Tragic Love Short Stories & Novels

For seven years, I thought Declan was just an ordinary Beta. That was until I secretly traveled a thousand miles to his pack, wanting to surprise him. Only to find other werewolves calling him Alpha. And more importantly, he already had a Luna. The wolves around me started whispering. “Is that the Alpha’s secret lover?” “The nerve of her, showing up here… so shameless.” I wanted to argue, to tell them they had it all wrong. I was his real girlfriend. His Fated Mate. But then, a woman in a gorgeous dress walked over. The wolves bowed their heads respectfully. “Luna.” She was on the phone, her voice a sweet, playful pout. “The blessing ceremony for the heir is about to start, and the Elders are getting antsy… I know you’re busy, but this is our child. You have to be with me.” The man’s voice on the other end was deep and gentle, a voice I knew better than my own. “I know, my Luna.” Just a few nights ago, he had whispered loving words into my ear with that same gentle voice, his body moving powerfully inside mine, holding me so tight. It was my lover, Declan.

My wife, Rosalie Lockwood, locks me up in a villa located in the suburbs for three days because I've forgotten to feed her first love's dog once. Unfortunately, the villa somehow gets set on fire. I call Rosalie for help and beg her to tell me where she's hidden the key. But she merely replies lightly, "Today is Caleb's birthday. Don't think about ruining this big day for us! Once Caleb's mood lightens up after we're done celebrating his birthday, I'll let you out." I try to save myself, but the water supply in the villa is already cut off. Soon, the signal goes out, too. I can only watch as I get surrounded by the ruthless inferno. Eventually, everything in the villa is reduced to ashes. Even when I'm burned to nothing but bones, help still never comes for me…

My fiancee, Isabelle Bailey, engages in a passionate kiss with her stage partner, Shawn Sanders, in a theater play. While the audience is wholly touched by the romance depicted by the main characters of the play, I know for a fact that the actual script doesn't feature the kissing scene at all. Guilt flickers across Isabelle's face at my confrontation. But she argues, "We were just acting! Are you saying that I can't act out romance scenes anymore?" I no longer demand answers from Isabelle like a hysterical fool. Instead, I give the roses that are cultivated from a new breed to the background actors. After leaving the afterparty, I call my mentor, Patrick White. "Professor, I'm willing to travel to the northwest to plant roses there."

On Valentine's Day, I wait for my wife, Nancy Curtis, to get off work after preparing a candlelit dinner for our date. But she only texts me at 9:00 pm. "I have something going on at the company. There's no need to wait for me." Soon, I see a Facebook post made by Nancy's secretary, Derek Jones. "I'm on a business trip with my female boss on Valentine's Day. The thing is, the hotel's fully booked. Oops, this is getting awkward…" The photo in the post features a feminine silhouette standing in front of a floor-to-ceiling window while draped in a bathrobe. Everyone in the comment section compliments Derek for being lucky, seeing as the boss of his has a smoking hot figure and is extremely charming. Derek merely replies with a cheeky emoji. So, it turns out that Nancy's "business" is having fun with her own secretary, eh? I take a screenshot of Derek's post before uploading it to my own social media feed. I even include a smiley as a caption. Immediately, Nancy calls me on the phone and starts berating me. "Derek was just cracking a joke! Why are you being so petty, huh? And here I thought you were mature!" I end the call immediately before texting her, "Let's get a divorce."

At an interview, my husband, Julian White, reveals that he has already allocated his assets properly. The host in charge of interviewing him makes a joking remark that he must have left large amounts of money to his son and wife. With a gentle smile on his face, Julian denies it softly. "I only left them enough money to sustain their lives. The rest of the assets are reserved for my adoptive daughter, Rosy, only. "This is a promise between me and her mom. I had promised her that I'd make sure her daughter would lead a lavish and worry-free life at her grave." When I hear Julian's statement, I pause in my actions of preparing a meal for the children. Then, I look up at the television in disbelief. Meanwhile, Julian is prattling on and on about his deceased first love, Vivian Bennett. Some time later, the host speaks up again. "Does your wife know about this?" Julian is left feeling taken aback for a moment. But his smile doesn't change at all. "She won't disagree with my decision. Over the years, she's been nothing but great to Rosy. Heck, she's even better than most caretakers out there." I take off my apron and walk out of the kitchen. Then, I scoop up my son, Jude White, who's in the middle of picking up toys for Rosy, into my arms and return to my room. It's been six long years, and I've finally had enough with this family. Since Julian doesn't intend to give me and Jude anything, then he can find himself another "caretaker".

The operation had just gone dark when the chatter started in the comms. “Easy, Zane. Don’t burn through another mattress.” A low laugh came through the headset. Relaxed. Careless. “I’ve been deployed for six months. I needed the release. And don’t let my wife hear that.” More laughter. “Right. Take care of the little mistress first, then call home and play devoted husband?” My phone rang. His voice when I answered was warm. Intimate. Soft in a way it never was on the field. He said he missed me. Said he counted the days until he could come home. I watched the live drone feed while he said it. What he didn’t know was that three months ago, I had quietly transferred into the family’s Strategic Intelligence division. Every operation his crew ran, I was the one behind the monitors—tracking shipments, rerouting safehouses, intercepting rival signals, listening to every word spoken over secured lines. The first night he slept with her, I logged the timestamp. 00:43 hours. When the call ended, I dialed another number—encrypted, family internal. “I’ll accept your offer,” I said calmly. “After this job, I’m stepping away.” The voice on the other end was steady. Controlled. Powerful. “You’ll leave after the Palermo Capture,” he replied. “I’ll personally see to your relocation.” A pause. “Three days.”

The night I came of age, the vampire prince Damon couldn’t wait to drag me to his bed. He took me with a desperate, wild hunger that lasted all night long. My body ached, but my heart was full. I’d been his blood servant for ten years. I thought he was finally ready to give me the Embrace, to make me his forever. But after, as he held me and talked on the phone with my foster brother, I heard Marcus ask him in Latin, “So, Master, how did my little sister taste? You know how many men would kill to be in your place? They all think she's a goddess.” Damon's lips curled. “Not bad. A little green. Not nearly wild enough for my tastes.” Marcus laughed. “Well, she's been hopelessly devoted to you since she was a kid. Never even dated.” Then Damon’s voice lowered. “Don't tell Serena about Elena. I have to marry a noble vampire like her in the end, and I don't want her upset.” “A little human like Elena… she's just good for practice.” But Damon didn't know I'd secretly learned Latin just to feel worthy of him. Hearing that, I didn't say a word. I just quietly changed my college application from the University of New Orleans to my dream school, University of Oxford.

I bought my daughter Aria an island when her wolf spirit awakened. My mate, Alpha Kael, was supposed to come with me. We were going to hold our daughter’s coming-of-age ceremony on her new island. But he never showed. And he took half the Pack’s guards with him. I had no choice. I took Aria to the island myself. Just as we were about to land, we were attacked by rogues. A silver bullet tore through my daughter. She collapsed in my arms, screaming in pain. I screamed for Kael through our mind link. I called his phone. Nothing. My daughter died. I collapsed into Kael's arms when he finally showed up, sobbing. His eyes were red. "A Pack emergency held me up… I'm so sorry…" I thought he was grieving with me. Until I found his first love, Isabella, curled up in his arms. "You're so clever, Kael," she purred. "Since you never made Selena the official Luna, she had no authority over the guards. She couldn't protect that powerful daughter of hers." Kael kissed her forehead. He soothed her. "Aria's powerful wolf will cure the sickness in your son Leo's spirit. Her death was worth it. And this island… now that Aria's gone, it's the perfect recovery gift for Leo." My wolf howled in grief. My legs gave out. Tears streamed down my face. It was all a plan. He’d planned it all for his first love. I turned my back on him. I severed our mate bond. But then? He dropped to his knees, begging me to forgive him. Fine. I'll forgive him when he brings my poor Aria back. Can he do that?

Ava sacrificed her wolf to save Cole from a fire, only to be rejected by him three years later for the sister who stole the credit. Heartbroken but unbroken, Ava accepts the rejection and vanishes. She finds sanctuary with the feared Alpha King Kaelen, a man rumored to be a monster but who treats her like a goddess. As Ava heals and discovers her true power, Cole's pack falls into chaos. When Cole finally discovers the truth, that the woman he called weak was his true savior all along, he is shattered. He demands her back. He threatens war. But he forgets one thing: Ava is no longer just a rejected mate. She is the King's obsession. And the Alpha King does not share.

The day I went to surprise my blood-bound, Damien, with my pregnancy report, I found out his childhood sweetheart, Lia, was also pregnant. But, with a vampire hunter's child. To protect her and her child from being killed, he lied to the whole Clan, saying her child is his own pure-blood heir. Meanwhile, my child who was actually his true heir was labelled as bastard . He promised me he would clear my name and declare our child his once Lia delivers her child safely. He left me alone at home and went to different location with Lia to help her deliver her child safely. However, his family broke through my den and stabbed me in the stomach with the wooden stake the same day he left me for Lia. By the time he returned, it was already too late.

I had a unique profession. I was a breakup specialist. I did not need to go to court or write any contracts for that. That was a lawyer’s job. Everyone kept saying that love was priceless, but a couple who professed their love to each other for an entire night could be paying me tons to break their relationship up the following day. I was shaking my head upon those matters when I received a message from my husband, Matthew Grant, asking me to pick our wedding anniversary’s destination. A few seconds after that, a beautiful woman walked into my office. She appeared timid and had to take a lot of time to summon the courage to speak. “I’d like to hire your services for my boyfriend. He has decided to divorce his wife.” I made no comment as I picked up the documents she had handed me, only to see Matthew’s name on the paper. I froze, while the woman sitting in front of me ducked her head and continued, “My boyfriend says that his wife is a good person and that he doesn’t want to hurt her.” I smiled as I stared at the picture; it clearly was Matthew, but I had the strange feeling of seeing a foreign person too. My heart throbbed, and I could only lament. This was my third year as a breakup specialist, and I was actually hired to break up my own relationship.

For four years, I worked three jobs to support my husband, Edward Godfrey, while he chased his PhD and battled ALS. And somehow, in all that time, I'd never stepped foot on his campus. Not because I didn't want to. Every time I brought it up, he had some excuse ready. When graduation came, I asked to go to his hooding ceremony. He shut it down fast. "It's just a formality. A bunch of lab nerds. You'd be bored. Once I bring the diploma home, we'll have a candlelight dinner." I didn't argue. Just helped him straighten his doctoral gown. But I couldn't hide how excited I was. So I dressed up. And secretly followed him. Onstage, Edward stood beside his wheelchair, voice thick with emotion. "I want to thank my wife. She stood with me in the lab, even while pregnant, helping me grind out countless precious data points." I froze. My hand pressed against my flat stomach. Cold crept down my spine. For four years, I'd busted myself raw to support his PhD. I went from the girl everyone on campus admired to a fish seller, reeking like seafood every day. Worked so hard I miscarried twice. So who exactly was this "wife" he was thanking?

At the Hunting Festival, Cynthia Whitefang flashes a stack of cash and demands that my mate, Simon Fenwick, become her bodyguard. "Just accept it, Layla." Simon flashes his fangs and tells Cynthia to get lost in a rude tone. Our son, Noah Fenwick, who's chronically poisoned by silver, waves his fists angrily as well to chase Cynthia away. But I just stare at the stack of cash quietly. Memories of a conversation I had overheard last week surge into my mind at that moment. That time, Noah was tugging at the hem of Simon's shirt while standing under a tree. "Daddy, can I keep pretending to be poisoned? That way, Mommy will keep giving me money to treat my poison. I wanna buy gifts for Cynthia!" he said coquettishly. Simon had replied dotingly, "Of course! But you must remember to never tell Mommy that I'm not hurt. Only when she's filled with guilt will she love us forever." It turns out that my husband is faking his injury, while my son is faking being poisoned. They've played me like a fiddle the whole time. I, on the other hand, have to risk my life time and again to earn money just to treat their imaginary illness and wounds. To think that all of my earnings are used on pleasing another she-wolf… I raise my head, soon meeting Cynthia's confident gaze. "Okay. You can have him."

I've been married to Salvatore Falcone for seven years. He's a mafia Don who drills raw terror into everyone's minds. While I'm the Donna whom he has announced to the world, in truth, I'm just a mistress who serves as his human shield that can warm his bed on the side. Salvatore has betrayed me countless times over the past seven years. The first betrayal occurred when he took my ring off on our first wedding anniversary and gave it to one of the escorts in the clubhouse on a whim. The second betrayal occurred when I collapsed in the kitchen out of exhaustion. Instead of saving me, Salvatore blamed me for not preparing the hangover tonic for him in time, so he had someone dump iced water onto me to wake me up. The third betrayal occurred when I suffered from massive bleeding when I was five months pregnant. When I begged Salvatore to go to the hospital with me, he told me that he was keeping Valentina Caruso, his childhood sweetheart, company while her cat was getting fixed. For 2500 days, I swallowed all of my grievances, agony, and tears. Last night, at the banquet of our seventh wedding anniversary, Salvatore had taken Valentina's hand and sat her down on the Donna's throne that was meant to be mine. At that moment, everyone looked forward to seeing me humiliate myself. This was the 101st time he betrayed me. After the banquet was over, Salvatore didn't even bother looking me in the eye. He just said icily, "Don't forget that you're only a mistress to me despite our marriage." At the crack of dawn, Salvatore wakes up with a hangover. He tosses his soiled shirt at me out of habit. "Wash this shirt immediately. I'm going to wear it tonight." As I gaze at him, I caress my belly, which is slightly swollen. "Sorry, Mr. Falcone. This is no longer my duty." Salvatore most likely has forgotten that we've signed a contract when we first got married. The clause states that we will get divorced seven years later. Today is the third day before our contract comes to an end. I toss the marriage certificate and the pregnancy report into the shredder on the spot. In three days, my unborn baby and I will disappear from Salvatore's world permanently. This time, I will never look back.

On my coming-of-age ceremony, the pack elder has given me two choices—either marry Alpha Darius Vilkas, or enter a marriage alliance with the Solaris Pack. I choose the latter. Everyone in the Silvermoon Pack thinks I've gone nuts. After all, they know very well that I've been clinging to Darius for more than ten years. Every year, I make the same birthday wish, which is to become his mate. In my previous life, I got what I wanted. On the night of the full moon, Darius bit me on my nape and marked me. But Darius, who kept up a gentle and polite image in front of others, glared at me with only hatred brimming in his eyes behind locked doors. "If it wasn't for your shameless request to the elder, who forced me into mating with you, Ingrid wouldn't have entered that marriage alliance!" Only then did I realize that Darius was in love with my younger sister, Ingrid Whiteclaw, this whole time. In order to get revenge on me, Darius slept with various she-wolves every night. He made me endure the heartwrenching pain through our mate bond. On the day I was meant to go into labor, Darius personally fed me wolfsbane, which killed both me and my pup. Now that I'm reborn, I decide to grant his wish to be with Ingrid. But when he finds out that I'm about to enter the marriage alliance, he goes crazy from rage.

I've been in a secret marriage with my CEO husband, Mitchell Clayton. But Mitchell keeps making our son, Aster Clayton, call him "Uncle Mitch" the whole time. In order to make it up to Aster, Mitchell has given him unlimited wealth. But on the day of Aster's birthday, Mitchell hands over the gift that Aster has been eagerly looking forward to the most to his ex-girlfriend's daughter, Stacy Padilla. The gift is a bouquet of flowers made of handmade lucky stars that I've spent half a year folding. As I stare at the empty table, I feel my heart sinking to the pits of my stomach. Then, I call a real estate agent immediately. "Hello, I'd like to purchase a villa that's located in Northern Yewrope. Make it quick." "A villa? Mr. Clayton's secretary never brought it up to me before. Have you gotten it all mixed up, ma'am?" "No," I reply in a low tone. "I'd like to purchase the villa under my own name. If you breathe a word about this to Mitchell, I'll sue your company under the reason of leaking your clients' privacy." After receiving a positive response from the agent, I end the call. Still, I remain rooted to the spot for a long time. Once I return to the banquet hall, Aster tugs at the hem of my dress. "Mom, where's Uncle Mitch? He promised me that he'd attend my birthday party." I feel tears stinging my eyes as I pull Aster into a hug. "Sweetie, he will never be here. Let's not wait for him anymore, okay? Mommy will bring you to a better place." Stars will cover the sky there. None of them will get stolen ever again. As for a certain father who keeps breaking his promises, he will never get to see us ever again.

I had just suffered a miscarriage. With trembling fingers, I called my husband, only to hear the sounds of a rowdy party on the other end. "Don, this was supposed to be your anniversary gift for your wife," a voice teased amidst the cheers. "Giving it to Miss Lena instead—aren't you afraid your lady will throw a fit?" Vincent's voice was deep and dismissive. "Lena's brother died saving my life. I owe her. As for Isabella... she's gentle. She'll understand." He paused, his tone turning colder. "Besides, she came to me with those scandalous rumors surrounding her past. The resources the Corleone family has given her over the years are more than enough to compensate for these little grievances." As blood stained the hem of my skirt, I silently pressed the end-call button. Tears fell uncontrollably. He doesn't know yet—the baby is gone, and I am finally done with him.

Everyone in Palermo knew Alessandro De Luca had a reputation. He was the Boss of the De Luca family, one of the oldest bloodlines in Sicily — a name tied to the port, the courts, and half the construction contracts in Palermo. Wealth, power, discipline—those things were expected. Romance was not. He didn’t chase women, and he never went back to the same one twice. Until me. When we broke up after a brutal argument, he did something no De Luca had done in generations—he stood outside the gates of the Moretti estate, my family home, for an entire day and night. I watched from behind the curtains and never opened the door. The next day, he came inside the estate kitchen himself. Alessandro De Luca, who grew up surrounded by servants, tried to cook my favorite seafood pasta with his own hands. He burned the sauce. I threw it away without tasting it. On the third day, he found the necklace my grandmother had left me—something my uncle had sold years ago—and bought it back, paying far more than it was worth, just to return it to me. At a formal family dinner, in front of elders and allies, he made it clear: No more women. Only me. It took him a year to win me back. That summer, fireworks lit up the Palermo coastline as he announced our engagement. I believed he had chosen me. Until the night of a private gathering at an old harbor estate. A young woman was being pulled forward in the middle of the courtyard, her dress torn at the shoulder, tears running down her face. Alessandro went still. Then he stood up. He didn’t look at me. He didn’t explain. He just walked toward her. And something inside me went cold. I rested my hand over my abdomen. There was something I hadn’t told him yet. He broke his word that night. So I broke mine.

In my last life, I loved my brother’s best friend longer than I loved myself. I was the princess of the De Luca family, a New York political dynasty. A good girl, through and through. He was Orion Corvo. The king of Chicago's underworld. A ruthless, brutal man. No one thought we belonged together. I never dared to confess. Not until I was kidnapped. That cold-blooded, savage Don took a bullet for me. He shielded me with his body as I bled out. We died together. Only then, seeing the desperation in his eyes, did I understand. He loved me too. Now, I'm back. 18 again. I ditched my life in Europe to stay by his side. For five years, I was his most trusted art appraiser. In private, he’d lose himself inside me. He fucked me like he wanted to own my soul. I became his favorite fuck. His biggest secret. But now, he’s getting married. And the bride isn't me.

I'm a mafia princess with crippling social anxiety. My fiancé, Rocco Falcone, is our family's consigliere. He’s the exact opposite of me—extroverted, effortlessly charming, a master at reading and bending people. He's supposed to be my protector. My only link to the outside world. Tonight was the charity gala for my late mother. I was hiding in the darkest corner, a mask covering my face. Rocco was supposed to give the speech. My speech. He never showed. [Emergency. Sorry. Skip the speech, I know you hate the attention. Driver will take you home after the auction. Don't wait up.] Then I saw Livia’s new post. It was a picture of Rocco, draping his suit jacket over her shoulders. He was looking down at her, his eyes full of a tenderness he never showed me. The caption was a gut punch: [No prom date, so my big bro saved the day! Couldn't have done it without him! ] The cold hit me. Bone deep. He ditched a memorial for my dead mother... to take his stepsister to a university dance? The guests began whispering and sneering that I, the famously awkward, socially crippled princess, couldn’t even force a word out. I stared at the whiskey I’d ordered for him. The ice in my glass was melting. Just like the hope in my heart. When I got back to our empty penthouse, my screen was lit up with missed calls and texts from Rocco. The last one came in thirty minutes ago: [Aurelia, trouble at Livia's prom. You know how she gets. Couldn't leave her. Your mother's gala means everything. I'll make it up to you, I promise. Next time will be perfect. Trust me.] I didn't reply. An engagement held together by "next time." Was a promise like that even worth keeping?