Mistress Romance Short Stories & Regret Novels

After narrowly escaping death, I ran into the son I hadn't seen in years. He was taller now, and the cold disgust that used to fill his eyes was replaced by regret and desperate longing. He looked cautiously at me as he said, "Mom, I miss your home-cooked meals so much." I ignored him, haggling heatedly with a seller at the farmer's market. He bent down to pick up two onions that had dropped from my grocery bag. "If you were alive, why didn't you come back? Dad said the past is in the past. He forgives you." I let out an irritated click of my tongue, slapped two bills on the counter, and walked off. Suddenly, he yanked the hem of my shirt tightly. "Mom, are you abandoning us? Are you giving up on our family?" I didn't answer. Hearing him say "Mom" was utterly grating to my ears. The moment they chose to save that other woman and leave me during that shipwreck, every last shred of my feelings for them had vanished.

When Meghan Gregory struts home with a young male model and announces that she is pregnant with his child, I do not smash things or cause a scene as I did on previous occasions. I even personally cook chicken soup for her to help keep her healthy and give up the master bedroom to that man. From that day on, I become the laughingstock of Halston's high society. Those men who want to climb the social ladder all see me as an easy target. They all want to walk all over me. Meghan's close friends make fun of me, saying I am a useless man who cannot live without the Gregory family. Later, Meghan's baby bump grows bigger. She looks at me with a smug smile as I iron the baby's clothes. "Sweetheart, no matter how exciting the other men are, they're only for fun. "Don't worry. As long as you behave and do not cause trouble, no matter how many other men I have, you will always be my husband." Everyone thinks I put up with all of this because I cannot live without Meghan's money. Only I know the real reason—that I have signed a prenuptial agreement with the Gregory family. The agreement states, "Regardless of the wife's faults, as long as the husband maintains the marriage for five years, he will be entitled to 10% of Gregory Group's original shares." Now, the five-year term is over. Half of Meghan's fortune, worth tens of billions of dollars, now belongs to me.

Just after I finish a meeting, the parents' group chat for my daughter's kindergarten suddenly buzzes with activity. Someone shares a viral post. The poster writes, "A daughter is always her daddy's sweetheart. She's already using her allowance to buy her dad a birthday present! I wonder who my gentle, wealthy little princess will marry someday." The one who shares the post adds excitedly in the comments, "She's the one and only successor to the Webb family in Jemton! She's a true heiress!" The parents in the group chat eagerly offer their sycophantic compliments. They can hardly wait to offer their own sons as potential suitors for the little girl. But I'm puzzled. Other than my wife, Lucy Webb, I don't think there is any other family with the surname Webb in Jemton. Then, I open the photo attached to the post and instantly freeze. The sweet little girl smiling as she holds the gift is unmistakably my daughter, Emilia Webb, whom I personally drive to and from kindergarten every single day.

Caleb and I were the internet's most popular couple creators. Over the past four years, we have traveled to dozens of cities and made countless viral videos. However, Caleb was the only one who ever appeared on camera. Instead, I stayed behind the scenes and did all the filming, editing, and planning the content. I was also the one who made every video go viral. Every day, people in the comments would guess. "What does Caleb's girlfriend look like?" "She must be someone beautiful and talented to win Caleb over." Initially, I had always thought Caleb was waiting for the right time to introduce me. It wasn't until one night when Caleb liked a comment. "I have a feeling that Caleb's girlfriend is Jessica. After all, they have way too many matching things." Soon, people found more proof of their relationship. A limited PR gift box sent to us appeared in Jessica's vlog. The matching mugs I picked showed up at her place. Even the jacket Caleb only wore at home could be seen hanging on a chair in the background of her video.

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.

At my best friend's wedding, the bridal bouquet falls right into my arms. She leans in close, winking suggestively. "I worked hard to get Matt as the best man. You've been crushing on him for seven years. Quick, take the bouquet and confess your love to him!" I hold the bouquet, completely dazed. She doesn't know that Matt Moore and I have been in a secret relationship for a year now. My dream is finally coming true, and the yearning days are over. Until the day I use breaking up to force him to reject the blind date his family sets up. He smiles nonchalantly, completely unconcerned. "Sienna Yale, you've been in love with me for seven years. Can you really bear to part with me?" I snap back to reality. That's when Matt walks straight over and snatches the bouquet away. Then, he casually gives it to his college senior beside him. He looks at my frozen expression and raises an eyebrow, full of confidence and contempt. "Sienna, I knew it. You can't bear to part with me."

After Silas Sterling and I began our long-distance relationship, he sent me a blind box every month. Each one was his way of replacing the companionship he could not give me, helping us get through the long years apart. Two years ago, Silas made me a promise. "Once I take over my family's company, I'll bring you home. I'll make sure you can stand proudly by my side." For that single promise, I waited in a city more than 1,200 miles away through hundreds of lonely days and nights. Then, inside the 773rd blind box I opened, I found a first-class plane ticket to Sutherland. On the flight, I could barely contain my excitement. My obvious happiness made the young woman beside me smile. She cheerfully showed me a photo of herself with her fiance, her face glowing with joy. "We're getting married in three days." The moment I saw the wedding photo on her screen, my fingers froze on the boarding pass I had been absentmindedly stroking. The groom-to-be in that picture was the very man I had traveled more than a thousand miles to see.

Ethan Carter is an international captain for Delta Air Lines. I'd been engaged to him for five years. In those five years,the only time I ever asked him to indulge me was when I sent him a photo of my mother's flight journal. That journal recorded the route she'd flown on her last trip: Boston to Paris. Her health was already failing by then. I wanted Ethan to mark that route for me, and paste it on the last page of the memorial album. He just replied, "I've got a transatlantic flight tomorrow. Flight safety isn't for humoring people." Last week Ethan came home on leave, and while I was sorting his luggage, I found a waterproof document pouch tucked in a lining. Inside was a full set of simulator debrief materials. A name was written on the cover: Claire Bennett. A young first officer at Delta, the rookie Ethan had personally mentored these past two years as she pushed for her international route certification. I opened to the first page. From takeoff roll to stall recovery to approach deviation, every page carried Ethan's handwritten notes. Red circles, blue underlines, black annotations, the handwriting crisp, just like the man himself. A private recommendation letter was tucked into the pouch. He wrote that Claire had "steady judgment, an exceptional capacity to learn, and the potential to join a transatlantic flight crew." Every word was restrained, and every word was precise. The most recent file had been modified last Valentine's Day. That day I'd booked a restaurant. Ethan said he was prepping for a flight and couldn't have dinner with me. I didn't cry. I didn't ask. I picked up my phone and booked a one-way ticket to Seattle. Seattle's air medical transport program was hiring a lead physician. I used to think the future between Ethan and me was something I had to wait for: wait for him to fly less, wait for him to be less busy, wait for him to finally have a spare moment to glance at my journal. I didn't want to wait anymore.

Clarice and Kyle both followed the same travel vlogger. I didn’t think anything of the situation since the three of us had been friends since high school. The strange thing was that they had a private group chat that didn’t include me. I only found out because Kyle accidentally sent a message in our group chat. “I got us a table reservation at that restaurant for Sunday. Don’t be late.” It took less than a second before the text was deleted. I asked, “What restaurant? Let’s go together.” Kyle typed back, “Oops. Wrong chat. I’m having dinner with a colleague.” Clarice stayed silent throughout. It took some time, but I started connecting the dots. Whenever the three of us had something planned, one of them would cancel at the last minute. Previously, Clarice said she’d get the tickets for the music festival, but somehow, she could only secure two. Those went to her and Kyle. During our last camping trip, Kyle said that he only managed to borrow two sets of gear. When I offered to rent my own, Kyle brushed me off, saying that it was just too much of a hassle and that there was always a next time. That same weekend, Kyle and Clarice posted photos from that exact campsite, twenty minutes apart. For six months, I convinced myself that I was just unlucky. Looking back now, I realized that I had been singled out. So I left the group chat. No explanations. No accusations. I muted notifications from travel apps, ticketing apps, and restaurant bookings. Then, I booked a solo trip to Lake Tahoe, a ticket with no refund and no amendment allowed.

A man's childhood friend was trapped in an elevator for an hour. The very next day, he locked his own six-year-old daughter inside a suitcase for an entire day and night. Arya Simmons was overseas on a business trip at the time. She could only watch in horror as the suitcase rocked violently through the home surveillance camera. Panic seized her. She immediately called him and demanded, "Have you lost your mind?! Millie's only six! Why would you do this?! Why are you locking her in there?! Get her out now!" "Because if she hadn't been playing with those elevator buttons, Nancy wouldn't have gotten trapped in the elevator," he replied in a chilling, almost threatening voice. "Nancy is claustrophobic! Do you have any idea how terrified she was?" he continued. "That's why that brat needs a lesson she'll never forget. What better way to teach her than to make her go through the same thing?"

The third time I caught my wife in bed with another man, I lost the ability to speak. Out of guilt, Helena spent a month teaching me to communicate with one and two. One meant yes. Two meant no. Whatever Helena said to me, if it had anything to do with Felix Danner, the answer was always one. She said Felix was in poor health and wanted to borrow the protective locket my mother left me. I answered one without hesitating. She wanted to push back our anniversary so Felix could have his birthday first. One. Even when she wanted to move the injured Felix into our house, I still answered one. And I packed my things and gave up the primary bedroom for him. Then I took our wedding portrait down off the wall. Her eyes filled and she caught my hand and wouldn't let go. "Simon, you told me that portrait never comes down unless we're divorced. Are you telling me you want a divorce?" She saw the one already forming on my mouth. Helena came apart and started screaming at me. "Simon, don't you dare say one. There is nothing wrong with your vocal cords. You can talk. So talk to me!" A second later, afraid she'd frightened me, she gentled her voice. "Simon. Say two. Please say two." I pulled my hand free and looked at her, honestly puzzled. Had she forgotten what she signed the year she loved me most? Two chances if she was ever unfaithful. A third time, and the filing instructions and settlement went into effect on their own. They'd gone into effect a month earlier.

On the day I married Vera Barrymore, her precious first love got drugged and woke up missing a kidney. Vera disappeared for three days. When she came back, she brought Sebastian Cooper home with her, freshly diagnosed with depression. I swallowed my heartbreak and agreed to help her take care of him. I had to coax him to sleep every night and feed him one spoonful at a time. It wasn't until she asked me to give him one of our children that I finally snapped. That same night, Sebastian slipped me a fatal dose of sleeping pills. By the time Vera found me, I'd already stopped breathing. She held my body and sobbed, and still chose to cover for him. "This is what we owe him. If there's a next life, I swear I'll make it up to you." When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day Vera first asked if I'd agree to help her take care of Sebastian.

My CEO girlfriend, Stella Nielson, wants to groom me into the most loyal and perfect boyfriend for her. So, she freezes my bank accounts, and I'm forced to report all of my expenses to her. I comply because I love her. I ruin my health for the sake of her career development, and now, I have to rely on expensive medications to even stay alive. My doctor says that my condition has severely deteriorated, and I require immediate treatment. But when I can't even scrape together 15,000 dollars for the surgery and call Stella asking for a loan from her, she mocks me instead. "Seriously? A grown man like you, asking me for money? Have you no shame, Noah Mendoza? I'm having cash flow problems at the company right now. I don't have any money to lend to you." She tells me not to be unreasonable, but she goes ahead and celebrates her childhood sweetheart, Damon Hayes' birthday on social media in an ostentatious manner. She even purchases a 50-million-dollar villa for him and books a lavish cruise party for the entire night. This time, I don't beg her for the money anymore. Instead, I decide to just disappear from her life.

On the morning of my wedding, a man in a groom's suit showed up at my door. Before anyone could speak, he walked in and told my stylist to do his hair first. My groomsmen and I had no idea what was happening. When we asked who he was, he looked me up and down and smirked. "Meredith didn't tell you? I'm the groom today. You're not needed. You already got your name on the marriage certificate, right? Count your blessings and take the hint." I held it together and called Meredith Soames. Her voice on the other end was as gentle as ever, but it made my stomach turn. "I should've told you about Royce. But he was the one who was there for me when I had nothing. The marriage is yours. Your name's on the certificate. Just let him have the ceremony." That was when I realized that in the past five years, I had never truly seen her for what she was.

Halport's shipping tycoon is marrying off his daughter and making a high-profile scene by grandly parading 99 wedding ships across Lumina Harbor. Jeremy Sutton, my best friend, excitedly drags me over to watch the spectacle. I instinctively take a photo to send to my girlfriend, Hazel Shepherd. I suddenly see two familiar figures in my camera frame. Hazel, who is supposed to be working overtime, is wearing a diamond-encrusted satin wedding dress and holding the hand of her childhood friend, Chris Lussier, as they board the magnificent lead ship. I freeze for a moment, then angrily try to rush forward and confront them. But Jeremy grabs me and holds me back. "Chris has always been Hazel's fiance. You're just humiliating yourself if you walk over and cause a scene. "I feel so bad for Hazel, who pretended to be poor and stayed with you in that cramped apartment for eight years. I'm saying this as your best friend—show some self-respect and don't be a shameless homewrecker." I feel completely numb inside as the cold sea breeze brushes against my face. It turns out that the woman I have been with for eight years has been lying to me all along. Even Jeremy, my best friend, has known the truth all along and hides it from me. I suddenly receive a message from Hazel. "I just got off work and took on two more tutoring gigs, Sebastian. I'll work hard and save up the 12,000 dollars for the wedding fund soon. I'll then head back to your hometown to get married to you, Sebastian." I look at the wealthy heiress standing on the ship, finding the whole thing utterly ridiculous. "You don't have to do that anymore. Mom is telling me to return home for a blind date."

On New Year's Eve, I hurry home from abroad to surprise my wife, Moira Wesley, from whom I've kept my return a secret. But when I push open the front door of our home, I'm greeted by the sound of laughter and friendly chatter. Overcome with emotions, I enter the house to see Moira with a baby in her arms as she announces sweetly, "Today, we celebrate New Year's Eve and Beatrice's one-month birthday! Happy New Year, everyone!" Upon hearing my entrance, Moira glances over her shoulder, then turns and walks toward me. She grabs the mug of hot tea on the table and splashes it at me. "Who are you? How dare you trespass into a private residence on New Year's Eve?" I try to ignore the burning pain on the left side of my face as I grab Moira's arm, hoping she'll explain herself. However, she shrugs off my grip and gives me another hard slap. "Noah, call the police! Tell them a suspicious person broke into our home and is attempting to rob us!" After that, Moira winks at me, then turns with the baby in her arms and joins an older couple. "Francine, Eric, don't worry about that. It was someone irrelevant." I stand in place, watching as the large family has fun in the house that now seems so unfamiliar, and feel a sudden wave of emptiness wash over me.

A week before Christmas, I received a year-end report titled "My Business with Your Wife." [Item one: this year's goal was to sleep with your wife a hundred and fifty times. — Exceeded.] [Item two: get your wife to buy me a mansion and a luxury car. — Done.] [Item three: get your son to call me "Dad" ten times a day. — Exceeded.] [Item four: stand right in front of you and claim what's mine. — Done.] [Mr. Wolfe, I've been taking care of your wife and looking after your son too. So, are you going to give me a bonus, or step aside like a smart man?] He'd attached a photo, labeled it "family portrait." In it, Allyson Fowler had her arm looped through his, and my seven-year-old son stood in front of them. This guy was my son's kickboxing coach. Allyson walked in just as I finished reading that special year-end report. Nervous, she said to me, "Don't go looking for trouble with him. I was the one who made the first move. It's not his fault. Take it out on me any way you want, and I'll make it up to you however you ask." My blood ran cold. I just looked into her eyes and said, "I just want you to go back to how things used to be." Back to when she was broke, stuck in the mud with nothing. She misunderstood and let out a relieved breath. "Even with him around, I won't neglect you."

When I found out my wife was pregnant with her lover’s baby, I thought I’d lose my mind just like the first time I caught her cheating, smashing up the whole house like a lunatic. Instead, I looked at our antique vase and realized it was far too expensive to break over them. It just wasn't worth it. Later, walking past a bakery, I thought seeing her buying baby supplies with Joseph would ruin my appetite. Yet, to my surprise, the cake I bought tasted better than usual. Before going to bed, that familiar dark urge to swallow a handful of sleeping pills crept up on me again. I thought I was about to lose my mind and take the most drastic measures to get back at that despicable couple when my therapist sent a message, reminding me once more to go outside and get some fresh air. So, I headed south to soak in the sun and feel the ocean breeze. For twenty-seven whole days, I didn’t think about them once. That was until my wife, Sarah, called. “There are three days left in our divorce waiting period. Don’t forget to come back so we can finalize the paperwork. “Don’t worry, Daniel. This is just temporary. After I have the baby, we’ll remarry. You know you’re the only one I love.” Only after her reminder did I remember the divorce was even a thing. This time, though, I was exhausted. I didn’t want to play their games anymore. So, with the ocean breeze on my face, I said almost without thinking, “How about this time, we end it for good?”

Shawn Bryant had touch starvation, yet he never let me touch him so much as accidentally. We'd lived together for four years, and every night he fell asleep with his arms wrapped around a goose plush toy. "Holding it simulates an embrace," he told me once. "It gives me a sense of security. It calms my nerves." I curled into his arms and pouted. "Isn't holding me the same thing?" He gently pushed me away and rolled over to hug the goose instead. "Don't start. Bebe's soft. It's comfortable to hold." One time I threw the goose in the washing machine, and Shawn lost his temper completely. "What if it's ruined now?" I didn't think much of it. "So we'll buy another one." "You don't understand anything!" He didn't speak to me for days after that. While he was in the shower, I snuck a look at his phone, hoping to find where he'd bought Bebe so I could replace it and make peace. His screen was still open to a chat thread. Every message in it had an exclamation point beside it, marking it as unsent. Shawn: [Holding Bebe is like holding you.] Shawn: [I can't sleep at all without you.] Shawn: [Cynthia, when are you finally coming back?] The last message had been sent the day before. The exclamation point beside it was gone, and a reply sat underneath it, glaring up at me. Cynthia: [This time it was a hug. What about next time?] My mind went blank. I looked at the goose lying on the bed and suddenly found the whole thing pointless. Shawn, if you were never going to let anyone actually touch you, then I'm done trying to be the one.

The day I discover that my husband, Nick Goldberg, is cheating on me, my severe depression drives me to climb up to the rooftop. My older sister, Natalie Swift, stabs him before dragging him over to apologize to me. From then on, Natalie moves in with us and becomes his strictest watchdog. Every time he so much as twitches, Natalie is even more anxious than I am. With Natalie keeping watch over Nick, he genuinely changes. He deletes all of the female contacts he has and comes back home on time. It's to the point that he even reports to me when he's just going out to throw the trash. Because of this, I think that this battered, broken marriage of ours is finally getting a fresh start. However, that only lasts until I receive a call from me ten years into the future. As I take in the gaunt, hollow-eyed woman in front of me, I ask tentatively, "It's been ten years. Is my depression still not cured?" Instead of answering, she curls her lips into a smile that was more a horrible grimace and shows me a video. The video she shows me is of Nick pinning Natalie to the closet wall. His eyes are filled with suppressed pain as he says, "For three years now, we've stayed under the same roof, yet we still can't openly be together. Just how long do you plan on punishing me?" Natalie shuts her eyes, tears trailing down her cheeks. "What we did to Lena was unforgivable. Only by being apart can we atone for our sins." I stiffen, feeling as though I've been plunged into freezing waters. As it turns out, the woman I've been searching the entire city of Hollerton for is none other than my beloved older sister. Nick truly is quite skilled at hiding her, to the point that she's been living right under my nose for three entire years without me being any the wiser. The screen abruptly cuts back to my future self, who leans in closer with a crazed smile on her lips. "You hear that? As long as you still breathe, everyone is suffering. Only with you dead can everyone be free."