Feel-Good Story Romance Short Stories & Redemption Novels

I'm the heiress of an affluent family. The housekeeper's daughter secretly wears my gown prepared for my birthday party, and I'm about to teach her a lesson. Suddenly, I see real-time comments. "This female antagonist is just jealous that the female protagonist looks better in the gown than she does!" "It's fine. The male protagonists are going to show up soon!" "Let's hang on for a bit more. I'd like to see this antagonist continue being so snobby once her family goes bankrupt!" In the next second, my brother and fiancé show up. They shield the housekeeper's daughter in their arms. Sneering, I commanded the staff, "Strip all three of them."

"Dad, Mom, I've decided—I'll go through with the marriage arrangement with the Kingston family. I'll be back by the end of the month." Daphne Wharton made the decision in the middle of a camping trip with Luke Hardy. She curled into herself, pulling her scarf higher against the chill. For a moment, there was only silence on the other end of the line. Then, her mother's voice came through, thick with tears. "Daphne, we know this isn't fair to you. Our company is struggling, and the Kingston family is willing to help—but only if you marry their son. We've failed you as parents…" Her father let out a heavy sigh beside her mother. Daphne listened, her gaze unfocused. A faint, bitter smile tugged at her lips. "It's okay, Mom, Dad. This is what I should do. I'll be back in fifteen days—when their son returns to the country."

In my ninth year of being with Tyler Freeman, he flaunts his relationships with other women while I'm only allowed to come and go from his bedroom. He doesn't acknowledge me as his girlfriend, yet he allows his friends to address me as such. I have a name but not an identity. His friends are bored during a private party and want me to perform a strip dance on stage to liven things up. I expect Tyler to at least turn them down on my behalf, but all he does is sip his wine and say, "Go on. You're the owner of this place, aren't you? Aren't clubs supposed to satisfy their patrons' needs? Don't let my friends down!" I look at him emotionlessly. I don't cry or throw a fuss. Instead, I splash a glass of liquor in his face. The following day, I trash the club. Three months later, Tyler finally thinks of calling me. "Where are you? Aren't you gonna get the hell back here? Do you really expect me to beg you to come back? Do you think you're worthy of that?" I pull my newlywed husband to the camera. "Sorry, Mr. Freeman. I'm getting married. You don't need to come, but do get me a wedding gift." Unexpectedly, he threatens to show my husband intimate videos of me when he sees me in a wedding gown.

After six years with Joel, Lyra landed in the hospital—sick and drained. The day she got discharged, she caught something in the hallway she wasn't supposed to hear. "Joel Fenwick, are you out of your mind? You gave Lyra's bone marrow to Renee without telling her? You knew her health was trash and lied about it being a stomach issue just to make her do it?" Renee. Joel's childhood flame. The girl he never got over. Lyra didn't cry. Didn't freak out. She just picked up the phone, called her parents overseas, and said yes to an arranged marriage with the Windsors.

My boyfriend gave me away to his arch-nemesis because he lost a bet. On the same night, I was driven to his arch-nemesis’ house. Before leaving, he expressed remorse, “Anya, just bear with it for a bit. I will come to pick you up in a month.” That night, the man pinned me to the bed and started unbuttoning my shirt. As he traced his cold fingertips against my collarbone, he said, deep and seductively, “So that’s the scumbag you fell for? Why don’t you be with me instead? I can give you everything you want.” I leaned forward and kissed him right away. “Sure.”

While my husband was chatting with his friend at the dining table, his friend suddenly spoke in Italian. “You married Lyra to write a pardon letter for River. You’ve been showing more concern toward Lyra, but you’re still lying to her and saying that the contraceptives are antidepressants. Don’t you think Lyra will break down if she learns the truth?” My husband wore a complicated expression as he chuckled bitterly and said, “Why let a child be born if I don’t want it? As for Lyra, so long as she doesn’t interfere with River’s happiness, I’ll keep my promise and protect her for life.” No one knew that I had already learned Italian to keep up with my husband. I stood in the living room with fresh hickeys on my neck. In my hand, I held the “antidepressants” and felt a chill run down my spine. So, my husband’s love for me had been fake? My salvation had actually been a meticulously planned lie? In that case, I would help them fulfill their wishes.

On the same day we were registering our marriage, my boyfriend, Levi Salfolk, had someone throw me out of the clerk's office while he led his childhood sweetheart inside. He looked at me nonchalantly. "Rosalie's child can't be illegitimate. I'll marry you once we get divorced." Everyone thought that the lovestruck me would wait for him for another month. After all, I had already waited for him for seven years. However, I went overseas that night, accepting the arranged marriage my family had set up for me and disappearing from his world. Three years later, I accompanied my husband back home to pay our respects to his ancestors. Something came up, and my husband sent someone from the local branch office to pick me up. Unexpectedly, I met Levi, whom I had not seen since I left. "Enough with the fooling around. Come back. Rosalie's child is starting preschool soon. You're in charge of picking up and dropping off the child."

When a kidnapper forces my husband, Liam Waltz, to choose between saving me and our son, he sacrifices me without a second thought. I'm pushed off the cliff, but somehow, I survive. Still, I have lost all my memories. Liam looks absolutely devastated in front of the media. He holds a public funeral for me, only to marry a woman who looks exactly like me a year later—Clara Brown. Four years pass before my memories return. I return to Ardenix, hoping to see my son, Lucas, only to find that he now sees Clara as his mother. And Liam? After four years of thinking I was dead, he only cares about protecting her. "You were gone for four years. I thought you were dead. You didn't think I'd be widowed forever, did you? I'm now the CEO of a publicly traded company. "I can allow you to stay home, but you can't ever show your face in public. After all, Clara is now my legal wife." Instead of heartbreak, all I feel is relief. During those four years of amnesia, I married the one and only heir of Hurrix Corporation.

[Is it wrong to fall in love with someone who already belongs to another?] One day, a post I stumbled upon caught my eye. The most liked comment was a brazen boast from a self-proclaimed mistress: [Dating isn't marriage. If you can steal the heart of someone taken, you deserve to keep it. If they don't love their partner enough to stay loyal, their partner is the real outsider in the relationship.] [I took my husband from another woman. He was just a broke college student back then, but I knew who he really was. He's the only son of the country's wealthiest man!] [His ex only knew how to study and work. She had no idea how to keep a man. How unfortunate! I heard she never even got her diploma. Her life must be miserable now.] I stared at the comment for a long time because I recognized the woman who wrote it. Her name was Camila. She was talking about me. Miserable? I was now a famous attorney, renowned for never having lost a case, and I had also adopted a sweet daughter. My life was anything but 'miserable'. I blocked the author of the comment and assumed our paths would never cross again. However, fate had other ideas. While taking my daughter for her passport application, I ran into some people from my past in the most dramatic way possible. Camila used her position to make things difficult for me. My ex-boyfriend Alexander stood by her side and even threatened me, phone in hand. "Apologize to my wife, or I'll have my father hire that so-called 'Victory Queen'. We'll sue you until you lose everything!" I smiled and said, "Go ahead and call that lawyer." The next second, my phone rang.

The night before graduation, my best friend Sophie talked me into confessing to Lucas Sterling, the boy I'd secretly loved for three years. She said Lucas was at the basketball court, wearing a white T-shirt. I gathered every ounce of courage I had, grabbed the bouquet of roses, and rushed over. I came up behind a boy and covered his eyes with my hands. "Lucas, I've liked you for so long!" I felt his body go rigid. He turned around — and the face staring back at me was dangerously handsome, with a wild edge to his gaze. It was Dominic Blackwood. The one person at Westfield High that nobody dared to cross. I spun around to run, but he grabbed my arm and pulled me against his chest. He dipped his head, breathing in the scent of my hair, his voice rough and low. "What did you just say? That you like me?" "Say it again." "If you don't, I'll kiss you right here in front of the whole school."

Vera Quinn and I spent seven years tearing each other apart in the corporate world. When we first started, she sabotaged my presentation slides, hoping to watch me humiliate myself in front of the board. I retaliated by flagging her fraudulent expense reports to HR, making sure her name was dragged through every department in the company. When we were both up for the director position, she locked me in a supply closet to make me miss the final interview. The moment I got out, I poached a major client she had been pursuing for six months, leaving her at the very bottom of the year-end performance rankings. In our industry, we were fire and water—completely incompatible. Then three years ago, the endless scheming finally felt hollow. I handed in my resignation and walked away from the industry for good. The day I packed my desk and left, Vera was leaning against the elevator door, her eyes full of mockery. "Giving up already? Mylo, a cowardly deserter like you deserves to starve on the streets". I hit the "close" button, swearing I never wanted to see her face again as long as I lived. Three years later, we crossed paths again at the industry’s annual gala. Vera was now the youngest partner in the industry. She looked at me as I stood there, humbling myself to pour drinks for an executive, and let out a sharp laugh. "It’s been a few years, and you’ve fallen this far? Working as a glorified escort to scrounge up some investments? What happened to that pride you used to fight me with?" But I wasn't there to secure any investment. I was there to beg that executive for a few more days to pay off the predatory loans my father had left behind. I just needed enough time to sign the consent form for my stomach cancer surgery with a clear conscience.

Back when I was young and dumb, I slapped some college guy working a side gig at a nightclub. My boyfriend had just ditched me for my best friend, Vanessa Shannon. Then, not even five minutes later, I caught her in the corner, sliding her hand under another guy's shirt. He bit his lip and just took it. Something in my brain short-circuited. I stood up and walked over. If Vanessa wanted him, why couldn't I? But the second I reached for him, he smacked my hand away. Vanessa cracked up. The whole private room turned to watch. Mortified, I slapped him. "You work at a place like this. Don't play innocent." Later, my family went broke, and I ended up working at a nightclub just to get by. The private room was loud as hell. I lost a game, and everyone at the table started chanting for me to take my bra off. My face went hot. I stood there, completely frozen. Then a low voice cut through the noise with a cold laugh. "You work at a place like this. Don't play innocent." I looked up. Our eyes locked. His stare was icy, full of pure mockery. It was the college guy I'd slapped years ago.

After getting tormented by electrical shocks for five years, I've contracted severe brain atrophy. Once the psychiatric hospital kicks me out, I rely on the posts that are recorded in my old Facebook account in order to survive. Rosalie Vaughn, my childhood friend and former girlfriend who has sworn to torture me till I die, takes her rich fiance, Sebastian Crowe, back to the old, rundown complex. The moment she sees me curling up on the moldy couch while clutching my phone tightly, she lets out a scoff. "Oh? Now that you've escaped from the hospital, are you still waiting for some rich woman's text? Weren't you very quick and decisive when you stole my life-saving money back then? Why are you still pretending to be some devoted man?" As soon as Rosalie's voice falls, she snatches my phone from my hands. After keying in the wrong password three times in a row, she chooses to recover my password. The moment she sees the security question, her mocking expression freezes momentarily. The question shows, "Who's the only one I've loved in this life?" I blink hazily, my eyes cloudy and dull. Then, I tug at Rosalie's sleeve. "Miss, do you know who she is? I remember I used to love someone with all my heart, but I think she locked me up in a psychiatric hospital." After that, I turn around and try to scavenge the trash can for a piece of expired bread just so I can offer it to the "nice lady".

When my husband from the arranged marriage lost his memory, I couldn't resist messing with him. “Adrian. Say 'Boss.'“ The man in the hospital bed hugged his pillow and looked up at me like a good little boy. “Boss.” I nodded, satisfied. Perfect. A whole year of marriage, and he never once called me his wife. One car crash, and he'd been demoted to calling me Boss. Adrian and I had an arranged marriage. I did it for my family's dying factory. After the wedding he was colder than the fridge. We slept in separate rooms. He wouldn't eat my cooking and wouldn't take my calls. He even saved my number in his phone as “the Bell girl.” I lived in the Crane house more carefully than the hired help. His mother thought I was poor. His aunt thought I was trash. Adrian thought I was an eyesore. Then came the crash. A clot pressing on the nerves in his brain. The doctor said his mind had rolled back to about six years old. I looked at the man in the bed, clutching my sleeve and refusing to let go, and on the inside, I was glowing. Payback. My moment had finally come. I wanted money. I wanted revenge. I wanted a divorce and a clean getaway.

I'm an orphan too broke to even cover my own college tuition. But I happen to have the exact same face as Cassandra Ashford, heiress to one of the richest families in the city! The young lady sitting across from me, the one wearing my face, slapped a bank card down on the table. "Sixty grand for living expenses. Another three hundred thousand once the job's done." She wanted me to take her place at a business school. The goal: to blow up her arranged marriage to her fiance, Julian Sinclair. Cassandra said she hadn't laid eyes on the guy since she was seven, so I could go ahead without a worry. She was off to chase true love. I thought about the old director lying gravely ill in the hospital, and the orphanage that was one bad month away from shutting down. I said yes without a second's hesitation. What I never saw coming was the first day of school. Riding my rented city bike, I plowed straight into the car of the guy showing up to enroll on the same day: Julian Sinclair. The window rolled down, revealing a face so gorgeous it should have been illegal. Julian stared at my face and let out a cold scoff. "Cassandra." "Haven't seen you in over a decade, and you've already learned to fake a fender-bender for cash?"

Today was my younger son, Luke's, eighteenth birthday. My ex-husband, Major General Arthur Ashford, let himself into my house without knocking. He headed straight for the liquor cabinet like he still owned the place. He poured himself a glass of whiskey and looked at me with open contempt. "Allison, how have you enjoyed the last eight years? Stuck here in Briarwood because of a family court order. "All because I broke a couple of glasses and put my hands on you a few times, you just had to file for divorce." "And what did that get you? The judge stopped you from taking the kids out of the city and made sure I got regular visitation." He swirled the whiskey in his glass, spilling a little onto the carpet. It was the same cocky look he wore the night he came home drunk and beat me with his belt. "You really thought you could get away from me? As long as I say no, you'll spend the rest of your life under my control. "After Luke cuts his cake, I am filing for emergency guardianship. You will never take my son away from me." I looked at his smug face, gripping the edge of my sleeve, and said nothing. Then he lifted his glass, ready to start barking orders at everyone. My daughter, Kate, rose from her chair and set a thick stack of papers onto the table in front of him. "General Ashford, you should read these. "As of midnight, Luke is legally an adult. Every travel restriction the family court placed on Mom is gone. "And this is the filing receipt for the name change petition for the two of us, which I filed with the Supreme Court." Arthur gave the papers a dismissive glance. Then his smile disappeared. Printed across the top in bold letters were the words: Petitions of Kate Ashford and Luke Ashford to Change Their Surname to Pierce.

My twin sister Celeste and I shared the same face, but little else. She believed in forgiveness. I believed anyone who hurt her should pay. Three years ago, Celeste was set to marry Adrien, Crown Prince of Valeria. But an old succession law forbade identical twins from both retaining legal identities once one entered the royal bloodline. So I chose my sister. My parents staged my death, erased Cassandra Montclair from public records, and promised to protect Celeste after I disappeared. I left her my fortune and the Crescent Guard, then vanished to the northern border. I believed my death had bought her safety. Then our dormant twin bond suddenly returned—and pain told me Celeste was being tortured. I reached the capital to find our cousin Vivienne wearing Celeste’s crown beside Celeste’s husband. My parents watched her coronation from the front row. Celeste had vanished. Inside the palace, everyone mistook me for the disgraced former queen. Servants wore her jewelry. Adrien dismissed every plea she had made as jealousy. Even our parents threatened to disown her. They said her wicked sister had died long ago. They said Cassandra would be ashamed of her. Surrounded by royal guards, I picked up a sword and turned the hilt three times—the way I always had before protecting my sister. My mother went pale. My father staggered back. “Cassandra?” I raised the blade. “Now that you recognize me, tell me where my sister is.”

At the auction, my fiancé's secretary raised the bidding paddle twice on his behalf. The first time, she outbid Lady Margaret Vesta by a single silver coin, snatching away the emerald brooch meant as a coming-of-age gift for her daughter. She brandished the house seal of my fiancé, Cassian Severus, with a brazen grin. "Her husband can afford to keep a woman on the side, but he won't pay what he owes Cassian. I'm just collecting a little interest for him. What's the problem?" Cassian thought I was still at sea. He just smiled and told her not to be so blunt in front of a crowd next time. The second time, she set the seal into the gold tray, activating an irrevocable, open-ended bid. This time, she was after my mother's heirloom: a silver dolphin necklace. She sat in the seat that should have been mine, wearing the custom crimson gown I had paid for, and looked across half the hall at me. "It belonged to a dead woman. Anyone can wear it. Lady Helena has plenty of jewelry already. Why not let me have it?" Cassian still had his back to me. He didn't know I was already back.