Short Stories & Novels

I made a deal with Sonia Quindt—the billionaire CEO. After I'd proposed to her ninety-nine freaking times, she swore she'd finally show up for the hundredth. Spoiler: she didn't. She was out there at some concert with her boy toy. And, of course, someone caught them on livestream. Big kiss. Big viral moment. Meanwhile, my face was plastered all over the internet too—lonely guy number one, waiting for a bride who never existed. Everyone online started making bets. Who was the mystery woman? How long until I came crawling back for the hundred-and-first proposal? Sonia, apparently struck by some last-minute guilt, promised she'd make it right next time. Said she'd actually show up. And she did. Wedding dress. Perfect makeup. Cameras ready. She got a text from me: [Sonia, there won't be a hundred-and-first proposal. We're done.]

Despite having been married for 25 years now, my wife, Sasha Fuller, and I have done it less than ten times. During our 25th wedding anniversary, however, Sasha, who has always claimed to be uninterested in intimacy, ends up doing it 30 times with a male escort at a clubhouse. The couch ends up completely drenched. This is when I realize just how wrong I've been all along. Even after her betrayal is exposed, Sasha adamantly refuses to admit to any wrongdoing. On the contrary, she starts condemning me. Hurt and upset, I proceed to spend three days arguing with her about it. Even my friends and relatives try to talk me down. "You two have been married for over 20 years now. She's even the CEO of Fuller Group. What's the big deal if she sleeps with a male escort? Don't end your marriage over something this trivial." "All these years, a live-in son-in-law like you only managed to establish yourself with the help of the Fuller family anyway. Don't be so ungrateful." With my heart in anguish, I look at Sasha and say, "Cut off all contact with him, and things between us can go back to the way they used to be." However, Sasha retrieves a pregnancy test report from her briefcase and silently takes off her wedding ring. "Colin, I'm already 45 years old. Even if you can't have children, you can't expect me to go my whole life without one as well, right?" She strokes her belly without the slightest trace of guilt in her eyes. "If you insist on making a big deal over this, then I have no choice but to divorce you." My hands, hidden by my sleeves, clench into fists briefly before falling lax again. "Let's get a divorce then." Not only am I going to get a divorce, but I'm going to give Sasha and her affair partner a big surprise.

After I register my marriage with Gabriella Archer behind everyone's backs, whenever she unlocks a new bedroom position with her childhood sweetheart, Nathaniel Taylor, she tells me that she'll throw a wedding to make it up to me. In three years, Gabriella has brought the wedding up 33 times. Of course, she has broken her promise 33 times as well. The first time she did, it was because Nathaniel's dog had died. In order to pay respects to it, Gabriella told me that she couldn't host any auspicious events for three months. I was still clad in a tux as I kept apologizing and making amends to all of our family, friends, and relatives beneath the stage. The second time Gabriella flaked out on me, it was thanks to Nathaniel's stomachache. She had the wedding car turned around so that she could buy medicine for Nathaniel and take care of him. In every wedding after that, Nathaniel would get into all sorts of troubles and ailments. I fought with Gabriella, and I lost my temper multiple times. But Gabriella often hit me with, "Nate and I are just friends with benefits. You're my actual husband here, so don't be petty." After Gabriella breaks her promise for the 33rd time, I'm finally done with her. So, I slide a divorce agreement in her direction. "The cooling-off period is over, so let's just finalize the divorce."

When the fake heiress Vivian Ashford and I were trapped in the fire, my husband Nathan Carter pulled her out first. As the flames roared higher, he just hastily said. "Wait for me." The heat made every breath burn. Ten minutes later, the firefighters finally arrived. By then, half my back had suffered deep burns, and the pain was searing. Late that night, needle-sharp pain kept me from sleeping. A woman's panicked voice rang out from the room next door. "Where am I? Who am I?" Then she screamed. "My face is ruined!" I remembered that when Vivian was rescued, she'd had only a pea-sized blister near the corner of her eye. A second later, my husband answered in a soft, soothing voice. "You lost your memory? "Don't worry. I'll take care of you for the rest of your life." I picked up my phone and calmly called my friend and lawyer, Derek Hale. "I need you to draft divorce papers for me. "And look into something else while you're at it."

The wedding's in half an hour, and my fiancé's assistant, this woman, just hands me this paper. Rule number one: No physical contact with him outside, not unless he explicitly permits it. Rule number two: Intimacy is to occur only when he initiates it. She is obligated to satisfy his desires at least once a month. Rule number three: He can demand his due at any time, any place, and she cannot refuse. ... After I finished reading this entire two-page contract, I had to fight to keep a smile on my face. Swallowing the fire in my gut, I called my fiancé. "Marcus, what the hell is this?" "What do you mean, 'If he fathers a child, she must raise it, no matter who the mother is'?"

The woman he loves marries another man on his 18th birthday. He's alone during his birthday party, and he finishes the cake himself. She deliberately pushes him away and neglects him, even skipping out on his birthday party. Unfortunately, she doesn't know that this is his last birthday ever. He's about to die, and it'll happen on her wedding day.

When my mother went into kidney failure and needed a transplant, it was Pauline Maynard—on the brink of death herself—who gave my mom a second chance at life. Just before Pauline passed, she gripped my hand tightly and whispered her final words. "Summer, Ricky is my only son. He's rebellious… and fragile. Please, take care of him. Just three years, please?" I gave her my word. Then I moved into their home and gave Ricky everything he needed—love, comfort, a sense of safety. For three years, I stayed true to that promise. By the third year, Ricky had transformed. No longer the wayward boy he once was, he rose to become the Mafia Don Ricky Lenza. And I was carrying his child. As I busied myself with wedding plans, I overheard something I was never meant to hear—his voice, low and mocking, as he wrapped another woman in his arms. "Summer? She's just pretending to love me for the sake of my mother's inheritance and a stupid deal. A gold digger like her dreams of marrying me? What a joke." A sharp pain pierced my chest, like thorns stabbing deep beneath the skin. On the way to a prenatal checkup, we were hit in a crash. My baby didn't make it. And my mother, sitting in the passenger seat, shielded me with her life. When I woke up, I stared blankly at the date on my phone. Three days left. That would've marked the end of the three-year promise. I realized then—I'd paid my debt to Pauline in full. It was time for me to go.

On Christmas Eve, our three-year-old daughter, Noelle Gilder, who has cancer, takes a turn for the worse. All she wants is for her mother, Ivana Lance, to dress as Santarina and bring her a gift. I frantically call Ivana, but she impatiently yells into the phone, saying, "Why are you calling me nonstop? I am helping Charles look for Bubbles! Do you really have to make a scene over this? If Bubbles is gone, Charles will be so heartbroken that he will not be able to sleep for days!" Bubbles? So she was looking for the dog of her first love, Charles Larsson! Suppressing my anger, I tell her that Noelle might not survive the night. She laughs disbelievingly, "Mr. Gilder, do not think for a second that I'm not aware that you've spoiled Noelle rotten! If she had not suddenly kicked Bubbles, he would not have run away. Make Noelle apologize to Charles tomorrow." After hanging up, I accompany Noelle as she spends her final Christmas Eve with tears in my eyes. The next day, Ivana publishes a post on Instagram, still looking for the dog. Meanwhile, my post is Noelle's obituary. Ten years of marriage melt away into nothingness like snow.

To cure our daughter's pancreatic cancer, I made a deal with the System, trading the rest of my life for a miracle drug. My husband called me insane to my face, but secretly gave the medicine to his mistress to treat her facial scar. When I was falling apart in despair, he had the audacity to explain: "Vicky has dreams of becoming a star. She's already 24, she can't wait any longer. "Besides, didn't you get that drug by sleeping around? How could a housewife like you possibly get such high-end medicine on your own? If you want to save our daughter, why don't you go whore yourself out again? It's not like it'll kill you, right?" But the truth is, I really don't have another life to trade for another dose.

After the heir to the most powerful family in Kingsford was drugged at a party, I accidentally became the woman he spent the night with. I slipped out before sunrise, convinced I would never see him again. The very next day, his longtime childhood sweetheart tracked me down. She casually pushed a check for two hundred thousand dollars across the table and told me to disappear overseas. I was already tempted. But the moment I reached for the check, a voice suddenly echoed in my head. “Once she takes the money, I’ll report her for extortion and send her straight to prison. “Then I’ll pretend I was the woman that night, marry into the Carter family, and let her rot in jail forever.” A cold shiver shot down my spine. Honestly, she should’ve openly told me that. Anyone with a brain could tell the difference between two hundred thousand dollars and a lifetime of wealth and power.

During a gathering with friends, my husband, Kevin Graham, was asked a question by his buddy in Froise. "What are you going to do with your lover, who's two months pregnant with your baby?" Kevin smiled while helping me cut up my steak, and he replied in Froise, "Evie doesn't like children. I'll get Kandi Chutnam to give birth to the baby and send them overseas after that. At least I'll have a child of my own." Tears streamed down my cheek as I ate my steak, and Kevin asked nervously, "What's wrong, Evie?" I wiped away my tears and replied with a smile, "I must've used too much hot sauce." However, there was no hot sauce on the table. I was crying because I understood Froise.

The day I found out I was dying, I ran into my ex-husband—yeah, the richest guy in the country—and his three-months-pregnant wife. He asked if I regretted leaving him when he got sick. I just asked for twenty grand. He told me I didn't deserve to live. What he never knew? Back then, when he was fighting leukemia, the only bone marrow match he had... was me.

To raise funds for earthquake victims, I shed my business suit and put on a simple vest, choosing to live-stream while offering a designated driver service. At 3:00 am, I take on my final job for the day—and end up running into Owen Kramer, a former high school classmate. Reeking of alcohol, he tosses the money for my service onto the ground and spits on it before telling me to pick it up. "You were the top of our class, weren't you? Why have you been reduced to working as a gig driver, huh? You need money, right? Go on, then. Pick it up. That 50 is yours." Unbeknownst to him, his nasty behavior is being live-streamed online for everyone to see. Also, I just so happen to be the CEO he's been trying to cozy up to.

I was tasked with escorting classified information back to the wolf pack with my mate. As we were about to board the plane, he claimed to have left an important document at the hotel and told me to fly back first. I agreed, but after he left, I checked his location through the location sharing on my phone. He did not go back to the hotel like he said he would; instead, he changed his route and headed into human territory. I followed in a taxi and saw a young human woman holding a child at the entrance of a mansion. "Winston, you're finally back. You have no idea how long I've been waiting for you." He took the child and kissed the woman on the lips. "I knew you missed me, so I pushed back my work with the pack to spend time with you. Wherever you are is home." I did not confront them. Instead, I called the Alpha King. "Winston Holmes, the Alpha of the Hyan pack, is colluding with human spies and selling werewolf secrets. I request that the Alpha King dispatch guards to assist me in capturing him."

Belle York, my wife, was pregnant, but on our way back from getting the diagnosis, she said, “I have something to tell you. The baby is Harry’s. I also got a notice saying that my health won’t let me have another baby after this one.” When she saw my smile freeze, she took out a paternity test. Harry Grant, my brother-in-law, was indeed listed as the father. Her voice was eerily calm. “On the day you fell asleep at the back of the jeep with fever, we did it in the passenger seat, right where I’m sitting.” In an instant, I felt like I had fallen into the abyss. I opened my mouth, but it was like something was blocking my throat. As she spoke, Belle cast her eyes on her swollen belly, and every word she spoke next was like needles stabbing into my heart. “If you can’t accept the baby, I’ll abort it, but my uterus will still be badly damaged, and I won’t get pregnant again. I’ve told you the truth now. You decide on whether I get to give birth or not.”

On the eve of our wedding, I refused Aria Carter's first love's ridiculous request to take my place as her groom for a month. In a fit of anger, he stormed off, drove onto the highway, and was killed in a car accident. That very night, Aria grabbed me by the neck and demanded, "I already agreed to marry you, so why couldn't you fulfill this one tiny wish for him?!" To avenge her first love, she brought in a stand-in to replace him and punished me day and night. Not only did she abort our child, but she also framed my dad for illegal fundraising, forcing him to die in prison. Unable to take the shock, my mom suffered a heart attack and ended up in the ICU. When I went to beg for her signature with the hospital bill yet again, I saw her locked in a passionate embrace with the stand-in. "Aria, you're already pregnant with my child. Do I really have to keep pretending to be dead?" Aria panted breathlessly, her eyes clouded with desire. "There's no rush. Let Conrad suffer a bit more, or he'll never learn to be obedient. "After all, that half-dead mother of his is still waiting on my money for her medical bills." It turned out Aria's first love wasn't dead at all! The atonement I believed in was nothing more than a game to them. My child and my parents were merely pawns to be toyed with in their game. I waited the entire night. It wasn't until dawn that I took the bill and rushed to the hospital in a daze. Only to be informed that my mom had slit her wrists and committed suicide the night before, leaving me with just one final sentence. [Conrad, I won't drag you down anymore.]

My best friend, Aria Sinclair, develops amnesia after killing my parents in a drunk-driving accident. Somehow, everyone forgives her. My own brother signs a letter of forgiveness on her behalf. The son I nearly died bringing into this world affectionately calls her "Ari". Even my lawyer husband of eight years stands in front of her and defends her. Because I insist on taking her to court, they join forces and have me committed to a psychiatric facility for an entire year. On the day I'm released, Grant Berton comes to pick me up. He says, "Aria has lost her memory. She's changed and turned over a new leaf. Do you really have to demand a life for a life? Can't we forget the past and move on together?" Voices rise around me from every direction, all urging me to let go and forcing me to forgive. I look at the people who are supposedly the closest and dearest to me. Then, I calmly utter one word. "No." This time, I don't scream and rage about sending her to prison. Even when I catch Grant and her together in the bedroom, I don't pick up a knife and drive them out. Instead, I silently speak to the system in my mind. "I give up on the mission." I don't want the wreckage of the past, and I have no interest whatsoever in a future without light.

Three years into our marriage, my wife brought home a ten-year-old boy. She said he was the orphaned son of her late best friend. I believed her. I treated him like my own child. Until I found official records listing that so-called orphan as my son. When I confronted my wife, I saw a pinned message on her phone. “Thanks for working so hard, babe. Once Noah is old enough, I’ll make sure Lucas leaves with nothing.” My world collapsed. They thought I was just another fool they could play. They forgot one thing. My last name is Barner. And my father serves as the deputy commander of the Southern Command.

After my eight-year-old twin sister was kidnapped, my dad became the person who wished for my death more than anyone else in the world. He would always say, "Zachary is an ungrateful brat! A good-for-nothing!" So, when the news of my disappearance reached the school, my dad leads everyone in cheers. He even spreads word of my misdeeds everywhere. "Zachary stole a poor student's tuition fees and even made a false police report accusing the teacher of hitting him!" "That's right! He even helped traffickers kidnap children—his own sister was almost sold by him! I hope he dies soon!" Five years later, my memories are extracted and projected onto a large display screen. And yet my dad, who hates me to the core and wishes for my death, falls to his knees and begs for my forgiveness the moment he learns of my death.

On the eve of my wedding, I was run over by my fiance's childhood friend. My life was in danger. My best friend tried to call my fiance, but he hung up directly. He sent her a text message. "Ruth is sick. I don't have time." My best friend then called her boyfriend who happened to be a well-connected celebrity. However, he said, "Ruth is sick. She needs me by her side right now." After a night of resuscitation, we looked at each other in the ward and spoke at the same time. "I don't want to get married." To our surprise, both our fiances went crazy when they found out we called off our weddings.