Scumbag Melodramatic Short Stories & Novels

In the three years I spent unconscious in a hospital bed, Julius Carter took care of me day and night without complaint. The very first thing he did after I woke up was get down on one knee beside my hospital bed and propose. That night, while scrolling through social media, I came across a female influencer who looked strikingly similar to me. [Another date with my boyfriend today!] [He took me to an upscale restaurant for dinner and bought me the diamond ring I wanted. He's the sweetest!] The top comment read: [You're showing off so much. I bet you're just a sugar baby!] She fired back immediately with a reply. [Being a sugar baby takes skill, too. Looking like a pig won't get you that kind of treatment.] [My boyfriend is the heir to the Carter family. Another nonsense from you, and I'll have my lawyer sue you!] My breathing hitched. Since when did Julius Carter have a girlfriend? Rage overcame me, and I tapped on her profile, ready to send her a private message. That was when I noticed a post pinned to the top of her page. The photo showed a pair of long, elegant hands placing food onto someone's plate across the table, and on the back of that hand were two small moles. They were the exact same two moles Julius had.

When I remarried Thomas Quinn, Stacie Browning, the fake heiress, showed up in funeral clothes to make a scene. Instead of getting angry, Thomas turned to me, still in my wedding gown, and said offhandedly, "Rose, Stacie has been delicate ever since she was little. She can't wear scratchy burlap like this. "You're thick-skinned anyway. Swap clothes with her." Stacie stared at my slightly rounded belly with jealous eyes, then pouted and whined at Thomas, "The wedding dress has to be disinfected first, or it'll be all stinky, and I won't wear it!" I was trading my wedding gown for funeral clothes, and she still turned her nose up at it. Snickers rippled through the crowd. But I didn't scream or throw a fit the way I used to. Instead, with stiff fingers, I peeled off the ill-fitting wedding gown layer by layer. It felt like flaying away more than ten years of love between Thomas and me, skin and flesh together. Just as I was about to strip completely bare, Thomas suddenly yanked off his suit jacket and hurled it at me. "Rose, do you have any shame left at all?!" The jacket still held the warmth of his body, even warmer than the day we first met. Yet draped over me now, it felt bone-chillingly cold. The truth was, the wedding gown didn't matter. Neither did my pride. What mattered was that I could save my daughter, Poppy. And soon, I would be flying far away from here, taking the little life growing inside me with me.

My Alpha mate slept with his childhood sweetheart to suppress her wolfsbane poisoning using his Alpha power. At dawn he knelt in front of me, holding a woman whose clothes were half off and whose body was covered in bruises. "Lilia was poisoned saving me. As the Alpha of this pack, I couldn't stand there and watch her die in agony!" Certain it would move me, he cut himself seven times with a silver dagger to atone. But the wolfsbane was still in Lilia's blood, and every time it flared, my Alpha husband went to save her. Afterward, he would cut himself once more. Six months later, he came to me bearing ninety-nine scars. A man who had never bowed to anyone lowered himself to beg me. "Dora, I've repented with my own flesh and blood. Lilia can't bear to give up the baby. I'm begging you to spare that small life. "You have trouble conceiving. Once the pup is born I'll send Lilia to the border and let the child call you mother. You will always be the mate the Moon Goddess chose for me." My heart felt as if it were being torn apart. I held back my tears and answered calmly, "All right." I crushed the pregnancy report I had been hiding into a ball and threw it into the hearth fire.

I'm widely regarded as one of the best dreamwalkers in the field. For five years, I've paved the path to success for my CEO boyfriend, Silas Kielsburn, with the help of my dreamwalking skills. Alas, on the anniversary of our relationship, Silas insists on signing a 20-million-dollar financing deal after reading the dreamwalking interpretation drafted by my archnemesis, Maisie Caldwell. He completely disregards my many attempts to warn him that my dreamwalking interpretation shows the terrible danger looming over him in his dream. "Cassiopeia Vale, look at how selfless Maisie is! Her dreamwalker interpretations are the only things that can bestow golden opportunities upon me! Only a dreamwalker who's as pure-hearted and noble as she is is befitting as my wife!" After that, Silas smashes the fortune-shifting crystal I've gifted to him before proposing to Maisie. I respond by demanding the unpaid dreamwalking fees worth hundreds of thousands of dollars Silas has accumulated during the past five years. However, I end up getting cornered by the thugs he has hired in an alley. In fact, I almost lose my life there. Five years later, I chance upon Silas once again at a university anniversary celebration. By then, he's already a rising star in the tech industry. At the moment, he has an arm wrapped around Maisie, who's now an influencer known for her dreamwalking knowledge that she's stolen from me. Their popularity knows no bounds. As for me, I'm currently kneeling by a flower bed while rummaging through the lawn. "Remember how you refused to tell me the entirety of the dreamwalking interpretation back then, Cassiopeia? To think that you've fallen so far from grace to the point that you're looking for crumbling stones in the shrubs! "Even if you turned the lawn upside down, you and I will never get back together!" I completely tune Silas out. After all, my son has accidentally lost the crystal that I've given to his father as a love token. I need to find it as soon as possible. Otherwise, my extremely doting husband will definitely teach him a painful lesson at home tonight.

On the day my father died, his seven most trusted men all met violent deaths within the same twenty-four hours. Hugh Castillo sacrificed his legs to butcher the gang and put me in power. “Taz, don’t be scared. Those monsters are gone. You’re finally free.” In the years he lay paralyzed, I tried over a thousand experimental drugs and prayed at every church across the country. I hunted down every possible remedy, praying for just one that would bring him back to his feet. When Hugh learned of this, he swallowed a bottle of pills one night to end his life. After he was revived, he smiled and wiped the tears from my face. “Taz, I don’t want to be a dead weight. You deserve a better life than this.” That night, we held each other and wept. We swore that from then on, no matter what, we would never leave each other behind. But seven years later, a sweet-looking girl showed up at my door with a thousand photos I was never meant to see. “Every month, while you were praying to God in churches, Huey was busy trying out new positions with me. “Ms. Sheargold, don’t you know that used goods like you kill a man’s desire? It was no wonder he’d rather play the cripple than touch you.” I looked through every single photo, then put them up for auction underground.

Wendy and her husband's female childhood friend were kidnapped at the same time. That night, moans echoed from the warehouse all night long. A month later, both discovered they were pregnant. To protect his childhood friend's reputation, Jackson Wallace stepped forward and claimed her baby was his without hesitation. And Wendy’s baby was branded an "illegitimate child" left behind after the kidnappers violated her. Wendy smashed everything in sight and collapsed to the floor, demanding, "Why? You know perfectly well this baby was conceived before the kidnapping! The kidnappers didn't do anything to me!"

My husband, Lawrence Schwartz, and I were both liars. He lied to me, saying he would forget his first love, yet his phone is filled with photos of her. I lied to him, saying I would never leave, while secretly planning a future without him. A month ago, I tricked Lawrence into signing the divorce papers. Today was the final day to complete the entire divorce process.. Three hours left. I packed all my luggage and bought a plane ticket for the next day. Two hours left. I cut up every photo of us together, leaving only myself in the album. Last hour. I thought about leaving a message, then decided against it. Today marked the tenth year I had loved him and the first day I left him.

Two years after the death of my husband, John Foster, I get a video call from him—except it's him from five years in the future. "John! You're still alive! Tell me where you are. I'm coming now to bring you home!" Crying tears of joy, I scramble to pick up the car keys I dropped, only to hear him say, "Actually, I faked my death to be with your friend…" As my mind goes blank, he continues to tell me everything as if none of it is a big deal. "I attended my funeral. The whole time you were crying beside my casket, I was in the back room with Adaline, getting it on with her. You thought her eyes were red because she was crying in grief. "Oh, my mother and our son know that I faked my death, too. Every year, they've found all kinds of excuses to come spend time with us instead…" My blood turns cold. My hand shakes as I clutch the phone. Meanwhile, John exhales, looking like he has taken a load off his chest. "I've already told you the truth about everything now, Cecilia, so it's up to you whether you want to continue living like a widow."

On my eighth birthday, I begged my mom to video call my dad, who was supposedly working late. The moment the call connected, a version of him from ten years in the future appeared on the screen. My mom held me close and smiled, asking him, "Ten years from now… our Lily has grown up. Was her coming-of-age ceremony a big celebration?" Dad replied coldly, "She kept trying to one-up Sarah's kid, so I sent her abroad. Too bad her luck ran out—her plane went down." My mom's face went pale. On the other end, my dad let out an icy laugh. "Claire, back then, you lied to me. You said if your 'plan' didn't work out, you'd die. I believed you. I gave up Sarah and her child to marry you." My mom's body started trembling. I reached out toward the screen. "Daddy, when are you coming home to celebrate my birthday with me?" Dad sighed and looked at her calmly. "The truth is, I wasn't working late that night. I was celebrating Sarah's daughter's birthday. Now you know everything. What you do next is up to you." Suddenly, a cold robotic voice echoed in my ear: [Host, do you choose to abandon the original world and stay here forever?] I wiped the tears off my mom's face and, barely understanding what was happening, said, "Mommy, does that mean Daddy doesn't want us anymore? Then let's not want him either. Okay?"

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!"

At the reunion, the wives got rowdy and dared each other to take part in a "best husband" challenge. Each woman had to call her husband and ask for 6,000 dollars to buy a bag. Whoever got a yes first would win. As expected, Matthew Whitebrook picked up almost instantly, his voice gentle. "Buy it, baby. You remember the card password, right?" Everyone groaned with envy and said I'd hit the jackpot by landing the better of the twin brothers. I laughed and hung up, then glanced at my sister, who sat curled up in the corner. She clutched her phone but refused to make the call. "I won't bother," she said quietly. "He's on another business trip. He won't pick up anyway." My sister had been dating Matthew's older twin brother for three years, but he was constantly away on business. Almost no one had ever seen him in person. I felt bad for her, so I snatched the phone from her hand and dialed the number myself. It rang twice before someone answered. "Baby, why the sudden call?" The room fell silent. That voice was identical to the one that had told me, "Buy it, baby," just ten seconds earlier. For a moment, I thought I had misheard. But when I turned to my sister, her face had already gone white. She snatched the phone back, her smile strained. "Bad signal. You must have misheard." However, I had heard it clearly. From the other end of the call came the unmistakable sound of the record player in my own living room, the one I had forgotten to turn off before I left the house that afternoon.

Two months into my cold war with Sean, the lover he’d been keeping finally danced her way right up to me, the real deal. Everyone expected me to react the same way I always had before, kicking up a huge scene to stake my claim. Instead, I looked at the intimate photos of Sean and her in the group chat, smiled, and sent them my blessing. [Looking good. Wishing you two a long and happy life.] The chat went dead silent. Sean must’ve sobered up from his little paradise because in the middle of the night, he drove home and pounded on my door. He was furious. “Do you think this is funny?” However, I only met his gaze calmly. “Honestly, after all these years, none of it is.”

I was the best liar in the slums. I'd stolen church donations and forged medical records to get relief money. I'd even framed Clara Gray, my younger half sister, and gotten her kicked out of our home. Yet Alpha Logan Blackwood had taken one look at me at an underground auction and marked me as his. A werewolf took only one mate. For life. For three years, I'd played his sweet, submissive fated mate. Then someone brought Clara back from a casino. Clutching so-called evidence, she stood before him and sobbed. "My sister's been rotten since she was a child. She doesn't deserve to be your mate." Logan's expression turned cold. Right in front of me, he took Clara back to the pack house. "I thought you were my destiny. Turns out you're just a snake." That night, the backlash from his rejection killed me in the pack house basement. When I opened my eyes again, I was back at the underground auction. The auctioneer had already raised his gavel. Before he could bring it down, I pointed at a man in the corner. "I'm selling my life to Kane Ashcroft."

My cheating wife suffered brain damage in a car accident. Her entire vocabulary shrank to "yes" and "no." She couldn't say another word. Better yet, every answer had to be true. Someone up there was watching over me! I asked her, "Were you cheating on me with my friend?" Her face went pale, but she couldn't stop herself from saying, "Yes." "Did you transfer any assets?" "Yes." "Is your bank card PIN your first love's birthday?" "Yes." Thanks to her inability to lie, I got my friend sent to prison and took all her assets. She couldn't even curse me out. Then one day, a pretty barista hit on me while making my coffee. I turned to my wife, who just stared blankly. "Are you even my wife? Doesn't that make you jealous?" She blurted out, "No." I froze and stared hard into her eyes. A long moment passed before I asked, "Then is my wife, Shannon York, dead?" "Yes and no."

Gavin Fletcher’s twin side chicks had caused trouble yet again. Having gone three months without contacting me, his very first call was to demand I clean up their mess. I agreed calmly. First, I spent the freezing winter night searching through a man-made lake to recover the necklace belonging to our partner’s wife, Mrs. Sinclair—a piece Stella Wright had thrown away in a fit of rage. Next, I took the fall for the video of Luna Wright stripping drunk at a private club, calling a press conference to issue a public apology. That same night, the hashtag #Oakhaven’sMostPatheticTrophyWife was trending like crazy. I swiped the notification away without giving it a second glance. In my past life, I had made a frantic, desperate scene over these two lovers of his, only to ask for a divorce in heart-wrenching despair in the end. Gavin hadn’t bothered to keep me. Instead he used every resource at his disposal to ensure I walked away without a penny. The ink was barely dry on my divorce certificate when I received my son’s diagnosis: terminal brain cancer. Staring at the astronomical figure in the medical expense column, I cast aside every ounce of dignity, begging on my knees before Gavin while sobbing my eyes out. Yet he simply sat there with the twins wrapped in his arms, ordering the butler to throw me out of his mansion. “Using your son’s life for reconciliation—the Fletcher name can’t have any tie to such a snake of a woman!” In the end, I could only watch helplessly as my son drew his final breath in my arms. Now reborn and given another chance, I would do anything to save my son’s life.

We had been in love for five years and married for three. My husband had taken the whole “going Dutch” to an absurd extreme. A two-dollar bottle of water for the house? Split it in half. A $105 utility bill? He'd send me a Venmo request for my half. He called it “the spirit of equality in a modern marriage.” According to him, rules were rules. I gritted my teeth and put up with it. Until I found out I was pregnant. To save money on the prenatal appointments and nutritional expenses he insisted we split, I could barely afford anything more than plain boiled eggs every day. Even when I was heavily pregnant and caught in a downpour, if I tried to call a cab, he'd lecture me for lacking the independence a modern woman was supposed to have. Yet when another woman told him she was “having a bad day,” he didn't hesitate to spend hundreds of thousands of dollars on luxury goods for her. He even paid her expensive tuition to study abroad. I thought I'd already become numb to it all, so numb that I was prepared for whatever came next, even if it killed me. Then came the day when his disgusting penny-pinching calculations went too far. He tried to make me pay my “share” of the medication I needed to stay alive.

It is the third year of my marriage when the video of my bodyguard, Julian Sutherland, holding an umbrella over me in a downpour goes viral. Overnight, the internet becomes obsessed with the "Icy Protector and his Forbidden Heiress." Netizens are relentless; they dig through the archives until they unearth a ten-year-old clip. In the video, a girl was holding a pair of high-heeled shoes while sprinting through the Folander airport. My friend teased, "No way, Ms. Serina Brown. Are you really flying back home to confess to that poor man? What could you possibly see in him?" The camera shakes, capturing my youthful face. I was just a reckless 20-year-old. "I love Julian. I love everything about him." That night, after seeing the video, Julian loses his composure and bursts into my room. "I didn't know you loved me back then. I thought… I thought… God, it was never supposed to end like this." I pull my coat around me and stand rooted on the spot, remaining silent. Suddenly, a mocking laugh echoes from behind me. Someone places their hand firmly on my waist and says, "Are you trying to reminisce about your love with my wife right in front of me? Do I look dead to you?"

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.

In my past life, my boyfriend's childhood sweetheart, Kimberly Thatcher, claimed to be Lady Luck. She insisted on handing out sachets to keep our team safe for a hike. I, Priscilla Jensen, caught the scent and realized the sachets were stuffed with herbs that would attract wolves. So, I stepped in to stop her, saving everyone from an attack. But Kimberly thought I was looking down on her sachets, and that I was targeting her on purpose. Though she was the leader, she stormed off from the group in anger. We searched the forest under the raging storm. In the end, someone broke a leg, someone else was strangled by poisonous vines, and my shoulder was torn open. By dawn, we found Kimberly's corpse at the bottom of a valley. … On the seventh day after her death, her memorial service became an ambush. While everyone mourned for her, their eyes were fixed on me. My boyfriend, Fabian Lowell, was the first to lash out. He ripped off his bandage, revealing his wound. "If you hadn't stopped Kimberly from giving us those sachets, none of this would have happened! How dare you show up to her memorial service?" he yelled. Everyone turned to glare daggers at me. Suddenly, someone shouted, "It's all your fault! You're the reason we ended up like this! Go to hell!" In the next second, they hurled a pot of boiling stew at me. Then they set the private room ablaze and burned me alive. … When I open my eyes again, I'm back on the day of the hike.

For seven years, I stood by Reese Moretti as he fought his way up from a mafia nobody until he stood as an equal among the Three Families. Then I got pregnant with Reese's child. He promised me the wedding of the century. I was overjoyed and couldn't wait for our future together. Until his childhood sweetheart, Layla, came back, and everything changed. Layla was frail, and she'd once done Reese a great favor. Without even realizing it, he began to favor her over me—his fiancée. One week before the wedding, Layla shoved me to the floor. She leaned in close to my ear. "Ivy, if Reese walks in and sees us both on the floor, who do you think he'll worry about?" Before I could react, Layla suddenly screamed and collapsed. When Reese rushed in, Layla was clutching her chest, whispering weakly that her old heart condition had flared up. "Reese, I can't breathe. I don't think I can hold on much longer." Before I could say a word, Reese scooped Layla up in his arms and rushed her to the private medical wing. Blood spread beneath me. In that moment, the pain in my body was nothing compared to the agony of my heart tearing apart. Seven years of love and the child not yet fully formed inside me vanished in that single instant. Heartbroken and numb, I decided to leave and let them be together. But Reese refused to let me go.