Short Stories & Novels

I was shattered to learn that my precious child was not mine. My own flesh and blood was gone forever. I was not going to crumble under the weight of the revelation or consume myself with hysteria or grief. Instead, I channeled my pain into putting my mother-in-law behind bars and breaking my husband before moving on with my life.

My dad called me right after I got paid. He said my little brother needed money for school, Grandma had medical bills, and there was still the rent, water, and electricity. Then, at the end of the call, he admitted he’d lost money gambling. I sat in the security booth, rubbing my bad leg, completely lost for what to do. A car horn blared, and I quickly raised the security bar. Just one look and you could tell how expensive the car was. It belonged to the boss, who had a thing for amputees. Damn it.

As I was cleaning up the house, I noticed something had fallen out of the cabinet my wife always kept locked tight. I remembered Megan's constant warnings. "That cabinet holds all our family's important records. If anything gets lost, there's no getting it back. Just leave it alone and don't touch it." Worried something valuable might have fallen out, I rushed to pick it up. But what I found was a thick stack of remittance slips. From forty years ago to now, every month, my wife had been sending money to the same account. And that's when it hit me. My wife had been lying to me. The money I'd been pouring into this family had been flowing right out, into the hands of someone else.

Leo Payton has been straight for the past 20 years of his life. However, he realizes he's gay after sleeping with his best friend's elder brother, Archer Lacelle. Leo ties himself up with Archer's tie and says, "Archie, you know that I've never had a girlfriend since I was young."

After setting a date with my online boyfriend to meet in person on New Year's Eve, I prepare a dress that will drive him mad. I also prepare a gift for him. To my surprise, he brings his twin brother with him. That's not all—he's only reserved one hotel room. I laugh when I see the identical faces before me.

My cancer relapses in the middle of the night. I beg my husband to take me to the hospital, but he turns and leaves to be with his true love. Before leaving, he says, "Your acting is getting more believable." All I get in return for a decade of my love is a broken heart. Later, his true love gets in an accident and needs to be operated on. I decide to let go and give them the happy ending they always want, so I donate my heart to her. My husband has always detested me, but he loses his mind after my death.

An unscrupulous company discharges toxic wastewater into the river, causing my whole family to be poisoned because we rely on that river for survival. Everyone in my family, including my aunts and uncles, lives in the same village. We're all waiting for an urgent antidote delivery to save our lives. My boyfriend is Harrison Somers, and his company is the only one with the antidote. So, I ask him for it. He agrees to come but doesn't show up after a long time. Ultimately, my family members die after being tormented by the toxic wastewater because they don't have the antidote. Meanwhile, Harrison shows up at the hospital with his childhood sweetheart because she accidentally sliced her finger while peeling a fruit.

On our fifth wedding anniversary, my husband was in a car accident and lost his memory. He forgot everyone, including me, but he clung to his young assistant, Sophie. "The first person I saw when I opened my eyes was her. She's the most important person in my life. I want to marry her!" he exclaimed. Sophie, tears streaming down her face, pleaded with me, "Nadine, I'm sick. My only wish in this life is to marry the one I love. Please, have mercy and let us be together." Even my husband's so-called loyal friends, who had always referred to me as "sister-in-law," suddenly turned on me, urging me to step aside for their sake. Watching Lawrence's overly dramatic performance, I swallowed my pain and forced a smile. "Fine. I'll grant you your wish." After all, Sophie really was sick. It just wasn't cancer—it was something else.

While visiting a property development with my fiancé to buy our first home, I ran into a two-faced real estate agent.   She showered my fiancé with compliments, praising him for being young and successful enough to afford a Rolls-Royce.   Then, she suggested I was a fake socialite with a knockoff designer bag, implying that I was just using my charms to snag a free house.   When she found out the property was meant to be a marital home, her voice grew loud enough for everyone nearby to hear.   “I just think the sugar daddy who bought you those two properties last time treated you pretty well!” “Oh, wait. Miss Gwen, don’t you have several sugar daddies? Do they all know about each other?”   I chuckled. What she didn’t know was that my “sugar daddies” were my godfathers and I really was a socialite.   The kicker, though, was that my so-called wealthy fiancé wasn’t rich at all. In fact, he was just a scholarship student I had been financially supporting!

The day I had a miscarriage, nobody showed up to see me in the hospital. I saw on Jonah's social media that he was celebrating his first love's birthday. My son, who I raised for nine years, was also there and gave her a handmade gift. However, in the ten years we have been married, Jonah has never celebrated my birthday. I have never received a gift from my son, either. I suddenly felt exhausted and told him I wanted a divorce. That night, he rushed home and said, "It's just a miscarriage. Why are you making such a big deal out of it?" My son added, "Mom, you're an adult. Can't you take better care of yourself?"

By six, Amelia had whipped up a six-dish dinner with soup—Chad Felton's favorites, of course. By seven, she'd prepped his bath, complete with rose petals and candles. By eight, his slippers were perfectly lined up by the door. At nine, Chad finally strolled in. Amelia stepped up, taking his suit jacket. "Eat first or bathe?" she asked, setting the slippers in front of him and hanging the jacket. "Bathe," he muttered, eyes glued to his phone.

A week after I gave birth via C-section, Mark Whitman invited his friends over to celebrate the birth of our son. The crowd was boisterous—more than a dozen people. Not one of them bothered to remove their dirty shoes. The wooden floor was soon covered in muddy footprints. Mark came into the room and, without a hint of concern, ordered me out of bed. "Everyone's waiting outside. Don't just hide here and rest—you're embarrassing me in front of our guests." I had no choice but to push through the pain, forcing my body to prepare a huge meal for the large crowd, all on my own. When I carried the final bowl of steaming soup to the table, Lily Hoyte—whether intentionally or not—jabbed her hand against the wound on my abdomen. My hand trembled from the sudden pain, and the bowl slipped slightly, spilling the hot soup onto Lily's shoes. Mark's face darkened instantly. "What the heck did you do, Cammy? Lily rushed here right after her plane landed from overseas to see our son, and this is how you treat her?" The crowd quickly chimed in. "Come on, Cammy, no need to be so petty." "Mark and Lily grew up together. If there was really something between them, do you think you'd even be here now?" "Do you even know how much those shoes cost? They're limited edition—easily over ten thousand dollars. And you just ruined them." Lily stood up awkwardly, her eyes misting with tears. "If Cammy doesn't like me," she said softly, "then I'll leave. I don't want to be a bother." But Mark grabbed her hand in an exaggerated display of protection, his voice harsh as he turned to me. "Wipe Lily's shoes clean. Right now." His partiality for Lily made something sharp twist in my chest. My lips quivered as I fought back tears. "The wound on my stomach hasn't healed yet. I can't bend over." At that, his expression grew colder. "Don't use childbirth as an excuse. If you can't bend over, then kneel and wipe them. And if you won't, get out of my house!"

Willow Warma was known to be a well-behaved lady in the circle of socialites. The wildest thing she had ever done was dating her brother’s rival for three years behind his back and letting him take countless intimate videos of her.

Before Valentine's Day, I received a message from Caleb Spencer. It was a screenshot of a seven-figure bill for a necklace. It was meant for me, but he bought it for another woman. I didn't cry or make a scene. Instead, I quietly kept cleaning the house. Since we got married, every month brought new gossip about Caleb. Some came from the internet, some from nosy friends, and some even from Caleb himself. By now, I'd become the joke of the whole social circle. But it didn't matter. This life wasn't going to last much longer anyway.

My name is Brandon Westin, and I'm Carlisle Grayson's secretary and secret lover. No matter how cold he acts toward me, how much he humiliates me, or how often he "lends" me off to other people, I still choose to stick with him without any remorse or complaints. His friends call me a shameless lapdog. Carlisle calls me a twink, often blaming me for "turning him gay" and thus ruining his life. However, when I finally choose to leave him, he looks at me with red-rimmed eyes and asks, "How can you say that you don't love me?"

I was pregnant. On my way to deliver documents to Tristan Goldberg, a flash flood struck. Desperate, I dialed his number, praying he’d answer. After a few rings, the call connected. But instead of Tristan, a woman’s voice answered. "Tristan, whose number is this? Do you want to answer it?" There was a brief pause, and then Tristan’s voice, cold and indifferent, cut through. "It’s just my maid. Ignore it. Hang up." And just like that, the call disconnected. Staring at the torrent rising around me, my pulse quickened. I texted him, begging for him to send a rescue team. Minutes passed as the waters climbed to my waist, churning and relentless. Then, a message from Tristan finally appeared. Tristan: [What kind of ridiculous story are you making up now?] Tristan: [Emily, do you think you're eighteen, playing these childish games? I want that document in my hands within thirty minutes, or we're getting divorced.] A surge of terror shot through me as I looked up, catching sight of a heavy branch snapping loose and crashing down. In an instant, everything went dark.

My daughter has been kidnapped, and the kidnapper is asking for five million dollars as ransom. I can just about scrounge the money together, but the kidnapper makes it clear that he wants a life in exchange for my daughter's. He'll take the money and kill the person who brings it to him. I smoke throughout the night, my eyes bloodshot as I try to think of something. Then, I fix my gaze on my mother, who is now senile and insane.

On the highway, a chain-reaction crash happened out of nowhere. I was left with a fractured skull, barely hanging on. When my husband—who's a well-known respiratory specialist—showed up, he didn't even look at me. He rushed past, straight to his first love. She had nothing more than a scrape on her arm. I tried to call out for help, but he just turned and looked at me like I was being dramatic. "You're fine. Don't act like you're so fragile," he snapped, brushing me off like my pain didn't matter. At the hospital, things only got worse. He used his position to get every bit of attention, monopolizing the medical staff, and as my supposed sole family member, he signed the papers to abandon my treatment. "It's just a fractured skull," he said, sounding totally calm. "Save the woman in my arms first. She's a renowned painter. She's more important." As I started to lose consciousness, his muttered words cut through the fog, "You're better off dead. We don't want anyone knowing about Leona's drunk driving."

At six in the evening, Allen Bennett prepared a perfect dinner, with each dish carefully chosen to match Sarah Foster's preferences. By seven, he had run her bath, adding lavender essential oils and rose petals to the warm water, filling the bathroom with a calming fragrance. By eight, he placed her comfortable slippers by the entrance, awaiting her return. At nine, the front door finally opened. Sarah walked in, and Allen immediately went to greet her. With practiced grace, he helped her out of her coat and placed her slippers before her feet, then hung the coat in the entryway closet. Turning to her with a gentle smile, he asked, "Would you prefer to have your bath first or would you like to eat?"

My husband's true love had kidney cancer 30 years ago. He gave up his fortune so she could participate in a cryogenic freezing experiment. He even tricked me into signing an organ donation consent form. "You're contributing to the country's scientific research!" Today, technology is much more advanced. My husband decides to revive his true love and treat her cancer. He also asks me to have my kidney transplanted in her body. After I say no, my son frowns. "How can you be so selfish? It's just a kidney." My husband is furious. "You're already dying, but her life will restart once she's revived from the cryogenic freezing!" My family forces me into the operation theater. My husband's even the one who handles the surgery. What he doesn't know is that I've already donated a kidney for the sake of his career. He loses his mind once he slices my abdomen open.