Melodramatic Romance Short Stories & Scumbag Novels

At eight months pregnant, Esther Rivera went to the mall to buy a duffle bag and stock up on supplies she would need when she went into labor. She was once again mistaken for a mistress and was assaulted by Summer Moreno. To protect the baby in her belly, she could not fight back at all. Summer grabbed her hair and slapped her several times, even nearly tearing off her clothes. At her wit’s end, Esther called the police. Both of them were taken to the police station. Each of them claimed to be Jasper Clarke’s wife The police officer, John Hayward, called Jasper to verify the truth. When Jasper learned about this, he went to the police station. Summer swiftly took out a mirror to touch up her makeup before looking at Esther smugly and saying, “Esther, do you think Jasper will say I’m his wife just to protect me? “I bet he will.”

Mason Chapman has lost his memories. He has forgotten everything about me. His memories are stuck in the year he was most in love with his ex-wife, Tiffany Auburn. No matter how much the people around him try to talk sense into him, he remains convinced I'm the other woman who has come between him and Tiffany. The doctor says there's a chance he might recover his memories, so I cling to that hope and refuse to let go. Within three years, we divorce and remarry many times. We become the biggest joke in the city's social circles. People even start placing bets on when I'll finally give up and when Mason will regain his memories. Then, news of our eighth divorce makes the trending searches again. Reporters storm into the law firm I work at with cameras on their shoulders. They shove microphones in my face, their questions dripping with provocation. "Ms. Gardner, as a divorce lawyer, what do you have to say about getting divorced eight times yourself?" Someone smashes the firm's sign. My personal award banner is trampled underfoot. Before I can even respond, my boss fires me for ruining the profession's reputation. "Take my advice, Isabel. Have some dignity, and stop chasing after Mr. Chapman." I clench my trembling hands and suddenly feel depleted. They're right. Maybe this time, I should just give up.

After I started dating Ryan Kellogg, I gave up the little rituals I had loved for twenty years. No birthday cakes. No fireworks on New Year's Eve. No more searching for the restaurant with the prettiest view on our anniversary. Ryan always said real life didn't need all that decorative nonsense. He only agreed to a modest engagement dinner because I insisted. But when he arrived that evening, he was wearing a perfectly tailored suit. Our friends and relatives looked at him with new respect. I was thrilled, convinced he was finally learning to meet me halfway. Then, on the drive home, I happened to see a post from Sophie Bennett, the younger graduate Ryan had been mentoring. In the photo, she stood beside him outside Bellhaven State University, wearing the heirloom brooch his late mother had meant for his future wife. Her caption read: My mentor said he never expected the first time he'd wear a full suit would be for my graduation. I scrolled farther. Ryan had sent Sophie flowers and a cake for her birthday. He'd even helped celebrate the adoption anniversary of her dog. I touched the empty place above my heart and felt something inside me turn cold. His romance was a privilege reserved for Sophie. Our engagement dinner had merely fit into his schedule. As we entered our apartment complex, Ryan tapped the steering wheel. "Han, I gave you the engagement dinner you wanted. Let's just do the courthouse ceremony next week and skip the wedding." I put away my phone and smiled. "All right." He was right about one thing. There was no reason for us to get married.

On the fourth day after my son's death, I decided to secretly dissolve my military marriage with my husband. Before that, I had three days to settle everything for my son. On the first day, I tricked my husband into signing the cremation papers. On the second day, I went to the school and collected the textbooks my son would never get to use. On the third day, I cooked a table full of dishes and begged my husband to celebrate our son's last birthday. He agreed, but soon after claimed he had a mission. Instead, he spent the entire night setting off fireworks with his childhood sweetheart. That night, I cooked. Then, I sat alone before my son's photo and ate all my son's favorite foods. The next day, my husband returned, guilt flickering in his eyes as he handed me a brand-new backpack. He said it was a gift for our child's first day of school. But he didn't know—our child would never have a first day of school.

At the Lowell family's autumn memorial gathering, the moment my unfavorable token hit the floor, Spencer's girl best friend, Keira Boone, burst out laughing. "Wow, Lena. You're carrying a Lowell baby and the tokens still say no?" The Lowells had a rule: if an engaged woman couldn't draw a favorable token in five years, the engagement was void. Year one, I drew a bad token, and the wedding was pushed back. Year two, my dad was dying. I begged Spencer through tears to take me to the hospital, but he held me back. "Lena, ten more minutes. Don't let your dad's illness break the rules." Now it was year five. Keira tossed a marriage certificate in front of me. "But don't worry. Spencer already has a wife." In the photo, she and Spencer sat shoulder to shoulder. The registration date was the day after my fourth failed draw last year. Yet the night before they signed, Spencer had held me and said, "This is the last year. I swear I'll marry you." I went cold all over, but Keira wasn't done. "And lately, whatever needs Lowell had, your bro here took care of them for you." My stomach turned. I spun around to confront Spencer. He just rubbed his temples. "You're pregnant. I didn't want to risk touching you. What's wrong with her helping out? "The certificate's just to keep my family happy. You'll still get the wedding next week. "I've gone this far for you. What more do you want?" I slid off my engagement ring and set it back on the altar. "I don't want it anymore. "And I don't want you either."

On the day of my wedding, I had just discovered I was pregnant when news of Gavin Holt's death reached me. I wept until my eyes were swollen, yet still clung to his portrait and insisted on completing the ceremony. The very next day, his twin brother Sebastian Holt, came with Charlotte Evans, to break off the marriage on behalf of his brother. "My brother said before he died that Charlotte was his one true love. If she cannot enter the Holt family, he'll never rest in peace!" Taking advantage of the fact I had no family to back me up, Sebastian shamelessly brought Charlotte into my bridal chamber and slept with her. Their moans and gasps filled the room. On the very first day of my marriage, I was humiliated by my own brother-in-law and turned into a laughingstock for the entire city. Then, by chance, I overheard their conversation. "Gavin, you lied to Emily, told her you were dead. What if she finds out?" "She's so foolish. Even now, she mourns my 'death' with blind devotion. Once she gives birth to the child, we'll drive her out of the Holt family." Only then did I learn the truth that the one who had died in that car accident wasn't Gavin at all, but his twin brother! Later, I chose to end the pregnancy and leave. Yet he went mad, begging me to return.

My husband, Samuel Sullivan, has listed his home appliance repair services on a secondhand marketplace for five years. He charges one cent per job, and his service range is strictly limited to a single city, a single residential complex, and one specific address. His only customer is his ex-girlfriend, Willow Emerson. When her air conditioner filter needs replacing, he travels across half the city to disassemble and install it. When her bathroom lightbulb burns out, he heads out late at night, claiming he's going to buy cigarettes. I asked him about it once. He tells me a man must keep his word. He promised to look after her, and just because they broke up doesn't mean he can go back on his word. I hold my tongue, thinking I should be the bigger person. That is until Mom's heart bypass surgery, when I wait outside the ICU for nine hours. He tells me he has to go on a last-minute business trip and can't make it back in time. I reassure him that it's fine. However, moments later, I chance upon a short video on the local trending list with over 200 thousand views. Samuel crouches on Willow's balcony in the video, assembling the swing chair she has wanted for a long time. The comments section is flooded with people calling him the "perfect ex-boyfriend". The location tag shows he's only two miles from the hospital. I take all the times I've bitten my tongue and said "It's fine" in the last five years and write them into the divorce agreement.

When Tanya Spencer was eighteen, she was sexually assaulted by a stranger who was drunk. She went straight to the police. Despite the fear and enormous pressure she faced, she refused to back down and made sure the powerful, well-connected man who had assaulted her ended up behind bars. But the trauma he left behind ran deep. For years afterward, even having a man come too close would make her tremble uncontrollably. Sometimes the nausea was so overwhelming that she would throw up. Tanya thought this was simply what the rest of her life would look like. She felt ruined. Tainted. Like she'd never be able to love someone or live a normal life again. Then Preston Hayes came along. He was the head of one of the most powerful families in Harbor City, a man who could have had almost anyone he wanted. Yet for some reason, he chose to pursue her, an ordinary woman carrying scars she believed no man could ever accept.

After the car accident, one of the Johnson sons was dead and the other gravely injured. When my devout, devoted husband woke up in the hospital, he called out, "Dorothy." He claimed that his body then held the soul of his brother, Elias Johnson. I went mad, calling doctors, priests, anyone I could, desperate to bring my husband back. It was not until that night that I overheard his conversation with our son: "Father, you've loved aunt for years. You even kept yourself chaste in your private prayer room, waiting. Now, finally, you can be with her openly." The man in the bed reached out to stroke our son's hair. "If it weren't to stop your mother from destroying her relationship, I wouldn't have married her." I hid in the shadows, still reeling from their words, when I saw what happened after our son left. The husband I had always known, icy, composed, and ascetic to maintain his devout faith for seven years, was then holding his sister-in-law close on that tiny hospital bed, sharing a warmth meant for lovers. The next day, I applied for Jim Johnson's death certificate and burned our marriage certificate. At his grand wedding, I climbed aboard the helicopter sent to fetch me. However, my once-cold husband went mad, chasing after us down several streets, desperate and unhinged.

I pick up my husband Ethan Fuller's phone to transfer 200 dollars to myself for poker, but I stumble across his buddies' group chat, where they're planning a proposal. "Saturday at 7:00 pm, on a yacht on the river. Everybody dress up a little, guys. Let's give the future Mrs. Fuller a moment she'll never forget." "Jordy, you're in charge of keeping his wife occupied. Whatever you do, don't let her find out. That woman's sharp as a tack." "Don't worry. My wife says they'll be playing poker all night. There's no way she'll get there in time." "Hahaha, I'm dying. Once Ethan gets her to say yes, his wife won't even have anyone to go crying to." "By the way, Ethan, is the ring well hidden? We don't want a repeat of last time, when she almost dug it out." "I hid it in the company safe. She doesn't know the combination." "Once this is a done deal, I'd like to see her try to make a scene." The messages keep scrolling up, and the latest one is a voice message from Ethan. I tap it, and there's a smile in his voice. "Thanks for going to all this trouble, guys. When this is all taken care of, drinks are on me. Keep a close eye on her, and don't let anything go wrong." The light from the phone screen falls on my face. I stare at the group chat, then switch screens with a tap and decide to transfer another 20,000 dollars to myself. It's poker, after all. My luck had better be running hot.

Once again, Theodore Shaw was glued to his phone. Without thinking, he popped a whole grape into our six-month-old son's mouth. The next second, our baby's face turned bright red as he choked, his tiny arms and legs flailing frantically. Theodore did not even look up from his phone. His apology was careless and dismissive. "Sorry. I wasn't paying attention." Ever since his first love had added him back as a contact, those words had become his favorite refrain. Panicking, I patted our son's back over and over, tears streaming down my face. At last, he managed to cough up the grape. Theodore glanced at the resentment on my face, then returned his attention to the screen. "I have to get Vivi tickets to the concert she's been waiting months for. They'll sell out if I'm even a second slower." It was not an explanation. He was simply warning me not to make a scene and cost him the tickets. I held our sobbing, trembling baby in my arms, my back drenched in cold sweat. At that moment, I no longer wanted any part of the happy family everyone else believed we had.

Five years after their breakup, Lauren Scott signed a master-servant contract with Yale Sutton, the ex-boyfriend who had been penniless when they were together. Yale would pay off her debts, and in return, Lauren had to fulfill his every demand. "Lauren, take off one piece of clothing, and I'll knock a million off your debt." Yale spoke slowly, his voice dripping with mockery. Around the private room, the men hooted and cheered while the women laughed and made teasing remarks. Lauren gritted her teeth. "Fine. Just don't go back on your word, Mr. Sutton." Without a moment's hesitation, she unbuttoned her blouse and let it fall to the floor, baring her porcelain-white skin and most of her full, rounded breasts. The room fell silent for a moment before whistles erupted from every direction.

When I was ten years old, I suddenly gained the ability to see red threads connecting people’s heads. Only those who had actually slept together would be bound by this unavoidable red line. Over the years, two extra red threads popped up over my father’s head, driving my mother to threaten to file for divorce again and again. Because of this, loyalty became the single most important thing I looked for in a partner. In the end, I chose Jasper—a modest, reserved man whose head was completely clean. On the night before our wedding, my bridesmaids hosted a bachelorette party. We played a game where whoever lost had to hand over their phone for the rest of us to snoop through. When it was my maid of honor Jean’s turn, she clutched her phone tightly, her face flushing red as she bashfully giggled. “Don’t look at mine! He wore me out so late last night. Those photos are definitely not fit for public viewing.” Everyone teased her for keeping her relationship so secretive, since no one had ever met her boyfriend. I was just about to step in and smooth things over when I suddenly saw a bright red thread stretch straight out from the top of her head. It wove right through the crowd and anchored itself directly onto my fiancé, Jasper. Yet, when he dropped me off at home last night, his head had been entirely clean. In fact, just half an hour ago, he had sent me a text. [Aria, I’ve saved myself for you for twenty-five years. On our wedding night tomorrow, I can finally have you. I love you!] I looked over at Jasper standing outside the door, staring at me with deep affection, and then back at Jean, whose face was glowing with passion. I raised my glass and clinked it gently against hers. “Jean, is your boyfriend’s last name Cook?”

Whitney Westbrook clutches her pregnancy test results, her heart brimming with joy as she imagines how thrilled Lennox Graham will be when he finds out she's pregnant. But a little girl suddenly rushes out from around the corner, startling her. "Mommy, hurry up and divorce Daddy! He's going to get you killed!" Whitney's first thought is: Whose kid is pulling a prank on me? She manages a strained smile, then crouches down to meet Nola at eye level. "Sweetie, you've got the wrong person." "No, I don't!" Nola suddenly raises her voice. "Mommy, Daddy doesn't love you at all! He's always been in love with Winona!" Whitney's expression freezes. People in their social circle occasionally mention that Winona Sterling is the only woman Lennox ever loved in his youth. Yet everyone insists it's nothing more than a youthful infatuation, something that no longer matters. "Who are you, exactly?" Whitney's voice trembles. "My name is Nola Graham." Nola sobs so hard she can barely catch her breath. "You just found out you were pregnant when Winona got divorced. After that, Daddy devoted himself entirely to her. After you gave birth to me, your health never recovered. When I was five, you closed your eyes in your hospital bed and never opened them again." Nola throws her arms around Whitney's legs. "I made a wish at your funeral, and that's how I got here—to stop this from happening to you." Whitney takes a sudden step backward. Her rational mind tells her that none of this makes sense. A little girl suddenly shows up claiming to be your future daughter and telling you that your own husband will be the death of you. Even a novel wouldn't dare come up with a plot like that.

For seven years, my girlfriend, Sienna Jacoby, struggled with emotional avoidance. She never initiated a conversation with me. Whether I discussed major or minor matters with her, she only replied with either [1: Yes] or [2: No]. Even when I showed her the medical record that confirmed my uremia diagnosis, she gave a curt response and turned to go to work. My best friend, Ethan Quinn, once advised me, "A woman like her is worse than an air conditioner. At least an air conditioner knows when to cool you down and when to warm you up. What is the point of being with someone like her?" I stroked the ring on my ring finger and smiled. "She is just sick and does not know how to express herself. She loves me." A month later, on my birthday, I arrived at the restaurant late and saw Sienna sitting next to Ethan. They leaned closely together. The woman who always acted cold toward me beamed as she carefully wiped the rain from my friend's forehead. Ethan wore Sienna's coat. I looked away and fixed my gaze on the text message I sent to her a few minutes earlier. Clint Button: [Sienna, it is raining heavily today. I did not bring an umbrella. Could you come and pick me up?] Sienna: [2: No] I stood still and realized that I was the sick one. I had been blind as a bat.

My younger sister, Noelle Lynch's 18th birthday wish is to personally give me the wedding bouquet at my wedding. That's why throughout the five years of Noelle getting tormented by polio, the sentence that I utter to my fiance, Jeremy Morgan, the most is, "Wait a little longer." I want to wait till Noelle is fully recovered and can give me the wedding bouquet. Only when that time comes will the wedding be held. At first, Jeremy keeps arguing with me over this matter. "You're marrying me, not Noelle! Is it that important for her to attend our wedding? My mom really wants us to have a child! If we're not getting married by this year, then we might as well break up!" Things between us have soured since that day. When Noelle finally recovers from polio at the end of the year and wins the pageant as Miss Global Winner, I specifically give myself a long vacation. Then, I secretly contact the wedding planning company in hopes of moving the wedding date forward. But the staff member asks me in shock, "Didn't Mr. Morgan hold his wedding last month?" She even digs out the backup video from the wedding on her computer. In the video, Jeremy can be seen wearing a white suit. With red-rimmed eyes, he slides a ring onto the bride's finger. Shockingly enough, this bride is Noelle, the very same person who keeps claiming that I'm her salvation. I feel as though I've plunged into an icy abyss. Subconsciously, I log into Noelle's social media account. The first thing I see is a barrage of messages from Jeremy. "Honey, I already told her that I'd go on a business trip for a month. We'll meet up at the airport right on time. "By the way, remember to bring the black lace stockings that I've given you. I'm already looking forward to seeing you wearing them…" I clutch my phone tightly at the sight of the messages. Then, I hail a cab and rush to the airport immediately.

To win Samuel Zane’s heart, I lost everything. My family was ruined, and I was forced onto an operating table so he could take my heart and save his adopted sister, Xenia Zane, whose organs were failing. At the critical moment, William Zane disguised himself as a doctor and rescued me. We left the country and started a new life overseas. I used all my points to change my target from Samuel to William. “Host, I need to remind you that if you fail again after changing your target, you will be reincarnated as an animal and never become human again.” I looked at William as he knelt before me with a ring in his hand. I said firmly, “I do.” But when I gave birth to our daughter, I saw two figures standing outside my hospital room. William handed our daughter to Samuel and said, “Samuel, you’re rushing this. We need to wait until her organs are fully developed before we can take them.” Samuel’s expression remained cold. “Thanks to your plan, we were able to grow a healthy, young heart for Xenia. Don’t worry. We can just use an organ maturation agent.” “But…” “William, don’t tell me you’ve fallen for that woman.” “Of course not!” I heard him deny it immediately. “I endured everything for Xenia.” The moment he finished speaking, the system’s robotic voice rang in my mind. “Host, your mission has failed. In one month, you will be reincarnated as an animal.”

Just two days before our engagement, my fiance, Theodore Scott, kneels to adjust the hem of my dress, his fingers suddenly brushing lightly against my ankle. "Isabella, I've never seen you wear heels. You have such beautiful feet." I adjust the waistline of my gown in the mirror and answer casually, "I'm not used to them. My legs hurt when I walk in heels." "Just try them. High heels would look perfect with your mermaid dress." His palm glides up along my leg, stopping at the back of my knee. He murmurs, "Red-bottom stilettos—each step would sway so gracefully, and the way they'd peek out when you walk… You'd look breathtaking in them." I look up and catch his focused, burning gaze in the mirror. "Since when do you know about these things?"

At the supermarket, a child slams into my pregnant belly. The pain is so intense that I collapse to the floor and cannot get back up. I groan, "My phone... Call my husband..." Only after giving the child a slap does the woman pick up my phone. Apologizing repeatedly, she searches my contacts for "Husband". She calls several times, but no one answers. "Don't panic. I'll have my husband come handle this," she says, taking out her own phone and calling her husband. He answers after the very first ring. "Honey, our son got into trouble again! Adjourn your meeting and get over here. He knocked into a pregnant woman!" Ten minutes later, Shawn Leake, who is supposed to be working in another city, arrives at the scene. The first thing he notices is the child's swollen cheek. A look of concern crosses his face as he frowns and searches the area. He grumbles, "Was it really necessary to hit him? Who exactly did he run into—" The moment our eyes meet, his voice cuts off abruptly.

I spent seven years drafting divorce papers for other people. I never expected that the ninety-ninth agreement would be my own. That night, my husband, Carter, lost a tabletop game during a live stream with his childhood sweetheart, Chloe. The penalty was to give up the thing he treasured most. Chloe smiled at the camera, tapping his wedding ring. "Lend me your marriage for a day." The comment section blew up. Carter looked at me like he was giving orders to an assistant. "Evelyn, you know the drill. "Sign a temporary divorce agreement. I’ll cancel it with you tomorrow morning." Chloe lowered her eyes, her voice trembling. "Forget it. She won't let you. You always choose her over me anyway." I reached into my bag and touched the positive IVF result. Seven years of hormone shots. Four miscarriages. I didn't even have the energy to tell him anymore. As the camera zoomed in on my face, I pushed the papers back across the table. "Carter, this time, I’m putting down a bet, too. “I bet the thing you lose tonight isn't just me.”