Male POV Romance Short Stories & Novels

Six years after marrying Rhiannon Westley, she takes a lover. He's like a puppy—timid and clingy. He flinches at the slightest raised voice, so Rhiannon never loses her temper in front of him. But when he acts up in front of me, Rhiannon snaps. She's furious, and she gives him a harsh scolding. The next day, he sends me a photo of his neck covered in red marks. "Zane, Ms. Westley is so fierce..."

I've placed a no-limit bid just so I can buy Eloise Kane, the best underground boxer, from an underground boxing ring. Without even sparing me a proper glance, she's already naming her conditions with a sneer on her face. Apparently, she wants a deluxe apartment that's located in the heart of the city, a monthly allowance of ten million dollars, and most importantly, I mustn't interfere with her social circle. Everyone thinks I've gone nuts for buying myself a mistress just so I can cater to her whims and needs. But I don't mind at all. I just point at her left chest and tell her, "Just maintain a regular lifestyle. Don't let anything happen to your heart." I even go so far as to offend the heiress of the most prominent family in the elite society in order to defend Eloise. That is, until I heard Eloise gets stabbed for her jealous antics in a bar. By the time I arrive at the private room, I see her embracing a male escort while laughing at the top of her lungs. "Oh, I'm the one who hired someone to hit his sister with a car! It's best if she dies, though! That way, his assets will be mine! "Besides, he's just an idiot whose only purpose is to give me money! Who does he think he is, anyway?" Amid the eerie silence, I snatch up a wine bottle and smash it into Eloise's head. Then, I slam her head into the pile of blood-stained glass shards. After that, I dial the hospital's number. "Her heart is in top shape, and it's a perfect match. Tonight, you can wheel my sister into the emergency room. Time to prep for the heart transplant surgery."

Half a year into my death, my wife, Serena Beckett, wants me to donate my kidney to William Clark, her heavily ill first love. Serena smashes my tombstone like a madwoman in the graveyard. Then, she kicks the tokens aside. "He's dead? What sort of sick joke is this? Jason Shaw is a coward! He definitely doesn't have the guts to die! "I think he just doesn't want to save William's life! To think that he actually roped you guys into putting up this act just to pretend that he's actually dead!" Serena is furious, to say the least. The graveyard's staff members are so frightened that they dare not speak up at all. A newly-recruited staff member finally muster the courage to say something. "Ma'am, Mr. Shaw really is dead. Apparently, he died in the donation surgery that had taken place half a year ago… He—" "Shut up!" Serena slaps him while cutting him off. "You really think I'll believe that bullshit? Tell him that if he doesn't show his face in three days, his little sister can forget about getting off the surgical table alive! I mean what I said!" With a dark expression, Serena turns on her heel and leaves angrily afterward. But the staff member looks toward another tombstone not far away. Then, he lets out a heavy sigh. "It's a shame that his sister has already died due to her illness taking a turn for the worse."

On the day of my 30th birthday, my CEO wife, Sabrina Langford, leaves hurriedly at 3:00 am. She claims that there's something urgent going on at the company and that she won't be home the whole day. Later on, Timothy Cross, the low-income university student that Sabrina has been sponsoring, updates his social media feed. In the photo, I see Sabrina standing at the side of the road in a bikini. Two big apples are balanced on her 36D bust. The caption of the photo is, "The beautiful and hot CEO has personally come over to my house to help me sell the homegrown apples. You'll regret it if you don't buy these apples from me!" My brows are drawn into a frown immediately. When I call Sabrina, the call goes through rather quickly. "I told you I'm very busy at the company right now. If you disturb me again, I'm not going to forgive you this easily!" After that, Sabrina ends the call. But right before the call gets cut off, I can hear a car honking in her background. I'm not mad at her at all. She likes helping others to sell fruits, right? I might as well lend her a helping hand. So, I share the social media post to the company's group chat. The message I've drafted is, "Does anyone here want a batch of rotten apples? I'll even throw in a second-hand wife for free."

Asher Pearce is a notoriously stubborn and wilful heir in Fantonia's social circles. Despite his striking good looks and prestigious family background, his wild and uninhibited personality makes every woman want to stay away from him, except for Regina Gleason, his childhood friend who grew up alongside him. When he wants to go street racing, she maps out a safe route for him. When he gets into a fight, she quietly hands him a cigarette afterward to calm him down. When he's hungover from a full night of drinking, she learns how to make his favorite hangover food from the household staff. People often say that Regina would simply hand Asher the knife with a smile even if he told her that he wanted to commit murder. Or, in other words, she simply always puts up with him and tolerates his behavior unconditionally. However, everything changes on the day of their wedding.

At Opaline Corp, the lowest-performing employee had to eat a plate of pasta mixed with live worms. This time, Tristan Crocker lost three clients and landed dead last. To keep Tristan from feeling singled out, my wife, Wendy Kline, hit me with a nine-million-dollar performance penalty because I showed up one minute late while sick—even though I'd brought in three million in revenue. Just like that, I became the first employee in company history with negative earnings. Grinning, Tristan shoved the plate toward me. "Wendy updated the company rules last night to keep everyone in line. Anyone who's late gets penalized three times their performance. You always said mistakes deserve punishment. Now that it's your turn, you're not backing out, right?" Every eye in the room locked on me, waiting for me to lose it. Wendy quickly sent me a message: [The nine million is only on paper. It's not a real fine. With your talent, you'll earn it back in three months. Tristan's allergic to worms. If he ends up in the hospital over a punishment, it'll damage the company's reputation. And if people hear we punished an outsider, that'll look even worse.] [You're my husband. You're one of us. I love you, which is why I'm giving you the chance to show some leadership.] [Once this blows over, I'll give you an extra twenty dollars a month, okay?] When I didn't reply, she finally snapped. "Company rules apply to everyone, even the top performer. If you don't like it, you're free to leave." I nodded, unclipped my badge, and set it on the table. "Fine. I quit." I looked at her. "And while we're at it, let's get divorced."

My wife and I had kept our marriage secret for three years. Then she became a fraud-busting influencer with ten million followers, and I was the first person she exposed. On her livestream, she sobbed that I was a freeloader who beat her, bled her dry, and even forced her to entertain men over drinks for money. The internet buried me in abuse. Delivery orders I never placed and funeral wreaths piled up outside my door. Her top donor announced he was going to break my legs to get justice for her. On camera, my wife was a fragile victim. Off camera, she was texting me threats. If I did not sign the thirty-million-dollar penthouse downtown over to her, she would burn my name to the ground. She thought that owning public opinion meant owning me. What she did not know was that her top donor, the man showering her with gifts every night, was one of my security guards. And when she brought New York's richest man onto her stream, intending to expose my supposed crimes, something else happened. The richest man in New York turned toward where I was standing and called me boss.

After my wife, Talia Rosenthal, becomes pregnant with her mentor's son, Lucas Hawthorne's, child, she asks me for a divorce. "We can get married after the baby's born. It's just for show, so don't read too much into it." To make matters worse, our daughter, Joyce Rosenthal, takes her side. "We need to repay those who help us. Besides, that's my mom's child too. Stop making things difficult for Mom, Dad." Instead of causing a scene like everyone expects, I nod quietly, swiftly finalize the divorce, and marry Sonya Silverstein, the woman who once saved my life. In my previous life, because I adamantly refuse to get a divorce, Talia and Joyce abandon me and leave for a distant land. I become a total laughingstock and hit rock bottom. Now that I've been given a second chance at life, I calmly go through with the divorce and vanish from their lives. … Six years later, at an exclusive luxury cruise party, Talia and Joyce push through the crowd on the dance floor, grab me by the wrist, and demand, "Didn't I tell you it was just for show? Where the hell have you been all these years?" I'm caught off guard. The very next second, my mischievous son, Jeremy Jensington, runs straight into my arms. "Daddy, who are you talking to? Mommy's looking for you!"

Braving a downpour, I delivered a lavish food order, anticipating the hefty commission and a $100 tip. Laughter suddenly echoed from the villa. Someone started, "He really believes your car crash left you paralyzed? He's hustling deliveries to support you and even pawned his dad's heirloom?" Another said, "What if he discovers you're actually a billionaire heiress, just playing poor? He'd probably break down in tears." Jessica Stark toyed with her wine glass. "Guys like him are wired to serve, especially since he always outshone Mark in our school days. This is his comeuppance." I stood in the relentless rain, a bitter chuckle escaping my lips. Turned out, her two-year charade of paralysis was merely to avenge her childhood sweetheart. Her broken legs, deceased parents, and helpless tears were all meticulously crafted lies. Disillusioned, I dialed my estranged tycoon mother. "You win. I'll go through with the arranged marriage."

As Dad lies on his death bed, he rasps to me that his only wish is to watch me get married. I keep crying to the point that my sobs come out silent. My entire family turns to look at Whitney Pearson, who stands behind me. She lets out a small sigh before wiping my tears away for me gently. Then, she leads me out of the ward. But as soon as the door is closed behind us, Whitney's expression turns icy. "Joseph, we've been dating for seven years. You of all people should know very well that I hate getting coerced into doing something the most. "Love is all about going with the flow. We shouldn't let others determine how our relationship should progress." Then, she caresses my cheek reassuringly. "Let's not rush our marriage. We'll talk more about this once things settle down after my company goes public. What do you think? "Anyway, I still have a meeting to get to tonight. You should deal with your family as you see fit. I'll bring a gift for you when I come home later." Before I can say anything, Whitney spins on her heel and leaves with her secretary, Kaiden Xavier. The moment both of them disappear into the elevator, I witness Kaiden bending over slightly to brush Whitney's hair from her face for her. She makes no move to stop him at all. After drying my tears, I return to the ward and take Dad's hand with a smile. "Don't worry, Dad. I'll get married in three days. In fact, I'm still waiting for you to do my tie for me before the start of the ceremony."

At midnight, the ER receives a pregnant patient with an extremely pale face, and she's convulsing violently at the same time. I lift her shirt on the spot so that I can diagnose her symptoms better. But my wife, Selena Carson, who also works as the head nurse, suddenly berates me angrily. "Do you have any idea that what you're doing is sexual harassment? Can't you spare the patient her pride? "Don't use your treatment as an excuse! I refuse to believe that there aren't any female doctors in the ER at all!" The patient's family members streamed the whole thing live. Soon, everyone was blasting me on the Internet. The hospital forces me to apologize to the pregnant patient. But I decide to tender my resignation the very next day. After all, the patient's disease has a frighteningly high chance of getting misdiagnosed, not to mention it's incredibly difficult to cure. In fact, no one but I can cure her once and for all.

On the day I finally helped my wife land the hospital's deputy director position, she told me she was ready to make our relationship public. But at her induction ceremony, the medical resident who'd always seemed to have it in for me beat her to the stage. He took her hand and cooed at her like a lovesick teenager. "Thank you for finally telling everyone about us, Megan. I promise I'll take good care of you and our baby." The room went silent for a beat, then erupted into applause, everyone gushing about what a perfect match they made. The resident looked thrilled with himself. He even walked out on a patient halfway through a surgery once, just to throw a tantrum until my wife came running to soothe him. I confronted her about it, and we had a screaming match. She didn't look ashamed at all. If anything, her voice turned mocking. "You've helped me plenty, sure. But his family background puts yours to shame, orphan. He's the only one who can give me everything I actually want." I didn't cry. I didn't fight her on it. I just nodded along and offered her a divorce instead. I wanted to see something for myself: how far she and her lover would get once my "dead" tycoon parents stopped clearing the road ahead of her.

My mother and sister never liked me. The only son they ever truly cared about was my older brother, Lucian Vieri. Before she married me, Serafina Valcieri, the only daughter of one of the most feared syndicates in the country, was always the one who stepped in when I was cornered, mocked, or blamed for things that were never mine to carry. She never said much. She just made people back off. Then she married me. Then, not long ago, Lucian shoved me off a ski slope. I said he meant to kill me. My mother called it an accident. My sister said he had only been trying to save me. Only Serafina believed me. When I woke up in the hospital, I heard voices outside the door. “Who told you to do it like that?” Serafina said, her voice low and cold. My mother answered in a panic. “Lucian’s leukemia can’t wait. If Cassian learns the baby isn’t his, everything falls apart.” Then Serafina said the words I still can’t forget. “I chose him, and I married him for my own reasons. But Lucian still needs this child. If anything had happened to Cassian, none of you would have walked away from it.” I stood there in silence, listening to every word. The child my wife was carrying was never mine. It had been conceived through IVF to save my brother. And the marriage I had trusted from the beginning had never belonged to me alone. I had spent my whole life coming second to Lucian. I just never thought Serafina would be the one to prove it. If no one truly wanted me, then I would leave.

I have been reborn on the day Sierra Shepherd regains her memories. I watch as the butler hands me a check and says, "Here's 1.5 million dollars. You can think of it as a reward for taking care of Ms. Shepherd during this time." His implication is unmistakable. He wants me to take the money and get out of her life for good. In my past life, as the Shepherd family hands over the check, I feel lost and uncomfortable. Sierra grips my hand firmly and says, "You should come home with me, Caleb. I'll protect you." I return with her to the Shepherd family without looking back because of her single promise. I block every scheme aimed at her, fight alongside her step by step, and help her reclaim control of the family. I have helped her until the day she holds her wedding banquet with Mason Lund, who instructs the Lunds to kidnap me and throw me into the sea. Sierra only responds coldly after hearing the news of my death, saying, "He was just a guy using past favors to try to climb the social ladder. He's better off dead." I snap back to reality and look at the check in front of me. I then say without any hesitation, "I'm afraid 1.5 million dollars won't be enough." I smile faintly as Sierra stares at me in disbelief. "I want 4.5 million dollars. I won't bother you and Mr. Lund as soon as I receive the money." I won't go back to being someone else's sacrifice since I have this startup capital. Isn't it much better to just focus on making money and living my best life on my own?

I had been dating a photographer for seven years, yet I didn't have a single decent photo of myself. "I only photograph scenery, not people," Nina Jensen said. She even said her last relationship ended because her ex-boyfriend kept asking her to take pictures of him. So for seven years, I stayed quiet. I never asked or brought it up. That was until today, when I came across the latest post from my influencer friend, Julian Locke. [Let me show off my photographer. She's been taking amazing photos of me for seven years for free!] One of the top comments is: [It's an honor to photograph my muse.] The profile picture was completely white. The tone felt familiar, and it sent a chill through my entire body. Turns out, it wasn't that Nina didn't take photos of people. She just never wanted to take mine. 'Nina. If I don't exist in your viewfinder, from now on, you don't exist in my world either.'

I went to the bank to report a lost debit card. The teller casually asked, "Sir, there's a recurring patent royalty payment under your name. Would you like to link it to your new card?" Stunned, I froze. "What patent royalties?" The screen revealed that one of the accounts showed a quarterly deposit of $300 thousand in patent royalties. My mind went blank for a full three seconds. Then I remembered that, five years ago, my wife, Danica Pearson, had handed me a stack of documents, saying it was part of the company registration process. She said I "only understood technology, not business", effectively turning me into a figurehead consultant. I took a deep breath and told the teller, "Link it to the new card. From now on, transfer every payment directly to my personal account." That night, while Danica was overseas on a business trip, she booked the earliest flight home. At 2 a.m., she pounded on my bedroom door.

My wife’s twenty-two-year-old “charity case” put a box of condoms in front of her while every executive at our company watched. Our home security feed had accidentally appeared on the conference-room screen. “You promised me one wish if I got into a top master’s program,” he said. My wife smiled. “Yes.” Then he kissed her—and she kissed him back. That night, she begged me to forgive her. She even signed an agreement: if she cheated again, I would get everything. Less than half an hour later, I photographed them kissing outside our gate. But that wasn’t enough for her. Three days later, her lover stormed into my office, slammed his own forehead into my desk, and screamed that I’d attacked him. My wife believed him. “You’ll apologize publicly tomorrow,” she told me. “Then announce your resignation.” We had founded that company together. I had financed it. Now she wanted me humiliated and gone. “All right,” I said. “I’ll be there.” At ten the next morning, she sat at the head of the table. Her lover smiled from the back. I handed everyone a copy of the documents my attorney had prepared. My wife opened hers. Her smile vanished. “Ansel… you can’t do this.” I looked at the signature she’d given me three nights earlier. “You already agreed.”

"Ryder, are you seriously leaving Mona behind and moving abroad?" In the quiet café, Ryder Kane set down his spoon and look at his best friend, Harry Crain, who's staring at him in disbelief. "Mona and I are already divorced." "Divorced?" Harry looks stunned. Then his expression turns angry. "And she actually agreed to it? You've treated her so well these past three years! Even a rock would've warmed up to you by now. Does she seriously have no feelings for you at all?" Ryder give Harry a faint smile, though the truth is, he's not even sure Mona Brent realizes what she's agreed to. Two weeks ago, Ryder handed Mona the divorce papers. She signed them while taking a phone call, barely listening to him before rushing off. She hasn't mentioned them since. In another two weeks, the divorce will be finalized, and he'll finally be free. Just as he's about to answer Harry, a woman's gentle voice comes from behind them.

Jeannie Gray kicks me to the ground. I get on my feet, dust off the shoeprint she left on my pants, and smile as I straighten her shoe, which crookedly dangles from her foot. At that moment, my phone buzzes with a message informing me that Jeannie's older brother has wired my five-million-dollar severance pay into my account. I get on a flight and flee overnight, posting a link on Facebook Marketplace with the caption, "Hiring emotional support companion for S-tier psychotic female CEO from Elmsdale. Includes onboarding training. Pays 200,000 a month." Not three minutes later, young men in college looking for a shortcut to success flood the comment section with biddings. Two years later, I'm sprawled over a cot in a massage parlor. The masseuse, Rory Jacobs, has just begun kneading the knots in my lower back when someone kicks the lounge door open. As the door rattles against its frame, Jeannie storms in and pulls me into a tight embrace. Her voice is hoarse and shaking, and I feel hot tears falling on my neck. "Please come back. Gray Corporation is yours, and so am I!"

My wife, Lindsey Kelsey, suffers from an aversion to intimacy. For ten years of marriage, she pushed me away again and again. Then, on our anniversary, she abandoned me and, in front of the crowd, kissed another man with reckless passion before the two of them walked hand in hand into a luxury hotel. Afterward, Lindsey brazenly declared that a real man should be magnanimous, not petty. Magnanimous? Then I wish them both eternal bliss—may they be bound so tightly they can never break free from one another. Later, I handed Lindsey the divorce papers with a blank expression. I was determined to walk away from her. But Lindsey went mad when she realized she couldn't find me anymore.