Scumbag Romance Short Stories & Regret Novels

On the day the Cole family went bankrupt, Adrian Cole left behind a suicide note and went alone to the snow mountains to end his life. I chased after him without hesitation, searching for him in the snow for a full ten hours. Just as despair hollowed me out completely, I saw his secretary, Zoe Bennett, livestreaming Adrian's proposal on social media. One of his friends joked in the comments, "You're about to be a groom. Aren't you afraid your woman will get mad?" His reply was icy cold. "I only promised her the title of Mrs. Cole. She shouldn't even think about anything else." Another comment followed. "She's marrying in with ten billion in investment. Is she really willing to swallow that kind of grievance?" I could almost see Adrian sneering as he typed, "She got ten billion for the position of Mrs. Cole. She's not losing out. If it weren't for her, Zoe wouldn't have been forced to go abroad. These last few days are my compensation to Zoe." My fingernails dug deep into my flesh. Calmly, I burned everything that had anything to do with him. On the day of the wedding, he went mad searching for me everywhere. In the upscale venue across the street, I had just slipped on a diamond ring given to me by another man, Julian Cross. Unbeknownst to him, while he was calculating the countdown to our breakup, I was also preparing to marry someone else.

Right before my wedding, I suddenly discovered that Rhett Calder had been making a mysterious transfer every month. The recipient was his first love, Colette Branson. For seven years, it had been seventy thousand dollars a month, more regular than my period. I put the statements in front of him and demanded an explanation. He was busy working and didn't even look up. "Colette once had an abortion for me. This is my way of making it up to her. "Don't worry. Money's the only thing I'll ever give her." I cried. I made a scene. My friends all tried to talk me down. "It's only seventy thousand. Rhett's so rich he'd think seventy thousand was too cheap to even buy you a handbag. "The first step to being a rich man's wife is learning to be gracious." Thinking about our wedding next month and all our years together, I gave in, until I discovered that our housekeeper had been making a kid's lunch every day and delivering it to Rhett's office. I confronted her, but she just stared at me, stunned. "Ms. Prescott, isn't that your child? "He's five or six already. He calls Mr. Calder 'Dad.'"

I went to my best friend's place for her birthday, and out of nowhere, she started complaining. "I'm so jealous of you," she said. "Your boyfriend has basically no sex drive." "Mine's the complete opposite. He wanted it seven times last night. I was crying so hard I lost my voice, and he still wouldn't stop." I gave her a sympathetic smile. "That just means he's crazy about you. Unlike mine—he's practically celibate. Like a monk." She raised an eyebrow, casually stroking the two-million-dollar ruby bangle on her wrist. "He's not bad," she said, a hint of smugness in her voice. "He was with his ex for five years, but he still chose to marry me behind her back. He was so afraid she'd push for marriage that he faked going bankrupt and told her he had ALS. "The girl wouldn't let go, though. She sold her blood, her kidney—whatever it took—to scrape together money for his treatment. "She was working the graveyard shift at a factory, while he and I were fooling around in a twenty-million-dollar villa." I froze. To help my boyfriend Nathan Whitley pay for his ALS treatment, I had done all of those things. Before I could even process it, the door opened, and a tall, sharply dressed man walked in. "Babe," he said, "I got that strawberry flavor you like. How about wearing that silk nightie tonight?" Our eyes met. I stood there, frozen in shock, a chill running down my spine. It was Nathan Whitley—the man who was supposed to be broke, bedridden, and dying of ALS.

I run into my former sister-in-law, whom I haven't seen in ages, during a prenatal checkup at the hospital. Wynne Jenkins glances at my belly. And just like she always does, her face crinkles with disdain as she starts nagging me. "Look at you, wandering around with a pregnant belly at your age," she hollers. "What if something happens to my baby nephew? Can't you be a little more sensible and stop making Sean worry all the time?" She must have forgotten. A year ago, Mom was gravely ill. Her only wish was to see me married with children. I staked everything and proposed to Sean Jenkins. On our big day, I waited from dawn until nightfall—only to receive a 30-second voice message from him. "I won't show up at the ceremony, and I won't marry you. This is what you get for bullying Lav." Mom was so enraged by Sean's recklessness that she suffered a heart attack and passed away. After taking care of her funeral, I erased every trace of myself. With what little I had left, I fled Horton—while Sean was still abroad, skiing with Lavender Quinn. And yet now, Wynne says, "Sean spends more than two weeks every month flying around looking for you. He's lost nearly 20 pounds in less than a year. "He's been waiting for you, Janelle. Now that you're back, please stay and build a family with him." I smirk and raise my hand, flaunting the ring on my finger. "Sorry, I like to keep a low profile. I'm already married, but we kept the ceremony simple. That's why you didn't know."

When Lily Rosenfelt is eight months pregnant, Zeke Connolly brings home the woman he truly loves—Sophie Cruz, who's also eight months along. To give Sophie and the baby the recognition they deserve, he goes public with a statement saying that he and Lily are already divorced and that he'll be marrying Sophie soon. Thinking Lily is still blind, Zeke tricks her into signing the divorce papers. He even sleeps with Sophie in his own villa. What he doesn't know is that Lily has long regained her sight. When she and Sophie fall down the stairs together and Zeke, without a moment's hesitation, chooses Sophie, something in Lily breaks. She buries her love for him along with their child. It's not until she's truly gone that Zeke starts to panic.

Married three years. Stood up three years. Today was the last time I bothered showing up. Surprise—he bailed again. Still clinging to hope like a total idiot, I called. One last shot. "A-Aurora, I'm busy. Just wait," he muttered. And then her voice cut in. All breathy and smug: "That old woman can't satisfy you, huh? Paolo, be gentle." Click. Right on cue, Marco Medici—loyal, patient, saint-like Marco—sent his 99th proposal. This time, I didn't leave him hanging. [Want to come over for bollito misto?]

It was our seventh anniversary. Christopher Quinton proposed to me with nothing but a ring pull. He got his true love a house. When I said no, he rebuked me like I was some sort of gold digger. "I thought my love for you was worth more than anything money could buy. I only got Rachel that house to pay her back for all she did for me. I can't believe you thought I still loved her. You disappoint me." I broke up with him and tossed the ring pull into the bin. Then, I walked off. The next day, Christopher took away my position as VP and told everyone he was getting engaged to Rachel. … Five years later, we ran into each other at a charity horserace. He was a successful businessman, and the woman beside him was Rachel, all dressed in custom-made clothes. I was dressed in janitor attire and stuffing plastic bottles into my woven bag. He mocked, "Look at you, Queenie Dean. Scavenging for a living. Bet you didn't see this coming when you ditched me, did you?" I ignored him. My son had run off, and I had to look for him. The boy noticed the plastic bottles that were strewn across the ground, and he insisted that we stay back to finish his social practice activity here.

Coming home from a late shift on a winter night, my fingers were stiff with cold. The first thing I did was head for the bathroom. Ethan stopped me, a bowl of late-night leftovers in his hand. “What took you so long? Rena’s in the bath. Just wait a bit.” I glanced at the clock. It was already eleven thirty. “I have to be up at six. Could you ask her to finish earlier next time?” He frowned. “It’s just a bath. Do you really have to make an issue of it?” When we’d been apartment hunting, I suggested getting a place with two bathrooms. Ethan insisted on this one because it was close to his and Serena’s office. Their commute was ten minutes. Mine meant three transfers and nearly four hours round trip. Back then he’d said, “I’ll drive you to and from work. You won’t have to cram onto the subway.” Six months later, not once. The bathroom door opened and Serena walked out in my bathrobe. “Sorry, Quinn, I didn’t know you’d still need to shower this late. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have soaked so long.” Ethan immediately grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around her, then bent down to towel off her wet hair. “Don’t worry about it. You don’t owe her an apology. She’s just tired from work. On edge.” A sudden wave of weariness washed over me. I set down the towel I’d been drying my hands with and slipped off my engagement ring. “Right. On edge.” “So this place is all yours.”

Seven years with Luke Bates, and he still can't remember that I have a seafood allergy. Yet he treats that faded lucky charm locket in his car like a sacred treasure. Inside lies a note that says, "May God bless that specific someone with top marks. If it works, I'll go vegan for three months." Luke calls it a prank by his high school buddy and tells me not to get jealous over nothing right before we register our marriage. I believe him, happily pouring my heart into planning our wedding. Then comes today. I accompany him back to his hometown for a banquet, only for a woman in a floral dress to burst through the door with tears pooling in her eyes. The elders pulled her over, their faces full of concern. "Phoebe, you must be exhausted from that pilgrimage. Come, sit next to Luke." A few drinks in, someone speaks, slurring their words. "Remember when Phoebe casually mentioned praying for a favor? Luke went vegan with her and ended up with a stomach ulcer." I take a quiet sip of juice, listening in silence. It turns out the charm locket that has hung in his car for seven years wasn't for a buddy at all. It's for his first love.

Two years after breaking up with Evan Grey, my lung cancer finally reached its final stage. At the end of my life, I dragged my aching body to Lake Manco, where we promised we'd come together on the 999th day of our love. In the end, I was the only one who went. As the doctor's calls came in endlessly, no doubt urging me to return to chemotherapy, I silenced my phone and buried the pendant Evan gave me by the lake. "Evan, maybe this is the last time I'll think of you…" As soon as the words left my mouth, a drop of blood from my nose fell into the sand. Then, from behind me, I heard the voice I'd missed every day for the past three years, "Miss, could you please take a photo of me and my girlfriend?"

One of Ethan Sterling's closest friends got drunk and humiliated me. Called me a nobody orphan who married above her station, said I'd never be accepted by the Sterlings, that I wasn't fit to sit at their table. Ethan smashed a bottle over the man's head. He announced in front of everyone that if anyone ever disrespected me again, he'd make them pay. When I was pregnant and the morning sickness was so brutal I couldn't keep anything down, he went and scheduled a vasectomy. He didn't want me to suffer through another pregnancy. This was a man who loved me like I was his whole world. And yet — when I was lying on the operating table about to give birth, he was standing right in front of me with his arms around Iris, putting on a show for anyone watching. Iris was the daughter of another old-money family and she'd donated bone marrow to save Ethan's mother's life. The night before her own engagement, her fiance betrayed her, and the trauma wiped her memory clean. Now the only thing she knew for certain was that Ethan Sterling was her husband. In her world, I was the homewrecker — the scheming woman using the bastard in her belly to force her husband into a divorce. Ethan promised me it was all an act. Just repaying the debt for his mother's life. Once Iris recovered, he'd walk away from her immediately. But when I picked up the surgical consent form for him to sign, and his first instinct was to pull Iris behind him — to shield her — I knew. His heart had already drifted off course. The fairy tale of a Cinderella marrying into high society was over. Time to wake up.

My husband's adopted sister invited me out to dinner, and while we were eating, disaster struck—a violent earthquake shook the ground beneath us. My husband, a firefighter, rushed to the scene as quickly as he could. But fate had a cruel plan for us. We were trapped beneath a massive boulder, unable to move, and the rescuers could only save one of us. He made his choice. He chose her—the adopted sister who had always been frail and sickly—over me, his wife, who was five months pregnant with his child. I begged him, pleaded with him to save me. But he turned his back on me. The boulder pressed harder, and I felt the sickening crack of my arm breaking. He didn't even flinch. "Alice has always been weak," he said coldly. "If I leave her here, she'll die." But when I died, he lost his mind.

Three years after my death, Samuel Terrason came to visit my grave. When he saw the lilies blooming around it, his expression darkened. "What is this?" "If the stories are true, then these lilies mean she has found her partner in the afterlife." "Pull them out," Samuel said coldly. "Pull what out, sir?" "The lilies! All of them!" Then, Samuel bought the entire graveyard and ordered that every male be relocated. Yes, males. Even the dogs. "You're not seeing anyone else, even in death, Rachel!" he swore. "And if you try, I'll come find you when I'm dead, too! Not even death can separate us. Just wait for me!"

I came home late one night to find another woman in the apartment I shared with my boyfriend, Alistair Westwood. She was wearing my silk slip, which barely covered her thighs. Barefoot, she pressed herself against him. His hand was wrapped around her bare waist. "Nika isn't feeling well, so I told her she could stay here for now." Nika peeked out from behind him. "I'm sorry. I didn't know this was your place." "Where is she going to sleep?" I demanded. "And why is she wearing my clothes?" Alistair frowned. "Nika is sick. Obviously, she'll sleep with me so I can look after her. Can't you just let this go for once?" "It's fine. I can sleep on the couch," Nika offered. Alistair cut her off at once. "No. You're too sick to sleep there." I stared at the two of them for a moment. Then I grabbed a pillow and a blanket. "I'll take the couch." As soon as the bedroom door closed, I opened my laptop and reached for an invitation on the table. Half an hour later, I typed my answer. By the next day, Alistair's company had lost one of its biggest partnerships.

Albert Shearer, who was cold to intimacy, satisfies his physical needs while looking at photos of his female mentee, Ellie Jett. I immediately suspect that he's developed feelings for her. Later, Ellie's act of showing off in the operating room leaves my mother, Bernice Lourd, paralyzed. I give Albert two choices—send her to prison or divorce me. Albert spends the entire night on the balcony with the cold wind blowing against him. The next day, he submits evidence of Ellie's grievous medical misconduct. From then on, he becomes known throughout the medical community as a whipped husband, and our marriage returns to the way it was before. That is, until I discover I'm pregnant. Wanting to surprise Albert, I secretly attend the awards ceremony at his hospital. But the moment I step inside, I see a young woman standing onstage, holding a trophy as she delivers her acceptance speech. A chill spreads through my entire body. It's Ellie, the very woman who should be behind bars.

While enrolling my son in an elite school, the administrator suddenly tells me my marriage certificate is forged. "According to our records, your marital status is listed as single." "But I've been married to my husband, Chandler Leighton, for seven years!" Behind me, other parents waiting in line burst out laughing mockingly. "Did she just say Chandler Leighton? She must be dreaming." Amid their ridicule, I leave and head straight to the city hall for a confirmation. And as a wife of seven years, my marital status in the system is stated as "Single". A cold dread washes over me as I press. "Who is Chandler Leighton's legal wife?" The clerk flatly spats out a name, "Heather Hammington." It was that name again! I rush home, ready to confront Chandler, but pause just outside the door when I hear voices inside. "It's been seven years, Mr. Leighton. Do you still have no plans to grant Mrs. Leighton a legal status?" After a lengthy pause, Chandler finally answers, "Just wait a little longer. Heather lost both her parents… I'm the only one who can help her, so she needs this title." "What if Mrs. Leighton finds out?" "Danielle loves me too much to leave, even if she finds out. Once Heather has established her foothold in the business industry, I'll make it official with Danielle and give her a true marriage certificate." He sounds so certain, unaware that I'm standing just outside the door with tears streaming down my face. "You'll be disappointed, you liar." I take out my phone and dial a number I haven't called in years. "Mom, I accept the Atwoods' marriage arrangement."

There's a rule in Pine Ridge—women are only allowed to leave the mountain seven times in their lives. If they aren't able to marry a foreigner who's not from Pine Ridge, they can only marry a local mountaineer and become a guardian of the mountain. Because of that, I've borrowed some cosmetics from my grandma seven times in a row. Every time, I'm often wearing my prettiest dress and waiting for the man, who has promised to whisk me away from Pine Ridge, to marry me. But despite having crossed the mountain and reached the same town seven times in a row, Joseph Kingsley is never there. In the village, the village chief, Arthur Langley, has a smoke pipe dangling from his lips. "This is your seventh time leaving Pine Ridge just to get your marriage registered. That director boyfriend of yours has gone over to the next village just to shoot more footage of the lass who has a really pretty smile. "Caroline, your boyfriend is already behaving like this. Why are you still waiting for him?" I clumsily pull out the phone Joseph has given me before keying in his number. The dial tone goes off three times before the call goes through. Only then does Joseph explain the truth to me. "When Gemma took us on a foraging trip, she got trapped by one of the bear traps in the mountain! You do realize that if a woman from Pine Ridge were to get crippled, no villager would want to marry her at all because she'd be a burden to them! "If I were to leave Gemma alone, her life would be ruined! This is the last time, Caroline! Once I ensure that Gemma's leg gets healed, I'll come marry you right away!" Joseph has been in Pine Ridge for four years so far. Throughout these years, I've hiked the mountain and braved the elements for him seven times in a row. But Gemma Watson keeps getting into trouble. Whenever that happens, Joseph will abandon me without hesitation. As I gaze at the phone, which shows that the call has gotten disconnected, I wipe away my tears quietly. There won't be a last time anymore. In three days, I will be marrying someone else.

After his female assistant crashed her car into my sister, my CEO fiancé, the man who once adored me beyond reason, swore he would make her pay. However, instead of punishing her, he promoted her to my position at work. He claimed that the higher she climbed, the harder she would fall. He spent millions at an auction to buy her a bracelet and even bought her dog a luxury mansion as a kennel. Every time, he told me the same thing: it was all part of his revenge plan and that I needed to endure it a little longer. My sister suffered a brain hemorrhage caused by complications from the accident and urgently needed surgery. Desperate, I begged my fiancé to return the salary he had managed for me over the years. He agreed and told me to get his assistant's approval for the withdrawal. When I submitted the request, she rejected it for incomplete documentation. After I finally gathered everything she asked for, she smiled, said office hours were over, and told me to come back tomorrow. My sister died before tomorrow could come. Only then did my fiancé call to comfort me. “Tell Dolly to wait a few more days for her surgery. Everything I’m doing is to get revenge on Sylvia and avenge Dolly. During her celebration banquet the day after tomorrow, I’ll take back everything I gave her and ruin her completely. After that, we’ll get married. You and Dolly will finally be happy.” By then, I finally understood. His so-called revenge was nothing more than an excuse for the way he indulged and favored his assistant. When my sister died, whatever remained between us died with her.

My boyfriend, Simon Hepworth, gets down on one knee for the 66th time. Moved by his persistence, I finally say yes. But on the eve of our wedding, he drops a bombshell on me. He tells me he wants to have a child with his stepsister, Fiona Hepworth. I find it ridiculous and get into a huge fight with him. But I never could've imagined what would come next. On our wedding day, I wait at the altar for three hours, bouquet in my hands, only for him to dismissively tell me that the wedding is postponed. All because he and Fiona have an IVF appointment that very day. "Fiona was abused by her father growing up. She'll never be able to marry," he explains. "I just want to help her fulfill her dream of being a mother. It's just IVF. It's not like we're actually sleeping together. Stop being so sensitive." He then hangs up, leaving me alone at the wedding under the gaze of countless guests and flashing media cameras. The shock sends my father into the ICU. Standing by his bedside, I make a vow. "Dad, you were right. I won't marry Simon. Next week, I'll come home and take over the family business."

When my husband threatened me with divorce for the hundredth time, demanding I sacrifice myself for my sister, I did not cry or make a scene. I simply signed my name on the divorce papers and willingly handed over the man I had loved for ten years to my sister. A few days later, my sister spoke recklessly at a banquet and offended a powerful family. Once again, I stepped forward to take responsibility, bearing all the consequences in her place. When they later proposed that I become a test subject for my sister's drug research, I gladly accepted. Mom and Dad said I had finally grown into someone mature and responsible. Even my cold husband stood by my hospital bed and, for the first time in so long, gently stroked my cheek. He said tenderly, "Don't be afraid. The experiment won't be life-threatening. When you get out, I'll cook you a big meal." However, he did not know that regardless of whether the experiment was dangerous or not, he did not have to wait for me because I was already dying from a terminal illness.