hand away, and barked an order at my security guards. “Throw him out, and make sure he never comes anywhere near me again.” He once thought I wasn’t good enough for him. Now, he was begging for the woman he had thrown away.

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

I found out my husband, Logan Atkinson, had quietly added his secretary's number to our family plan. [Dear customer, the number ending in 8848 has been successfully added to your family plan. Effective immediately, all calls between plan members are free.] I held up my phone and looked straight at Logan. "You're treating her like family. What does that make me?" He sounded annoyed. "Regina said staying on the phone with me every night was getting expensive. If she's on the family plan, it doesn't cost anything. She's just used to saving money. Don't read into it." Regina said she had severe depression and couldn't fall asleep, so Logan stayed on the phone with her every night for at least seven hours. I stared at the call logs in the family plan. Even on our wedding anniversary, when I closed my eyes, wishing we would make it through another ten years and grow old side by side… He was still on the phone with Regina Dittman, coaxing her to sleep. When I didn't say anything, Logan looked a little surprised. "Wow. Quiet today? Finally learned how to be the bigger person?" I just didn't feel like arguing with them anymore. All those fights before had only proven one thing: he always chose Regina. After ten years in a broken marriage, it was time to set things straight.

After taking three bullets for the cold and untouchable Gerald Smith, Elise Callaghan finally earned the old madam's approval to marry him. But while she was still lying unconscious in a coma, Gerald publicly announced his engagement to Alexandra Lancaster, a scholarship student the Smith family had sponsored. Naturally, the revelation caused an uproar across the city. After all, everyone knew Elise's notorious temper. Raised by Gerald himself, she'd spent years openly pursuing the man everyone believed she was destined to marry. Alexandra was merely an intern working at the newspapers—a nobody who seemed utterly unworthy of standing beside a man like Gerald Smith. When Elise appeared at Gerald and Alexandra's engagement party, all the guests in attendance held their breaths. They were sure that the reckless young woman who had scandalously fallen in love with her father's close friend was not going to stand for the engagement. Gerald’s face darkened the moment he noticed her. He instinctively shielded Alexandra behind him while issuing a stern warning, "Elise, don't make a scene." To his surprise, all Elise did was smile radiantly and congratulate him in an exceedingly demure voice, "Congratulations on finding the woman you love, Gerald."

On the night of the final showcase for the three-year designer development program, my parents weren't in the family seats reserved for me. They were sitting at the VIP table with Sophie, my foster sister. My boyfriend, Adrian Cole, was giving interviews in a silver-gray outfit that matched hers. A reporter smiled and asked, "You're both headed to New York, and tonight you're even dressed as a couple. Did the two of you plan that?" The people around them whooped. Adrian only smiled. "We've known each other for years. We have similar taste." No one knew that the dress Sophie was wearing was mine. I'd drafted the pattern and sewn the dress myself, and Adrian and I had planned our matching outfits around it. When I found her wearing it that morning, all my mother said was, "The gown her sponsor sent is ruined. You're the designer. Just wear something else." Adrian frowned at me, too. "There's a lot of press here today. Don't embarrass Sophie over a dress." So I threw on a black suit at the last minute and stood alone outside the interview area, watching an entire room assume the two of them were a couple. The bigger joke was that they all assumed I'd lost. Adrian had lined up an assistant position for me at a second-tier studio, and my parents thought I should stay in Boston and apply again next year. Only my mentor knew the truth: I was the sole winner of this year's Grand Fellowship. My contract already guaranteed me a hundred and fifty thousand dollars in grant money and an eighteen-month independent residency in San Francisco. After the showcase, she asked me, "You're really going to San Francisco?" I looked over at my family, still gathered around Sophie and talking about apartments in New York, and for the first time, I felt no guilt at all. "I am." I wasn't going to let anybody else decide my life again.

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.

An app had been making the rounds online lately—one that let you text your future self. Right before the final paper of the SATs, I decided to jump on the bandwagon and fired off a message: [Future me, do I end up marrying Liam Tinsley?] The screen flickered, and a reply from an "Unknown Number" popped up almost instantly: [Yes. You had a big, grand wedding.] I clutched my phone and typed back fast: [And Mia Thompson was my maid of honor, right? She's my best friend!] The response came just as quickly: [She was. But she wasn't just the maid of honor, she slept with Liam on your wedding night.] My smile froze mid-expression. Then a second message hit: [Truth is, you didn't need to go through all that trouble tanking your scores just to match his. He bombed the math section on purpose—so he could end up in the same city as Mia, who was at the bottom of the class.] [He pushed you to turn down that top-tier university—not for your sake, but because he didn't want Mia to feel inferior next to your grades.] The pre-exam warning bell cut through the air. But I was frozen, my body ice-cold, unable to move. One last message slammed into my screen: [If you don't believe me, head straight to the motel behind the school after the test. You'll see the truth for yourself.]

News of my groom's death arrived, but I shed no tears. Instead, I quickly reclaimed his shares and had his death officially recorded. Why? I was reborn. In my previous life, my family had adopted three boys to accompany me since childhood, all of whom were potential candidates to be my husband. As the heiress of the wealthiest family in the country, my father feared I wouldn't be happy marrying someone else we weren't familiar with. I chose Jayden, the most capable of the three brothers—but just three days after the wedding, he passed away. In my grief, I gave up on remarriage. With Jesse and Joel's persuasion, I lived the rest of my life as a widow. Upon reaching eighty, I went to Massalia, where we once pledged our love. There, I encountered Jayden…who had supposedly died sixty years ago! He was living with my maid, who had gone missing decades ago, surrounded by children and grandchildren, living a happy and contented life. When I realized I had been deceived my whole life, I was so enraged that my vision suddenly darkened. I died of a brain hemorrhage on the spot. When I awoke, I had returned to the day the news of his death had arrived. Let's see how a man who should have died intended to continue living!

According to our village's betrothal custom, unmarried men and women exchanged carved wooden tokens on Midsummer Eve. If the two tokens made a matching pair, it meant they had pledged their hearts to each other and could set a date to marry. Kat Michielsen and I had agreed to exchange rose carvings. But right before Midsummer Eve, when I went to find Kat to confirm our plans, I happened to overhear her talking with her grandmother, Sarah Michielsen. "Are you really going to swap your rose carving for a wild rose one and marry Jason? What about Nick? He's waited for you for seventeen years. Aren't you afraid he'll lose heart and end up matched with some other woman?" Kat ran her fingers over the piece of wild-rose wood in her hand, the corners of her lips curling into a faint smile. "He won't. The whole village knows we're in love. Nobody would dare exchange tokens with him. "Marrying me has been his obsession since we were kids. He's waited this long. Even if he finds out I lied to him, he won't leave. "Besides, I'm choosing Jason to comfort my sister's spirit. Once this year is over, I'll make Nick my husband." All of a sudden, the rose carving in my hand felt like it was covered in thorns. So her late sister's widower mattered more than me. My seventeen years of waiting had only made me the backup she'd settled on after weighing her options. In that case, there was no point in our union. I snapped the rose carving in two. And without a second thought, I accepted the century-old Stag and Swan Seal.

After working abroad for several years, I returned home, only to have my parents arrange a blind date for me. He was tall and strikingly handsome, honest in character, steady in demeanor, and came from an excellent family background. In short, the perfect candidate for a husband. I told myself that sooner or later, marriage was inevitable, so I settled on him. The day before the wedding, I went to the church—only to be stunned by the sight before me. The entire place had been transformed into something sinister and grotesque. The walls were plastered with terrifying photos of corpses, the floor littered with wax figures of severed arms and legs, and even the flowers had been dyed black, dripping with blood-red stains. But the most infuriating part was the image hanging right at the center of the church—an AI-generated picture of me, pinned beneath my fiancé, as he whipped me. My whole body trembled with fury. I stormed at the staff still working on the decorations, ordering them to stop immediately. Just then, his best friend, Nina Cullen, walked in. "Don't stop. Yves prefers this wedding style." I froze, staring at her in disbelief. "How is that possible? Who in their right mind would decorate something as joyous as a wedding with gore? This is insane!" Nina only gave a cold, arrogant laugh. "That's the theme. If you want to marry him, you'll have to accept it." Speechless, I immediately called Yves. "Yves, I'm not interested in getting married in a haunted house. You'd better restore the church to normal; otherwise, this wedding is off."

Tony finally realized I had stopped telling him everything. When the company assigned me to a business trip, I signed the papers immediately without consulting him. When my best friend invited couples to her wedding, I attended alone and gave her a nice wedding gift. Even when I fell ill and needed surgery, I booked the appointment without his consent. As a doctor, Tony frowned when he found out about the surgery. "Why didn't you tell me you were sick? Give me your medical records, I'll arrange everything for you." Without a second thought, I replied, "No need. I can handle it myself, I don't want to trouble you. Thank you." The moment the words left my mouth, both of us froze. Less than a month ago... I was completely dependent on him. Back then, I couldn't even choose an outfit for a date or decide what to eat for lunch without texting him first.

Everyone knows me as a gentle and calm wife. On our wedding night, my husband, Julian Chapman, sleeps with another woman. I tell myself that it's part of being married and that I should be understanding. He blows through the 30,000 dollars I brought into the marriage. I kept my silence. Then, he brings home one mistress after another. I pour them drinks myself. When his gambling debts finally catch up with him, he sells me to a brothel without a second thought. "This is my wife. She's quiet, obedient, and easy to deal with. Take her instead. Do whatever you want with her." I laugh. He has no idea that I had a reputation before I ever married him. They called me the Queen of Hell. I had been training courtesans since I was five. Does he think he can sell me? Fine. I'll take his smug pride and grind it into the dirt. I'll strip away every bit of dignity he's so proud of. From now on, I'm the one calling the shots, and he's the star attraction. Since he spent my money on mistresses, I'll put him on stage and make him earn his keep. That seems fair to me.