Feel-Good Story Romance Short Stories & Scumbag Face Slapping Novels

Tomorrow was supposed to be my engagement party with my fiance, Jason Miller. To surprise him, I flew back a day earlier after spending three long years studying abroad in London. The moment my plane landed, I called him. But he just laughed and casually dropped a bombshell. He had lost a high-stakes poker game, and he had just wagered me off to his friend as a free maid for a month. Before I could even speak, my phone lit up with a notification. He had added me to his wealthy inner-circle group chat. The title was vicious. [Congrats to Marcus on his new ugly maid!] Jason dropped a photo of me, from before I left the country, into the chat. In the picture, my skin was broken out, my hair was a wild mess, and I had severe buckteeth that made me look completely awkward. The group chat exploded. "Holy crap, Jason! You're brutal! She looks frightening!" "A bet's a bet, Marcus! You gotta bring the monster to the yacht party tomorrow!" Someone immediately set up a poll, betting cash on whether I would actually have the nerve to show up in a swimsuit. Jason instantly dropped ten grand on the poll, betting I would hide in embarrassment. "Sorry to ruin your eyes, bro," he texted the group. "Just think of her as a free circus act." I stared at the screen, a cold smile touching my lips. He never bothered to call me while I was away. He had no idea I spent the last three years in Europe undergoing three hundred thousand dollars' worth of top-tier facial reconstruction and styling. He had no idea that a single unedited photo of my face was now pulling hundreds of thousands of followers online. They wanted a show? Tomorrow on that yacht, I would give them one.

On New Year’s Eve, my husband, Julian Vance, handed me an end-of-year performance review. It was a full dossier detailing every failure and contribution I had made over the past twelve months. I skimmed through the pages, but froze when I reached the bold text on the final page. [Spouse has consistently failed to meet key performance indicators, falling well below acceptable standards.] [Conclusion: Termination of marital partnership.] I jerked my head up. "Julian, what is this?" His expression was completely blank. "It’s plain English. Clarissa, I think it’s time we discuss severing our contract and getting a divorce.”

At the airport, I ran straight into Zach Martin, the man who had left me at the altar two years ago to accompany his foster sister to Apania to watch elephants. I had on sunglasses, yet he recognized me instantly in the crowd. “Tina, I’m back to marry you.” I paused for a moment. There was a flicker of doubt in my eyes. “You’re…” He gave me a helpless smile. “Hey, come on. Don’t be mad. I didn’t mean to disappear like that. After taking Yvette to see the elephants, she wanted to stick around and document everything. She’s my only sister. I had to spoil her a little. “After two years of working on the project and finishing the shoot, I rushed straight back to fulfill our engagement!” Only then did it dawn on me that this dark, scrawny man, flashing a mouthful of white teeth, was actually my former fiancé! Wait. Did nobody tell him that on the very day he ran away, I married his uncle instead?

The day I found out I was pregnant, my fiancé, Shawn Gibson, told me he was going to marry the woman who was his first love, Suzie Sanders. Then, he asked me to marry his comatose older brother to help him get a wife. He said, "Suzie's family is forcing her into marriage. She's at the end of her rope. I'll marry her first, then figure out how to handle both families. We can still be together." I was shaking with anger and was about to throw the pregnancy test into his face. Suddenly, a young voice rang out in my head. "Mom, hurry and say yes! You mistook him for someone else that night! My real dad is his brother! And that coma? He's faking it! My dad is the richest man in the country! He's clearing out the traitors in the family and is about to make his grand return. "Marry him! This fortune is literally being given to us for free! We have to take it!" The richest man in the country? Then I was definitely marrying him.

On my wedding day, the officiant had just asked me whether I would take this man as my husband. Then my fiancé's secretary shoved her way onto the stage, heavily pregnant, sobbing that her baby couldn't grow up without a father. The whole audience was in an uproar. Adrian grasped both of her hands, turned to look at me, and kept his voice mild. "Vivian, she's stood by me for five years. That has to count for something." "The baby's already seven months along. I can't let him come into this world without a name." "You'll remain Mrs. Locke and we can treat her as part of our family. The three of us will build a harmonious life together." I looked at the big backdrop screen behind him, emblazoned with both our names side by side, and I started to laugh. "Adrian, did you forget?" "For this wedding, the hotel is mine and the guests are all those I invited." "Even that tux you're wearing was paid for with the card I gave you." I pulled off my wedding veil and dropped it onto the floor at his feet. "You want to give her a name? Fine." "First, cough up every last cent you owe me."

Shortly after our wedding, my husband, Lucas Whitmore, got into a car crash that left him paralyzed. For over forty years, I gave up everything to take care of him. However, it wasn’t until the day he passed away that I discovered the sickening truth. In his will, he left every single cent to his high school crush. I was evicted from the home I’d called mine for decades. Shaking and leaning heavily on my cane, I dragged myself to a lawyer’s office to reclaim my legal share of the estate as his widow. That was when they dropped the second bomb: he had secretly divorced me years ago. Before I could even process the shock, Lucas’ high school crush, Lily Collins, showed up to rub salt in the wound. "You really had no idea, did you?" She sneered, leaning in close. "Lucas was so worried I wouldn't be able to support myself. He didn’t just find me a high-paying job. He transferred all his money, plus every single paycheck you earned over the years, straight into my account." She continued, "Oh, and remember how he never wanted kids with you? That was because we already had a son together. Honestly, I should thank you for paying to raise our boy." Rage boiled over inside me. My pulse thundered in my ears. Before I could do anything, Lily lunged forward. She grabbed a handful of my hair, yanking my head back, and drove her sharp nails deep into my face. That night, her son hired a gang of thugs to corner me in an alley. They threw a burlap sack over my head and beat me to death, laughing while I spat up blood. Then, my eyes snapped open. I was staring at my husband. He was young again, his legs newly paralyzed, his eyes rimmed red as he stared at me with a pathetic, tragic expression. "Scarlett, the doctor said I’m never going to walk again," Lucas whined, his voice trembling, "What am I supposed to do if I can't get a job?" I quietly slid the debit card I had been about to hand him back into my pocket. A cold laugh ripped from my throat. "What are you supposed to do? I guess you can lie there and starve, and I'll throw you a real nice funeral when you're done."

My fiance's childhood friend, Tori Kerr, calls him 999 times, begging him to cancel the wedding. "I see it in the tarot cards. You can't get married this year. Cancel the wedding right now." Mikael Jardine hesitates and says, "Tori's tarot readings are always accurate. Let's just listen to her." My temper flares up immediately. The invitations are already sent, and the venue is booked. How can we just cancel it? Seeing that I'm angry, Mikael ultimately decides not to listen to her. In a fit of rage, Tori blocks him. I thought that was the end of it. But on the wedding day, Tori suddenly storms onto the stage. The first thing she does is shout at my mom and ask her to leave in front of the guests. Tori says, "I read it in the tarot cards last night. Your mom's rising sign clashes with Mikael's. She can't attend the wedding. Besides, your mom's just a cleaning lady. She doesn't deserve to be here!"

My girlfriend, Piper Wolfe, and her childhood best friend, Cole Carter, could physically feel each other's pain and sensations—or so she claimed. We were in the middle of a heavy make-out session when she suddenly shoved my shoulders, almost throwing me off the bed, and pulled out her phone to dial Cole. "Cole! It’s ten at night, why are you chugging ice-cold beer? If you don’t care about your stomach, at least think about mine!" Cole’s voice muffled through the speaker. "You don’t get to judge me! Tell your boyfriend to go easy on the kissing. My lips are burning! If you keep this up, I’m just gonna find someone else to kiss!" Piper’s chest heaved. Her voice spiked with panic. "Don't you dare!" By the time she hung up, they had made a pact: as long as she kept her hands off me, Cole promised not to hook up with random girls. She turned back to me, her eyes wide and pleading. "Finn, please. I can't stand the feeling of another girl touching and kissing me by proxy. You understand, right?" I loved Piper way too much. My stomach sank, but I gave in. As long as our love was real, a platonic relationship wouldn’t hurt me. Until I caught them together. Piper had Cole pinned against the wall, their lips locked in a deep, rough kiss that left his lips swollen. "I don't care how many boyfriends you date," Cole murmured against Piper’s skin, breathless, "You're only touching me." Piper laughed, running her fingers through his hair. "Relax. You're the only one who actually turns me on." Cole smirked, wiping his lips. "Still, out of all the guys you've dated, this current one takes the crown for idiot of the year. You told him we shared physical sensations and he actually bought it?" "Hey, don't ruin a good thing." Piper giggled. "You better make sure I don't lose him. He's way too convenient." A sharp, violent ringing filled my ears while my mind went blank. I was paralyzed by the horrific realization that my entire relationship was just a joke to them. What neither of them realized, though, was that I was the kind of guy every girl secretly craved, and starting today, I was done being played.

During our engagement banquet, Samuel Hill, my fiance, has the nerve to put our marital home up as a prize in an anonymous draw. Nathan Ziegler, my childhood friend, smiles and says, "Samuel prepared this surprise for you, Charlotte." Ultimately, Naomi Sutton, Samuel's first love, gets the marital home from the draw. I, on the other hand, receive a box from Samuel's assistant, and inside it is a photo of the three of us. There is even a message on the back. "I hope that you remember that the three of us grew up together." In that instant, everyone in the room falls into silence. Samuel wraps an arm around Naomi's shoulder and says, "It's just a game, Charlotte. You're not going to make a big deal out of it, are you?" Nathan tries to reason with me as well. "Naomi just returned from abroad, so she doesn't have a place to stay. You should let her have it for now, Charlotte." I later notice a message on Samuel's phone. It was from the host of the banquet. "Mr. Hill, per your instructions, Ms. Sutton gets the marital home, and Ms. Gardner gets the keepsake." Samuel merely replied, "Got it." I smash the framed photo right at Samuel's feet in front of everyone and say, "The engagement banquet is canceled." I refuse to go along with this performance designed to humiliate me.

The stray cat I adopted had recently started looking at my boyfriend, Logan Bennett, and his female best friend, Chloe Dawson, like they were complete idiots. Then one day, Chloe climbed into the passenger seat of Logan’s car again and shot me a provocative smile. A fierce little voice suddenly rang out in my head: “Human, that woman is calling you an idiot in her head! She’s also planning to get your man drunk tonight! Hurry up and slap her! If you do, I’ll make sure you find money on the street when you leave!” I froze and stared down at Mochi in my arms. So my cat could not only talk, but also read minds and predict the future? Fine. From today on, Mochi and I would make these two shameless cheaters pay—and make sure everyone knew exactly who they were!

An app had been making the rounds online lately—one that let you text your future self. Right before the final paper of the SATs, I decided to jump on the bandwagon and fired off a message: [Future me, do I end up marrying Liam Tinsley?] The screen flickered, and a reply from an "Unknown Number" popped up almost instantly: [Yes. You had a big, grand wedding.] I clutched my phone and typed back fast: [And Mia Thompson was my maid of honor, right? She's my best friend!] The response came just as quickly: [She was. But she wasn't just the maid of honor, she slept with Liam on your wedding night.] My smile froze mid-expression. Then a second message hit: [Truth is, you didn't need to go through all that trouble tanking your scores just to match his. He bombed the math section on purpose—so he could end up in the same city as Mia, who was at the bottom of the class.] [He pushed you to turn down that top-tier university—not for your sake, but because he didn't want Mia to feel inferior next to your grades.] The pre-exam warning bell cut through the air. But I was frozen, my body ice-cold, unable to move. One last message slammed into my screen: [If you don't believe me, head straight to the motel behind the school after the test. You'll see the truth for yourself.]

I had taken leave from the sealed research institute where I'd been confined for six years, just so I could attend my daughter's kindergarten graduation. The moment I stepped through the gates, I froze. A woman holding a little boy by the hand was shoving my daughter, Amy, straight into the gutter. She slapped Amy across the face, then sneered for everyone to hear, spitting venom as she called my little girl a filthy wretch. Drenched in filthy water, Amy dropped to her knees before the woman, trembling in humiliation. Rage burned through me. I stormed forward and slapped the woman across the face. But instead of shame, she jabbed a finger at my nose and shouted, "Do you even know who I am? To offend me is to offend the entire Grant family!" Tears welled in Amy's eyes as she tugged at my sleeve, pleading in a choked voice, "Please leave… she's my dad's nanny. My dad will punish you if you hurt her." The woman planted herself in front of me, her arrogance towering. "The Grant family rules this city. You think you can run from us?" For a brief moment, I stood stunned, then calmly pulled out my phone and dialed my husband. "Your nanny says you run Bexley City. Well, I think that's about to change."

By the time my prenatal appointment is over, my legs are barely holding me up. I drag myself out of the hospital and text my husband, Ethan Mercer. "I've been at the hospital all day. I'm exhausted." It takes him half an hour to reply. "What's that supposed to mean? You want me to reimburse you for the appointment?" I stare at the message, unable to process it. Ethan's first love, Chloe Hart, walked out on him when he had nothing. She took every cent he'd saved and married a wealthy man instead. Ever since then, Ethan has despised women who care about money. So, for six years, I've gone out of my way to prove I'm nothing like her. We split everything equally. Dinner. Rent. The down payment on our house. Even after I got pregnant, I never asked Ethan to pay a cent toward my prenatal care. Then, I see Chloe's latest post. She's showing off a fresh manicure, along with screenshots of her conversation with Ethan. "Pick your favorite diamond." "Want naming rights? Better send me a nice big gift. Five figures minimum!" Below it is Ethan's transfer of 3,000,000 dollars. His teasing reply read, "If you hadn't left me six years ago, would you really have to ask me for pocket change like this now?" That's when it finally hits me. Ethan doesn't hate women who act spoiled. He doesn't even hate women spending his money. He just hates it when that woman is me. I slip my medical report into my bag and text my attorney. "Please draw up the divorce papers." Our relationship has been about splitting the bill since our very first date. It's time to settle the final account.

On our marriage registration day, my fiancé Harry stood me up. "Evelyn's cat went missing. She's on the rooftop sobbing her eyes out, and I have to be there to support her emotionally. We can do it another day." Everyone around me expected me to throw a fit. Instead, I calmly replied, "Sure. Go be her emotional support person." I turned around and went directly to a pawn shop. I then traded my engagement ring for eight grand. That night, he came home covered in cat hair and tried to guilt-trip me. I simply opened my Venmo app. "So you're going to be someone else's emotional support companion? Then let's put a price on it. Twenty bucks an hour, plus a penalty for standing me up on our marriage registration day. Pay up! "Think it's too expensive? Fine. I'll clear out half the house instead. And while I'm at it, I'll take the left shoe of every pair of your limited-edition designer shoes!"

The day I received my admission to the New York Bar, I finally confessed my feelings to Alex Walker, the man who had been my mentor for the past three years. He was crouched down, carefully fastening the strap of Claire Harrison's designer heel. Claire was the heiress and CEO of a rival firm. When he heard my confession, he stood up and looked at me with nothing but contempt. "Eileen, who do you think you are? You think you deserve to marry into my family? You're just an assistant from some backwater town who happened to pass the bar. Do you really believe that makes you worthy of standing beside me?" Before I could react, he slipped a stack of forged trade secret documents into my handbag. Then he handed me over to Lucas Morrison, the infamous heir to the Morrisons, a man whose ruthless reputation was well known throughout New York's elite. "Mr. Morrison, she's all yours. Make her take the fall for the leaked documents. And while you're at it, teach her to stay in her lane. I've already chosen Claire. I have no use for this one anymore. Do whatever you want with her." His men dragged me away. Alex never looked back. One month later, Walker Law Firm was collapsing under a flood of scandals—fabricated financial records, misappropriated client funds, and malicious lawsuits. Alex finally called me, his voice as arrogant as ever. "Have you suffered enough? Admit those fake accounts and lawsuit files were your doing, and I might consider letting you come back as my assistant." Before I could answer, Lucas let out a low, amused laugh from beside me. "Mr. Walker," he said lazily, "my wife is busy acquiring your law firm. She doesn't have time to be anyone's scapegoat."

On the day of my coming-of-age ceremony, a group of bandits stormed into my home. They robbed us of everything we owned and burned our estate to the ground. Then they used my six-year-old sister as leverage, forcing me to show myself. More than a dozen bandits dragged me back to their hideout and tortured me for three days and three nights before selling me to a brothel. I had thought about dying, but even death was beyond my reach. When I was at my most desperate, Duke Landon Knight paid for my freedom and asked if I was willing to go home with him. After crawling through the darkness for so long, I suddenly saw a light that had never gone out. Three years into our marriage, I once asked him why, among all the flowers in the world, he had chosen this withered one—me. "When I caught my first glimpse of you as a child, I swore I'd never marry anyone but you." I thought he truly loved me. I thought that was why he was willing to marry a brothel girl whom everyone else called a woman who had been with countless men. I spent those three years healing from my wounds, hoping that one day I could give him a son or daughter of our own. Until I overheard a conversation between him and his closest friend in his study. "Lucia Bellamy is arriving in the capital tomorrow. Are you really planning to bring her into the estate? "Isabel has already suffered the loss of her family and been humiliated and sold to a brothel. Her life has been tragic enough. Can you really bear to bring Lucia into the estate and hurt her all over again?" Landon answered without hesitation, "What do the lives of a few dozen Conrads matter? If the Conrads hadn't reported the Bellamys back then, Lucia wouldn't have been exiled to Southvale, and we wouldn't have been prevented from marrying. "As for Isabel, I bribed the bandits to sell her to a brothel. I did it only to spare her life and leave her alive long enough for Lucia to come back and take her revenge herself." So that first glimpse he'd never forgotten had been of Lucia, and I was nothing more than a tool for him to use in taking revenge for the woman he loved. The next day, I used the Conrad family signet my grandfather, Leonard Conrad, had left me to secure two imperial decrees. The first was my own request for a divorce, so Lucia could enter the estate as his legal wife. The second ordered a full investigation into the truth behind the massacre of my family, so that their names could finally be cleared.

I worked night shifts for three straight months, finally saving enough to cover the cost of a bone marrow transplant for my fiancé Vance Dalton's younger sister, Margot. When I arrived at the VIP ward with a bank card containing $300,000, I saw Vance leaning down to kiss his so-called sister. My best friend, Bridget Lewis, was standing beside them, recording the whole thing on her phone. "Margot, that stupid woman just sent another $50,000. Your European vacation fund is fully stocked." Bridget giggled beside them. "Of course she did. She eats expired instant noodles every day and still thinks she's out there saving the world." I stared at them, gripping the freshly signed house-sale agreement so tightly that its edge cut into my palm.

I was secretly married to Conrad, our company's CEO, for three years. When a photo of us walking out of a house together in the morning was leaked, I called 911 right in front of all the employees. "Officer, the CEO of this company raped me!" I did this because in my previous life, he had sworn to me: "The company is at a critical funding stage. The investors value my image as a highly eligible bachelor. To get this multimillion-dollar lifeline, we just have to compromise a little and hide our relationship from the public." I was soft-hearted back then. I thought the pressure of managing the company was too much for him, so I agreed. But what I got in return was his young assistant, Ivy, spreading rumors that I was a vain, money-hungry woman who had seduced my boss for his fortune. Then she launched a massive online smear campaign, painting me as a shameless opportunist and turning the entire office against me. In the end, I was pushed to the breaking point. Targeted as a toxic gold digger, I was intentionally run over and killed by a crazed hater. Ironically, after my death, Conrad refused to press charges against the online mob. Then he easily slipped a wedding ring onto Ivy's finger. Now, opening my eyes again, I found myself back on the morning we were secretly photographed leaving the house together.

The night before Prince Dorian's consort-selection reception, I had a terrible dream. I dreamed I got exactly what I wanted. I became his wife, and I wasted my entire life on it. While I hemorrhaged through the birth and our baby died before it drew a breath, Dorian was at a lodge across the city, drinking to celebrate with another woman. What they were celebrating was my labor. My child hadn't been unlucky. Dorian had drugged me. He'd promised that woman she would be the only one to ever bear his children. Later I learned the truth, and I found her, and I found the son she'd given him in secret. Dorian went wild. He broke my arms and legs and kept me locked away for the rest of my life. He entered the boy into my household records and installed him openly as his heir. On the day I died, Dorian finally turned up. Decades of marriage, and it was the most he had ever said to me. "Celeste was born too low for my mother to accept her. That's the only reason you got the title. "You were useful, though. Celeste could never enter the house, but our son can inherit it under your name. "Go quietly. If there's a next life, keep your distance. Stop throwing yourself in my path." I woke with a jolt, refusing to believe it. Then, at the selection reception, I walked straight into Dorian on purpose and lifted the handkerchief from his sleeve. A pair of swans was embroidered on it, and beneath them, small and neat, the name Celeste Beaumont. The blood drained out of my face. I grabbed the girl I'd hated since childhood and headed for the door. "I'm not marrying him. And neither are you."

At a major press conference, my husband, Julian Winslow, is about to publicly introduce me as the love of his life when his young assistant suddenly walks onto the stage carrying a girl. "Go on, sweetheart. Daddy's calling for you." The room erupts. Reporters start firing questions about Julian's relationship with his assistant, but instead of correcting them, Julian simply takes the little girl into his arms and fastens the company's multimillion-dollar new necklace around her neck. "Yes," he says. "We have a daughter." As I stand silently in the crowd, the reporters turn their attention to me. "Ms. Aldridge, you've been with Mr. Winslow and the company for years. Surely you have something to say on such a special occasion?" I smile. Then I take the designs I spent an entire year perfecting and toss them straight into the assistant's hands. "You can have the designs too. Consider them my gift to your happy little family."