Scumbag Tragic Love Short Stories & Novels

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.

At eight months pregnant, Esther Rivera went to the mall to buy a duffle bag and stock up on supplies she would need when she went into labor. She was once again mistaken for a mistress and was assaulted by Summer Moreno. To protect the baby in her belly, she could not fight back at all. Summer grabbed her hair and slapped her several times, even nearly tearing off her clothes. At her wit’s end, Esther called the police. Both of them were taken to the police station. Each of them claimed to be Jasper Clarke’s wife The police officer, John Hayward, called Jasper to verify the truth. When Jasper learned about this, he went to the police station. Summer swiftly took out a mirror to touch up her makeup before looking at Esther smugly and saying, “Esther, do you think Jasper will say I’m his wife just to protect me? “I bet he will.”

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

When my father died, he left me with two prospective husbands. I was supposed to marry one of them, Nolan Mercer. But on our wedding day, he ran off with a housekeeper's daughter. So his younger brother, James Mercer, married me instead. On our wedding night, I slipped out onto the balcony and cried because I missed my father. James kicked the door open, mockery in his eyes and a sneer on his lips. "Are you really that heartbroken just because you had to marry me instead of Nolan?" For the next five years, he brought a different woman home every week. I swallowed the pain and did everything I could to be a good wife. But this time was different. Four months had passed, and the woman by his side was still the same one. My heart sank. She slipped her arm through his and said, "James, looks like the lady of the house is upset." James looked at me, his face unreadable, and let out a mocking laugh. "Lady of the house? She doesn't even want to be. She'd rather be the lady of the house across the street." That night, a gas leak sparked a fire in our home. James scooped the woman into his arms and rushed outside. I'd inhaled so much gas that my limbs had gone weak. I collapsed to the floor and watched him leave without a second thought. Something inside me finally snapped. I'd had enough of this miserable five-year marriage. This time, I was going to end it myself.

My husband, Graham Hale, was known in our circle for being almost impossible to rattle. In three years of marriage, nothing ever seemed to get much of a reaction out of him. When his company went public, all he said was, "Got it." When his father was in critical condition, Graham spent the entire night outside the operating room without ever looking shaken. Even the day I miscarried, he held me while I was still bleeding and calmly wiped away my tears. "Don't cry. We can have another." I always thought he just wasn't wired for strong emotions. Then one day, I happened to check his smartwatch. Over the past two weeks, it had recorded six unusual spikes in his heart rate. Every single one happened around 6:20 a.m. What could make a man who never lost his composure suddenly have a heart rate over 130? I got my answer two weeks after my older sister, Celeste Whitmore, came home following her divorce. One day, as I passed Graham's home office, I heard his mother ask, "After all these years, you still can't get over Celeste?" Graham was silent for a long moment before answering. "Yeah. I've had feelings for her since I first saw her in high school." His father sighed. "Then why did you marry her sister?" Graham looked down and slowly turned his wedding ring around his finger. His voice was as calm as if he were discussing a business deal. "The Whitmores were on the verge of losing everything back then. "It didn't matter who I married. Marrying Dawn at least gave me a legitimate reason to put money into Whitmore Group. "That way, the Carvers wouldn't look down on Celeste." I stood outside the door, thinking about those six heart-rate spikes. Celeste went out for her morning run at around 6:20 every day. So Graham's heart could race after all. Just never for me. And in that moment, my own heart finally went still.

Evan Shaw was famous for sticking to his principles. He was punctual, followed every rule, and never made exceptions. Yet when it came to going to City Hall to get married to Roxie Foster, he had stood her up eight times. The first time, his former underclassman, Sylvia Young, was returning after eight years abroad, and he had to pick her up from the airport. The second time, Sylvia accidentally burned her finger while cooking. The third time, Sylvia's son got sick. ... This was the eighth time. Once again, Evan didn't show up. He only called in a hurry and said, "Something came up. I'll be there." Roxie watched their number get skipped again and again until the clerk behind the window tapped on the glass. "Miss, is your boyfriend not coming again? We're about to close." Roxie was about to call him when a message from Evan came through first. "I'm still tied up. We'll get married another day." A bitter ache spread through her chest as she stared at the message. She was about to put away her phone and leave when a new post on Sylvia's social media feed caught her eye. Roxie froze. In the photo, Sylvia was smiling brightly. Beside her, Evan held Sylvia's son, Severin "Seven" Young, in his arms while gazing at her with unmistakable fondness. The caption read: "Seven wanted to go to the amusement park today. Thanks to my favorite senior for spending the whole day with us!" Looking at that picture, Roxie's throat tightened, heavy and raw. So this was the important matter that had kept him away. He had skipped their marriage registration to take Sylvia's son to an amusement park. Pain twisted through Roxie's chest. Hurt and anger burned through her so fiercely that her entire body began to tremble. She was about to call Evan and demand an explanation when she noticed the comments underneath the post. Several mutual friends had already started teasing them. "All these years later, Dr. Shaw still has the same soft spot for his favorite girl."

I'm the Donna of the Vitale family, the wife of Domenico Vitale, the woman everyone is expected to bow to. Yet whether I need to access family funds, arrange a car, make a doctor's appointment, or even prepare a gown for a party, I must submit an application first. The woman who approves every request is Camilla Marino, Domenico's most trusted secretary. He says this is family protocol. As the Donna, I should be the first to follow the rules. Things change when I suffer a massive hemorrhage during my pregnancy. My request for emergency medical treatment is pending approval, yet I have already waited longer than I should have. I call Domenico and beg, "Domenico, please. Tell Camilla to approve it. We're going to lose our baby." He gently scolds me for trying to bypass family protocol. "Do as Camilla says." Just like that, he hangs up. That night, I lose my baby, as well as whatever love I have left for Domenico. I file for divorce and leave with nothing but a few clothes I owned before the marriage. He's convinced I'm doing this out of jealousy toward Camilla, that it is a calculated scheme to make him come crawling after me. He even tracks me down at my new place of work and publicly orders my medical treatment to be stopped, certain that once I lose the Vitale family's money and protection, I'll have no choice but to beg him. Trembling, our private physician tells him the truth. "Don Vitale, Signora miscarried a long time ago."

In my last life, I fought for power, kept the books, and built alliances for my fiancé from the Fire clan until I had secured his position as heir. On the night of the victory banquet, he killed me with his own hands. He said Sophia was the woman he truly loved. I had taken her place and forced their love into the shadows. They had been conspiring all along, and even the child I had raised so lovingly was their illegitimate son. I died consumed by hatred. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day the marriage contract was to be signed. This time I wrote Sophia's name on it.

Ten years ago, I died in a shootout. My men recovered my body. I left behind only one daughter. My husband, Colton Rinaldi, found our daughter selling cigars at the docks. Under the blazing sun, she was drenched in sweat. The wooden crates had rubbed her shoulders raw and bloody. Colton's face fell. He pulled her aside. Then he demanded, beside himself with rage, "Why are you doing hard labor here? Where is your mother? How could she dump you in a place like this? "She's so damn selfish!" Mia Rinaldi had never seen him before. She stared at him, bewildered. "Who are you? Do you want a cigar? They're cheap." Colton lifted the crate off her shoulders. The veins on the backs of his hands bulged. "Even if she's angry with me, she has no right to torment you like this. Come with me. As far as you're concerned, you don't have a mother anymore." With that, he grabbed her hand and tried to lead her away. Panicked, Mia bit his arm and glared up at him. "Don't talk about my mom like that! Who are you? Get away from me! "Let go of me!" Blood streamed down Colton's arm. Colton went livid. "What has Monica Bellini been teaching you? She's angry with me, so she taught you to be this rude? "I'm your father!" My spirit hovered beside Mia. I tried to wipe away her frightened tears. My hand passed straight through her. A bitter smile tugged at my lips. How could Colton not know? I wasn't sulking. I was dead.

"I crossed a line. I fell for Ilaria." On our wedding day, the car had barely pulled away when Matteo Rossi turned to look at me. He pointed at the seat beneath me and said coldly, "Last night, she sat right there, wrapped her legs around my waist and kissed me. I couldn't hold back. We had sex in the car. "I guess I'm no different from any other man. I finally understand Luca. Ilaria really does have more fire in her than you." Luca was my ex-husband and Matteo's half-brother. Ilaria had been my only friend since childhood. Three years ago, I walked in on the two of them in my bedroom. The shock caused a late-term miscarriage. When I fell into the dark, Matteo was my light. And now he had betrayed me the same way.

Before the wedding began, Rosien Valmont, the vampire prince, chained me to the blood altar. A dagger carved with a blood curse was pressed against my heart. "Give Bertha your blood one more time and I'll honor the blood pact. Otherwise the wedding is off." Rosien and I had loved each other for 200 years. He swore in front of the whole clan that he would make me his princess. Then, three years ago, everything changed when he brought Bertha Bell, a dying human, home. Whenever her illness flared, Rosien cut open my chest to draw my blood. On every full moon, pain ripped through my body as though my flesh were being torn apart. Bertha Bell lay pale in his arms. "Rosien, let it go! Katherine has waited a long time for this wedding. If she doesn't want to, I don't mind dying." When he looked at me again, there was nothing in his eyes but impatience. "Bertha saved my life. You're only giving up a few drops of blood." He pushed the dagger in another inch. "You begged for this wedding in the first place. I can call it off whenever I want. But if you're willing to give Bertha your blood, I'll still make you my princess." I looked down at the ring on my finger and laughed softly. "One last time." Rosien had no idea that this was the 99th time he had taken my blood. In three days, when the blood moon rose, the Founder bloodline sealed within me would fully awaken. I would take control of the clan.

After finding out I'm pregnant again, I decide to check the trust fund I set up for my deceased daughter, Ivy Stewart. To my shock, I learn that someone has been withdrawing money from the account for the last five years. The first withdrawal happened the day Ivy passed away. Every year since, five million dollars has been withdrawn from the trust fund on Ivy's death anniversary, all transferred to the same account. Over dinner, I bring it up to my husband, William Stewart. He nonchalantly explains, "Ivy's death hit me hard, so I decided to do some charity work in her memory. I've been providing financial support to a little boy with leukemia all these years. He's a pitiful child, just like Ivy." Nevertheless, I still feel uncomfortable about the whole situation. "Why didn't you discuss things with me first?" Before William gets to say anything, my mother-in-law, Martha Cook, snaps at me, "Doing charity is a good thing! Why would William need to discuss it with you first? It's not like we can't spare the money. He's doing it in Ivy's memory, so don't be so petty!" I stop asking questions, but I secretly approach the fund manager, Shane Mitchell, and tell him I want to visit the boy. However, the fund manager looks at me, shocked. "Isn't the recipient your child? The money was transferred from the trust fund account with the explicit designation that it was for the child's education!"

I had just closed a ten-million-dollar deal. I was overjoyed and ready to go on a honeymoon trip with my husband, Braxton Darnell, to celebrate. However, just outside his study room, I overheard him talking to his assistant, William Goodwin. “For tomorrow’s flight, switch Adeline’s ticket to Vivienne’s.” My hand, which was about to push the door open, froze in midair. William hesitated. “But isn’t this supposed to be your honeymoon with Mrs. Darnell? “She has been looking forward to this for three months and pulled multiple all-nighters to clear her schedule. She was even hospitalized two days ago.” Braxton spoke as though this were a given. “Vivienne just got out of a relationship. She’s a mess right now. I’m worried she might do something stupid. “Adeline is already legally my wife. What’s the big deal if she gives up one honeymoon so I can be there for a friend? “When I get back, I’ll agree to give her a wedding ceremony. That’ll make it up to her.” The next day at the airport, Braxton pressed his hand over mine and explained, “The system must have glitched and booked the wrong ticket. You just wrapped up a huge deal. It’s the perfect time for you to rest at home. “While you’re at it, look into some wedding planners. Once I’m back, we’ll have the wedding.” I watched in silence as Vivienne pulled her suitcase and went through security. Seven years of being legally married to Braxton, and all I got in return was him going off to be another woman’s emotional crutch. She could have the wedding and the title of legal wife. I was done being Mrs. Darnell.

Everyone around us knows I'm in love with Ryland Wood. But from his 21st birthday on, he despises me. It takes three years and my accidental death for him to finally be free of me. When I open my eyes again, I find myself reborn, right back on the day of his 21st birthday. This time, I choose to run. Now, I refuse to be the lovesick fool, and I refuse to cling to him.

While my husband, Don Raffaele Borgia, is away on a business trip, I drive out to a warehouse on the outskirts of the city to take care of some business. I log into the car's navigation system and enter my destination, but the familiar mechanical voice is nowhere to be heard. Instead, a sweet, soft female voice comes through. "Amore mio, Alice will be your navigator today. Hearing my voice will be just like having me right by your side. You'll reach your destination in ten minutes." The car falls silent. I freeze in the driver's seat. Who the hell is Alice? I tighten my grip on the steering wheel and immediately call Raffaele. "When did you change the voice on your car's navigation system to some woman named Alice?" There's a noticeable pause in his breathing on the other end. Then he chuckles. "Oh, Alice Conti, my secretary. She borrowed my car to run an errand a while back. She probably changed it herself. What's wrong? Is the voice bothering you?" He sounds a little too casual. "I'll delete the voice pack when I get back. Don't overthink it. Alice and I are strictly business." Without asking more questions, I hang up and open the navigation history, only to notice the same address appears more than ten times. I start the car and follow the directions. Eventually, I pull up outside a familiar villa. My heart sinks when I look up and recognize the place.

The day before the Imperial Academy trial, my online boyfriend told me his friend had drawn me as his partner. Before I could even process what he meant, he dragged me into a group chat. "Congratulations, Liam! You drew yourself a 200-pound partner!" Right after that, someone posted a photo of me from three years ago for everyone to see. In it, I wore an XL ceremonial robe, my face so chubby my ears practically disappeared. The chat instantly exploded with laughter. "God, that's not a werewolf. That's a porcupine on two legs." "A bet's a bet, Liam. You drew her yourself!" "Who says his partner is useless? She could sit on the prey and crush it to death! Hahaha!" Before long, someone started a betting pool. They were betting on whether I'd dare show up for the trial the next day. My online boyfriend bet 10,000 gold coins that I wouldn't. "Don't blame me, guys. You drew her yourself!" Liam, the werewolf who had drawn me, didn't say a word. Then Claire, the girl everyone in the chat had crowned the prettiest girl at the academy, suddenly tagged me. "Sweetie, don't listen to them. You'll still come tomorrow, won't you?" I watched the insults fly across the screen and laughed. None of them knew I'd lost 100 pounds for this trial, dropping from 200 pounds to 100. For the past two months, I couldn't leave the house without some werewolf hitting on me. Without saying a word, I placed my own bet. 30,000 gold coins that I'd show up on time.

All of New York knew that Caspian Solis, the Don of the Solis family, worshipped the ground I walked on. Then an ambush left him with amnesia. Not only did he forget me and our twenty years together, but he also mistook his secretary, Ivy, for the love of his life. He tossed our matching bracelets and stared at me with dead eyes. "You are not my type. Ivy is the woman I love." My heart shattered. I tried everything to help him remember. Until I overheard a conversation between him and his right-hand man: "Don, how long are you going to keep this up? What if your wife finds out you are faking the amnesia?" Caspian exhaled a cloud of cigar smoke, completely unbothered. "She won't." "I just want to have some fun while I am young. Eating the same meal every day gets stale, doesn't it?" "When I have had my fill, I will tell her my memory came back. After all, Lorelai is the one I truly love." Standing outside the door, I felt violently sick. A thought sparked in my mind: If Caspian could fake amnesia to play me, why couldn't I? So, I accidentally fell down a flight of stairs. When I woke up, I locked eyes with Caspian's ally and biggest rival—Zane, the most feared Don in New York. I smiled and threw myself into his arms. "There you are, darling."

I accidentally discovered that my boyfriend's group chat with his friends had a nickname for me: the "Prank Endurance Queen." Every month, they held a vote to decide what they would do to me next. Some suggested pretending my boyfriend wanted to break up with me. Others wanted him to sleep with his girl best friend, Yvonne Mercer. Someone even put up two thousand dollars, betting on how long it would take me to cry after I found her pregnancy test report. For the past three years, I'd thought every one of those incidents had just been some terrible coincidence. Then tonight, they tricked me into coming to what I thought was my own proposal. There were roses, a ring, even a live band. Cole Lawson dropped to one knee and asked me to marry him. I had barely nodded when confetti suddenly burst into the air, and huge words flashed across the screen behind me. [CONGRATULATIONS! THIS MONTH'S PRANK WAS A SUCCESS! TIME: 47 SECONDS.] His wealthy friends nearly doubled over laughing, some of them slapping the table. Cole got to his feet and casually handed the ring to Yvonne, letting her play with it. "After all the times we've pranked you, how are you still falling for this?" Someone called out from the crowd, "Hey, future Mrs. Lawson, let's make next month's prank a big one!" I thought of Cole's profile picture in the group chat, the one that had placed the biggest bets on me for three years straight. Then I suddenly started laughing too. "Sure. Let's break up."

Graduation season arrived, and my boyfriend's childhood friend, an influencer, posted a video titled "The Four of Us Through the Years." It went viral overnight. Viewers envied the friendship the four of them had maintained for ten years, and many began shipping her with my boyfriend as childhood sweethearts. What no one knew was that I had filmed every piece of footage and written every word. The video was twenty minutes long, yet my name never appeared, and neither did my face. When I asked my boyfriend why, he replied flatly, "You didn't come along until college. You weren't part of those years." Later, I found a folder on his childhood friend's computer. Every clip that included me had been cut out and placed inside. The folder was labeled: [Outsider in Frame.] My boyfriend had even reminded them in their private group chat: [Make sure you get every last bit. Don't spoil the whole 'four of us' thing.] I didn't argue. I simply revoked their permission to use any of my footage. If there was no room for me in their memories, then they could stop using my footage to relive them.

Six months after Ryan Holt returned to our marriage, he was still trying to quit Winnie Lowe. For his birthday, I made him a chocolate cake from scratch. The moment he saw it, he said without thinking, "Too bad she prefers matcha." I'd never been afraid of thunder. But one night, with lightning flashing and thunder crashing outside, he pulled me into his arms in his sleep and murmured, "Don't be afraid." On Winnie's birthday, I watched him enter a long string of numbers from memory. He tossed and turned all night, but somehow stopped himself from making the call. He even set our wedding photo as his lock screen. Across it, he'd written in red: "Remember, this is the woman you love." "You have a responsibility to this family." He had to constantly remind himself because although he'd come home physically, emotionally, he was still with Winnie. And suddenly, I realized there was no point in clinging to this marriage anymore. Maybe it was time to let go.