Ruthless Tragic Love Short Stories & Novels

On the twelfth anniversary of our mating ceremony, my Alpha mate gave me a ten-million-dollar Moonlight herb. Fresh from the healing clinic after my miscarriage, I calmly dialed his number to request the severing of our mate bond. On the other end of the line, his secretary—also his childhood sweetheart—apologized through tears: "Sage, Moonlight herb is a sacred healing herb for most werewolves. I didn't know your mother died from Moonlight herb poisoning. I didn't know you despised it most. It's all my fault for making the decision myself. Please don't be angry with the Alpha." Marcus spent a long time gently comforting her, only saying to me: "If you want to sever it, then sever it. Don't regret it later." But when I really cut off the mate bond, the powerful Alpha went crazy.

Cold and proud to all, Beamon Slade, Northarch's strongest Alpha, reserves his gentleness solely for me. Everyone knows that I'm his Luna. But today, his first love is infected with deadly wolfsbane and on the brink of death. He hands me a herbal pill that can seal memories and temporarily remove the mate mark. "Eiro won't last another three days, Swan. "Could you give me three days to fulfill her dream of becoming a Luna through a symbolic marking ceremony? I won't hurt you. This pill temporarily severs the bond and makes you forget me. "When the ceremony ends three days later, take the antidote and you'll remember everything. We'll get back together." Looking at his calm, gentle expression, I silently swallow the pill without hesitation. He has no idea, but I crafted the pill with my own hands. There's no such thing as an antidote. Three days from now, I'll completely forget him. All our embraces, vows, marks, and his past gentleness will vanish with the wind.

My husband and his employees went on a camping trip, and his assistant posted on social media. [We drew lots for the tents, and guess who ended up with the handsome CEO!] The post showed a selfie she took. Behind her, my husband was taking his shirt off. Someone left a comment. [A man and a woman alone together? Sounds juicy.] The assistant quickly replied with a smirking emoji. [I like a little excitement!] After I liked the post, it was deleted right away. Soon, my husband called me on video. In front of his crying assistant and several employees, he scolded, “Why did you like the post?! It was just a game! Don’t be so close-minded!” As I watched him hold the assistant in arms and comforted her, I quietly hung up. After ten years of loving Caelan Sullivan, I decided then and there to let go.

Love is both salvation and torment. If Bella Ramsey were given another chance, she swore—she would never fall in love with Seth Rogan again.

The Torres family and the Nostra had been enemies for generations. When I was ten, I was betrayed by my own blood and left for dead. Leon Torres was the one who saved me. So I buried my identity as the daughter of a powerful Cosa Nostra family and stayed by his side, helping him from the shadows. For years, I used my father's underground network to eliminate every obstacle in Leon's path, helping the overlooked second son of the Torres Don rise step by step until he claimed the throne for himself. Then he brought home a woman named Anrina. His childhood sweetheart. Anrina claimed she was the one who had helped Leon seize power all these years. And Leon believed her. From that moment on, every ounce of his protection, trust, and affection belonged to her. "Look at yourself. Covered in blood like a filthy stray." "Go clean yourself up. Don't scare my sweetheart." Leon stripped me of my position as Capo and forced me to become Anrina's servant. When pizza fresh from the oven burned her mouth, he made me kneel at her feet and cool every bite before feeding her myself. When a rose thorn pricked her finger, he blamed me for failing to protect her and ordered ten lashes in the punishment room. I endured it all. Because years ago, after saving my life, Leon once said: "You want to repay me? "Then repay me a hundred times." I lowered my gaze to the child growing quietly inside me. "Ninety-nine," I whispered. "Just one more, little one... then Mommy will take you home."

I pleaded with my husband Cedric Fleetham over and over, and finally, he agreed to take our daughter camping in the mountains for her birthday. When I found her late the next night, she was already gone. She lay at the foot of the mountain, her tiny hand still clutching a drawing of our family. As I knelt beside her, my heart shattered. Meanwhile, Cedric was busy updating his social media. His post read, [You and our daughter are my treasures,] and it was accompanied by a photo, where he stood beside his childhood sweetheart and held hands with another little girl, watching the sunset. And there, in the corner of the picture, was a tiny hand—my daughter’s hand. The cruelest truth of all was that my daughter took that photo.

On April Fool’s Day, my CEO husband cut out my heart to save his childhood sweetheart's son. After the surgery, he tossed me into a cold rental apartment, where I died in agony. Three days after my death, my five-year-old daughter played in the room as usual. Walking by the sofa, she wrinkled her little nose and mumbled, "Mommy, there's a weird smell in here." She touched my face and murmured, "Mommy, are you pretending to be Snow White? Why are you so pale?" She shook my arm harder and raised her voice, "Mommy, it's my birthday today—get up and blow out the candles!" Confused, she picked up the phone and called her father. “Daddy, did I make Mommy mad? I lit the candles, but no matter how much I call her, she won’t wake up.” On the other end of the call, Patrick Hart’s voice was cold and impatient. “What could possibly be wrong with her? She’s just pretending to be asleep for sympathy. It’s Johnny’s birthday, I’m busy. Don’t bother me! Tell your melodramatic mother to stop playing her little tricks. I don't have time to humor her." My daughter removed the candle from her bun, pinched off a piece of the bun, and fed it to me. "Mommy, I made a secret wish… I really wish you could hold me again, just like before."

I'm eight months pregnant, and I suddenly go into early labor. But my husband, Aldrich Lohan, locks me up in the basement and gives me a tocolytic injection to stop my labor instead. He does all these just to ensure that his sister-in-law's baby is born before mine, so that my child won't fight for the inheritance rights. "Anton saved my life," Aldrich says, referring to his elder brother. "But now, he's gone, succeeded only by the baby in Chrissy's womb. I must let her baby inherit all the rights. Chrissy lost everything, but you're still here, enjoying everything I'm giving you like you're entitled to them. So what if you compromise a little bit for her sake?" The contractions in my lower body are hurting more than I can bear. I'm on the verge of passing out as I grab on to the hem of his pants and beg, "I swear that I won't let my child claim his inheritance rights! Please, just send me to the hospital. My child will die otherwise!" However, Aldrich just kicks me aside. "Chrissy has been pregnant for nine months. How can you be giving birth in just eight months? How would I know whether or not you're just inducing birth on purpose? I don't care. I won't let anyone steal the inheritance rights from Chrissy's baby, even if there's just a minuscule percentage of it happening." In the end, Chrissy successfully gives birth to her child, and it's only after that that Aldrich finally remembers me in the basement. "Bring Kelsey to the hospital and make them bring out the best medical equipment to ensure the safe birth of my child." His personal assistant, Edgar Salome, shivers as he says, "But Mr. Lohan… Mrs. Lohan and her child have both died…"

Five years ago, my junior made a mistake in the experiment, resulting in an explosion in the lab. In an effort to save my childhood friend, Andrew, I suffered severe burns to one side of my face and was falsely accused as the culprit. Just like that, I became the target of everyone's anger. Only Andrew stood by me, promising, "I love you for who you are, not your appearance. I'll always be there to protect you." But on our wedding day, he vanished without a trace. My mother, suffering from heart disease and barely clinging to life, wanted to see Andrew. When I asked him to come, he replied impatiently, "Are you using such a lame excuse to meet me? Don't you have any shame? Every time I look at your face, I feel disgusting." I pleaded desperately, but he calmly hung up. "Do you think I'm your servant? You can't just summon me whenever you want. Just because you saved me once doesn't mean you can blackmail me for life." My mother died without peace. The junior who slandered me back then later posted a photo on social media, showing a man lifting her effortlessly. Their poses were intimate, highlighting the underlying affection. Her captions read: [It's all his fault for tiring me out during the day. I almost missed out on this beautiful ocean. When you're in love, all is clear to see. I mentioned wanting to go to Belmar Island, and he flew me around the world for it.] I was utterly heartbroken, so I texted him: [Let's break up…]

I should have been the Northern Pack's future Female Alpha, but my mate Alpha King Aiden Blackwood asked me to give it all up. He insisted on keeping me glued to his side 24/7, claiming he'd die without his mate's touch. I loved him so deeply that I agreed. For seven years, I have been both his perfect Luna and his capable Beta, making his pack stronger day by day. I feel it's all worth it, everyone knows Aiden loves me desperately. Because I have trouble sleeping, he spent $10 Million to buy precious "moon tea" from a witch so I could rest well. But they don't know that every night when I fall asleep, Aiden brings Sarah—our kitchen omega—to our bed. The same wolf who called me "Little moon" would fuck her right beside my unconscious body. The day the doctor told me I was pregnant with twins, I discovered it all. I held back the burning in my heart and chest, and with a weary gaze, I spoke to the Goddess of the Moon: "Goddess, I wish to leave this world." "Would you be willing to give up all this, my child?" I gently rubbed my belly and nodded firmly. The goddess sighed and said: "In three days, I will take you away."

I suffer from a rare lung disease and depend on a ventilator to stay alive. My dad, Wesley Lowe, works three jobs and saves up enough money to replace my old machine with an imported one. The new ventilator is already relatively very quiet. Even so, my mom, Keira Sheeran, still thinks it's too noisy. She says the sound keeps waking her up at night and reminds her that I am like a bottomless pit. One day, my newborn baby brother, Jasper Lowe, won't stop crying. The doctor says newborns are sensitive to noise. Mom immediately breaks down. Her eyes are red with tears as she rushes over, points at me, and screams, "Can't you just die already? Your cousin can't afford to get married because of the burden you put on our family, and now your little brother can't even get a good night's sleep! "Can't you turn it off for just one night so the whole family can finally have some peace and quiet?" After saying that, she takes Jasper and goes back to her parents' house. I look at the "Happy Family" cross-stitch embroidery hanging on the wall. Slowly, I unplug the ventilator. "Mom, Dad, it's quiet now."

For eight years, I was Vincent Capelli's wife, his right hand, and the only person who ever saw the man beneath the Don's cold mask. Then he got drunk at a negotiation, and slept with his secretary. He called me first, voice shaking with guilt. "Bella, I made a mistake. I paid her off. She'll never come back." I believed him. Six months later, he was ambushed in Miami. His secretary drove through a hail of bullets to save him. And she was three months pregnant. When she gave birth to twin boys, the whole Capelli family celebrated. Framed for stealing the family heirloom, I asked for a divorce. Vincent, desperate to keep me, dared me to drink a bottle of 150-proof spirit. He thought I'd never do it. I reached for the bottle. He stopped me, and gave me all the freedom I wanted. "Come back when you're done running," he said. I left and never looked back. Until the night three killers cornered me in an alley.

When I found the hotel booking receipts on my husband's phone, I asked for a divorce. I didn't yell. I didn't cry. My husband, Mark Sterling, thought I was just throwing another childish tantrum. He tossed a black credit card onto the counter. "The PIN is your birthday. Go buy yourself something nice and stop being so paranoid." When I didn't touch it, he sighed and pulled a limited-edition action figure from behind his back. "Look, I even got a gift for Leo. I'll pick him up from preschool tonight. Happy now?" My hands shook as I stared at the toy. Our son died in a car crash two months ago, on the day Mark skipped his parent-teacher conference. He didn't even know that our boy was dead.

The emergency center I worked in went haywire as the typhoon closed in on our town. That night, my husband’s first love made seven emergency calls in a row to me. However, she did not say anything when I picked up. By the eighth call, I thought it was a prank caller, so I gave them a piece of my mind. Then, I heard my husband’s angry voice. “Melinda! This is the eighth time Sadie's called you for help! Haven’t you made her suffer enough?!” After that fiasco, he decided to avenge Sadie by taping my mouth, tying my wrists and legs up, and throwing me into our basement for three whole days, despite it being flooded with seawater, I begged for mercy, but it was to no avail. “You knew Sadie couldn’t talk because she hurt her throat, yet you still hung up on her! I'm going to make sure you feel the same hopelessness she felt!" Those three days left me with a collection of severe infections. I ended up having to remove my kidney. Even after all that, that man still had the gall to kneel by my bed and beg me to give him another chance.

The Richie Rich who violated my daughter has gotten off unscathed. He sneers and throws a wad of cash in my face. "I'll show you what people mean when they say money makes the world go round!" In that split second, I want to tear him to pieces.

My husband's childhood sweetheart is a fake heiress. She and I are abducted at the same time. But when my husband, a doctor, arrives at the scene of the abduction with a medical team, he chooses to save her first. My legs have been broken, and I struggle to stay afloat in the ocean. I'm on the brink of death, and I beg him to save me and the child in my belly. He merely looks at me. Before leaving, he almost generously helps me call 911. Then, he says, "It's disgusting that you're lying about being pregnant just to save yourself. I've repaid you for saving my life—come to the hospital later today to sign the divorce papers." After listening to his words, I remove the hearing aid from my right ear with a trembling hand.

At one in the morning, my husband Grayson's phone lit up. A message from Leah popped up on the screen: [I sprained my ankle during rehearsal. It hurts so bad I can't sleep. Can you come hold me?] Watching Grayson throw on his clothes, I leaned back against the headboard and nearly laughed out loud. She was pouting in the middle of the night and making a married man drive halfway across Seattle to take care of her. For a twenty-two-year-old dance academy intern, she really wasn't very considerate. At least nowhere near as thoughtful as a certain sports science major I knew. That evening, Nolan had just gotten his professional motorcycle racing license and ridden his new bike across the bay to deliver the silver-gray heels I needed for tomorrow's board meeting right to my office building. Before he left, he'd pinned me between the car door and his chest in the parking garage and kissed me until my knees went weak.

There is a medical dispute at the hospital. A patient's family member comes at us swinging a knife. Without hesitating, I push my husband, Maxwell Conner, out of the way. But then, he grabs my hand and pulls me in front of his beloved junior, Karina Burton. The knife plunges straight into my abdomen, killing the baby I had just conceived. As my horrified colleagues cry and rush me toward the ICU, Maxwell violently pulls me off the gurney. He barks, "Save Karina first! If anything happens to her, I'll fire every last one of you!" The doctors are stunned and furious. "Maxwell, have you lost your mind? Karina only suffered a minor injury. Your wife is the one in critical condition!" Clutching my bleeding abdomen, I nod slowly. "It's fine. Just forget it." Maxwell, I owe you nothing after this.

My daughter accidentally scratched my husband's young mistress's face with her nails. For that, my husband had her fingers chopped off. Covered in blood, she came home seeking help, only to be assaulted by an intruder. I called my husband, crying, but his mistress's sweet voice answered the phone. "Stop using these lowly tricks to get Jack's attention. All you're doing is making him sick!" I begged my husband to take my call, but all I got in return was a barrage of insults. "Nothing is more important than Yvonne's face! I'm busy taking her to the hospital! I don't have time for your drama!" Later, my daughter's organs were removed by the intruder. Even in death, she was still tightly holding onto the birthday gift she had prepared for her father. My husband, a top lawyer, personally defended the criminal who assaulted our daughter. He let that man walk away scot-free after what he had done. On the day he celebrated his birthday with all our relatives, he finally knew that our daughter had died. He completely lost his mind.

My son has an aortic dissection and needs surgery. My husband is a cardiac expert, but I don't bother calling him. Instead, I take a cab straight to the hospital. In my past life, upon begging my husband, he came home with the ambulance to pick our son up. He also arranged for our son to be admitted. But because he forgot to bring his phone, his childhood sweetheart died of a heart attack when she couldn't reach him. He went missing for three months and suddenly returned one day, looking perfectly normal. He even volunteered to prepare the meal on our son's birthday. It turned out he only wanted to poison the food. He strangled me and cut my neck open. "You forced me to come home to pick our son up. Ciara wouldnt' have died if I'd answered her call that day. You and your son are murderers—you have to pay with your lives!" When I open my eyes again, I'm back to the day my son has an aortic dissection. This time, my husband manages to answer his childhood sweetheart's phone. But why is he on his knees before me and begging for forgiveness?