Lovers Reunion Romance Short Stories & Novels

In high school, I had finally worked up the courage to confess my feelings to my longtime crush. The next day, he disappeared from my life without a word. Heartbroken and furious, I moved on and started dating someone else, leaving him behind in my memories. Years passed, and I thought I had buried that part of my life. But ten years later, fate threw us back together—this time, he was my new boss. Not just any boss, but my boss’ boss. I had no idea how to face him, but one thing was clear: resigning suddenly felt like my best option.

I have a secret about my body. When I'm intimate with someone, my private part emits a fragrance. Despite being married to me for a decade, my live-in husband has never smelled it. One day, my family goes bankrupt, and I'm forced to become an escort. He looks at me imperiously as I kneel on the floor. He says coldly, "I'll pay you a hundred thousand dollars to let me smell you once."

My flight was suddenly canceled, so I dragged my suitcase back home. As soon as I stepped inside, I saw torn black stockings scattered on the floor. This was the eighth time Simon Jones had brought a different woman home. The sound of running water and a young woman’s laughter echoed from the bathroom. I didn’t cry or make a scene. Instead, I sat quietly on the couch, waiting for them to finish. Everyone assumed I would continue being Simon’s devoted fool like before. But no one knew that the man I truly loved had returned. After tonight, Simon, the stand-in, would be discarded.

After my sister stole my boyfriend 11 times, I decided to take action. I went out and found myself a fool to date, just to see if she'd still try to take him away. But I never expected that one day, my "foolish" boyfriend would stop being so dumb. In fact, he became a scoundrel.

My uncle’s rival, Emmett Meyer, saved me twice. The first time, I was drowning after a shipwreck—until he cut through the waves on a speedboat and dragged me ashore. The second time was after someone had slipped drugs into my drink. That night, I seduced him, a hardened man ten years my senior. In the dim glow of a private room, he guided my hand downward and growled, “I want you so bad, Babe.” He took me ruthlessly, ignoring my sobs and pleas. From then on, Emmett—the untamable “Prince of Silverbridge”—abandoned his reckless ways and devoted himself to me. Or so I believed. Then one day, he coaxed me into his Rolls-Royce and captured our tryst on camera. I flushed with embarrassment and secret delight. Later, as I hurried after him to return some documents he had left behind, I heard the sneers whispered in the hallway: “You’re so wild, Emmett. Everyone heard your girl moaning.” “Damn, the car rocked so hard I thought you’d break it.” “Hey, if Franklin Reed ever finds out that his precious niece has been your plaything for three years… think he’ll have a heart attack?”

On the day Zachary Lake stands at the pinnacle of global technology, accepting his award, I'm lying in a hospital bed, abandoned by doctors because I can't afford treatment for kidney failure. On TV, the host asks him to call the person he's most grateful for. Without hesitation, he dials my number. "Shannon, do you regret leaving me?" he asks. I clutch the astronomical medical bill in my hand, the paper crumpling beneath my fingers. Forcing a light tone, I reply, "Can you take me on as your kept woman now that you're a big deal?" On screen, his face remains expressionless as he hangs up without a word. Then, his cold voice pierces through the broadcast. "Now, I have nothing to feel grateful for." But what he doesn't know is that when he was on the brink of death years ago, I was the one who gave him my kidney.

After four years of marriage, I decide to get a divorce. Why? Because my wife doesn't love me. She loves her childhood sweetheart. I disappear after leaving behind a divorce agreement—I give her my blessings in her search for true love. But after I'm gone, she searches the world for me like she's lost her mind.

George Quinn brought his childhood sweetheart and their illegitimate son home. He said it was just a drunken mistake from seven years ago, and now he just wanted to make things right. Covering the boy's ears, he whispered to me, "Lucas is sensitive. Just say Emma is adopted to avoid upsetting him. Lily has struggled to raise him alone, and I owe her a proper title. In a few days, let's head to the courthouse for a divorce, but our daily life won't change." I didn't argue or fight. After enduring heartbreak and finalizing the divorce, I packed my things and left with my daughter. The butler urged George to persuade me to stay, but George dismissed him. "She is nearly 40 with a child in tow. Does she think another man will want her?" What he didn't know was that my long-lost first love came back last month. The man was still single, waiting for me all these years.

My sister and I married into wealthy families at the same time and became glamorous society wives. She had been childhood sweethearts with her husband, a CEO who was admired and respected by all. On the surface, their marriage was harmonious and respectful. But three years after the wedding, she got drunk one night and tearfully confessed to me. "Carrie… he's seeing someone else. He even has a love child now. They've been together longer than we've been married. He's been lying to me all this time. I'm just a joke to him." My eyes burned, brimming with unshed tears. "Actually… Kai's cheating too. He even bought his mistress a luxury car." We cried together all night. Gradually, our sorrow slowly turned into cold, clear resolve. "I don't want that bastard anymore, Carrie." "It's okay, Rachel. If you're walking away, I am too. I don't want my scumbag husband either." After a long talk, we made our final decision: Since this life wasn't working, we'd disappear. We'd leave it all behind and vanish without a trace.

I woke up staring at divorce papers—from the guy I'd crushed on all through college. My name. His. Right there on the page. He said I cheated. Last thing I remembered? Getting ready to finally tell him how I felt at our graduation party. Now suddenly, we've got a four-year-old. And him? He looked at me like I was some rando off the street. No trace of the sweet, soft guy I used to know. Just ice. What did I miss? What the hell happened in the last five years?

The year my family goes bankrupt, I cling to Ewan Rivera for one last night. When I wake up, I throw my final bit of money at him. "You can go cozy up to some other sugar mommy now. You don't need to degrade yourself by serving an ugly woman like me." I'm kicked out by the people liquidating our assets, and everyone points and laughs at the birthmark on my face. Meanwhile, Ewan's friends are busy celebrating his fresh start. "With a face like yours, tons of wealthy, gorgeous women are lining up for you. Why torture yourself with that ugly chick?" "Now that she's bankrupt, she won't cling to you anymore, right?" Five years later, Ewan has gone from being a broke campus heartthrob to a rising star in business. In the interview room, he flips through my application and pauses on my photo. He asks coolly, "You're 28? You already have a child?" I meet his probing gaze and introduce myself. "Yes. I'm Ingrid Landeau. I'm married with a daughter." I've changed my name and removed the large birthmark on my face. Ewan can't recognize me anymore.

I haven't had my period in two months, and my mom assumes I must be pregnant. So, she marches me off to see a doctor. Of all people, the doctor on duty turns out to be my ex—the one I dumped two months ago. His face betrays nothing, his voice icy as he says, "Lie on the exam table. Lift your shirt and pull your pants down." When I don't follow his instructions quickly enough, he impatiently pulls my pants down himself. But once the curtain is drawn, he takes off his glasses and hovers over me. "We didn't even go all the way. So, why haven't you had your period in two months?"

Tessa Langley accidentally stumbled upon the scene of her crush, Lorcan Steele, mapping out his intended future with another woman after he rejected her confession. To make things worse, her family had gone into bankruptcy overnight. Depressed and heartbroken, she decided to fly overseas. Ten years later, Tessa makes a comeback to her home country. Unexpectedly, she ends up reuniting with Lorcan once again at work. To think that the pathetic teenager from back then is now the decisive and ruthless business mogul who has major influence over the entertainment industry… At first, Tessa doesn't want to have anything to do with Lorcan. But he keeps causing her trouble at work no matter what she does. Feeling furious and helpless at the same time, all Tessa can do is insult Lorcan time and again. This dynamic goes on until Lorcan sustains heavy injuries after he protects Tessa in a car accident that's staged by an unknown mastermind. As Tessa takes care of Lorcan, they begin unraveling the misunderstandings that had once separated them, thus revealing the truth. It turns out that Lorcan has been secretly helping Tessa this whole time. He even helps her uncover who the actual murderer of her father is. However, Tessa feels really guilty for insulting Lorcan in the past, so she tries to flee. At the airport, Lorcan stops her from boarding her flight before confessing his feelings to her. The two of them finally get together as a couple after going through far too much drama in life.

My younger brother, Luke, committed suicide after being falsely accused of plagiarizing Layla's brother's music. My own life was a living hell. I was a respected music critic, but now I was the sister of "the plagiarist." My reputation was in tatters. My colleagues whispered behind my back, and my articles were dismissed as the ramblings of a biased, grieving relative. The one person who had always stood by me was my husband, Julian, a successful music producer. We had been together since college, and he was my rock, my refuge in the storm. I thought he would believe me. But, he didn't. But the real betrayal came the evening, just another day of being ridiculed online, I came home to find Julian on the phone. His voice was low and urgent, laced with a coldness I had never heard before. "The case is closed, Layla. It’s over," he said. "The evidence has been submitted. No one will ever know that it was your brother who plagiarized Luke's music."

I used to be a top ballet dancer. The year I was diagnosed with a spinal hemangioma, my boyfriend Julian Blackwood said, "Wherever you go, I go." We'd been together three years. He walked beside me as I went, step by step, from the most luminous dancer on that stage to a woman in a wheelchair. Every time the nerve pain hit and I collapsed, he was the one who lifted me off the floor. Every round of electrostim and acupuncture, he sat in the corridor outside the therapy room and waited for me to come out. Before I got sick, he promised me—the night I finished my final performance of Swan Lake, we'd sign the marriage license. He'd bought tickets for that show three months in advance. I never stood on that stage again. And the marriage license never came up. Until the morning I noticed the collar of his white dress shirt carried a smudge of lipstick that wasn't mine. I heard him on the balcony. A woman's voice on the other end. "Mr. Blackwood, you left your jacket at the hotel last night. I'll bring it over." I stared at that smear of red, and something in me snapped. I laughed. "Send me to Westbrook. The locked-down rehab facility. I don't want to drag you down anymore." Something flickered in his eyes—a brief, animal panic. Then he nodded. He thought I meant rest. He didn't know I'd already signed the papers to donate my body to science. I was going there to die.

At our high school reunion, my ex announced he was getting married. In the middle of the congratulations, someone piped up. “Hey, where’s Wren tonight? She didn’t show?” The whole room cracked up. “Wren? Probably still earning her keep in some rich guy’s bed.” “She dumped James for money, and now look at him. He’s the wealthiest guy in New York. Bet she’s kicking herself.” Someone snickered. “I heard the guy’s some fat old man. God, how does she even stomach it.” I broke up with James Thorne the year he loved me the most, and walked straight into the arms of another man, a man with money. Now he had a new girlfriend, he’d taken over Thorne Capital, and he was one of New York’s most talked-about young executives. He’d organized this reunion because he couldn’t wait to show off how good his life had turned out. “Enough. Drop it.” In the middle of the laughter, James spoke up. “I have a better life now. Whether Wren is dead or alive has nothing to do with me anymore.” “What if she really were dead?” The room went silent.

My fiancé of eight years moved in with the junior he was mentoring. She was young, pretty, knew how to play helpless, and knew exactly what she was doing. He'd down every toast meant for her—the same nights he let me get talked into drinking until I nearly died. He sat with her through her depression, fetched her water, fed her by hand. And me? I was alone in a hospital bed, burning with a 104-degree fever. He set her up on a pedestal and never noticed I'd been ground into the dirt. The day they discharged me, I didn't scream. I didn't fall apart. I went home, quietly packed a suitcase, and burned every memory that had his name on it. Later I heard the famous CEO of Washington Group showed up at his fiancée's door with millions of dollars in gifts. He found an empty apartment. And he lost his mind.

Adrian Vance and I had been secretly married for ten years, and I had always been his perfect wife. He was the president of a hospital. But lately he'd fallen in love with playing broke. I asked him to pick up blackberries; he came home with bananas and a sad little story about money. I needed a ride to my own surgery; he drove me there rattling along in a beat-up van, because the van fit the part. And when our daughter was dying and the one person who could save her was him, he looked a stranger in the eye and swore he was nobody, just an assistant, certainly not the hospital's president. That was the moment it finally landed. He hadn't drifted into an affair on a whim. He had chosen, with his whole heart, to walk away from his wife and his child. Fine. I'd take our daughter and clear the way for his great love.

Seven years into our marriage, my husband Theo ordered me an Americano, the way he always did. Except I'd just told him, again, that caffeine made me sick. The moment I opened my mouth to say something, his phone rang. He stood up and walked out without a word of explanation. Half an hour later, Lydia posted to her socials. "Thanks to a certain someone for taking time out of his insane schedule to fix my plumbing. Also, the fresh hot cocoa was incredible." The comments filled up with people gushing over her. Steam curled off the mug in the photo. It made the drink in my hand feel even colder. Lydia and Theo had grown up together. Seven years ago, within months of each other, they'd both rushed into marriage. The difference was that Lydia had married a man who hit her. Night after night, Theo would peel himself away from me and run off to defend her. Sometimes he'd fought with her husband and end up at the police station. It happened more than once. I used to think it was just his sense of justice, so I always cleaned up after him and smoothed things over. Now I could see it for what it was. He'd given so much of his attention to someone else that all I got were the leftovers, neglect and a cold shoulder. Fine. This love had already gone cold. I didn't want it anymore.

To keep me from becoming a spinster, my father spared no expense in finding me a husband. Seduced by a handsome face, I rushed into a whirlwind marriage with a charming young gentleman. Little did I imagine that this gentleman would prove more dissolute than I. Not only did he hold clandestine meetings with four different women, but he was also legally married. Upon finding that out, I fled with my baby without hesitation. But there was something I could not fathom. Why did the fugitive the new king was hunting bear my exact face?