Tragic Love Romance Short Stories & Marriage Novels

On the eve of Valentine's Day, the entire Ravenport is waiting for Vivian Grayson's scores to be released. They're all watching to see if my score is high enough to attend her family banquet this year. The Grayson family has made it clear that their future son-in-law will be chosen at that banquet. Yet, after seven years of dating Vivian, I come in second every single time. This had made me the biggest joke in the city. This year is no exception. Vivian throws herself into the arms of the male model, Jason Carter, who ranks first. She says matter-of-factly, "I really like the way he smells. You understand, right, Noah? Next year, I'll definitely make you number one." The lively atmosphere in the banquet hall drops to freezing point. Everyone is waiting for me to tear that smug look off Jason's face. But I don't lose my temper like before. I simply say calmly, "Congratulations." A victorious smile appears on Vivian's face. "You've finally learned to control your temper, Noah. You're not far from becoming the Graysons' son-in-law." I nod indifferently. I am about to become someone else's son-in-law, but not the Grayson family's. I have disagreed and argued with my family for the past seven years. Now, it's time to follow their arrangement and go abroad to honor the marriage they set up for me.

While I'm waiting for my wife, Anna Fulton, I happen to come across a popular post on social media that's posted by someone who lives in the same city as I do. "What should I do if my husband clings to me too much?" Among the comments that make fun of the original poster for flaunting her happy marriage on the Internet, the lengthy comment left by a masculine ID attracts my attention. "You gotta pretend to be ditzy and dumb. My childhood friend was forced to marry the man she doesn't love, so I suggested to her that she should pretend to be a directionally-challenged idiot. She kept up that facade for five years so far. "After that, her mother-in-law kept urging her to give birth to a baby. So, she secretly coated the stairs with grease, leading to her husband falling down the stairs. When she drove him to the hospital, she pretended to lose her way and drove a few laps around the suburban area. In the end, her husband could never get his manhood up ever again because the treatment got delayed. "Her mother-in-law thought it was an accident. She was afraid that my childhood friend might abandon her husband, so she bought her a house and a car. You have no idea how much that mother-in-law sucked up to her! "Today is her husband's professor selection day. She even suggested to him that she'd drive him to the campus. But the truth is, she plans on pretending to lose her way in the traffic just to drag the time out so that I can replace him in the selection. "Once her husband fails the selection, she'll use the opportunity to convince him to resign from his job. He's already a loser, to begin with. Once he loses his job, she'll have a valid reason to divorce him once and for all." The familiar experience makes my heart skip a beat. Before I can ruminate about the details, I hear Anna's guilt-ridden voice drifting into my ear. "I think I'm lost, Claude. Surely you can make it to the selection on time, right?"

The first time Silvia Robinson undergoes ECT, she is all alone. Even Gregory Fisher, her fiance who loves her so much, is nowhere to be seen. After the doctor gives her a muscle relaxant, she starts to get drowsy. She is in a daze when she recalls what happened that evening. She has waited three hours in line for a special cake, which she is planning to surprise Gregory with. However, she comes home to see Gregory kissing her younger sister, Ella Robinson. The two are deep in a kiss as they hold each other tightly in an inseparable embrace. The cake in Silvia's hands drops to the floor, smashed beyond recognition as Silvia delivers a slap across Gregory's face. Then, she finds herself being pushed down the stairs by Ella. As she rolls down the stairs, Silvia feels like she has already seen this coming. Anyone close to her will eventually be taken away by her sister.

On our first wedding anniversary, my husband's childhood friend, Sophia York, is busy policing what I eat. "This one's too spicy. You can't have it." "This one won't do. It's far too greasy." "This one is deep-fried, too. You can't eat it." She smacks my fork away before taking my glass of orange juice away from me too. Once she's done, all that's left in front of me is a bowl of plain pasta. There are 12 dishes on the table, but plain pasta is the only thing I'm allowed to eat. Looking at me sympathetically, my husband, Ivan Jefferson, picks up a piece of beef that's been rinsed with water and places it on my plate. "Listen to Sophia, okay? She's a nutritionist. Once you recover from gastritis, you'll be able to eat whatever you want." I've been eating like this for three whole years, and my gastritis still hasn't gotten any better. Later, I become pregnant. As I struggle with morning sickness, I suddenly crave blueberries. Ivan rushes out to buy some, only to return with Sophia in tow. She slips into one of our indoor slippers as if she belongs here and immediately starts to clear out my refrigerator. "You've always had a sensitive stomach, Lily. Now that you're pregnant, it's even more important for you to watch what you eat," she says. "Let me take care of you for the next couple of months." Ivan feeds me a blueberry and gently coaxes, "I feel uneasy about leaving you home alone while you're pregnant, Lily. Sophia's a professional." Sophia pulls out her credentials and shows them to me. I stare at the name of the shady association and suddenly burst out laughing. Is this what he calls a professional? All that's left in my refrigerator are vegetables and some beef. As I stare at the nearly empty refrigerator, I suddenly feel tired of living this way. Once my morning sickness eases, I'll move somewhere else and start a new life.

Every anniversary, Mark had some twisted surprise for me. Our tenth? He strutted into the ballroom holding hands with an escort wearing straight up lingerie. "Jenna, she's cold. Hand over your dress." Then, like that wasn't sick enough: "And the lingerie. She likes your vibe." I clutched my collar, trying to keep it together. He didn't care—just yanked it open. "Cut the act. Your dad sold you to me, remember? That slutty look you used to give me—I still see it." Everyone stared, waiting for me to break. So I did the one thing I could. "I want a divorce." Again. Mark just laughed and chucked a stack of photos on the table—me, covered in marks, curled in bed, a total mess. "You say that every year. And every year, you're back in my bed. Think your mom keeps that hospital spot if these get out?"

In the third year of Ariel Slater's remarriage with Remi Callahan, she realizes that she's pregnant with his baby. As his wife, she does her utmost best to avoid getting into fights with him. Whenever Remi comes home late, Ariel no longer welcomes him home at the door. When Remi gets absolutely wasted at his business meetings, all Ariel does is command the household staff to prepare a hangover tonic for him. Remi is very busy with work, so it's rare for him to come home. Even so, Ariel doesn't use the landline in the family compound to call him. When she's eight months pregnant, Ariel discovers a tube of ointment in Remi's coat that's not hers. But she merely puts it back in his pocket without saying a word. One day, when Ariel visits the maternity hospital next to the family compound for a prenatal check-up, she comes across an incident that humiliates her to no end. Two nurses happen to walk out of a ward at that time. As they walk down the corridor, they chat among themselves. "Mr. Callahan cares about Ms. Reed a lot. The moment she gives birth to a son, he's quick to book her the best single-person ward in this hospital." "I heard that Ms. Reed is the widow of Mr. Callahan's dead mentor. He takes good care of Ms. Reed, that's for sure. Not only does he keep her company in the day, but he also refuses to go home at night. He really is a caring man." "But I heard that Mr. Callahan's wife is about to give birth. I wonder what will happen if she finds out about Mr. Callahan's antics…" Even though the nurses keep their voices low, Ariel still hears every word as clear as day. As she stares at Remi, who's speaking with his colleague, Ella Reed, while cradling her newborn, she feels her eyes reddening against her will. She decides to file for a divorce from him right there and then. This time, she will never remarry him, no matter what.

On the day the country's most notorious serial killer, Henry Luther, is scheduled for execution, I personally escort him to the death chamber. Just before his sentence is carried out, he suddenly looks at me with pity. "The truth is, I only killed 17 people. I deserve to die, but you can't blame me for what happened to your medical examiner husband." The moment he mentions Victor Ashford, all my hatred comes rushing back. Three years ago, Victor served as the city's chief medical examiner. While protecting a crucial piece of evidence, he was stabbed dozens of times by Henry. I rushed back from another city overnight, only to find Victor's body mutilated beyond recognition. Overcome with grief, I began hemorrhaging and lost our baby when I was three months pregnant. For the next three years, I repeatedly risk my life hunting down Henry, determined to capture him myself and avenge Victor. Following an address Henry left behind, I track down a modest house. The moment I step into the yard, however, I freeze. Victor is standing there with his arms around his younger colleague, Colette Jennings, kissing her tenderly. Nearby, a two-or-three-year-old child sits on a swing. My mind goes blank. Just as I start toward them, someone grabs me from behind. It's my mentor, George Ryland. "Victor's happy now. For your own sake, let him go." I shove him aside and fire three shots into an empty patch of ground, my expression completely blank. "Victor Ashford, you're under arrest for suspected of bigamy. Come with me."

Grandpa's dying wish is to see me get married, so I quickly call up my girlfriend, Roxanne Moore. However, she scoffs at me, saying, "Why do you keep trying to force me to marry you? Why are you so disgusting? How many times must I tell you that Sam is getting over a breakup right now? As his best friend, how can I make him feel even worse by suddenly getting married? "We'll discuss marriage once he has recovered from his broken heart. Anyway, I've got to go. I'm still on my business trip." The line goes dead, and so does my heart. I look up at Mom. "I'll marry the person you picked out for me."

Among the world's female models, Julian Vance once again ranked first as the photographer they most wanted to spend a night with. And yet he had never taken a single photograph of me. When reporters asked about it, he could never hide the fondness in his eyes. "My wife is for my eyes only. No one else gets that privilege." On my birthday, I happily changed into a lace nightdress and, for the first time, asked him to record me with his camera. Several minutes passed. The shutter never sounded. Behind the camera, Julian's expression had gone stiff. "Forget it," he said. My joy collapsed into confusion. "What's wrong?" "It's just..." He laughed dryly. "Photography is work. I don't want to mix you up with work." Then he put the camera back, turned around, and went into the bathroom. The door to the darkroom where he developed his photos was half open, red light spilling through the crack. I walked inside and saw an album on the worktable titled Vivian Blair's Private Diary. I opened it. Inside were photos in every degree of intimacy and every kind of pose.

When I find out about that woman's existence, it turns out that they've been dating for a very long time. Simon Jensen protects her very well. Even though he's already attended banquets with her and has introduced her to all of his friends, I still have yet to see any of her photos. Heck, I don't even know her name. If it weren't for the fact that Simon was unable to resist that woman's coquettish pleading and brought her to the fashion show press conference as a brand investor, I'd probably remain in the dark forever. At this moment, I stare at Simon from far away, who's currently gazing at his lover standing on the runway. There's a hint of a gentle smile in his eyes. The camera flashes keep clicking. One of the reporters can't resist asking, "Mr. Jensen, are you a fan of Angela Stewart as well?" Simon never averts his gaze from Angela. He replies, "No. She's the love of my life." So, it turns out the cold and aloof Simon is capable of doting on a young woman to this degree. I spin the dull wedding ring around my ring finger subconsciously. That's when I realize how meaningless this marriage actually is.

Elle's toxic first love had only one birthday wish: for us to get a divorce. The first time I refused, she aborted our three-month-old baby. The second time I wouldn't budge, she pressed a box cutter to her wrist and asked me to choose: divorce, or widowhood. And today was the third time. Even the clerk at the courthouse knew me by now. When she handed over the divorce certificate, she teased me with a smile, "Remarrying again in a month, same as always?" Elle expected me to fall apart the way I always did, to beg her to stay. She'd already started frowning, bracing herself to explain. I just took the divorce certificate from her hand and said, calmly, "We're not remarrying." Elle froze where she stood, staring at me without moving.

The night before the wedding, the groomsmen and bridesmaids were too excited to sleep, so someone suggested writing down what they wanted to say to me on a slip of paper anonymously. I closed my eyes in anticipation, thinking I would receive all kinds of blessings. But when I opened the first note, I froze. [You witch. If you hadn't forced my brother, Nora would be my sister-in-law by now!] Nora Harris… She was my best friend. She had called me three hours earlier with red eyes, apologizing, saying that she had to go on a business trip all of a sudden and could not attend my wedding. With trembling hands, I kept reading… [The wedding ring he bought you was the one Nora rejected. She said it was too cheap, so he gave it to you.] [You didn't know, did you? On the day your mother died, he was holding Nora in his arms and slept with her in your marital home.] [The reason Nora isn't coming to your wedding is that she gave birth to Shane's child and is still recovering.] When my eyes landed on the last note, I recognized the handwriting at once…

After I landed a five-million-dollar contract and saved the company from financial collapse, my CEO wife wrapped me in an excited embrace and said she wanted to have a baby with me. She took out her phone and showed me a virtual baby on an app she had just signed up for. "Look, honey," she said. "Isn't it adorable? You can even change how it looks. Do you like it? Once things settle down at the company, we can have a real one." That night, I came across a post by her male secretary on social media. It was a photo of a positive pregnancy test, with my wife's figure visible in the background. I did not comment. I just liked the post. When my wife noticed, she panicked and called me immediately. "Honey, it's not what you think. Please listen to me! I wanted to surprise you. The baby is yours! "Can you clear things up on social media for everyone? I promise I'll give you a child of your own soon." She insisted the baby was mine, yet she seemed to have forgotten that we had not shared a bed in six months. "End the pregnancy," I said. "We're finished."

After a car accident leaves my girlfriend, Selene Voss, with temporary amnesia, she wakes up convinced that my best friend, Evander Thorne, is her fiance. Afraid that telling her the truth might worsen her condition, I agree to switch places with him. The arrangement is simple. We only pretend. Nothing more. Once Selene gets her memory back, everything goes back to normal. But six months have passed, and she shows no sign of remembering anything. Then one day, I stumble across a post online from someone in our city. "I lost my memory after a car accident and mistook another guy for my boyfriend. Now I've actually fallen in love with him. How do I explain this to my real boyfriend?" The top comment offers a simple solution. "Just keep pretending you have amnesia. You can't lose. If things work out with the new guy, great. If you regret it later, just say your memory finally came back." The author has liked the comment. I look up just as Selene and Evander walk through the door. She trails behind him with several shopping bags in her hands, and when she looks at him, the love in her eyes is impossible to miss. So, that's how it is. Somewhere along the way, Selene stops pretending. For her, this relationship has already become real.

After three years in a long-distance relationship, I went straight to the courthouse as soon as my flight landed, ready to marry Willow Payne. Instead, she showed up holding a newborn baby. Without a trace of guilt, she placed the baby in my arms. "This is Rachel, my daughter with Preston. You can raise her from now on." My mind went blank. Standing beside her, my childhood friend, Preston Webb, burst out laughing. "Willow and I got drunk one night, and one thing led to another. We ended up sleeping together. Your time working out of town is finally over, and now you get to come home and be a dad. Hell of a surprise, right?" I stared at them. "Do you seriously think this is funny?" Preston only grinned wider. "Willow and I made a bet about whether you'd cry when you found out she had my baby. I said you wouldn't. So I won. Willow promised to travel the world with me until I get bored and feel like coming back." Willow gave him an amused look, then turned to me like she was doing me a favor. "My daughter is your daughter, too. Take good care of her. When I get back, I'll marry you." She took Preston's hand and walked away with him. I looked down at the baby in my arms. Her skin and the whites of her eyes were so yellow that even I knew something was wrong. I called after them, but neither one looked back. Three years later, Willow showed up at my workplace. "Michael, I'm here to keep my promise. Let's get married. "But Preston and I have a daughter together. We thought it would be better for her if her parents were legally married, so Preston and I got married. "I can't legally marry you anymore, but I can still give you the wedding." She pulled out a wedding band and reached for my hand, trying to slip it onto my finger. I knocked her hand away and stepped back. "I already have a wedding ring. My wife gave it to me."

On my fifth year anniversary, the first two things I receive are two bills for water and electricity. My wife, Whitney Chapman, comes home at a late hour. She's carrying a food container that's filled with food that has gone cold. "Sorry, I was dealing with an extremely difficult client. I can only make it up to you with supper." She puts down the container before walking into the bathroom. While she doesn't reek of alcohol, there's dust coating the hem of her windbreaker. I call Whitney's secretary, only to find out that she has not been to the company today. A second before I end the call, the secretary adds, "By the way, Mr. Spencer, the new warehouse manager, Maxwell Clarke, was also absent from work today." Maxwell Clarke? The illegitimate child who brings nothing but shame to the Spencer family? What a big coincidence… or was it? I quickly contact the property manager of the villa based on the bills I've received. "A father-and-son duo have just moved into the villa last month." The manager then sends the list of inhabitants to me. The name listed is also Maxwell Clarke. This villa happens to be a property my father left for me back when Whitney and I first got married. Since it's too far from the city, I've left it vacant all this time because I wanted to reserve it as a villa meant for vacation purposes. Now, the people I hate are the ones living in that villa.

Three months after my husband, Josiah Erikson, disappears in a skiing accident, I spot him in a bar. He's laughing freely with an arm slung casually around his "best friend", Monica Jones' shoulders. "Good thing you came up with the idea. I'd almost forgotten what freedom feels like." One after another, his buddies clink glasses with him and ask about when he plans to reappear. He looks down and thinks about it before saying, "In a week. I'll show up once she's gone completely crazy searching for me." Standing in the shadows, I watch him savor his freedom, then call my friend who works at the state vital records office.

After seven years of marriage, my husband grew tired of our quiet life and took a college student as his mistress. That fragile, pitiable girl held Alain Roth so completely he didn't come home for an entire month, no matter how I begged. On our son's third birthday, I came to their villa, holding the feverish child and pleading for him to return. Inside, he stayed lost in passion with her. Jeff Roth drew his last breath in my arms while their pleasure echoed through the night. At the funeral, Alain held me and wept, swearing he would return to the family and love only me. I agreed, driven solely by Jeff's dying wish. Four years later, a video from his old kindergarten surfaced, showing Alain with a radiant Mabel Flores and a three-year-old boy. The boy smiled brightly at the camera, lifting a trophy high. "Mom, Dad, we're the happiest family in the world!"

At the Davenport family dinner, I arrive wearing the same dress Tucker Davenport's true love once wore. His face darkens immediately. He glares at me coldly and orders that my dress be burned on the spot. "Damn it, Willow, can't you show a little self-awareness? Shelby might be too naive to notice, but there's no way I'm letting you appear like this in front of her." The intense heat rushes toward me as the flames consume the fabric. A sharp, burning pain shoots between my legs, crashing over me like a tidal wave. The pain drags me under, but I suddenly jolt awake, barely able to gasp a plea for mercy. Tucker doesn't spare me a glance. He simply turns away to help Shelby cut the cake. Days later, he finally remembers I exist. "As long as you behave and don't bother Shelby again, you'll still be Mrs. Davenport." I stare at the burns on my legs as my tears dry up. I refuse to beg any longer. I'm done being Mrs. Davenport.

My husband and I have been legally married for five years. This is the tenth time he's canceled our wedding ceremony. This time? His student, Laura, is competing in her first international violin competition—and he 'needs' to be there. I still remember the last cancellation: an awards ceremony he had to attend with her. The time before that? She fell ill, and he stayed at her hospital bedside. The other times? I've lost count of the excuses, but it doesn't matter. The reason is always Laura. Her needs always outweighed my wedding. My marriage. My life. Fine. If he wanted to stand by Laura so badly, he could stay there forever. This hollow, five-year farce of a marriage? It's over.