Melodramatic Romance Short Stories & Mistress Regret Novels

On our wedding, my boyfriend of five years, Lucas Hunter, is in the middle of sliding the wedding ring onto my finger when a little boy rushes up to him and hugs his leg. "Daddy, please don't ditch me and Mommy!" At that moment, his first love, Isabella Welch, walks over and shows the paternity test report in front of all the guests. "On the night Lucas and I broke up six years ago, I was already pregnant with his child." Lucas' expression changes drastically. He subconsciously glances at me afterward. "I didn't know about this, Vivian!" "Well, you do now," Isabella cuts him off. "By the way, not only am I your son's biological mother, but I'm also the sole daughter of the richest woman in Andaysia." She then shows Lucas something on her phone. The next moment, his gaze becomes passionate immediately. "I've given up on my marriage alliance just to seek you out, Lucas. I am the woman you should be marrying instead of that…" Isabella eyes me up and down. "Instead of that regular corporate slave." Lucas stays silent only for a moment before retracting the ring that has touched my fingertip. Then, he slides it onto Isabella's finger. I can't believe it. Is this really the man I've loved for the past five years?" "Have you thought this through, Lucas?" Lucas leans in to murmur into my ear, "Vivian, once I've secured the major project in the company with Isabella's help and get custody over my son, I'll give you an even grander wedding." I just chuckle icily in return before leaving the altar without even sparing him a glance. After that, I call Alexander Shaw, an admirer who has loved me for ten years, on the phone. "Are you busy? If not, come here and marry me." Then, I turn back to look at the new couple, who are in the middle of making their vows. Isabelle calls herself the daughter of the richest woman in Andaysia, she says. But how is it possible for me to not know that my mom has swapped me out for another daughter?

Every time my foster sister, Lindsay Hartley, and I disagreed, Carl Curran and my brother Mark Hartley would settle it with a vote. When Carl and I were choosing our future home, I wanted somewhere in the southern district, close to our parents. Lindsay wanted the busier northern district instead. Neither of us would budge, so we put it to a vote. Carl was the first to raise his hand. "You're being so narrow-minded. You don't understand anything about actually living your life. Go with Lindsay's pick." Mark patted my head. "Don't be so selfish. The north side is close to Lindsay's office, so she can come stay with us whenever she wants." Three to one. I was forced to give in again. Then came the renovations. I wanted the big south-facing room as the master bedroom, but Lindsay wanted to turn it into a walk-in closet instead. Carl stepped in. "Let's just vote on it, so you can't say we're playing favorites again." No surprise: Lindsay won again, unanimously. And the room left for me, the actual bride, was smaller than half the size of that closet. Looking back over the hundred-some votes we'd had. Carl had sided with me: zero times. Mark had sided with me: zero times. Watching the three of them huddled together, deep in discussion over how to decorate the closet, it suddenly hit me. The so-called votes were never anything but a convenient excuse for them to openly favor Lindsay. If that was the case, then I was done playing a game on a scale that would never tip in my favor.

After the 99th time Selina Roal stands me up for our pre-wedding photo shoot, I spot her pre-wedding photos with her blind first love, Felix Lont, on the large screen of the shopping mall. Suddenly finding it all so pointless, I agree to marry Luna Sanderson, the daughter of the wealthiest man in the city. In her joy, she buys an eight-million-dollar pinky ring from an auction and gifts it to me. Just when I think that I've finally found a good woman to spend the rest of my life with, I overhear her conversation with her best friend. "I knew that you weren't actually sincere about marrying Calvin Yangley! When do you plan to take action?" Luna answers coldly, "On the day of our wedding, I'll stage a balloon explosion to injure him. Then, I'll personally head the operation to take his eyes and transfer them to Felix. "I won't get to grow old with Felix in this life, so the least I could do is give him a wedding present and wish him a happy, healthy life." As it turns out, her love and devotion to me are all so that she can take my eyes. Even the act of marrying me is to clear the way for Felix. Immediately after that, I called the wedding studio. "Hello, I would like to cancel the wedding that will be taking place in seven days."

Jay Cooper, Giselle White's assistant-slash-sugar baby, accuses me of stealing his mother's personal effects from him. That night, my mom, who's severely ill, gets dangled from a helicopter. Impatience is written all over Giselle's eyes. "If you refuse to return the cross pendant to Jay, your mom will pay for your willful act!" I do my best to suppress the throbbing pain coming from my heart as I beg hoarsely to Giselle to let my mom go. But my seven-year-old daughter, Valerie Walker, jabs a button on the remote control with an icy expression. "This is what you get for going against Mr. Cooper time and again!" I can only watch as Mom falls from a high altitude, soon smashing into the ground heavily. Sorrow fills my heart as I plead in a humble tone, "Please, I'm begging you… Please take my mom to the hospital…" "That's enough, Dylan Walker! The one dangling from the helicopter is a dummy, not your actual mom! Why are you still putting on an act?"

On our fifth wedding anniversary, my husband cancels a 100-million-dollar business deal to take me on vacation. While we're together, breathless and intimate, I'm about to tell him the news that our IVF finally succeeded when he answers his phone. His Valerian flows, smooth and effortless. "Of course I'm coming to tomorrow's prenatal checkup. That's our baby." "But won't your barren wife get jealous?" The woman on the other end speaks with a sultry lilt. Ethan Shaw traces his tongue along my neck as he responds, "What she doesn't know won't hurt her." My mind went blank, like lightning striking too close. I stuff the pregnancy report back into my pocket without thinking. "Honey, who's that?" Ethan pulls me close by the waist. "Just a business partner in Valeria. Time difference, that's why they're calling now..." I can't process the rest of his words. Ethan doesn't know I understand Valerian. Since he's clearly not excited about our child, I'll make sure this baby grows up without him as a father.

My husband's true love developed acute kidney failure, and I was the only matching donor. To save her life, he forced me to terminate my pregnancy at six months. Despite his gentle tone, he said the most heart-wrenching words, "Can't you be a little kinder? You're just losing a child, but she's losing her life." I resisted with every fiber of my being, but he threatened his own life to force my hand. On the operating table, both my child and I died. Meanwhile, his true love's transplant was a success, and she lived. Although the outcome was exactly what he wanted, he spiraled into madness upon hearing news of my death.

Sasha Barlow receives a call from Aidan Gallagher when she leaves the hospital after getting an abortion. He says, "Get ready. Mr. Conley is coming tonight, so bring five bottles of whiskey and three bottles of red wine." Sasha subconsciously clenches her hand around her phone. "Can I skip tonight?" Aidan pauses. "I know you're angry about yesterday, Sasha. Natalie hit you yesterday, but I reprimanded you instead of helping. "You need to remember that she's my girlfriend, though. She comes from a good family, and her parents have always treated her like a princess. She's bound to be a little willful and spoiled. You're older than her, so cut her some slack."

On the night before our engagement party, my fiancée went radio silent for five hours—just to buy her male assistant stomach medicine. When she finally came back, I gave her two choices: fire him, or call off the wedding. She disappeared for three full days. The next time I saw her, she showed up at our doorstep soaking wet. She threw her arms around me and said, "I don't want anyone but you." Then, on our wedding night, she vanished again. I'm an ER doctor. I got called in for an emergency. When I got to the hospital, I found out the patient was her assistant. He had a groin injury. My fiancée was standing by his bedside, disheveled, her clothes a mess. I didn't raise my voice. I just looked at her and said, "Cut ties with him right now. We can still make this work." Her eyes filled with conflict. She hesitated. Then she reached down and took his hand.

After finishing the buffalo wings, I casually pick up an iced beer to cut the spice. My stepsister, Zoe Cruz, tries to copy me, fanning her mouth and sticking out her tongue from the heat. But my boyfriend, Luke Nash, snatches the beer away. He pinches her cheek playfully and says, "You just ate all that greasy, spicy food, and now you're chugging ice-cold beer? Are you trying to wreck your stomach?" Then he turns his head and frowns at me with displeasure. "Same goes for you. You know Zoe has zero self-control, so why do you have to drink that right in front of her? Go outside. Come back in after you finish your beer." My grip instantly tightens around the beer bottle. Furious, Zoe wraps her arm around his neck, pretending to strangle him. "Since when do you get to boss me around? Mia, tell Luke off! Luke, I'm older than you! Watch your tongue, or I won't give Mia permission to marry you." Refusing to back down, Luke sticks his hand into her clothes to tickle her. "Mia, you tell a certain someone that if she doesn't listen to me, she'd better not call me crying in the middle of the night complaining about a stomachache again." I watch the two of them fall back into their seats, laughing. All of a sudden, everything just feels pointless.

During my wedding, someone suggests that we play the game "one dollar and 50 cents". The host will call out an amount that the players will have to match by forming groups. I draw the 50-cent straw, and so does my best friend, Rebecca Cross, who is also the group favorite. My fiance, Ian Chilton, his childhood friend, Richard Price, his older sister, Anne Chilton, and my stepsister, Chelsea Whitmore, all draw one-dollar straws. For the first round, we need to make up a total of 1.50 dollars. I make a beeline toward Ian, but he gazes distractedly at Rebecca. It isn't until he is assured that she won't be eliminated that he finally loosens his painfully tight grip on my hand. Before I can truly feel my disappointment, the second round begins. This time, we need to make up a total of five dollars. Everyone instinctively surges toward Rebecca. I don't pester Ian this time, and he naturally fails to notice that I've been left out. It isn't until the host reminds them that they're 50 cents short that they reluctantly let me into their group. For the third round, we need to make up 2.50 dollars. It's clear that the six of us can conveniently form two groups of said amount, yet they debate heatedly over who gets to be in the group with Rebecca. As time is running out, Richard and Chelsea finally walk reluctantly toward me, having lost in a game of rock-paper-scissors. In the final round, we need to make up 4.50 dollars. As soon as the whistle is blown, they crowd together merrily. Ian even considerately wraps his arm around Rebecca's shoulders out of fear that she'll be jostled. Meanwhile, I'm knocked to the floor by the crowd, my palms digging deeply into splinters sticking out of the wooden floor paneling. From start to finish, nobody spares me a glance. In that instant, everything feels pointless to me. When we played hide-and-seek as children, they only realized I hadn't been "found" after nightfall. When we visited the amusement park as adults, they would always forget to buy my ticket. All things considered, it simply isn't polite to keep trying to fit into a small group that doesn't have room for me.

After the Sullivan Group went bankrupt, I abandoned everything and followed Jessica to Tylen City. It took her five years, but she eventually inherited her father's legacy and climbed back into the top three on the Forbes rankings. Yet, she never once brought up any word about marriage. That lasted until the night before the Day of the Dead. I woke up in the middle of the night and saw her lighting candles while facing the direction of Cinea. "Dad, Mom, forgive me. I couldn't visit you this year because of work, but please continue to protect Chris and bless us with happiness for the rest of our lives." When I heard this, warmth filled my heart. My health was on the frail end of the scale. In the past, she always returned on her own since she didn't want me to be exhausted over this. This year, I decided to make the trip on her behalf after seeing the longing hidden in her eyes. However, what I never expected was to see the name of her former fiancé beside her name on the gravestone. Moreover, his title was engraved as her husband. As I looked further down, I saw another name beneath theirs. It was a name that belonged to their three-year-old son. At that moment, I felt as if I'd been struck by lightning. Only then did I realize that it wasn't Christopher she was referring to when she said, "Chris." Instead, it was Christian.

Rosalie Lardner has 19 chances to get Brandon Searle into bed. Succeed just once, and she wins. Fail all 19, and she loses the title of "Mrs. Searle" for good. This is the bet she made with Brandon's stepmother—a deal she signed with complete confidence. But unfortunately, she fails every single time. Eighteen attempts, 18 failures. Now, it all comes down to the 19th try.

While packing Ethan's flight bag, I found a custom solo wings pin. The engraving on the back read: For Lark, to celebrate your first solo. Beneath the box sat the receipt for Skyler's flight school tuition, paid in full by Ethan, along with a photograph. In the photo, she was sitting in the pilot's seat. Ethan's gloved hand rested over hers on the control yoke. Seven years ago, I had sat in that same seat. Back then, I was one step away from my first solo flight, but Ethan talked me out of it again and again, always claiming it was "for my own good." He said flying was dangerous, that someone had to stay home and take care of things. I put down my logbook, pressed the wrinkles out of every one of his captain's uniforms, and spent seven years living by his flight schedule. Only now did I finally understand. It wasn't that he didn't want to take anyone flying. He just didn't want to take me. What made it even more absurd was that the night Skyler first flew through the clouds, I was alone in a hospital, losing our baby. I called him over a dozen times. At three in the morning, he finally called back, his voice flat and indifferent. "I just took Lark through the clouds. Next time something comes up, give me a heads-up." I put the wings pin back exactly where I found it, then pulled the crumpled ultrasound printout from the bottom of the drawer and tucked it inside the logbook that had been gathering dust for seven years. This time, I wasn't going to wait for him to look back. He convinced me to leave the pilot's seat, then turned around and put another woman in the sky. So I would leave him and take back the sky that had always been mine.

The night the hurricane made landfall, the emergency alert had barely stopped sounding when my sister-in-law, Brielle Rourke, called again. I listened to her helpless sobbing, then calmly handed the phone to my husband, Caleb Rourke, who was busy boarding up the balcony doors. Whatever she said, he kept agreeing to it. He pulled on a rain jacket and gave me that practiced, guilty look. "Her window's broken, Lena. She's all alone over there. I'll patch it up and I'll be back before the worst of it hits, I promise." Once again, it wasn't a discussion. It was an announcement. Five years of marriage, and every storm had gone exactly the same way. The moment the thunder started, her call came right on schedule. I used to fight about it, but he always said, "My brother died young. Brielle's raising his son by herself. We help when we can." "You're a grown woman, and a strong one. You can look after yourself and our son, right?" The wind split the glass, and the shards opened my calf to the bone. I reached for the baby sweater I'd never finished knitting. Tonight, Caleb, I don't think your son or I need you anymore.

My parents were stranded in the middle of a blistering desert—no water, temperatures through the roof—while my wife, Michelle Reid, was three miles away building a splash park for her buddy Teddy Williams's dog. By the time I found them, they had already died of thirst. Their bodies were decomposing in the sun. I called Michelle, livid. She brushed it off like it was nothing. "I told you I was in a meeting. They're just lacking a little water. Relax." Then she added, "If they're still alive, don't give them any water. Let Teddy 'stumble' onto them during his livestream—he can hand them a bottle on camera. It'll be great for his numbers." She paused awhile before continuing, "And if they're already dead? Say Teddy found them. Makes his survivalist act look more legit." I laughed—because every word out of her mouth was for Teddy. But she didn't realize: the ones who died of thirst were her parents—my in-laws.

My infertile wife, Quinn Hart, finally gets pregnant after seven years of marriage. But our baby boy is diagnosed with a rare disease shortly after being born. In order to treat our child's disease, Quinn and I have sold everything we own. Alas, we still aren't able to gather enough money to save him. Left without a choice, I can only take on jobs far away from home. Since Quinn is left penniless, she and our child are forced to room with other people. One day, I receive a work order that comes with lucrative rewards. Apparently, I'm required to clean windows on a tall building. Coincidentally, the address points to the building where Quinn is rooming with others. I slowly descend to the window, hoping to give Quinn a surprise. But that's when I notice the boisterous atmosphere inside that particular room. I notice Quinn holding our baby boy with one hand while her other hand is intertwined with another man. "Everyone, meet my husband whom I'm secretly married to for many years, Chester Langston. Today is our moving day as well as the celebration party for our son. "Thank you for attending the grand occasion. We'd like to toast to you in order to show our gratitude." I feel my blood freezing in my veins at that moment. Meanwhile, Quinn is typing away on her phone a short distance away. The next thing I know, I hear my phone chiming once. It seems that a new text has appeared on the screen. "Honey, I'm already pinching pennies just by sharing the same bed with other people with our son. But the thing is, I don't have enough money to last the month…" I can hear Quinn's "husband" teasing her with a soft chuckle through the open window. "So, this is how you've been lying to him, huh?" Quinn just smiles at him casually. "I did everything out of love for you, didn't I? In fact, I've been pretending to be infertile for seven long years just so I can keep my promise to you. And now, I'm pretending to be poor to the point that I keep telling Nicholas that I'm sharing a bed with strangers every day."

My husband, Chandler Goodwin, claims that he doesn't understand what the phrases "silent treatment" or "giving the cold shoulder" mean. Yet, in the three years we have been married, he has never once spoken to me sweetly. The first time we have a falling out, I remain proud and dignified. We end up ignoring each other for seven days straight. The seventh time we have a cold standoff, I start to panic a little. However, despite trying all sorts of methods, he doesn't back down. The 11th time it happens, I have already learned to work through my emotions myself. Chandler doesn't even need to say anything before I take the initiative to apologize first. I simply think that he's just a naturally indifferent person, that nobody can warm his stone-cold heart. Then, on the third year of our marriage, I accidentally ruin his dress shirt while ironing it. Chandler doesn't say a word, but that very night, he packs his things and moves into a hotel. On the third day of being blocked, I head to his company with a handwritten apology. While passing by his office, I spot him leaning over to shoot his angry assistant a doting smile. "I'm sorry for raising my voice at you just now and upsetting you. It's been 57 minutes since you started ignoring me. Please stop giving me the cold shoulder, alright?" I freeze on the spot, the apology letter in my hand practically burning my fingers. As it turns out, it's not that he doesn't know what the silent treatment means—it's just that I've never been the person he wants to coax.

Three months after my liver cancer diagnosis, I found out the only contact Evelyn Pritchard had pinned was one of her male students. Suddenly, all those cute reaction gifs she had been using made sense. I didn't spiral. I gave Evelyn two choices. "Divorce me, or cut him off." Evelyn said nothing. She locked herself in the study for the entire night. When she came out the next morning, her eyes were red, and she looked at me like she already knew she had ruined something she couldn't fix. "He doesn't know anything. I'm the one who crossed the line. It won't happen again." We had been together for six years. I couldn't bring myself to end everything over what I kept telling myself was one mistake. Then, during my surgery, Evelyn answered a phone call. "My parents are trying to force me into a marriage. Please, you have to come help me!" Her hand slipped out of mine. And then, she ran for the door. Pain tore through my abdomen, but I gritted my teeth and shouted, "Evelyn, if you walk out of this operating room today, we're getting divorced when you come back!" She stopped for half a second, but still left anyway. The heart monitor began to shriek. Evelyn never looked back. That was when I finally understood. This three-year marriage should have ended a long time ago.

Brandon Smith has flown for eight years. I've been with him since the time he was an assistant pilot, all the way until he successfully rose to the ranks as the head pilot. In the year Brandon's busiest with his career, I resign from my job and begin cooking according to his aviation schedule. Just once, I bring up the question, "Can you please show me the sight of being thousands of feet in the air in the near future? Just once, please!" Brandon continues eating from his plate. "The plane is a workplace, not an amusement park for you." I reply, "Okay." Since then, I never bring up that matter in front of him. That is, until I find myself suffering from insomnia one night. That's when I accidentally come across an encrypted photo album tucked away in Brandon's phone. There are over 40 photos in the album, all from his perspective as a pilot. There are seas of clouds, sunsets, double rainbows after a downpour, as well as the Milky Way in the night sky when the plane is over thousands of feet in the sky. Every photo has been sent to the same person with a bear's emoji as their name. The latest photo is a photo of the beautiful evening colors from three days ago. Half of the sun can be seen in the clouds. The caption that comes with the photo says, "Today's sky is still beautiful as ever. When you come over next time, you can take the observation seat on the right. It gives you the best angle of the sky." The bear emoji person responds with a hugging emoji and a short sentence. "Wait for me to go on my break." I put Brandon's phone back where it belongs without changing the password and deleting the album. Once the morning sun is up, I brew myself some coffee as usual before finishing it quietly. Then, I turn on my computer and book myself a flight ticket to Dalco. It's been eight years. Finally, I don't have to chase after Brandon's flight routes and wait for his mealtimes. I no longer have to stay in an empty house while guessing which flight destination he's headed to right now. Since Brandon's sky refuses to tolerate my presence, I shall move my roots elsewhere and watch the sunset on my own.

On our son's fifth birthday, the three of us went to watch a meteor shower. In the middle of it, my husband answered a phone call and left in a hurry. Late that night, our son had an asthma attack. The only medicine he needed was in my husband's car. I clutched my son and ran through the empty wilderness, stumbling in the dark as I called my husband over and over again. All I got back was an icy message: [Something urgent. Do not disturb.] The next day, he finally called. However, the voice on the other end was not his. "Last night, my dog suddenly fell ill and died. Elias was worried I wouldn't take it well, so he stayed with me all night. He has just fallen asleep. If you have anything to say, you can tell me." I stroked my son's pale, bluish face. "Tell him," I said, "we're getting a divorce."