Melodramatic Romance Short Stories & Scumbag Novels

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 our ten-year reunion, Nathan Naylor, our former class president, starts a game of "Guess Who." Whoever guesses wrong has to drink three. When it's Jessica Slater's turn, she smiles. "There's this guy. He had his pick of the best universities in the country, but he gave up that chance for me. He spent years trying to win me over, doting on me the whole time." Everyone seems to know exactly who she's talking about, and all eyes turn to Dylan Tate. A little tipsy, Jessica gets bolder. "He has this tiny mole on his left hip. It shows when he plays basketball. On graduation night, I licked it." Everyone around the table starts whooping. "Why bother guessing? Just tell us you're together already! Come on, how long have you two been together?" Dylan holds his glass, his lips pressed tight, almost smiling. I tighten my grip on my phone as my heart sinks. Dylan and I have been together for seven years, and no one has a clue. But everyone knows he once tried to win Jessica over. Nathan taps the table. "Ashley, you're up," he says quietly. I look at Dylan and hesitate. "He..." Dylan looks up at me, a clear warning in his eyes. I switch gears. "He's been trying to win me over for ten years. This time, I don't want to miss my chance." My phone buzzes in my pocket. A single line appears on the screen. "Ashley, I've been waiting for you to say that!"

During a parent-child activity at kindergarten, the teacher asks the children to draw what they want to be when they grow up. The other kids draw princesses, dinosaurs, and astronauts, but my five-year-old son, Evan Jepsen, draws a cell phone. Across its screen, he's written a message in crooked letters. "Incoming call from Annette." "Why do you want to be a phone?" the teacher asks, puzzled. "Because Daddy loves his phone more than anything," Evan replies earnestly. "When Mommy asks him to come to dinner, he gets annoyed. But whenever Annette calls, he smiles right away." The classroom falls silent, and I stand frozen in place. "Once, Mommy had a fever of 102°F, but Daddy said he was busy and couldn't take her to the hospital," Evan continues. "But when Annette said her stomach hurt, he canceled a really important meeting and carried her to the car himself. "One day it was raining, and Daddy promised to pick me up. But then Annette called, and he made Mommy and me get out of the car. "Daddy said Annette's brother saved his life a long time ago, so he promised to take care of her forever." Evan looks up at me, his voice growing softer. "If Daddy wants to repay Annette's brother, why are we always the ones he leaves behind? "If I become Daddy's phone… would he hold me all the time too? Would he listen to me when I talk, just like he always listens to Annette on the phone?" I pull him into my arms and wipe away my tears. "Sweetheart, you don't have to become a phone," I choke out. "I'll take you away from your daddy, who never seems to notice us anyway."

My husband, Shawn Payne, goes bankrupt overnight. That very night, he ships me and our son, Tommy Payne, off to a deserted island, claiming it's the only way to keep us safe from his creditors. Worried sick about leaving him to face the danger alone, I sneak back home halfway there, only to find him throwing a wild party, his arms wrapped tightly around a beautiful woman. His best friend, Ryan Foster, needles him. "You dumped your wife and son in the middle of nowhere. How are they going to survive out there?" Shawn shrugs like it's no big deal. "Yvonne's closing down her dog food factory anyway. I had all the surplus kibble repackaged and shipped to the island. It's more than enough to keep them fed for a few years." The woman, Yvonne Sullivan, purrs and snuggles deeper into his chest. "Oh, babe, you're so good to me and the baby," she coos, gently stroking her belly, which isn't even showing yet. He taps the tip of her nose affectionately. "You're so innocent and soft-hearted. If I don't look out for you, who will?" He pulls Yvonne closer and continues, "For your sake, I had to ship that shrew off to some godforsaken island. If she ever found out you were pregnant, she'd tear you apart. Once you have the baby and she turns two, I'll bring them back. By then, it'll be a done deal. There's nothing she can do about it." His words hit me like a ton of bricks. A cold sweat soaks me to the skin. Three years later, right on schedule, he calls. "Hey honey, how are you and Tommy doing? I'm ready to come pick you guys up." I glance at the man beside me, and a rush of satisfaction washes over me. "We're doing great," I reply. "My new husband treats both me and your son incredibly well."

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.”

On the day I successfully conceived through IVF, my CEO boyfriend—the sole heir to a nine-generation business empire—finally agreed to marry me. Yet, after a flight of more than ten hours, I landed only to be greeted by a public announcement of his marriage to his secretary, with journalists watching from every angle. The secretary eagerly showed off the marriage certificate, fresh off the press. "Don't worry, everyone. From now on, I'll personally supervise Mr. Lane for the rest of our lives." When the journalists spotted me, they all focused on me, hoping I'd cause a scene. However, I merely smiled and congratulated the couple. "You and Mr. Lane are perfect for each other, Ms. Quinn. I wish you both a long and happy marriage." Everyone was shocked. No one had expected such generosity from me—Harold's girlfriend of nine years. As I turned to leave, Harold darted over to defend himself with a scowl. "Leila worked day and night with me on this international project. She refused every bonus and only asked to experience the fairy-tale romance of marrying a CEO. We already agreed to divorce once the project is over. I'll make it up to you with an even bigger, better wedding." Then, his voice softened. "For the sake of our baby, don't cause trouble, okay?" With a bright smile, I slapped his hand away. "Who told you the baby's yours?"

In the three years we've been married, Colin Luther never touches me once. Living in the room next door is Rebecca Jennings, his adopted younger sister with no blood relation to him. She supposedly suffers from severe androphobia. Whenever she sees any man other than Colin, she trembles uncontrollably. Whenever she has nightmares in the middle of the night, Colin immediately leaves me and rushes to her room. So, the master bedroom is given to her. I sleep on a folding bed in the study, and Colin sleeps on the floor outside her door to stand guard. Every week, my mother-in-law, Alicia Brooks, comes by with the soup she made herself. The first thing she does is go into Rebecca's room. Only after that does she spare me a glance. She says, "Nat, remember to hand-wash Becca's underwear. Her skin is sensitive, so it can't go in the washing machine." My father-in-law, Isaac Luther, is even worse. At our last family gathering, he slaps his thigh in front of their relatives and says, "If Becca weren't sick, I'd want her to be my daughter-in-law!" I simply smile while serving the dishes and say nothing. For three years, I endure everything in silence. But yesterday, I find two items hidden beneath Rebecca's pillow. There is the silk camisole that went missing six months ago and a pack of birth control pills with only two tablets left. Androphobia? Well, today is our third wedding anniversary. It's time for a proper celebration.

My boyfriend, Timothy Wells, thought I was overly sensitive, so he created an emotional price list. Crying cost $50. Questioning him cost $100. Mentioning his female friend, Camilla Lane, cost $500. He reassured me, "A relationship can only last if both people are emotionally secure." Last week, while I was trying on wedding dresses, Camilla suddenly stepped on my dress train. I fell to the floor, tears spilling from my eyes from how much it hurt. Without even blinking, Timothy deducted $50 from my account. "Be good. Don't cry. Camilla didn't do it on purpose. You're just taking a joke too far." Then, on Valentine's Day, Timothy stayed out all night with Camilla. While tidying his study, I discovered another emotional price list. "$5,000 for Camilla eating her meals without fuss. $50,000 for acting sweet. If she gets upset, grant her a little wish to make it up to her." My phone suddenly buzzed with a notification. Camilla had posted on social media. "Someone said that even my little mood swings deserve to be taken seriously." In the photo, Timothy had his head slightly bowed as he carefully fastened a luxury necklace around her neck. The comments were full of people expressing their envy. I texted Timothy. "Did you buy Camilla a $60,000 necklace?" A second later, $600 was deducted from my account. Then his reply came through. "$100 for questioning me, $500 for mentioning her. That's a $600 deduction." I stared at the transaction for a moment. Then, I called the wedding planner and canceled the wedding. "The bride is perfectly emotionally stable. Stable enough to decide she doesn't want to get married."

During the bridal pickup ritual, my maid of honor, Heather Monroe, locks me and Nicola Sanderson, my fiancé's best friend, in the same room. According to local tradition, the blindfolded groom must carry the woman he believes to be his bride to the bridal car. Afraid that my fiancé, Julian Bennett, might mistake me for someone else, I purposely wear the couple bracelet we've shared throughout our seven years together. But when Julian feels the bracelet on my wrist, he pauses for only a second before letting go. Then, he walks straight over to Nicola and sweeps her into his arms. Our family and friends burst into laughter. "Childhood sweethearts really do have the best chemistry!" "Julian, why don't you just switch brides today?" I chase Julian to the door and remind him that he's carrying the wrong person. But he only pulls Nicola closer. "I'm just following the rules. You should've spoken up earlier if you didn't want this to happen." The bridal car can only seat one bride. Julian helps Nicola into the car and hands her the bridal bouquet. Then, he tells me to take a taxi to the hotel on my own. Nicola's boyfriend, Larry Connell, can't bear to watch any longer. Without a word, he opens the door of another car for me. It's not until the wedding ceremony begins that Julian finally remembers me. He sends me a message, saying, "Stop messing around and come to the hotel now. We need to get married." I look up at Larry, who has been abandoned just like me, then turn off my phone. "Julian and Nicola want to marry the wrong people? Fine, then let's do the same, Larry."

Today was the seventh anniversary of the plane crash that took my twin sister, Chloe. My husband, Julian, checked the watch on his wrist and urged me on. “I’ve only blocked off ten minutes for this visit. Hurry up and lay the flowers.” He was a pathological stickler for time, meticulously managing every minute and second of his life. Shopping was sixty minutes, intimacy was fifteen minutes, and dinner was ten minutes… As he walked back to the car to grab an umbrella, his phone slipped from his hand, hit the ground, and lit up with a cloud calendar notification. It was his hidden master schedule for family. I stole a glance at it, and my blood instantly ran cold. The entry for me read, “Spend two hours.” And the very next entry ten minutes later read, “Cemetery visit ends. Head to the Southside residence immediately to pick up Chloe and our son for his toddler’s gym class.” I stared at my sister’s photo on the tombstone, finding it all ironic. So the past seven years, spent racing against the clock, were nothing more than an extreme time-management strategy Julian had devised for her while she was pretending to be dead. Julian walked back over under the umbrella. He picked up his phone and frowned. “Riley, your ten minutes are up. Stop dawdling.” Wiping the rainwater from the tombstone, I let out a liberated smile and said, “I'm not dawdling. It just struck me that Chloe must be having a wonderful time in hell. With the Devil and his demons keeping her company, I’m sure she’d never want to leave.”

When Jase Conley's rivals came after him, I took the blow meant for him and lost a leg. Kneeling before me with bloodshot eyes, he swore, "Francesca, one day I'll rise to the top. I'll make sure no one ever hurts you again." Seven years later, he shoved me out of my wheelchair over a single glass of wine I'd thrown in another woman's face. "Francesca, I warned you. Don't touch her. If you're tired of being Mrs. Conley, then get out of that seat and let her have it." He threw a divorce agreement at me. "A billion dollars. That's what your leg cost me. From this day on, no one gets to lay a finger on her." I tore the agreement in half and flung it back in his face. "You owe me far more than a leg, Jase. You want to wipe the slate clean between us? Then you and your little girlfriend can pay with your lives."

After she was intimate with her husband, Derrick Gladwin, Celine Clarkson headed to the bathroom to clean up. Then the closet door swung open. Jenny Dlay—Celine's best friend—popped out, laughing like crazy. "Wow, Cece. You act all innocent, but you still make that face when things get good? I'm dead." Jenny rolled her eyes and stuck out her tongue, mocking the way Celine had bitten her lip and trembled. Celine went pale and froze. Jenny didn't care. She strutted over, went up on her toes, and hooked an arm around Derrick's neck, her nails brushing through his Adam's apple. "Okay, Ricky. Didn't know you had that in you. You seriously wore her out." She smirked. "Almost feel bad for her." Derrick laughed and flicked her forehead. "Told you. You just didn't believe me." "Can you blame me? I thought you were all talk." Jenny grinned and tugged at his robe. "Guess I'll have to check for myself..."

Ophelia Hart had been married to Rowan Cabell for five years. He had been cheating on her for four and a half of those years. His list of mistresses could probably stretch all the way from Merion to Freeka, and the condoms he had gone through could practically wrap around the entire globe. However, Ophelia never made a scene. Whenever Rowan brought another woman to bed, she would quietly prepare a cup of warm water and a box of his favourite lemon-flavored condoms. When they were done, she would calmly arrange for the maid to clean the room. It was all because of the first rule in the Hart family’s code for women—'A husband’s infidelity is never an excuse for anger or confrontation. Never make a scene. Never raise your voice. His comfort must always come first. Violate this rule, and you will pay the price yourself.’ Ophelia had once paid that price for six months. Those six months were more than enough to make the lesson unforgettable. Hence, when Rowan wrapped his arms around Lydia Beaumont and passionately kissed her in front of everyone, then loudly announced that he was going to marry her, Ophelia merely reached into her bag. She pulled out a pack of strawberry chewing gum, offered it to them with both hands, and said sweetly, “Kissing feels better when you’re chewing gum.” Everyone burst into laughter and started cheering. They thought she had finally learned her lesson. However, they had it all wrong, because she was about to leave…

I'd spent an entire year preparing for my son Tristan Pascall's spot at a top international school. By the final admissions review, I had every single document ready. All that was missing was the original copy of Richard Pascall and my marriage certificate. Once we handed that in, it would be official. But when we got to the admissions office, Richard turned on me, accusing me of arranging this without telling him. Before I could clap back, the admin frowned and said, "Ma'am, according to the system, Mr. Pascall's spouse isn't you." My whole body went cold. And then Iris Poole—who had been standing behind Richard this whole time—stepped up and slid her marriage certificate across the counter. The staff checked it, nodded, and said, "Mr. Pascall, Ms. Poole, your registration date is June, four years ago. Everything looks fine. You may proceed." June, four years ago. That was the exact month Richard held my hand in front of all our friends and family at our engagement party and promised I was his one true love. He had lied to me about that for the past seven years.

My six-year-old son, Zac Quest, deliberately fed me almond cake, which I was allergic to, to make me miscarry. Standing in front of the hospital bed, he hid behind my husband, Sterling Quest, with a long face and refused to admit his mistakes, "Grandma said you won't ever divorce Dad once you give birth to my sister. I don't want you as my mom anymore. I prefer Ms. White!" Sterling said indifferently, "We'll have other children. Winona... is indeed more fit to raise Zac than you." Hearing those words, I gave up completely. The day I was discharged from the hospital, I went back home and cleared out all my belongings. All I left behind was a divorce agreement and a letter disowning Zac.

After the cruise ship strikes a hidden reef, panicked passengers shove me and Kristen Langford into the sea. My boyfriend, Elijah Jensen, is the ship's captain, so he plunges into the water. But instead of saving me, he grabs Kristen and boards the last lifeboat. I thrash and cry for help, but he slaps my hand away. "You can swim. Stop pretending for attention!" Elijah snaps. "Kristen's body temperature is dropping. I have to get her to a hospital!" The waters around me are pitch-black, and his words feel like a death sentence. When the tracking bracelet I always wear is discovered inside a shark, Elijah dives alone into shark-infested waters, searching for three days and nights. In the end, the brilliant captain who once ruled the oceans can never sail again.

My boyfriend and I had planned to fly to LA to watch our favorite MLB team play at home. But on the day we were supposed to leave, I waited at the airport for three hours. He never showed. It wasn't until after dark that he finally called. “Sorry, Audrey. I forgot to tell you. Natalie found out we were taking engagement photos and got so excited she couldn't sleep. She insisted I fly out with her early to scout locations.” “You can make it here on your own, right? The three of us will meet at the stadium entrance tomorrow.” I stood frozen. Natalie Brooks was my best friend. She had watched Derek Sinclair and me go from high school sweethearts to planning our wedding, and always called herself our biggest supporter. Yet with one casual “fly out early,” Derek had left me, his bride-to-be, behind at the airport. “You two have fun.” I smiled faintly. “I suddenly don't feel like going anymore.” The next day, I saw Natalie's latest post. She had uploaded a photo of herself with Ryan Kane, my favorite player. The caption read: “Thanks to Derek for pulling strings to get me this photo. Location scouting complete. The things I do for my best friend!” I calmly liked the post. Then I called the wedding planner and canceled the wedding we were supposed to have in two weeks. Natalie never stopped talking about how much she cared about my happiness, yet she had already taken the trip and surprise meant for me. I was done sharing this relationship with a third person.

Caleb Gallagher is still under the influence of anesthesia post-surgery when he calls out to his first love, Naomi Whitmore, while holding me. "I regret getting engaged to her, Naomi. It wasn't until after I left you that I realized I never stopped loving you. It's no big deal that I got stabbed while protecting you; I would have given up my life for you if you'd asked." A hush fills the room, and everyone looks at me with sympathy. I don't make a scene or throw a fit. Instead, I do Caleb a generous favor and call Naomi on the phone. "Come look after your husband. He is in surgery."

Max Siegel loved me deeply and promised me the grandest wedding anyone had ever seen. However, just three days before the big day, everything changed. The custom-made wedding dress he'd ordered for me was given to his stepsister, Fawn Lewis, and instead, he handed me a pill—one that could erase memories. “Kate,” he said, “I don’t want to hurt you, but Fawn has just been diagnosed with terminal cancer. She doesn’t have long. Her last wish is to marry me. I can’t have her leave this world with regrets. “This pill will make you forget everything about us for a few days. But don’t worry. After the wedding is over, I’ll give you the antidote, and you’ll remember everything again. Then, I’ll give you the wedding you deserve.” His tone left no room for negotiation. Without hesitation, I took the pill and swallowed it. However, what he didn’t know was that I developed that drug myself, and there was no antidote. Three days from now, I would forget the man I loved most—him. And once that happens, there’s no turning back and no chance to start over.