Star Tragic Love Short Stories & Novels

I've been with an award-winning actor for seven years. We've been secretly married for five of those seven years. For the sake of his career, I drink so much that I get a stomach perforation. I also allow others to trample over my pride and dignity. Yet he goes on lakeside dates with another woman and kisses her underneath the fireworks. He even has the nerve to tell me not to be unreasonable. Later, I get caught in a landslide when I'm on a business trip. I make one last call to him in fear. All I hear is him singing his lover a birthday song. I ask for a divorce after losing hope in him. That's when he suddenly begs me not to leave. He even announces our relationship to the world on the day he wins an award. Our seven-year relationship is finally public, but I don't want it anymore.

My ex-husband has remarried. Before the wedding, his new wife sends me an invitation. I can't understand this. Why would she invite her husband's ex-wife to her wedding? Half a year later, my ex-husband and his new wife make it onto the trending topics. #HaveMilesGallagher'sStandardsDroppedAfterHisDivorce? #MilesGallagherMustBeFilledWithRegret

I once made a promise to the top actress in the industry. If I publicly proposed to her 99 times on livestreams, she would, on the hundredth, officially launch our relationship. But when the hundredth proposal came, she was on a private yacht kissing a new rising actor. Her smile had been so sweet and carefree. I became a complete joke. Feeling guilty, she texted me: [I will say yes on your 101st proposal.] She entered my livestream, looking like a goddess had descended to earth. As she looked on, I lit all one hundred love letters I had ever written for her, as well as the stomach cancer diagnosis I had hidden inside. “There will be no 101st time, Miss Ford.”

Award-winning actress Jennifer Shaw was convinced I had deliberately tipped off the paparazzi about our relationship, hoping to use the exposure to pressure her into marriage. She grabbed my chin and splashed scalding water across my face. "You're no different from all those men clawing their way to the top. "You want fame? Fine. I'll make you famous. Famous enough that you won't dare show your face again." Within days, I was blacklisted online. With a burned face and a crippled right hand, I was thrown out of her villa on a night of pouring rain. That same evening, she walked the red carpet arm in arm with a rising young star, soaking in the thunderous applause. I dragged my suitcase down the deserted road and disappeared into the rain. Four years later, we crossed paths again on a parenting reality show. She watched as I stepped onto the stage as an ordinary guest, a little girl beside me who openly rolled her eyes at her. Her eyes reddened as she moved to block my way. "Where did you get that child?" she demanded. "What are you trying to do?"

At the National High School Football All-Star Game, my boyfriend Evan had just been named MVP. Sophia, the cheer captain, immediately posted on Instagram. Caption: "Guess who got a little something from the champion himself~" The photo turned out to be a pair of Evan's worn underwear! Scrawled across them in lipstick were the words: "For my dearest Sophia." She held them up with her long acrylic nails, pouting for the selfie. The internet exploded. "Why does she have his underwear?" "Isn't it obvious? They're totally together." "Sitting here waiting for the official couple photo." Within seconds, a close-up of the two of them cheek-to-cheek surfaced in the comments. Congratulations and teasing flooded the feed. I gripped my phone, a chill spreading through my entire body. Evan had promised to go public about us ages ago but kept putting it off, saying he needed to prove himself first. He'd been stalling ever since. Now here I was, his actual girlfriend, and I didn't even get an invite to his victory party. I took a deep breath and called him. "Explain." On the other end, Evan's voice was lazy, almost amused. "The fans grabbed everything off me. Jersey, pads, all of it. Sophia insisted on keeping something as a souvenir, so I gave her the underwear. No big deal." "The Instagram post is just riding the hype. Don't be so uptight about it." Then Sophia's voice chimed in. "Yeah, honey, Evan and I are like brothers! I've seen everything on him already. It's just a pair of boxers, so don't be so petty." I listened to their increasingly flirtatious banter through the speaker, then slowly pulled off my engagement ring and tossed it aside. "Fine," I said to Evan. "I'll be the bigger person. Why don't you skip the 'girl bro' thing and just make her your girlfriend? I'm tired of watching this act."

When I was younger, I had a car accident. Upon recovering from it, I discovered that I had gained the ability to hear thoughts. I later on married a famous actor named Rob Anderson. I was in love with him, but I found out that he had a mistress, and he started forcing me to read her thoughts so he could pacify her tantrums. One day, I dared to reject his request, and he thus felt justified to heartlessly abandon my pregnant self to the red-light district. I was all but forgotten there. Five years passed before he remembered my existence. His mistress, Fiona Reid, had refused to eat, so he came to the red-light district to look for me. However, he found out that I had disappeared from that place. The girls who were close to me in the past lied about me. They claimed that I had eloped with a rich man. He went downstairs suspiciously and bumped into our daughter, Sally Anderson, who was going through the trash to find food. Sally asked him, “Are you here to look for Hetty?” “Do you know where she went?” “She ran away a long time ago and became a rich man’s mistress. She must be living her best life somewhere far away!” I never thought that my own daughter would smear my name after I died. I did not understand why all the people who had cared for me when I was alive were suddenly spreading all these lies about me.

Three years ago, I wore my sexiest dress. I handed billionaire tech mogul Victor a spiked bourbon. I lit an aphrodisiac candle. After that wild night, he didn't push me away. He claimed me over and over. I shook from the climax. He whispered in my ear, "My Angel. You're mine." I was ready to propose to him. Then his fragile first love, Chloe, came back. To win her smile, Victor shoved me into the path of a collapsing stage light. Just to protect her. He let her stomp on my dead mother's vintage couture jewelry. She even used it as a dog collar. He used his lawyers and wealth to throw me into a freezing jail cell. But when my love finally died, I flew to LA to marry a man in a wheelchair. That was when Victor completely lost his mind. He tore the entire city apart just to find me.

Moments after leading his team to win the Cup, my superstar hockey boyfriend, Grayson, announced an indefinite leave of absence on live TV. Twitter exploded instantly. The team's group chat was in absolute chaos. The captain sent a dozen furious voice memos, chewing Grayson out for treating the team's blood, sweat, and tears like a cheap joke just for some girl. Yet, in stark contrast to his teammates' blinding rage, Grayson's private PR team chat was celebrating. "Let's see how Blair, his glorified babysitter, cleans up this mess." "She spent ten years busting her ass for his career, and Grayson just drops it all for Cici. True devotion." A new junior assistant chimed in quietly: "But if he quits, don't we lose our jobs? I heard the captain just smashed a locker in rage..." Grayson's childhood friend and personal trainer sent a smirking emoji: "You're new. Blair is a top agent who's willingly played our nanny for a decade. No matter what Grayson does, she bails him out. She'll just go groveling to the sponsors and vets as usual." "Bet Blair is smashing her phone in a rage right now, hahaha." Amidst the rapid-fire texts, a voice memo suddenly popped up. It was Grayson's lazy, breathless voice. There was the sound of a party in the background: "Shut up, all of you. I'm busy. You guys are too loud." The group got even more riled up and started to egg Grayson on. "Cici adores you. Just kick Blair and her controlling vibe to the curb. She's thirty now anyway. Probably going deaf and blind in her old age." The chat erupted in laughter. I stared blankly at the screen. I logged directly into the agency's official Twitter account, typed up a statement, and hit send. "Our agency respects Grayson's decision to take an indefinite leave of absence. " "To compensate our brand partners, we are opening a dedicated refund portal today. We will unconditionally refund all prepaid endorsement and cancellation fees incurred during his leave."