Scumbag Tragic Love Short Stories & Novels

My husband claimed my pregnant belly disgusted him. So on New Year's Eve, he left me behind and took his secretary out instead. When I finally breached his private suite, she was moaning from his lap and reeking of my wedding perfume. At seven months pregnant, the shock and fury ruptured my amniotic sac. But the secretary told him I had simply lost control of my bladder to cause a scene. Believing I was just being overly emotional, my husband locked me in the closet. For the next few hours, he rang in the new year with his secretary before finally ending my punishment. Unfortunately, when he finally opened our nursery door, his face turned pale at the sight of her tiny white urn.

My coming-of-age ceremony was supposed to be a celebration. My father, the Alpha of Alphas, had invited every powerful pack in the land. His goal: for me to choose a mate from the land's strongest Alphas. I chose the most powerful of them all, Alpha Lukas. But my sister Lyla, my father's bastard, was only allowed a lowly beta. She was slaughtered in the forest. After her death, Lukas and I crafted 99 soul crystals in her memory. I thought he did it for me, to honor my fallen sister. But then he killed me in battle. With his bare hands. "You bitch! If you hadn't chosen me, Lyla would have been my mate!" Only then did I learn the truth. He had only ever loved Lyla. He hated me for stealing the life that should have been hers. Those 99 soul crystals… they weren't for her memory. They were for my penance. I died in a sea of despair. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day of my ceremony. Facing the most powerful Alphas in the world, I walked past them all and chose the one no one wanted. The half-breed outcast despised by all. Salome.

The pair of pink diamonds I've had my eye on for the longest time is finally auctioned off for a staggering price. Outside the auction hall, the young woman who won the bid is talking sweetly to someone on the phone. "Babe, you really don't have to come all the way here. Margot will be with me, so I'm good… Okay, fine. Love you!" I watch her with slight envy. Those pink diamonds are supposed to be my fifth-anniversary wedding gift. Before the auction, I've called my husband, Gabriel Hudson, and asked if he could come with me. But he said it was a trivial matter and that I could handle the bidding myself. The woman was on the phone earlier, and from what I could make out, they're planning to have dinner together to celebrate. My rideshare arrives. I'm about to leave when the woman suddenly shouts excitedly, "Margot, over here!" I follow her gaze. The person approaching is none other than my housekeeper, Margot Lawrence.

"Your Highness, are you really going to secretly take blood from Miss Jerryton's heart and treat Miss Mullery with it?" The elderly imperial physician's hand that held the dagger trembled. The candlelight reflected the cold sweat on his forehead. Arrisa Jerryton lay on the bed. Her thin body sank into the luxurious quilt, and her face was as white as the first snow of winter. Louis Xavier spoke in a tone colder than the snow outside the palace. "Yes. I already fed her anesthetic powder. She is in a coma and will not wake up. Hurry up."

The day after my twin sister died in an accident, I married her fiancé, the man who was supposed to be my brother-in-law. That very day, Mark Zeller printed thousands of copies of my sister's death report and told everyone I was the real murderer. Because of this, everyone despised me, and my parents immediately disowned me. After we got married, he was constantly in the tabloids with his flings and brought countless women home. He'd make me stand by the bedroom door, listening to them making love. Then, after he was done, he'd make me take photos of him and his lovers in bed. I silently endured it all. My only request was to have a baby with him. Mark scoffed. "Gloria Hale, how can you be so shameless? If you're so desperate to sleep with a man, just go out and find one. Instead, you're begging for it at my feet like an animal. Aren't you disgusted with yourself? "You think having my baby will make me change my ways? Let me tell you, never!" To crush my hopes, he went even further and spent a fortune to build a castle in the suburbs. Every single room in that castle housed one of his lovers. The people in our social circle said, "Mark's mistresses are way lovelier than his wife at home who only knows how to wag her tail like a dog." Three years later, Mark's mother sent me a text to remind me: "Gloria, remember our agreement. Three years are almost up. You have one more week to sort everything out."

At Port Calloway's biggest racetrack, a wager is underway. But it isn't on the horses. It's on a person. Everyone is betting on when I, Mallory Abernathy, the disgraced Ridgemont heiress who won't stop clinging to Alden Van Alstyne, will finally divorce him and get lost. They mock me and laugh, and every one of them is betting I won't leave. Alden raises an eyebrow. "Where's the fun in a bet with no suspense?" At that moment, I'm standing behind a pillar just thirty feet away, clutching my pregnancy test results. My heart keeps sinking. I call him. He answers, but he sounds thoroughly irritated. "You've called five times today to check up on me, Mallory. Don't you have any self-respect?" After he hangs up, he takes another call, and his face softens so much it leaves me dazed. "Why are you crying? I'm sending someone to get you right now. As long as I'm here, no one in Port Calloway can touch you." I stare at him, lost. The courage I've clung to for so long seems to burst all at once. I find the bartender nearby and hand him my debit card. "Place a bet for me. Put it on Mallory Abernathy getting divorced."

I spent decades taking care of my kid and the elderly. I ignored my stomach pain until it turned into cancer. By the end, it had eaten me alive. Before I died, I went back to my old family home to sort through my stuff. That's when I found Danny's diary. My dead husband's diary. Hidden for fifteen years. I carefully flipped through it until I reached the last page. [Some loves are worth dying for. Alicia, I'm coming with you.] The diary never mentioned me. Not once. Page after page, it was all Alicia. That was when I learned Danny hadn't died in an accident. He and Alicia Doyle—the woman he never got over—had chosen to die together. I sank onto a chair and stared at his framed photo. "Danny Caldwell, if you loved her that much, did you regret marrying me?" Blood filled my throat. I threw his picture to the floor. "Because I regret marrying you." When I opened my eyes again, I was back in the past. This time, I refused to rot in a loveless marriage. I walked out and never looked back. He smirked and told his friends, "She'll crawl back. Bet she won't last three hours." But three hours passed. Then three days. Then three months. I never came back. Later, he asked when I'd return to him. My answer was simple. "Never."

Three years into our marriage, Sean Gibson returns from every field trip with a begonia for me. I am not a plant person, but his influence rubs off on me, and against all odds, they thrive under my care. I asked him once, "Why always begonias? Why not something else?" Sean was pinching back stems. Leaves scattered across the balcony as he replied, "You remind me of them." One day, I am sorting through old boxes at home and find a scrapbook. On the title page sits a single character, B, written in his handwriting. He claims it is just a random scribble, so I don't think much of it. Right before my birthday, he asks what I want. I tell him I want a snow-capped begonia. I say I already mixed the soil and even mapped out the exact spot for it. He freezes for a second, then chuckles and says, "Okay." On my birthday, he forgets again. His phone screen lights up. "Sean, thanks for the snow-capped begonia. So, you didn't forget after all." As I look at the begonias spilling from the balcony all the way into the bedroom, a wave of mixed emotions washes over me. He didn't forget. He just gave it to his ex, whom he broke up with seven years ago. It turns out he never meant I remind him of the flower. He meant I remind him of her.

Five years into our marriage, I still hadn't gotten pregnant. The doctor said my fallopian tubes were blocked and that conceiving would be difficult. Even so, my husband, Lucas Enright, loved me with all his heart. Then, on our anniversary, he called and promised me a surprise I'd never forget. But when the estate gates swung open, a pregnant young woman stood outside. The smile froze on my face. Lucas didn't notice. He kissed the top of my head, beaming. "Freya, once we have this baby, the elders in my family will finally stop pressuring you about not having kids." When he saw how pale I was and noticed me trembling, he quickly pulled me into his arms. "Isabella is nothing more than a surrogate. Once she gives birth, we'll send her on her way. "If you don't like having her around, I'll put her in the guest room. You won't even have to see her." I swallowed my hurt and told myself he'd simply gone too far. Surely he still cared about me. But later that night, I walked past the guest room carrying a glass of warm milk on a tray. Through the half-open door, I saw the man who claimed to love me with all his heart tenderly kissing Isabella's pregnant belly. "Baby, grow strong and healthy. In a few more months, we'll get to meet you. "Mommy and Daddy can't wait for you to get here!" In that moment, I realized I was the real outsider in this house, and I always had been!

After Lyra Beaumont, a financially disadvantaged student I sponsored, was sexually harassed at work, she came close to taking her own life. I paid to open a pottery shop for her so she could run her own business. When Forrest Croft found out, he spoke with open disdain. "There's no smoke without fire. Why do you insist on bringing someone like her into our lives? Don't blame anyone else if you end up getting hurt." I stared at him in disbelief. "Forrest, how can you say something so cruel?" After that argument, I left the country in a huff and spent two months abroad. There were 58 ceramic mugs in the display cabinet in our living room. During a video call, Forrest proudly announced what he had been up to. "Honey, I've been stopping by her shop every day to support her business. You must be happy now, right?" Seeing the tenderness in his eyes, I suddenly felt a little guilty for being so stubborn. I changed my ticket to the earliest available flight and rushed home, hoping to surprise him. But the moment I opened the front door, I heard wet, squelching sounds coming from our bedroom. "Forrest, you take a mug every time we're done. My hands are getting sore." "That's barely anything. I'm going to fill that cabinet." I stared at the 58 mugs in the cabinet, and suddenly the whole thing seemed absurd. Two months. Sixty days. Fifty-eight times. He had not just been supporting her business. He had been sleeping with her in my bed too.

Ten years into our secret relationship, Alex pulled out a ring at a yacht party. He leaned against the deck railing, his tone lazy. "Actually, I'm planning to propose tonight. " The crowd erupted instantly. Someone whistled, someone pounded on a table telling him to get down on one knee, and guessed who the mystery woman he'd kept hidden for ten years might be. I stood at the back of the crowd, so nervous my breathing came in ragged bursts. For ten years, Alex had never publicly acknowledged our relationship. During the hardest days of his startup, he said investors didn't like founders weighed down by romantic attachments. Then, once he became New York's most sought-after biotech rising star, the excuse became that the board and the media loved scrutinizing his personal life. Time after time, I believed he just wasn't ready yet. For him, I gave up a research position at Harvard, lost our child, and didn't even make it to my mother's bedside before she died. And now, he had finally pulled out a ring. Without even thinking, I reached for the pair of dark blue cufflinks in my pocket. I had spent three months of my savings to craft them as a tenth-anniversary gift. But he didn't stop in front of me. He brushed past me, walked up to Lillian, who had just returned to New York after ending her second marriage in Europe, and dropped to one knee. The deck fell silent for a heartbeat, then erupted into even louder cheers. Alex slid the ring onto Lillian's finger, and smiled carelessly. "See? Told you she wouldn't dare make a scene even after seeing the ring. Ten years, and when has she ever really stood up to me?" Lillian looked past his shoulder at me, undisguised triumph gleaming in her eyes. So the proposal hadn't been spontaneous. They had bet on whether I would make a scene. I wiped the tears from the corners of my eyes and turned to leave. So ten years really could be worth this little.

Three years into our marriage, my husband, Derek, confessed that he'd met his true love. He sat across from me, eyes brimming with sincerity. "I was too young back then. You were the only person I ever dated, and I rushed into marriage. "It wasn't until I met Vivian that I understood what real love is. "Just sign the divorce papers already. Set me free." I glanced at the scar on his temple. Without a word, I signed the papers.

On the night before the college entrance exam, my boyfriend misdialed and called my number to confess his feelings to the school beauty. "Adele, you promised that if I willingly skipped the exam for you, you'd be my girlfriend. "That idiot Sadie already gave up her university early admission spot for me. Tomorrow, I'll be standing right outside the testing center with a massive bouquet of flowers waiting for you. I'm going to prove to you once and for all that my heart is yours!" In the background, a rowdy chorus of his friends cheered him on. "Trading a top scorer for the prettiest girl in school. You're a legend, Mark!" "When you two officially get together, you better throw a party!" "A match made in heaven!" Mark told them to quiet down, then anxiously asked into the phone, "Adele, are you happy?" I gripped my phone, unable to utter a single word. Because I wasn't Adele, I was the "idiot Sadie" he was talking about. Mark was my high school sweetheart, the very same boy who, just ten minutes ago, had texted me encouraging words to do well on the college entrance exam tomorrow so we could go to the same college together. After hanging up, I sat in the quiet for a long time. Then, I opened my contacts and called my guidance counselor. "Mr. Simpson, that early admission spot? I'm taking it back."

Zoe Lincoln was known as one of the ugliest women in her social circle. Her heavy bangs covered half her face, and her thick black-framed glasses looked like they had lenses made from the bottoms of soda bottles. She always wore dull, muddy foundation and dark lipstick that blurred the natural shape of her lips. If she walked down the street, no one would give her a second glance. But what nobody knew was that Zoe made herself look unattractive on purpose. And it was all because of her mother. Zoe’s mother had once been a renowned beauty. Her father had pursued her relentlessly until she finally agreed to marry him. Yet less than three years into their marriage, he'd begun cheating on her repeatedly. Her mother's heartbreak gradually turned to despair, and eventually, she fell into a deep depression and died.

"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.

When the kidnapper fired the gun, I shielded Scott with my body. The bullet pierced my heart, and I was sent overseas to have my heart exchanged with an artificial one—one that ran on a battery. Because of this heart, Scott married me, and my friends congratulated me for finally having my wish granted, for finally marrying my childhood sweetheart. Later, when I laid there on the operating table with my chest cut open, he was kissing another woman under the moonlight. I didn't react to this in the slightest, recovering my heart in silence. Scott resented my numbness, grabbing my shoulders as he demanded, "Wendy, aren't you angry about this?" He didn't know the reason, and to be honest, it was quite simple. Why be angry when my heart was on the verge of giving out? Every passionate day he spent chasing after love… Was another tick in the countdown to the end of my life.

On our anniversary, Gus King overslept again. When he woke up, I was curling my lashes in front of the mirror. He looked apologetic. “I’m still adjusting to the time difference. Please try to understand.” For the past month, he and a junior labmate had been traveling around the world collecting marine samples. I calmly put away my mascara. “It’s fine. I made plans with a friend instead. This makeup is too nice to let go to waste.” He relaxed, though his expression turned a little strange. After all, in the past, I would have thrown a fit and cried at him. Gus hugged me from behind and smiled. “You’re getting so mature, sweetheart. By the way, I saw the new photos you posted. Where did you go?” “Oh, Seaview City,” I said casually. “While you were away in the North Isles.” He froze. I’d spent the whole first year of our relationship begging Gus to take me to Seaview City to see the ocean. He always said he’d take me when he had time. For our second, third, and fourth anniversaries, he kept telling me to be more understanding, then headed off with his junior labmate to their next destination. In the fifth year of our relationship, I suddenly stopped waiting. It turned out that traveling alone was pretty fun too.

On the fourth day after my son's death, I decided to secretly dissolve my military marriage with my husband. Before that, I had three days to settle everything for my son. On the first day, I tricked my husband into signing the cremation papers. On the second day, I went to the school and collected the textbooks my son would never get to use. On the third day, I cooked a table full of dishes and begged my husband to celebrate our son's last birthday. He agreed, but soon after claimed he had a mission. Instead, he spent the entire night setting off fireworks with his childhood sweetheart. That night, I cooked. Then, I sat alone before my son's photo and ate all my son's favorite foods. The next day, my husband returned, guilt flickering in his eyes as he handed me a brand-new backpack. He said it was a gift for our child's first day of school. But he didn't know—our child would never have a first day of school.

Cecilia Langston is one of the A-list stars in the film industry, the actress every director dreams of working with. That is, until she boards a plane to accept the Best Actress award she's sure to win. Explicit photos of her flood the internet and go viral. By the time she steps off the plane, everyone goes from admiring Cecilia to despising her. She checks the news on her phone. The announcement says she's been stripped of her Best Actress award nomination. When she looks up, hundreds of nude photos of herself stare back at her. "You shameless woman! Get out of the entertainment industry!" "You use nude photos to get ahead, and you think you deserve an award? Don't insult everyone watching!"

Ever since I got pregnant, stepping on the scale has been my biggest fear. My husband, Greyson Lewis, had a rule: if I weighed even a little more than I had the week before, he’d cut off my living expenses for the following week. He said our friends had been laughing at him ever since I got pregnant, mocking him for marrying a pig. Of all days, I happened to gain two pounds on the day of my anatomy scan. The bill came to $1,680, but he’d locked me out of both my bank card and the supplementary card he’d given me. When we got home, Greyson made me a plate of boiled vegetables, without even a single ear of corn. "Eat less for a couple of days. Corn and potatoes are carbs, too. You need to lose weight as quickly as possible." But in the middle of the night, I was so hungry I couldn’t sleep. I sneaked $20 out of his pocket and went to grab a late-night burger and fries. I’d barely eaten half when the police caught me. "Your husband called to report that you stole his money." Greyson rushed over and frowned at me. "So now you’ve learned to steal, too? Can’t you control your pig-like appetite for once?" Suddenly, I was just so tired of it all. I held out my hands. "Yes, I stole the money. Take me away." The officer stared at me in surprise, but Greyson only sneered. "Good. Let her spend a couple of days in jail. Maybe then she’ll stop thinking about food all day." I lowered my eyes to my swollen belly and suddenly laughed. He was right. How much weight could I lose just by eating less? Wouldn’t I lose it much faster if I got rid of the baby?