Plot Twists Romance Short Stories & Lovesick Fool Novels

In our third year of marriage, Jillian Holt changed the name she had saved my number under. It wasn't "Dear" anymore. It was "7:00 pm to 7:30 pm". She said she set aside only half an hour a day for personal matters. If I messaged her a minute early, she wouldn't reply. If the text was even a minute late, she wouldn't reply either. Once, I had a fever of 102.2°F and was hooked up to an IV at the hospital. I called her seven times. At 7:00 pm, she called me back right on time. "You have 29 minutes left. Get to the point." I asked hoarsely if she could come pick me up. She glanced at her schedule. "29 minutes isn't enough for a round trip. Get a cab yourself." I had always thought she was just too busy with work, so I never dared waste a second of that half hour each night. I would write down what I wanted to say ahead of time and keep my complaints brief. Then, one night at 1:00 am, a clap of thunder woke me up. No one was beside me. In the living room, Jillian was leaning against the couch, revising a proposal for her project manager, Jesse Cohen. On the screen, Jesse chuckled. "Ms. Holt, it's already 1:00 am. Am I taking up too much of your time?" Jillian let out a soft laugh. "When have I ever kept track of the time when you needed me?" Standing behind the door, I suddenly remembered knocking on her study door three hours earlier. I was doubled over with stomach pain. She had said, "You've used up your time for today." I returned to my room and turned off the alarm I had set on my phone for 6:59 pm every day. At 7:00 pm the next day, Jillian didn't get a message from me for the first time.

Hannah Neate hated having her picture taken more than anything. When her company held a press conference, she forbade any reporter from bringing a camera inside. I had been married to her for three years, but we never had a single wedding photo. She had an effortlessly frigid personality and would not waste her time getting her photo taken. She believed that it was a poor use of energy and time. One day, I saw a photo of her and a man in a photo booth at the mall. It was displayed as a couple’s photo template at the center of the wall. They were nestled close together. The man’s gaze was doting, and she was smiling sweetly. I tore the photo down and threw it onto her desk. She merely glanced at it and said lightly, “Dwade was just being playful. He insisted on dragging me there. Why are you upset? It’s just a photo.” I laughed exasperatedly. I had spent three years trying to get a photo with her, but another man got one in just three minutes, like it was nothing but a game to him. I took off my wedding ring and placed it on top of that photo. Since that was the case, I might as well disappear from her life for good.

On our wedding night, my wife demanded that I wear a blindfold. She said her body was meant only for her true love. The words hit me like a bucket of ice water, and I snapped, "Are you my wife or his?" She shot back even louder, defiance blazing in her eyes. "I married you. Does that mean I have to show you my body? Coercion is still coercion, even in marriage. My body is only for Matt to see because you simply don't deserve it." Later, she said she wanted to truly be my wife. I found myself thinking she wasn't worthy anymore.

She'd loved him for four years. But just before their wedding, she was forced to pretend she'd betrayed him, leaving him no choice but to let her go. When he found out she'd cheated on him, he flew into a rage and made her life a living hell. “Summer Blake, you should be grateful I haven't killed you.” It wasn't until much later that he realized just how empty his world had become without her.

Jensen Shaw said, "My only wish is for you to disappear from my life forever." After five loveless years of marriage, Lauren Sullivan became the person her husband hated most. Then she really did disappear. Everyone said Lauren brought it on herself. When she died, no one even came to claim her body. But as one buried truth after another came to light, Jensen discovered... At the best time of her life, she once loved him with a pure, open heart. And when aftershocks shook the ruins around them, she risked her life to save him.

Five years after their breakup, Lauren Scott signed a master-servant contract with Yale Sutton, the ex-boyfriend who had been penniless when they were together. Yale would pay off her debts, and in return, Lauren had to fulfill his every demand. "Lauren, take off one piece of clothing, and I'll knock a million off your debt." Yale spoke slowly, his voice dripping with mockery. Around the private room, the men hooted and cheered while the women laughed and made teasing remarks. Lauren gritted her teeth. "Fine. Just don't go back on your word, Mr. Sutton." Without a moment's hesitation, she unbuttoned her blouse and let it fall to the floor, baring her porcelain-white skin and most of her full, rounded breasts. The room fell silent for a moment before whistles erupted from every direction.

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.

For ten years, he remained tangled up with her, and everyone in their circle laughed at him for being her forever backup plan. She had once said, “The housekeeper’s son? He’s fun to mess around with, but marry him? Not a chance.” No one noticed him standing just outside the door. With his fists clenched and his eyes burning red, he turned and walked away. That very day, he married someone else.

For their fifth wedding anniversary, Xavier Parker gave Riley Quinn a gift: he forced 999 bottles of hard liquor down her throat. "Xavier, I really can't drink anymore..." Riley begged, her voice hoarse. He let out a cold laugh and leaned over her. "Your parents loved drinking so much they drove drunk and killed my entire family. You're their daughter. You must love drinking just as much." "I'm sorry." Riley's eyes reddened with despair. She had apologized countless times, so often that the words had become second nature. "But my parents already died to atone for that accident. Isn't that... enough?"

Five years ago, I threw Jase Prescott out of my mansion like a dog. Five years later, he'd become a renowned professor, while I'd been told my illness was incurable. He swirled the red wine in his glass, his gaze icy. "Why aren't you out making the big bucks, Audrey? What made you switch careers and start drinking with men for money?" Bitterness rose in my throat. I forced a smile. "Can't be helped. I'm buried in debt. Jase, would you be generous enough to lend me a hundred thousand?" He splashed the red wine across my face. "Same old story." His voice was as sharp as a blade. "You're still rotten with greed." Looking at the way he hated me to the core, I finally breathed a sigh of relief. Thank God. He had no idea that the heart beating in his chest was mine.

When Stella Everette's junior went looking for death again, I knew she would come to peel off my skin next. It had been this way for a hundred years. Her beloved, Louie Linfield, kept throwing himself into the demon cave, trying to die for the lover he had lost there. Every time, Stella saved him and used the healthy skin from my body to replace his flesh that was burned away by the primordial flames. The skin on my body had been replaced repeatedly. There wasn't a single patch of untouched skin left. Only my face still looked somewhat like it had before. But this time, Louie burned half his face. When Stella locked me in the demon realm's prison and used torture tools to tear the skin from my entire face, there wasn't a trace of warmth in her eyes. "Lucian, Louie is my mentor's only blood relative left, and he once saved my life. You're my husband. Isn't it only right for you to help me?" She hurried away with my blood-soaked skin, leaving me alone in the lightless prison. She had forgotten that I had lost all my demonic power. I could no longer grow new skin, and I couldn't withstand the corrosive demonic energy in this place. The freezing demonic energy pierced through my entire body, tearing into what little flesh I had left. With the last bit of strength I had, I took the beaded bracelet from my wrist and pressed it against my chest. Whispering, I called out to my mentor, "I want to go home."

For three years, Julian Hart has been Larkmoor's idea of the perfect husband. 7:00 a.m. — He gets up to make breakfast. Vivienne Sterling eats only whole-wheat sandwiches, so he goes out early for the freshest ingredients. 9:00 a.m. — He ties her shoelaces and sees her off. 10:30 a.m. — He cleans their mansion, waters the plants, and straightens her study. 3:00 p.m. — He organizes her walk-in closet and jewelry and irons her clothes. ... 10:00 p.m. — The bath he's prepared is at precisely the right temperature when she arrives home on schedule. As Julian helps her out of her coat, he catches the faint smell of tobacco on it.

Every time I go out with my wife of three years, Jillian Luke, and my best friend, Shawn Lynch, the two of them get mistaken for a couple. At the mall, a sales clerk hands them a complimentary gift for couples. At a restaurant, the server asks if they'd like to join a couples' event. On trips, strangers tell them what a good match they are, then shove a phone into my hands and ask me to take their picture. At first, I do feel awkward about it. Jillian never explains. Every time, Shawn is the one who smooths things over with a smile. "Maybe the two of us just look a little like a couple. Don't overthink it." He says it so lightly that I tell myself, again and again, not to take it to heart. This goes on until Thanksgiving dinner, where Jillian says she'll officially take me to meet her parents. I've spent three whole months preparing. But the moment we walk in the door, Jillian's mom, Carol Simpson, grabs hold of Shawn, smiling from ear to ear. "Look at these two, everyone. They look so much like a married couple." The relatives join in on the teasing. "Just how many times have Jillian and Shawn kissed? They look more alike every day." The whole room is laughing. I stand where I am and look at Jillian. All she does is reach out and straighten Shawn's slightly crooked tie. She doesn't object, and she doesn't deny it. At that moment, I finally understand that it's not that she can't be bothered to explain. It's that in her heart, the one she truly wants to marry has never been me.

Everyone in Hemsouth City knew Joe Kingston as the ultimate trust fund kid. Tall, handsome, and wild, he lived exactly how he pleased. At the height of his partying days overseas, an urgent telegram from his father summoned him home. It contained only one cold, uncompromising line: "Come home immediately. You're marrying Fiona Spencer." Fiona was one of the youngest and most promising officers in the military. Cool, disciplined, and fiercely self-controlled, she couldn't have been more different from him. He lived for a good time. She preferred peace and quiet. He did whatever he wanted and had gotten himself into more trouble than he could count. She followed every rule to the letter and treated military discipline as absolute. He was wild and free, changing girlfriends as often as he changed clothes. She was famously uninterested in men and had supposedly never even held a male soldier's hand. Just the thought of marrying someone that uptight made him feel suffocated. So Joe pulled every trick he could think of to sabotage the marriage before it ever happened.

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.

From the time I was 22 until I turned 30, Brianna Everly and I had a wedding every year. The only thing we never had was a marriage certificate. She said she was afraid of marriage, terrified that we'd end up like her parents. So I gave her eight years to prepare herself—until our eighth wedding, when Brianna showed up in the wrong wedding dress. It looked just like the wedding dress she'd always worn for our ceremonies, except for one detail. The name embroidered along the neckline wasn't mine. It was my best friend, Leon Stratford's. I was about to confront Brianna when my brother, Dominic Sterling, grabbed my arm. "Harrison, it's been eight years. What's the point of digging into it now? Just pretend you never saw anything." I stared at him in disbelief. "Dominic, you knew all along?" He stiffened and glanced at all the family and friends gathered at the wedding. "I'm not the only one who knows. Everyone does too." I stood there stunned, unable to find my voice for a long moment. "Why? Why did Brianna hold a wedding with me every year for the past eight years?" Dominic explained with pity in his eyes, "Having a wedding every year was Leon's idea. Except for the wedding when they actually got legally married, every wedding after that was one Leon had, and you had one too." It turned out the marriage certificate I'd spent eight years waiting for had been given to someone else long ago. Worse, I was the last person to find out.

This was the eighteenth time I received photos of Autumn cheating on me. With practiced ease, I bought them all and had them wiped. On the night of our engagement, I stepped forward to stop her as she prepared to leave. “Can you stay tonight?” She frowned. “I don’t like men who are too clingy.” The next day, a video of her playing dress-up in a wedding gown with another man spread like wildfire across the city. In this gamble called love, I had lost everything. Just then, my childhood friend called, her voice bright with laughter. “Mr. Dunn, isn’t it about time you came back and married me?”

My wife, Jolene Stephens, and I both cheated. The difference was that she chose to betray me while I had been made to cheat. She got me blackout drunk the same night her affair with Leon Homes came to light. Then, she stripped me naked and left me in a hotel room with a stranger. She posed my unconscious body in degrading positions and took photos to create evidence of my "affair." Both our cheating photos were exposed consecutively, and the public outrage against her little lover was offset. A huge wave of nausea rolled over me, making me dry-heave over the sink. My body was covered in red marks. The thought of what the stranger had done to me drove me to fits of terror. My wife watched as I scrubbed my skin until it split and bled before saying quietly, "I didn't have a choice. Leon's from a conservative family. It would destroy him if word got out that he was a homewrecker." The internet tore me apart overnight. My grandfather, Bruce Tillman, the only kin I had left, suffered a heart attack after seeing the news and was rushed into the emergency room. I had to protect her just to protect myself. So, I repeated the lie she needed me to tell under a wall of flashing cameras and microphones. "Neither of us cheated. Ms. Stephens and I had already separated long ago."

My girlfriend, Quinn Simmons, my best friend, Seth Johnson, and I were one the outs. When I apologized to Quinn, she just fingered her nails. Then I tried to talk to Seth. He scrolled through his phone and turned a deaf ear to me. I was stuck between a rock and a hard place. I begged for their forgiveness, but my efforts were fruitless. In high school, Quinn and Seth asked me which electives I intended to take. Seth gave me the cold shoulder for a whole month after I chose the same electives as Quinn. Seth threw the 20 apology letters that I wrote for him into the trash, saying, "I don't really care. You two are a couple. I'm not forcing you to choose the same electives with me." During our university days, both Quinn and Seth rented places off campus and asked me to move in with them. When I chose Seth, Quinn chased me out of her place with a frosty expression, saying, “Go find your new roommate. Just leave me alone.” Quinn's disregard lasted two months. I kept chasing after her, trying to coax her the whole time. One day, I accidentally tumbled down the stairs. My whole body shook as I clutched my injured leg, but Quinn didn’t even spare me a single glance. She just stepped over me. Ten minutes ago, we were choosing a movie to watch. Quinn wanted to watch a sci-fi film, while Seth wanted to watch a romance movie. They asked me to choose again. In the end, after I chose a comedy, they spent the entire time ignoring me and chatting among themselves. "I want to watch a romance movie," Seth said while looking at Quinn. "It's fine if you don't." Quinn scoffed. "Can you watch something logical for once? What's so interesting about a romance movie anyway?" As Seth rolled his eyes, a flash of panic flickered across Quinn's eyes. She sighed and said, "Fine. We'll watch whatever you want to watch." I stood rooted to the spot, clutching the three tickets for the comedy movie. Suddenly, I didn't feel like watching the movie anymore.

Teresa Gardner, my girlfriend, is thrilled when I hand over the design drafts I spent so long working on to Quentin Solomon, her first love. She is so happy that she agrees to travel to Jarevon with me. Yet the moment we reach the airport, Quentin calls her. "I got into an accident. I really want to see you right now. Please don't leave with him, Teresa!" Teresa, who is usually so level-headed, panics and desperately pleads with me to let her go see Quentin. In the end, even as our friends keep sending us well wishes for our trip to Jarevon in the group chat, I can only smile as I release Teresa's hand and let her go to Quentin. Teresa's eyes well up with tears the moment she sees how thoughtful and understanding I am, as always. "I swear this will be the last time. I'll come back and marry you once I've checked on Quentin's condition, Aaron." I remind myself it's the 96th time I've done this for Teresa. I muse that perhaps I just have to hold on a little longer. If fulfilling these last three requests doesn't fix things between us, I'll walk away completely—Teresa and I will go our separate ways and never cross paths again.