Melodramatic Romance Short Stories & Novels

Jenson Clarke lives his life like a report card. When we were dating, he used to say that anyone or anything scoring under 90 wasn't worth his time. After we get married, he grades everything I do. On our wedding anniversary, I cook a whole table of his favorite dishes. He takes a single bite and says, "89." Then he sets down his cutlery and leaves to have dinner with Aleena Walton because she has a poor appetite. For his company's anniversary gala, I try on 27 different dresses. He glances at me. "88. Not good enough to take you out." That night, he attends the gala with Aleena on his arm instead, who wears nothing more than a plain white dress. To earn a perfect score, I quit my job, earn seven certifications, and learn four foreign languages. Yet no matter how hard I try, my grade stays stuck at 89. Aleena does nothing at all, yet simply standing there makes her a hundred. "What does a 90 even look like to you?" I ask Jenson. He looks over at Aleena and says nothing. At that moment, I suddenly smile. His grading system only ever has one metric, and it isn't me. I take off my wedding ring and drop it into his wine glass. "My turn to grade you, Jenson Clarke. Your loyalty? Zero. As a husband? Zero. And as a human being? You fail."

I'm happily digging into a hot dog by the roadside when, sure enough, I spot my girlfriend, Jennifer York, in Felix Kenner's latest post. The caption reads, "You make the best medicine." After being stood up by Jennifer so many times, I've long since stopped caring. If anything. I'm starting to think I should break up with her as soon as possible and let the two of them be together.

Seven days before my wedding, I discover that my stepsister Harper Brooks' wedding invitation lists the same groom as mine—Jeffrey Sullivan. At first, I assume the printing company has made a mistake. So, I take the invitations to my mom to ask what's going on. Before I can knock, I overhear her talking to Harper through the door. "Marry Jeffrey first. Once the baby's born and everything's settled, he'll go back to Barbara. She owes you her life. Letting you marry him first is the least she can do." Tears stream down Harper's cheeks. "But what about Barbara?" Mom sighs, then says matter-of-factly, "They've been together for 12 years. One piece of paper isn't going to change much. But your situation is different. Your baby needs a father." Outside the door, I grip the invitations so tightly they crumple in my hands. Only then do I realize why Jeffrey skipped my wedding dress fitting three months earlier. He claims he's busy with work, but in reality, he's taking Harper to a prenatal appointment. At the time, I just laugh and tease him. "Stand me up on our wedding day too, and I'll find another groom." Jeffrey smiles as he settles my veil over my hair, then leans down and kisses me. "Don't be silly. I'm the only man you'll ever marry." Now, that promise seems every bit as ridiculous as these two wedding invitations. When Jeffrey finds me, he doesn't deny any of it. Instead, he pulls me into his arms, his eyes red-rimmed. "I've always loved you. But I have to take responsibility for the baby she's carrying," he says. "I'll marry her, but my heart will always belong to you." I know exactly what he means. He wants Harper to be his wife while turning me, the fiancee who's loved him for 12 years, into his mistress. I look at Jeffrey and smile. "Okay." He thinks I've agreed. But he doesn't know that on our wedding day, he'll marry Harper, and I'll marry someone else.

During the company dinner, only two seats are left. One seat is in the corner, and the other is right next to Lana Sheffield, my secret girlfriend of three years. I barely take a step forward before she calls out my friend's name instead. "Jasper, come sit over here." Our coworkers erupt into squeals, and the group chat goes wild. "He's hot, and she's gorgeous! They look amazing just sitting next to each other!" "Ms. Sheffield has never asked anyone to sit with her before!" "I'm telling you, she treats Jasper differently. I don't care—this ship is real!" Throughout the entire dinner, Lana doesn't spare me a single glance, all to avoid raising suspicion. A server even burns me while setting down a dish, but she's too busy jumping in whenever someone tries to get Jasper to drink and piling food on his plate to even notice. In that moment, one thought suddenly surfaces in my mind—I don't want to keep going with this relationship that nobody can ever know about.

My best friend Summer Woods often made me play the "instant reply game" to test our boyfriends' loyalty. She said you could tell how much a man loved you by how quickly he replied to you. During a meal, less than three seconds after she sent the text, her mysterious boyfriend transferred $800 to pay her bill. I sat there until we finished all the food before I finally received a reply from Cody, which said, "I'm in a meeting." On a certain rainy day, Summer simply texted, "I forgot to bring an umbrella", and ten minutes later, a luxury car was there to pick her up. Meanwhile, I stood drenched in the rain for an hour before Cody finally replied, "Just grab a cab." Summer would poke my head and say, "You're such a fool. You wouldn't even notice if he was cheating on you." More than once, I defended Cody, "He loves me very much. He's just too busy." Then, I'd cling to her arm and whine playfully, "Besides, I have you~" During my bachelorette party, we were drugged at a bar. Summer anxiously took out her phone and said, "Rebecca, I feel bad for you. If he still doesn't show up this time, you should just break up with him." In despair, I sent a distress message to Cody. Ten minutes later, he burst in like a madman. I thought, this time, I'd finally won, but he rushed past me and pulled Summer tightly into his embrace. "Summer, I'm sorry I'm late." I watched him carry my bestie away in shock. It turned out Summer's "mystery boyfriend", who was always there at her beck and call, was none other than my fiancé, Cody Langford.

Once, I posted a photo of Eugene Chapman and me. He stopped me right there on the street, his face cold as he pushed my phone down. "Louisa, I don't like putting my private life online for strangers to gossip about. Delete it. You don't need to be that desperate for attention." People streamed past us as I fought back tears and deleted the post. Only when the photo disappeared did his expression finally soften. He sighed and pulled me into his arms. "Come on. We just need to live our lives. We don't have to post everything online just to prove something to other people." After that, I never posted about him again. For the next three years, there wasn't a single trace of him anywhere on my social media. When my best friend asked if I even had a boyfriend, I laughed it off and told her Eugene was just a private person. Even our wedding invitations for next month only had a scenic photo on the front. Then last night, a pet influencer's video popped up in my recommendations, and Eugene was in it. He had one arm around a girl and was grinning at the camera, his eyes crinkling at the corners. The post had more than ten thousand comments, almost all of them gushing about how cute Eugene and his girlfriend were together. I went through the account, post by post. The first video of him went up just eight months after Eugene and I started dating. The girl's pinned comment read, [He insists on filming us every single day. It's so annoying.] So Eugene never hated having his life all over social media. He just hated having me in it. I closed the app and texted the wedding planner. [The wedding is canceled.]

On their wedding day, right as Elena Emerton and Kyle Fenton were about to exchange rings, a woman rushed Kyle with a knife. Elena moved on instinct, throwing herself in front of Kyle. The blade sank into her chest, and she crumpled into Kyle's arms. As the woman was dragged away, she screamed, "Kyle Fenton, we're not done! How dare you get married?" That was when Elena recognized her. Allison Smyth. Kyle's sworn enemy for the past six years. Before anyone could react, Allison broke free and held the knife to her throat. "Kyle, I'm tired. Let's end this." Kyle's eyes went wide. He dropped Elena and rushed to Allison, catching the blade with his bare hand. Elena hit the floor hard. Blood spread across her white wedding dress. Kyle held Allison tight, terrified she'd hurt herself. When Allison passed out, he scooped her up and rushed right past Elena. Not once did he look back.

After the college entrance exam, Zac and I went on a graduation trip together. I never expected to run into my best friend, Keira, on the airport shuttle. Before I could even process the surprise, Zac started explaining next to me. "Keira's never been on a plane before. I happened to have some points, so I used them to get her a half-price ticket." Keira smiled and took my hand. "You don't mind having one more person with you, do you? I promise I'll try not to get in your way." I forced a smile. Once we arrived at our destination, the three of us went sightseeing together. They always seemed to gradually drift closer to each other while leaving me behind. Only after walking for a while would they suddenly remember I was there. They would then turn around and complain that I was walking too slowly. When I suffered from heatstroke and was taken to the hospital by a kind stranger, neither of them even noticed. "Where did you go? Did you get registered? Keira's starving." Zac called to question me. That was when I saw the message he had sent. He instructed me to go line up at a popular restaurant. I also saw the hundreds of photos of Keira he had sent in our three-person group chat. It was obvious who he paid more attention to. Since I was already out of the picture, I decided to just give up on him.

After six years of maintaining a long-distance relationship with my boyfriend, I finally saved enough money to buy a house. Without telling him, I travelled to his city. I had only wanted to surprise him and get our marriage officially registered. When the people at the front desk learned that I was there to see Andy, they smiled and handed me a wedding favor. “Are you here to give us the wedding gift? Our CEO, Mr. Ferrell, is getting married today. Here’s a wedding favor for you.” I was about to explain to them that the Andy I was looking for was merely a low-level employee at the company, when I saw a familiar figure step out of the elevator. It was Andy’s ex-roommate. When I saw him dressed as a groomsman, I earnestly asked, “Is someone getting married today? Why hasn’t anyone informed me?” Just then, his phone rang. My best friend’s voice came through the speaker. “Why aren’t you here yet? Andy and Sophia’s wedding is about to start. “How can the best man not show up? We’re going to give you the noogie when you get here!”

After our engagement, my fiance, Justin Ford, has someone bring a child back from Verdanne and hand him over to me. An email arrives along with the boy. "Nora, I got bored out of my mind in Verdanne and accidentally knocked Cindy up. Since you've always been sweet and obedient, I'm leaving my son with you. Consider it practice. When we come home, you'll be all set to work as our nanny." Without a word, I hand the child over to the butler. Seven years later, all the CEOs stationed overseas return to headquarters to report in. Justin pulls up in a Maybach with a whole entourage, blocking the entrance to the Ford estate where I live. With a cigarette dangling from his lips, he tilts his head and takes off his sunglasses. "Did you miss me that badly? Is that why you're waiting out here?" He takes a drag from his cigarette before continuing, "By the way, Cindy and I got married in Verdanne so we could get our son registered. From now on, you two can treat each other like sisters. Whatever she gets, you'll get too. "The Shaws and the Fords are practically family anyway. You don't care about a piece of paper, do you?" With that, he blows smoke ring after smoke ring into my face, leaving me choking with tears streaming from my eyes. I quickly step back and wipe away the tears. My son's dad is an extremely jealous man who warned me long ago to keep my distance from the younger men in the Ford family. If my husband catches his nephew harassing his wife, all hell will break loose in the Ford family.

After Melody cheated and returned to the family, I started posting online every day. [Is cheating addictive?] [Just how thrilling is cheating, really?] [When a woman cheats, does she feel worse for her kids or her lover?] … I tagged her school in every post, making sure each one appeared right in front of her students, her colleagues, and even her lover. Everyone told me to stop making such an ugly scene and be the bigger person. Only Melody stood up for me. "I'm the one who did something wrong. It's only fair to let Tony vent a little." That lasted until my 99th post. Then Melody stormed in as if she'd lost her mind and smashed my computer. "Anthony, are you ever going to stop? I already came back. What more do you want from me? How much longer do you have to torture me before you're satisfied?" I didn't answer. I simply washed every pot and plate until they were spotless. Then I smiled at her and asked, "Are you hungry? Want me to make you something to eat?"

I've loved Caitlyn Murray for ten years, but she hates me to the core. She hates me for replacing her first love, Adrian Darrow, as her husband, and making him suffer great injustice in my place. We continue tormenting each other until I'm diagnosed with ALS. In my last moments, she stays by my bedside, feeding me my favorite strawberries. Then, she tells me with reddened eyes, "Let's never meet again in our next life, Abram Darrow." However, after my death, she kills herself at my grave. When I open my eyes again, I realize that I'm reborn at the same crucial moment when the Darrow family goes bankrupt, and someone is needed to take the blame for its financial crimes and go to prison. In my past life, my younger brother, Adrian, is the one who goes to prison in place of Mom. He ends up dying a tragic death, and that is also the reason why Caitlyn hates me for the rest of my life. This time, I step forward and say, "Mom, I'll go. Let Caitlyn marry Adrian instead." I take all the blame so that she can be with her first love forever.

Wade's father died in the line of duty. At his funeral, Wade stood solemnly at the very front of the crowd. By the time I hurried back from out of town, there were only two spots left for the funeral procession. One was beside my husband of seven years, Wade, whom I had secretly married. The other was at the very back of the line. Naturally, I assumed the spot beside him had been left for me. But the moment I took a step forward, Wade walked right past me and nodded in the direction of my best friend standing behind me. "Helen, come here." The relatives around us began looking in our direction. Someone murmured, "Isn't that Wade's girlfriend? They look perfect together." Others began chiming in. "I've never seen her before. I heard they were classmates in college. With Wade's personality, if he lets someone stand beside him, that means he's serious about her." "That explains a lot. He practically saved that spot for her." I froze where I stood. My grip tightened around the black umbrella in my hand. I walked to the very end of the line and took my place. With so many people standing in front of me, all I could see was Wade's rigid back. Throughout the entire funeral, to avoid raising any suspicion, he didn't even turn around once to look at me. Suddenly, it all felt utterly meaningless. After seven years of marriage, what exactly had I been holding on to?

When Jase Conley's rivals came after him, I took the blow meant for him and lost a leg. Kneeling before me with bloodshot eyes, he swore, "Francesca, one day I'll rise to the top. I'll make sure no one ever hurts you again." Seven years later, he shoved me out of my wheelchair over a single glass of wine I'd thrown in another woman's face. "Francesca, I warned you. Don't touch her. If you're tired of being Mrs. Conley, then get out of that seat and let her have it." He threw a divorce agreement at me. "A billion dollars. That's what your leg cost me. From this day on, no one gets to lay a finger on her." I tore the agreement in half and flung it back in his face. "You owe me far more than a leg, Jase. You want to wipe the slate clean between us? Then you and your little girlfriend can pay with your lives."

In the seventh year of our marriage, my wife, Serena Clark, digs up my parents' urns and places them in front of me. Then she gives me two choices. "Either give your designs to Seth so he can enter the competition, or I'll scatter your parents' ashes into the sea," she says. Clutching the designs I've just finished, I swallow my pride and give in as tears burn in my eyes. The next day, a photo of Seth Johnson sitting on a yacht scattering ashes goes viral. Serena comments beneath the photo, "I'll give you everything I have and spoil you rotten." I stare at the urns in the corner of the photo, feeling my blood run cold. My deceased parents and I have become tools Serena uses to please Seth. Fine, then. I don't need a wife like her.

My wife Naomi Holden's phone was always on silent mode. Whenever I needed to reach her, the call never went through. My only option was to ask everyone around us, but when every single person gave a different answer, I already knew the truth. She was with him again, the frail man she had never been able to let go of. On our seventh anniversary, we had plans to meet at our usual spot for dinner. Three hours passed, and she still had not shown up. I stood on the street, burning with fever, dialing one number after another. My father picked up, his voice warm and unhurried. "Naomi just came by for dinner. Don't worry, I've got my eye on her for you." A friend working at her company laughed it off. "Wyatt, relax. Ms. Holden is sitting in on a meeting in our department right now." Even my own sister swore up and down, saying, "Naomi's right here with me at a gallery opening. I'll have her home safe and sound, I promise." Last was our daughter, on the call through her little smartwatch. "Mommy's out shopping for toys with me and Grandma!" Every single person was trying to prove that Naomi was right there beside them. What none of them knew was that Naomi was standing right in front of me. Through the restaurant's glass window, she was cutting up food for the man sitting across from her. My own reflection stared back at me from the glass, haggard, rain-soaked, and pathetic. For the first time, I thought that maybe it was finally time to pull out the thorn that had been lodged in my heart for years.

On our eighteenth attempt to get married, Miles Corbett stopped the ceremony again because I began my vow a fraction too late. He looked completely disappointed in me. "You know I'm a perfectionist. Why can't you follow the wedding schedule exactly? "If you miss the timing again, maybe you should let your best friend take your place." My best friend, Audrey Sloan, was famous for always being perfectly on time, so Miles used her as the standard I was expected to match. If I reached the curb one minute after Audrey at the end of the workday, he drove away with her and left me behind. If I entered the restaurant half a step later than she did on Valentine's Day, he gave her the candlelit dinner that was supposed to be mine. If I reached the airport twenty seconds after her before our annual vacation, he canceled my ticket and traveled with Audrey instead. Even at our wedding, he had stopped the ceremony seventeen times and used Audrey to rehearse my role seventeen times. To make the eighteenth attempt succeed, I filled the venue with more than a hundred synchronized countdown clocks and practiced every cue for over two hundred nights. But ten seconds before my vow was due, Audrey jumped the cue and said "I do" first. Miles ignored both me and the synchronized clocks and canceled the wedding for the eighteenth time. The problem had never been my timing; the problem was that the bride was not her. So I finally decided to give his perfectionism what it wanted. Miles took Audrey's hand again. "Watch carefully. We'll demonstrate it one more time." I smiled and slid the wedding rings onto their fingers. "No demonstration needed. I wish you both a lifetime of happiness."

My girlfriend, Serena Weston, always has my "one-time" fingerprint registered on the smart lock for her house. Every time she registers it, she tells me, "Feel free to come over at any time. You're always welcome in my home!" However, every single time, when I return to her doorstep, the lock's prompt always claims, "Your fingerprint is not registered." After being locked out yet again, I stare at the sensor pad glowing red and call Serena. As soon as the call connects, her tone's apologetic as usual. "I'm so sorry! Blake was messing around yesterday and accidentally deleted your fingerprint while testing the lock. Hold on. I'll re-register it for you the next time I'm back." Once again, I have to wait for the next time. I grip my phone and suddenly recall the excuses she gave the previous times my fingerprint was deleted. The time before last, she told me there was a glitch during a system upgrade. Yet, her childhood friend Blake White's fingerprint remains untouched. Last time, she told me the lock was malfunctioning, so she'd changed the entire panel. In reality, it was because Blake had merely grumbled, "It's not safe to have too many fingerprints registered." Every single time, she has a perfectly plausible "accident" that justifies her giving in to Blake's possessiveness over the house. "Wait for me to come back and open the door for you," Serena says on the other end of the line. However, as soon as I hang up, I hear the crisp click of the lock from inside the house. Blake knows I'm outside. Yet, he locks the door from the inside. I rise to my feet and dust off my trousers, telling myself to let it be since I have no desire to walk through that door anymore.

I'm playing hide-and-seek with my little niece. I close my eyes, count to 20, and head up to the attic, only to find the door padlocked shut. I turn to leave, but then I hear rustling on the other side. I tiptoe closer and press my ear against the wooden door. I'm about to shout, "Found you!" when I catch the sound of my buddy Alec Redmond's breathless breathing. "Cassidy, you think anyone's going to come up here?" My girlfriend, Cassidy Brennan, laughs softly. "Don't worry. I promised Cora I'd buy her that Barbie she's been wanting. She locked the door, so no one's going to find us." I freeze outside the door. My blood runs cold. This morning, Cassidy and Alec tell me they have a surprise planned for me. Then the two of them drive off together. I clench my fists until my knuckles go white. So, this is the real surprise.

My best friend was fighting a divorce case, so I had my lawyer husband help her out. She had nowhere else to stay, so I rented her our empty unit across the hall, cheap. On my wedding day, I pressed the bouquet into her arms. "May you find happiness again," I told her. The words would come back to haunt me like a curse. She started drifting through my kitchen every morning in a silk nightgown, and Alan Gordon would hand her a cup of warm milk. In the evenings, he'd come out of her apartment with his shirt half unbuttoned, still carrying the warmth of a home-cooked meal. The lady neighbor upstairs grabbed my arm. "Aren't you going to do something about this?" I forced a smile. "He's just helping her with the case." Then I saw Lyndis's post on Instagram: [This house is missing a man.] The photo showed a pair of men's slippers, tags still on. Same brand, same size as the pair sitting in our own entryway. That night I tossed and turned while Alan took his pillow and went to sleep in the study. At two in the morning, I heard the lock turn. Through the peephole, I watched her door swing shut, warm light spilling out from underneath it. I stood barefoot on the cold floor and thought back to my wedding day, to the moment I'd handed her that bouquet. Alan's eyes had been on her fingers as she took it from me. So she really had found her happiness… during my wedding, in my house, with my husband.