Male POV Romance Short Stories & Countdown Novels

The day my girlfriend got back together with her first love, I boarded a plane bound for Brindlewood. She told her first love, "Craig was just a fling. I won't have anything to do with him anymore. From now on, I'll only be by your side." Her friends all worried I might cause a scene. But they didn't know—this time, I wasn't going to make a fuss. Before leaving for Brindlewood, I had promised my mentor I'd join his medical research program. In just two weeks, I'd lose all contact with the outside world and dive into a secret project for the next ten years. From that moment on, there would be no ties between me and her anymore.

A month before Wendy Johnson and I are set to marry, she tells me she wants to have another man's baby. Following my refusal, she keeps bringing it up daily. Half a month till the wedding, I see her pregnancy report. Just like that, I find out she is almost a month pregnant. It turns out she has no intention of seeking my agreement on this matter. At that very moment, my love for her for so many years dissipates for good. I'm calling off the wedding and destroying all our shared memories. On the day we are supposed to get married, I join a sealed-off research lab without a second thought. From now on, Wendy and I no longer have anything to do with each other!

After five years of dating, my girlfriend, Rachel Meyers, cancels our wedding 52 times. The first time, her intern, Ethan Cole, messes up a form at the law firm where she works. She rushes back to fix it, leaving me stranded on the beach for the entire day. The second time, during the wedding ceremony, she hears that Ethan is being bullied by another attorney. She abandons everything to help him, leaving me to become the laughingstock of our guests. After that, no matter when we hold the wedding, Ethan always seems to have some kind of emergency that demands her attention. Eventually, I grow numb and decide to break up with her. But on the day I move out of Westerbay, Rachel loses her mind trying to find me.

On a trip to Chicily, my wife, Rosa Stone, and her first love, Jack Cud, insisted on feeding wild, starving wolves. I simply reminded them, "You might attract more hungry wolves." They turned on me, calling me a heartless monster. In the end, I was right. A pack of wolves really did show up. They circled the car, watching us hungrily. Jack was bitten by one. To my surprise, Rosa kicked me out of the car, yelling, "Jack is hurt! He needs to be taken to the hospital! Distract the wolves, I'll come back for you!" I watched them drive away, leaving me behind, surrounded by hungry wolves closing in from all sides. My heart sank. But, Rosa forgot one thing—I was a great Wolvesmith.

After being forced to give my wife's first love my heart, I died in the hallway of the private hospital she had personally founded. My six-year-old son, Ash, had already begged her thrice by the time I had drawn my last breath. The first time was when he tugged on her hand, saying I was coughing up blood. Sneering, she claimed, "So he's finally learned something—teaching his kid how to lie." Then, she had the bodyguards throw him out of the room. The second time was when he clung to her sleeve, insisting that I rambled nonsense due to the pain. "It's just a heart transplant," she opined with a frown. "The doctor already said he won't die." At that, the bodyguards stepped in again and dragged him away. The third time was when he fell to the ground, clutching her pant leg with all his strength, crying that I had already passed out. She finally lost her temper by this point, grabbing Ash by the throat and hurling him out of the room. "I have already said it—Howard isn't going to die. Dare to disturb Skye's rest again, and I'll throw both of you out of this hospital," she warned. To save me, my son pawned the most precious thing he owned—his St. Christopher medal—to a nurse. "Ma'am," he said. "I don't need to live a long life. I just want my dad to live." She accepted the medal and was about to arrange for me to be transferred to the last available room. However, my wife's first love, Skye Whitley, had someone block the doorway with his pet dog. He mentioned, "Sorry, kid. Your mom's worried I'll get bored if I can't see my dog. This room is reserved for him."

My wife and I were both liars. She lied to me 99 times. "I'll forget all about him, I swear." That man was her first love. She never did forget about him. I only lied to her one time. To get her to sign the divorce papers. Time came to the final day of the cooling-off period. Three hours before it was up, I packed up all my stuff and bought a flight ticket to another country. Two hours before it was up, I cut up all my photos that had her in it, leaving only myself. One hour before it was up, I placed the divorce papers on the table. When she saw the papers, they drove her mad.

During the holidays, I've worked my ass off just to whip up a feast filled with my wife, Willow Steele's favorite dishes. But soon, my mother-in-law pulls out a paternity test report and announces with a smile that the birth father of my daughter, Naomi Johnson, is actually Willow's childhood sweetheart, Luther Lloyd. Everyone bursts into laughter before saying teasingly that "no wonder Naomi looks so much like Luther". Willow's father even pats Luther on the shoulder while looking at him as though the latter were a part of the family. What stings my heart the most is that Willow is laughing so hard that she can barely stand up straight. So, that leaves her clinging to Luther while she taps Naomi on the forehead with a finger. "Go on, call Mr. Lloyd 'daddy.' He's your real dad, after all." Naomi, who has always kept me at an arm's length, rushes into Luther's arms without hesitation and starts calling him "daddy" sweetly. I fall silent for a moment as I watch everything unfold. Then, I draw to my feet and look at Willow. "Let's get a divorce." But Willow just chuckles icily in return. "Must you go that far? My mom was just joking around." When I'm about to leave, Willow turns to tell the others, "He's just being ridiculous. Once I give him the cold shoulder for a few days, he'll still beg me to return to his side pathetically." But what Willow doesn't know is that I've chosen to endure everything she's hurled at me out of love in the past. Now, I want nothing more than to leave her permanently.

As a world-renowned genius, I only gave up on the top universities' offer and went to the same community college as her because she asked, "Will you go to the same college as me? I'd love to see you every day." I thought I had met the right woman until her conversation with her friend suggested otherwise. "He's not my boyfriend," she said. "Think of him as a clever dog. I only keep him around because he entertains me." Her friend mentioned a name, Aidan Stewart. Her expression softened at the mention of Aidan. "Aidan isn't like him. Aidan is a blessing heaven sent to me." At that moment, I finally realized what I was to her. I didn't wait any longer. I called the professor who favored me and said, "Dr. Anderson, I'll take on the drug research."

I feel unwell, so I head to the hospital alone to get myself checked. There, I find my wife, Luna Ackerman, accompanying the poor student I support financially, Levi Baker, for a health checkup. Just last night, the very same woman held me intimately in bed and said we would be together forever in every lifetime. I smile dejectedly and summon the system in my mind. "I choose to go back to my original world." What Luna doesn't know is that I'm a transmigrator. I have accomplished my mission the moment I married her. But now, I don't want her anymore.

Three years ago, my childhood sweetheart, Eleanor Carter, left me at the altar to marry Dillan Perez—the adopted son of my family. The church erupted in whispers. I became the laughingstock in a single breath. Then Victoria Brown—the aloof, formidable CEO of the Brown Group—stepped forward. "I'll marry you, Lambert," she said, her voice cutting through the wreckage of my pride. I said yes. For three years, she was the perfect wife. Gentle. Attentive. She was my salvation. But there was one thing that always hung between us like a quiet ache—we never had a child. The doctors found nothing wrong with either of us. Victoria would just smile softly and say, "It will happen when the time is right." Today, I came home early. The door to our bedroom was slightly open. I heard her voice. She was on the phone with her best friend. I didn't mean to listen. But then I heard my name. "Lambert wants a child with me," she said. "But he doesn't know I've been on birth control the whole time. That's why we never got pregnant." My blood turned cold. "As long as he has no heir," she continued, "Dillan's place in the Clark family stays secure." I stood there, frozen. My hands went cold. My heart shattered into pieces. I was just a tool to protect the man she truly cared for. I didn’t confront her. Instead, I calmly planned my death—a quiet disappearance from her world.

After five years together, my fiancée Selene—a surgeon—canceled our wedding forty-nine times. The first time, she was in the middle of makeup when Kaelen, her male intern, messed up a patient’s chart. She rushed back to the hospital and left me waiting at the altar all day. The second time, just as we were about to exchange rings, she heard Kaelen was being bullied by another doctor. She went back to rescue him. I stayed behind, facing a roomful of smirking guests. After that, every time I tried to reschedule, that intern had some new emergency. Always needed her. Always right when the wedding was supposed to happen. I finally decided to end it. The day I left New York, she searched for me like a madwoman. But I was already gone.

After getting married, I followed my wife to the desert to help build up a remote research base. After months of severe drought, I applied for 17 ounces of water just to wash my hair. But as station chief, June Sheffield rejected me without hesitation. "The water supply has to go toward cultivating the samples first. You need to learn how to tough it out." Then the next moment, I came across a new post the intern had uploaded on social media. 'Wanted to try an outdoor bath, and Ms. Sheffield approved a whole ton of water without even blinking! She even set up the bath tent herself. I'm so happy.' Furious, I went straight to confront June Sheffield. Usually cold and distant, she softened her tone for once. "Conditions here are harsh. If Morgan can't handle it and decides to leave, the base will end up even more short-staffed. You're one of the core staff members. Once the project pays out, your share alone will be at least four million. An intern like him doesn't get that kind of treatment." In the end, I swallowed my anger. That was, until the first-quarter project wrapped up. When there was still no movement in my account, I nervously contacted headquarters. The moment I gave my identity, the person on the other end sounded stunned. "You're just an intern. What project bonus are you talking about? And the head of the research department has always been Morgan Wilder." I stared at June's signature on the personnel registration list and suddenly understood everything. Without another word, I packed my bags and booked a flight home. Life in the desert was bitterly cold and unforgiving. This time, I was not staying.

On New Year's Eve, I went to court for the last time. The judge asked if I still wanted to file for custody of my daughter. I shook my head and said, "I'm here to withdraw my case. I'm going to stop fighting for custody anymore. I agree with the divorce." Vivian and I had been married for nine years, and the divorce had dragged through six hearings. I spent six New Year's Eve in court. There had been no joy, only hysterical accusations. I was tired. My daughter was tired, too. So, I finally stopped holding on. I had already booked my flight home for the year.

After I got back with Lily Reid, I finally had a chance to catch a breather. She no longer returned home late, and she no longer hid her social media posts from me. Finally, I no longer felt like an insecure madman in our relationship. It was as if nothing had happened before. Things were very peaceful. It seemed as though love could ease everything. One day, Lily got into a car accident. My childhood friend was with her, and he was found completely naked. The police passed the mediation letter to me and said sternly, “The surveillance footage showed that your girlfriend was driving distractedly and hit the car in the opposite lane.” I signed the letter numbly. Then, I collected the items from the car accident. There were a pair of sexy leggings, birth control products, and a guarantee letter that had been torn into pieces. [I, Lily Reid, promise to cut all ties with David Anderson, or I will rot in hell.] When I rushed to the hospital, Lily was struggling to sit upright and shield David. “I was the one who went to him. If you’re angry, direct it to me!” I shook my head and laughed in relief. It turned out no matter how hard I held on, I could not save the romance. The air tickets that I bought for our anniversary trip became my exit.

In the third year of working to raise money for the medical expenses of my girlfriend, Christine White, she once again fell into a critical condition. During these three years, I used up all my savings and mortgaged the house my parents had left me. I delivered takeout food, washed dishes, and even sold my blood just because she said she would marry me when she recovered. I continued to naively gather money for her medical expenses. While delivering takeout at the entrance of an upscale nightclub, I heard her boasting to her friends. "That idiot Micah Jenning. I just made up an excuse about being sick, and he believed me like a lapdog! Not only did he empty his tiny savings, but he actually worked delivering food and driving Uber! I heard he even worked on a construction site a few days ago to make money! Tell me. Isn't he the ultimate simp? How pathetic.” At that moment, the heart that loved her for three years suddenly died. I dropped the food delivery and turned to call the rich heiress who had waited for me for three years. "Hayley Smith, you once said that you would marry me if I were willing to marry you. Does that statement still stand?"

To save the man she truly loved, the princess locked me in our room and cut out my heart's blood. The last time she drew blood from me, I finally reached the end of my strength and died. But without a shred of pity, she drove the knife into my chest again. "Alec, just bear it a little longer. Stephen's illness came on so suddenly. I need you to give one more bit of your heart's blood." She thought I would struggle in pain. Instead, I lay motionless on the bed and let her take what she wanted. She finally froze, then softened her voice and said, "I'm glad you've come to your senses. I'll make it up to you some other day." But she didn't know there would be no other day. Because I was already dead. What lay before her now was nothing more than a ghost without pain or feeling. In seven more days, I would disappear completely.

Three years after I had made my girlfriend, Sophia Lambert, sleep with her superior, she finally went from being his lover to becoming his wife. Meanwhile, I barely made it out alive after years of being undercover in a drug trafficking ring. My body was broken beyond repair, and I had returned home only to wait for death. Sophia arrived with one of her arms wrapped around her husband’s during a charity visit for the poor. When she saw me standing in line for relief aid, she let out a mocking laugh. “Benjamin, how did you end up like this?” I hunched my shoulders. I hid the First-Class Merit Medal for Narcotics Enforcement I had received not long ago. After a long silence, I asked, “Are you happy now?” She twirled the diamond ring on her finger in a lackadaisical manner. “The wedding’s next week. What do you think? “If you want, you can even become a groomsman. Orlando believes in diversity. His groomsmen comprises of different kinds of guys. He’s just missing someone disabled.” I shook my head and turned down her offer. “No, I won’t be able to make it.” The poison in my body had already spread to my heart. I only had a few days left.

After I discovered Chelsea Stone’s infidelity, I ended the relationship without giving her a chance. I packed my luggage bit by bit. She watched me, then suddenly said, “Jensen Scott, do you know what was the most boring thing about you?” I paused and turned around. She blew out a puff of smoke and smiled in a flirtatious way. “You were so boring. You did not even know how to sweet‑talk in bed. It was so uninteresting.” I walked away with my things, and I held back my tears. Three years later, I ran into her in the hospital corridor. She wore a white coat, and the medical record book in her hand almost slipped when I bumped into her. Our eyes met. She looked me over, and her tone turned playful. “Oh, is this not my blockhead ex‑boyfriend?” I smiled and did not reply. As I left the hospital, she stepped in front of me and lowered her voice. “Three years have passed. Have you learned how to sweet‑talk in bed?” I raised my hand and showed her my wife’s ultrasound report. “I have, but not to you.”

I was two hours late the day we went to see the wedding apartment. By the time I rushed over, Serena Dupree had already signed the purchase agreement and was leaning her head against Ryan Hale's, deep in discussion about the renovation. They'd gone from debating a gaming room to a nursery, and now they were arguing over whether the master bathroom needed a bathtub. Nearby, a middle-aged couple watched with amused smiles and teased Ryan. "You two are clearly decorating a newlywed home, young man. In a marriage, the husband listens to the wife." Ryan coughed, awkward, and glanced at Serena, whose face had gone faintly pink. "Fine, fine, whatever she wants." I stood a little way off, watching Serena and Ryan go back and forth, settling every detail of my own future home between the two of them. The three of us had grown up together. When we were kids, they were the ones who decided which school I'd attend, then let me know afterward. When we grew older and Serena and I started dating, they were the ones who picked the restaurant for every date, the destination for every trip, and told me where we were going. This time, even the wedding apartment, apparently, all I had to do was wait for them to tell me. Over the years, I'd turned into the shadow of the two of them. A shadow doesn't get a voice. It just keeps its head down and follows along. But even a shadow gets tired. Even a shadow can stop dead on some overcast day and refuse to take one more step forward.

After graduation, my girlfriend, Ada Tyler, drove me home to meet my parents. Except Owen—my little brother—had already claimed the front seat. He flashed me a smug grin. "You cool with that, Jace?" Ada sighed. "He gets carsick. He needs the front. Can you sit in back? Please?" At a rest stop, I got in line for her favorite iced Americano. When I came back, the car was gone. All I had was a voicemail. "Owen's stomach hurts. I'm taking him to the hospital. Find your own way home." Behind her, Owen was laughing. Rain came down hard. Three buses and five hours later, I finally made it home. The second I reached the door, Dad laughed. "Ada, you really know how to take care of people. Owen would be lucky to marry you." Mom patted her shoulder. "You're exactly the kind of woman I want for my son." I pushed the door open. The whole room went dead silent.