Tragic Love Short Stories & Scumbag Face Slapping Novels

Three months into the planning of our wedding, Jacob River, my fiancé, suddenly started trending on Twitter. But it was not because he had finally given me the grand wedding he had long promised. Instead, it was because a certain romantic novel was published. It depicted the three years Jacob spent dating Rain Stone, his first love during high school. Not only was Jacob’s real name used, explicit imagery was also used to talk about how they had passionately made out on the roof, how they had touched each other in an empty classroom, and how they explored each other’s bodies in the sports equipment room. There were also tons of high-definition photos attached. In his uniform, Jacob had a doting expression and youthful liveliness I had never seen before. My blood ran cold, and I grabbed my phone to go to him for an explanation. He just gave it a nonchalant look and said, “It’s just a memoir about things in the past. Why are you fussing over nothing? I’ll have my assistant contact the publishers to remove it from the shelves.” The trending hashtag was soon removed, and the book was banned from stores. But one night, I woke up from thirst. There was no one beside me, but I could see light through the crack of the study. For some reason, I went closer and peered through the crack, and something there made my blood run cold. Jacob had always been restrained when it came to physical intimacy, but he was touching himself while looking at the photo of the sports equipment room in the book.

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.”

My fiance, Adrian Hale, and I had planned to go snorkeling on Valentine's Day. The day we landed in the south of France, I discovered that his first love, Vivian Clarke, had come with us. They insisted on heading into unpatrolled waters. "But those waters are dangerous, shrouded in strange rumors..." Adrian frowned at me. "Sophie, do you have to ruin the mood right now?" Vivian smiled and hooked her arm through his. "With you here, nothing is going to happen to us." Once we were in the water, Vivian recklessly swam toward the deeper channel. A swell shoved half her body into a narrow opening. I swam over to pull her free, but she thrashed and drove her heel hard into my knee. Her elbow knocked my mask crooked. Before I could straighten it, Vivian kicked me into the opening. Adrian came up behind us, grabbed Vivian, and held her hand tight. The voices over my underwater headset were muffled, but I still heard Adrian's cold warning clearly. "Vivi doesn't know these waters. You do, don't you? "You led her into deeper water on purpose. Who exactly were you trying to hurt? "Figure your own way out. Consider it the lesson you've earned!" Briny seawater flooded my throat. My aching legs kicked uselessly. My body was wedged fast in the opening. I closed my eyes in despair. My last thought was this: if I died, they deserved to pay with their lives.

When I arrived at my wedding in my bridal gown, I found an octagonal fighting ring set up in the center of the stage. My fiance, Derek Hale, was holding the hand of his "girl bro," Chloe Shaw. With a smile, he handed me a pair of boxing gloves and explained, "Vivian, this is a tradition from my hometown. The bride has to get into the ring and wrestle one of the groomsmen for good luck. I asked Chloe to go up. Just play along for a minute." Looking at Chloe, who was always acting frail and sickly, I did not think much of it and stepped straight into the ring. But the next second, she threw an extremely professional spinning kick and knocked me unconscious with a severe concussion on the spot. When I woke up, I was paralyzed in a hospital bed. Derek stood there holding Chloe's hand and said to me, "Our relatives and friends gave us so much wedding money. The wedding can't go on without a bride. Chloe is willing to take care of me in your place. You're so kind, Vivian. You won't mind, right?" Under the torture of humiliation and severe depression, I pushed my wheelchair off the rooftop of our wedding home. When I opened my eyes again, I was back one month before the wedding. I turned around and knocked on the door of a national-level kickboxing champion training base. "Coach, if I trained for a month, can I punch someone's head open?"

Ever since the couples' account Sean Deaver and I run together has gone viral, my biggest dread has been filming our daily videos. On camera, Sean and my best friend, Jodie Steele, act like the perfect couple. They're always over each other, while I'm not even allowed to show so much as a hand. In the first year, Sean wipes the cream from the corner of Jodie's mouth, then pops his finger straight into his mouth. When I confront him, he simply pinches my cheek and flashes me an indulgent smile. "Aw, someone's jealous," he coos. "It's all for the cameras, babe. Don't make a big deal out of nothing." The following year, Sean takes on a challenge to sneak ten kisses on his girlfriend while they eat without getting caught. When I question him about it, he answers so smoothly that it's as though he's rehearsed his excuse in advance. "Babe, this challenge is huge right now. It'll bring tons of traffic to our account." This year, they've promised to finally set the record straight. But just as we are about to put an end to the charade, they sign on for a dating reality show. When the host eggs them on to kiss, Sean leans down in front of everyone and plants a very real kiss on Jodie's lips. Afterward, they come to comfort me. "Sasha, it was all ed. Don't let it get to you." I've always believed that getting married would finally put an end to this suffocating life. But Sean hesitated. "The show's getting great numbers now," he says, holding up his phone. "The producers want us to ride the hype and stage a fake wedding over the next few days. It'll make our account even bigger." I look at the countdown I've been keeping track of. It was day 1,825. I nod in silence, and Sean reaches out to ruffle my hair. "I knew you'd understand. Once filming wraps, I'll marry you for real. I promise." "Forget it," I say, simply brushing his hand away. "Sean, I'm done with you."

Cancer was killing me, and my husband worked through every night building a human cryonics program to save my life. Before they put me under, he held the baby I had nearly died giving birth to, and said through tears: "Lina Virga, our son and I will wait together for the day you can wake up. Seven years from now, a drug that can treat my illness exist, and the hospital brings me back. When the nurse asked me to settle the bill, I stared at her blankly and asked her to call my husband for me. "Contact Vito Ranieri of the Lucchese family. Tell him his wife is awake." But the nurse laughed under her breath. "Please, don't joke. Mr. Ranieri and Miss Bellini have a son who's seven years old. Everyone in Sicily knows they’re a devoted couple. "I'll have the neurologist come by and evaluate you shortly." I assumed she was teasing me. I didn't give it another thought. Then Nora Bellini arrived, hired as a photographer to document me, the medical miracle. Vito's interview was playing on the television, and I said it with pride. "That's my husband. The best researcher there is." Nora's brows lifted in surprise, and the corners of her mouth dipped. "As far as I'm aware, Vito has exactly one wife. Me. "So how is it I've never heard about anyone else?"

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.

The night the hurricane made landfall, the emergency alert had barely stopped sounding when my sister-in-law, Brielle Rourke, called again. I listened to her helpless sobbing, then calmly handed the phone to my husband, Caleb Rourke, who was busy boarding up the balcony doors. Whatever she said, he kept agreeing to it. He pulled on a rain jacket and gave me that practiced, guilty look. "Her window's broken, Lena. She's all alone over there. I'll patch it up and I'll be back before the worst of it hits, I promise." Once again, it wasn't a discussion. It was an announcement. Five years of marriage, and every storm had gone exactly the same way. The moment the thunder started, her call came right on schedule. I used to fight about it, but he always said, "My brother died young. Brielle's raising his son by herself. We help when we can." "You're a grown woman, and a strong one. You can look after yourself and our son, right?" The wind split the glass, and the shards opened my calf to the bone. I reached for the baby sweater I'd never finished knitting. Tonight, Caleb, I don't think your son or I need you anymore.

I was Alpha Damon’s Head Beta. For six years, I had been his partner in bed and his second-in-command. When he announced our mating ceremony, the entire pack celebrated. My dream was finally within reach. But then, outside his private trophy room, I heard him bragging about his “Luna trials.” And just like that, I learned the truth. I wasn’t his one and only. I was one of thirty candidates. He’d spent a month with each of us, grading our bodies, our submission, our performance. My score? Lower than an Omega’s. Lower than Lydia’s. “Fucking Lydia was incredible,” he boasted. “I could barely pull myself away. Then I look at Elysia—so stiff, so in control—and I’m just… bored.” Ice flooded my veins. My body went numb. Six years of devotion. Countless nights tangled in his sheets. It all meant less than a cheap thrill and a wolf who knew how to kneel. My heartbreak hardened into ice. I sent a message to an Alpha who had wanted me long ago. “Adrian, you once said your offer to mate was a standing one. Does it still stand? Damon and I are over now.”

As the only granddaughter of the late Royal Chancellor, Evelyn Lansing was the most celebrated lady in the capital's high society. But for the sake of Julian Sterling, heir to the Sterling family, she turned herself into the city's biggest joke. When Julian lay unconscious after falling off a cliff, Evelyn traveled a thousand miles alone to find a reclusive healer and waited outside his door for a week without food or water. After bringing the healer back, she cast aside her reputation and spent three years at Julian's bedside, nursing him back to health with her own hands. Yet the moment he woke up, he publicly declared that he intended to marry Evelyn’s maid, Ivy. The news tore through the capital like wildfire.

The contractions tore through me. I called my husband, Maxim Volkov, the ruthless Don of Chicago. He didn't answer. I dragged myself out of the penthouse, crawling, and begged a stranger to get me to the Volkov family's private hospital. "I'm Maxim's wife. Get me a delivery room! He'll pay." I pleaded with the nurse, my water breaking. She just stared, shocked. "You? The Donna? Nice try. Don Volkov is already upstairs with his wife. She's in labor." Wife? Since when did Maxim have a second wife? Before I could ask, another contraction ripped through me. Everything went black. When I woke in the recovery room, the real betrayal hit. My baby was gone. All I got was a cold, "The baby wasn't breathing. We couldn't save him. I'm sorry." I searched the whole hospital, sobbing, and ended up outside the VIP maternity suite on the top floor. That's when I heard the truth that shattered my soul. "With the kidney from Seraphina's kid… a perfect match… our son is saved. You can rest now, Isla." Maxim's voice. So gentle, from behind the door. His other wife… was my adoptive sister, Isla? Then I heard my so-called mother's voice, cold. "We had no choice. We took Seraphina in for exactly this reason. It's the least she owes us." My newborn son. Sacrificed. Used as medicine to save another child. I stumbled back, ice in my veins. And there was Isla, victory glowing in her eyes. "My baby was never sick," she whispered, sweet and venomous. "I just wanted everything you had. Why should a stray like you get the Don's love?" The tears stopped. They thought I'd just take it. Give up my place as Donna. They were wrong. I picked up my phone and dialed the number I'd refused a hundred times. My voice was calm. "Brother. I'm coming home. I'm ready to take my rightful place as head of the Ricci family. And I will marry Dante Romano."

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.

On the day I was supposed to get engaged to my childhood sweetheart, Noah Pratt, I escaped. As I flew out of the country, I deleted all forms of contact with him. Six years later, I had to return to oversee the moving of my parents’ graves. At the entrance to the cemetery, I bumped right into Noah. He gripped my wrist while gazing at me with red-rimmed eyes. “Why did you run away?” he asked. He had grown very thin. Heavy bags were under his eyes. It was as if haunting dreams had plagued his nights. “Because I didn’t want to marry someone I didn’t love,” I replied. He swayed on his feet as if the rug had been swept from under him. “Is there anything else?” I asked. But he remained silent. I waited patiently before walking past him. I had not lied. Indeed, I had burned out that love for him in the first three years I spent overseas.

It's our 17th wedding ceremony, and we just make it to the vows. Right on cue, Charlie Shaw's assistant crashes the ceremony. Vivian Wilson drops to her knees in the middle of the aisle, sobbing hysterically. "Please, everyone, you have to help me find my younger brother! His name is Zachary Wilson. He went missing when he was six. He's the only family I have left!" Charlie doesn't even try to stop her. Instead, his fingers clamp down on my wrist like a vice, as if he expects me to fly off the handle. "Don't make a scene," he whispers. "Look at the press coverage we have today. I'll explain everything later." Explain what, exactly? Why did he promise me she wouldn't show up this time, only to break his word all over again? I've listened to the exact conversation 16 times before, and the fight drains out of me completely. I look up, catch the officiant's eye, and signal for him to hand the microphone to Vivian. "It's fine. Give her the microphone," I say. "It's a huge turnout. We shouldn't let the publicity go to waste." Charlie stares at me in surprise. He has no idea that I'm handing the stage over to Vivian permanently. And as for Charlie himself? I'm completely done with him, too.

"When is that desperate agent of Ace Davidson's finally going to get lost? Just looking at her makes me sick!" "Seriously! She's always clinging to our Ace. Does she really think she's his wife or something?" My finger stopped scrolling across the tablet. Without changing expression, I closed the fan post full of insults on Ace's fan page. As Ace's secret wife of five years and his agent, I'd grown numb to comments like these a long time ago. I turned around, took a box of arnica cream and a steaming hot lunch from my bag, and handed them to the chubby crew member sitting in the corner. "Pudge, eat first. Put some arnica on your face, too. You don't want it to leave a mark." Because of his heavy build and slow movements, the director had slapped Pudge in front of everyone that day. The entire crew had made a joke out of him. I was the only one who'd offered him any comfort. He took the items, his eyes reddening as he looked at me. "Alisson, thank you... You're a good person. There's something I can't keep from you." With that, he glanced around before pulling out a spare phone with a shattered screen. "Alisson, I accidentally caught this on video yesterday while I was organizing props in the underground parking garage." I tapped the video open. On the screen was Ace's private van, the one I'd paid for myself. The vehicle was rocking violently.

Wyatt became the Don of the Volkov Family. His first move? Proposing to me at his celebration gala. But I pushed the ring away. "We're done, Wyatt." He frowned. Scoffed. "Over that red diamond necklace? I told you I forgot. Next time. For Christmas, I swear." I nodded. "Yes. Exactly because of that." Two weeks ago, he passed the old Don's final test. Secured a massive arms route. He bought gifts for everyone. Even the new getaway driver got a gold Rolex. But he forgot our anniversary. Forgot the red diamond necklace I always wanted. I tried to brush it off. He promised me. Next time. Then came Sarah. His secretary. She posted a photo on Instagram. A red diamond necklace. The caption? "Best boss in the world. Knows exactly what I love." Wyatt didn't say a word to me. But he liked her post. We grew up in the same orphanage. We only had each other. He protected me from the bullies. Swore to be my shield. Even when the old Don adopted him as the heir, he demanded to take me with him. But things changed. The Cartel, the shipments, the power. Everything became more important than me. Even now. At his own gala. I just rejected his ring. I dumped him. Then his phone rang. Sarah's name flashed on the screen. She needed help. He chuckled. Patted my cheek. Forced the ring onto my finger anyway. He whispered in my ear. "Alright, stop throwing a tantrum. I know you won't leave me. That necklace? ” “Next time, I promise. Sarah's in a little jam. I gotta go." He rushed off. I didn't stop him. The party raged on. I pulled out my phone. Found the Sicilian number I ignored for years. I typed a text. "Grandpa, I'm in. I'm coming back to claim my birthright. See you in Sicily tomorrow." I slid his ring off. Left it on his desk. Wyatt. From now on, we rule our own empires. We owe each other nothing.

After I discovered I was pregnant, I slammed the pregnancy test report down in front of my playboy boyfriend. Alan Rivers lit a cigarette and blew smoke rings at me, his tone casual and cruel. "Seeing as you've kept me company for seven years, I'll give you two choices. "First, you can abort the baby. I'll compensate you with a million dollars, and you can stay by my side. Second, keep it, take the kid, and disappear. The farther, the better." Why did I have to choose? I wanted both, so I took the million dollars and vanished from his world without a trace.

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.”

Everyone in the Rossi family knows that their Don, Giovanni Rossi, loves me, Rebecca Costa, more than anyone else. Ever since we got together, he has stopped attending any social events that involve other women. We promised to marry once he returns from negotiating a dangerous arms deal in Aelfana. He was supposed to come back a week before the wedding, but instead, he returned on the eve of the wedding with Rosa Bianchi, his stepsister, in his arms. Rosa was unconscious, and traces of intimacy were visible on her skin. Giovanni kneeled before me, his expression remorseful. "Rebecca… I was drugged. I never meant to betray you. When Rosa threw herself at me, I thought she was you." And I believed him. At least, I did until I overheard a conversation in the changing room backstage at our wedding. One of his men asks, in disbelief, "Did you really mistake her for Rebecca?" "I did for the first night. But for the rest of the week… well, a man ought to have his bit of freedom before getting married." My fingers clench around my phone. In my inbox sits an unopened message—a marriage invitation from Angelo Calavaro, the most enigmatic Don in southern Ilya's underworld. I know what I have to do.

While we were scuba diving, my boyfriend, Raphael Carlisle, ripped off my oxygen mask and put it on his childhood friend, Lucia Fairchild, whose mask had started leaking. I was left thrashing helplessly in the freezing water. Just as I thought it was over, Raphael's younger brother, Gabriel Carlisle, swam over, breathed life into me, and brought me back to the surface. After he saved me, he presented me with the purple diamond ring he designed himself and proposed, "For as long as I live, I'll never let you face danger again." I believed that he was my one true love, so I married him, leaving my job behind to focus on starting a family. On the day Lucia was given a critical condition notice, I ended up in a car accident. As I lay half-conscious on the hospital bed, I overheard Gabriel talking with Raphael. "Get a doctor to induce labor right away! Lucia's illness can only be treated with a stem cell transplant from umbilical cord blood. The only reason I got Phoebe pregnant was for this very day." "But she's carrying our bloodline! How could you have someone hit her with a car?" Raphael yelled. Gabriel replied, "Lucy matters more to me! As for Phoebe, I can spoil her rotten once she wakes up." At that moment, I realized the love I held on to was nothing but a lie. If that was the case, I'd just leave.