Unattainable Love Melodramatic Short Stories & Novels

Ever since I lost my Alpha, Kael, in a brutal fight with some nasty rogues, I've been raising our young son, Finn, all by myself. My old pack has been pushing me to take a new Alpha, you know, so Finn and I would have protection. But I truly believed my Mate Bond with Kael was unbreakable. Then, on the Blood Moon ceremony, the fifth anniversary of Kael's “sacrifice,” I overheard Kael's father, old Alpha Marcus, tearing into Kael's quiet twin brother, Ronan: “Kael! You damn wolf! It was Ronan who went down on Blood Moon Cliff five years ago! He was the cursed one! You faked your death, lived as Ronan, all to protect Alina? You lied to the whole pack, to your sacred mate, and your own flesh and blood! Was it worth it?!” “For five years, Elara has raised Finn from a tiny pup all alone. You gave your so-called 'niece' a fake 'father,' but did you ever think? The day you put on Ronan's mask, Finn lost his real father for good!” I felt like I'd been struck by lightning. After Kael “died,” Ronan had been the dutiful uncle, “looking after” Finn and me. I never dreamed he was Kael in disguise. And he did all this just to protect Alina, Ronan's destined mate, who was already pregnant?! That night, under the bright moon, I snuck away and sent a message to my cousin, the Head Beta of the Silver-Moon Pack: “Tell your Alpha Lucian that I, Elara, accept his courtship offer.”

My sister Isolde and I used to be human. The twin vampire princes, Caelum and Dorian, turned us and married us. The entire vampire world celebrated. Two human sisters, personally turned by the Crown Princes? It was the highest honor a mortal could receive. We believed we were loved. We were fools. Five months into my pregnancy, I was attacked by a group of exiled vampires in the forest beyond our territory. I called Caelum nine times. He didn’t pick up. The exiles circled me, cutting into my arms and legs with blades that burned. Pain tore through my body. I called a tenth time. This time, Caelum’s cold voice came through: “Haven’t you had enough? Vivienne is being tracked by hunters. Stop bothering me.” Vivienne was the human girl that both princes truly loved. The one who had refused to be turned. With nothing to stop them now, the exiles closed in. Their leader drove a blade into my stomach. I watched the light leave my body from the inside out, and felt my unborn child die. When I was close to death, my sister Isolde found me and fought the exiles off. But there were too many. Isolde was badly wounded. She called her husband Dorian for help. All she got was: “Looking for Vivienne. Don’t bother me.” Isolde carried me and ran. A storm hit and we were caught in the open at dawn—deadly for wounded vampires. The border patrol found us just in time. We barely survived. When I woke up in the infirmary, my first thought was simple: Sever the bond.

The last time I argued with my husband, he slammed the door on me and left. I was so upset that I died from a heart attack. Meanwhile, he took his lover and her son traveling to take his mind off things. The entire time, our daughter, who was just a child, was abandoned at home for seven days with my corpse. At last, when Eliott remembered me and my daughter, he returned home to see my corpse. Having fallen sick, my daughter was all skin and bones. When Eliott realized his mistake, he hugged our daughter tightly and broke down crying in front of my grave. My daughter pulled away from him and hid behind my gravestone. She hissed sharply at him, “Who do you think you are? Don't disturb Mommy’s rest!”

To snatch a limited-edition piece of jewelry for his mistress, my blind brother was shoved down a flight of stairs. Ethan Sterling, one of the best surgeons in the country, refused to enter the operating room — all because of a tiny cut on his precious sweetheart's finger. He forged a forensic report and bought Daniel's life for a mere fifty thousand dollars. Even my own daughter turned against me: "You're a liar! Aunt Vivian is the best person in the whole world!" Later, in front of everyone, I stepped off the third-floor terrace and plunged into the void. Ethan Sterling lost his mind. He knelt by the river for three days and three nights, clawing his fingers raw against the stone. A year later, desperate to save his daughter from going blind, he knelt in a downpour begging that mysterious, world-renowned surgeon. I stood there holding my umbrella, utterly unmoved. "I'm afraid you have the wrong person, Mr. Sterling. Miss Holloway died a year ago." "I'm Mrs. Ashford. I'm here to acquire Sterling Medical."

At twenty, Riley Nolan married Yale Sullivan, a close friend of her father's, despite the considerable age difference between them. Eight years her senior, Yale was notorious in their social circle for his cold, ruthless nature. He was merciless in business and had never shown the slightest interest in women. Yet with Riley, he was almost impossibly gentle. All she had to do was casually mention that a necklace was pretty, and he'd have the million-dollar piece delivered to her the next day. When menstrual cramps left her curled up in bed, he'd put aside business projects worth tens of millions of dollars to make her ginger tea with brown sugar, patiently coaxing her to drink it one spoonful at a time. In moments of passion, he'd grip her waist and call her "baby" in a low, husky voice, telling her how good she was and how he couldn't get enough of her. He even used "For Elise" as his display name across all his social media accounts. Riley had always assumed it was a tribute to the piano piece she'd played the day they first met. Then one day, she came across an old photo album in his study. Every picture featured the same girl, who bore a striking resemblance to Riley, smiling in front of a piano. On the back of one photograph, someone had written: "For Elise. My beloved Selise."

In my last life, I died three days after Layla Vale became a "savior." Even as she injected concentrated wolfsbane into my IV, she practiced her funeral face in front of a photograph of Seraphina Blackwood. "Once she's dead, I'll be remembered as her savior. Adrian will fall for me sooner or later. Rowan, why did you have to call the police and ruin everything?" I tried to pull the needle out, but my wrist was pinned to the bed. The Vales reminded me that they had taken me in from an orphanage, paid my tuition, and given me a home. So writing Layla's fraudulent interview copy, covering up the wolf-luring resin, and finally dying in her place were all debts I owed her. When I opened my eyes again, I was back two hours before the charity night run began. Layla kicked her white boots over to my feet and ordered me to crouch down and tie the laces, then write the interview copy for her "heroic rescue." She had no idea that two hours later, she would deliberately release maddened wolves to play the hero on camera and leave Alpha Adrian Blackwood's wife critically injured. In my last life, I worked myself to the bone covering every crack in her plan, only for her to kill me to keep me quiet. This time, I warned her: "The east emergency door isn't locked. Something is going to happen tonight." Layla sent the order to the team chat, impatient. "We go as planned. Nobody changes anything." I saved a screenshot, started recording, and for the first time did not clean up after her. Later, her arrow wounded Seraphina. I pulled the child to safety, triggered the alarm, and staunched Seraphina's bleeding. When Adrian arrived, he gave Layla only one look. Yet she told me, her cheeks flushed, "Did you see that? He's fallen for me." I looked at the wolf-luring resin that hadn't been wiped clean off her glove, and I smiled. She had no idea Adrian wasn't looking at a woman he desired. He was watching the woman who had hurt his wife.

After eight years and countless pregnancy tests, I was finally pregnant. Zachary loved me to his core. With or without a child, his devotion never wavered—if anything, it only grew stronger. He was over the moon, practically bouncing off the walls, promising me the world and everything in it. His parents were relieved that the Williams family legacy would finally have an heir. They completely changed their tune, suddenly treating me like I was made of gold. But I had no plans to keep this baby.

His precious childhood sweetheart got drunk one night and ended up in a stranger’s bed. When she showed up again, she was pregnant—just like me. On the day I gave birth, Harold handed me the divorce papers. "Rachel’s about to return to acting," he said coldly. "She and the baby need a proper title. If a scandal breaks out, it’ll destroy her." Dragging my frail body, I calmly signed the papers. In my previous life, I refused to step aside. I went live, holding my daughter, and exposed the award-winning actress Rachel Underwood for knowingly becoming the other woman. The internet turned on her. She lost every endorsement and was driven to the edge by massive fines—eventually jumping off a building. Harold quietly took care of her funeral... and then stood by as her fans harassed me in the streets, even tried to burn my child and me alive. It was not until I saw him lock the door behind us that I realized—he had wanted us dead all along. Then I woke up. And it was the day he gave me the divorce agreement... again.

My best friend and I grow up together, and we each have our childhood friends. When we're old enough, we marry our childhood friends. One is a doctor, and one is a firefighter. We even fall pregnant one after the other. During our pregnancies, we go out for a stroll. Suddenly, I'm rammed over, and I fall into the river. My best friend miscarries after trying to save me, and my child dies in my belly, too. I call my husband. However, he roars, "Cass is in danger; I have to save her first! Stop bothering me!" My best friend is also reprimanded by her husband. After giving birth to the dead fetuses, we both decide to get divorced. However, the two men weep and beg us not to leave.

On the surface, Connor Shaw appears to be the coolheaded, celibate follower of the Fyerian faith who lives like a monk. All of Jewelton knows that about him. Behind closed doors, however, he suffers from a severe case of compulsive sexual disorder. According to the traditions of the merpeople, a mermaid like Sylvie Waverly will have to marry the first human she meets and perform the ultimate act of intimacy 999 times. Masquerading as a lovesick doormat, Sylvie does everything she can to marry Connor. However, the only one in Connor's heart is Anna Larson, his first love. Everyone assumes Sylvie will get jealous, but all she wants is to complete her mission as soon as possible and return to her own world. Once Connor has bedded her 999 times, Sylvie leaves him without a second thought. By the time Connor realizes Sylvie is the mermaid who saved him all those years ago and that she alone can cure him of his compulsive sexual disorder, it is all too late.

My Alpha mate slept with his childhood sweetheart to suppress her wolfsbane poisoning using his Alpha power. At dawn he knelt in front of me, holding a woman whose clothes were half off and whose body was covered in bruises. "Lilia was poisoned saving me. As the Alpha of this pack, I couldn't stand there and watch her die in agony!" Certain it would move me, he cut himself seven times with a silver dagger to atone. But the wolfsbane was still in Lilia's blood, and every time it flared, my Alpha husband went to save her. Afterward, he would cut himself once more. Six months later, he came to me bearing ninety-nine scars. A man who had never bowed to anyone lowered himself to beg me. "Dora, I've repented with my own flesh and blood. Lilia can't bear to give up the baby. I'm begging you to spare that small life. "You have trouble conceiving. Once the pup is born I'll send Lilia to the border and let the child call you mother. You will always be the mate the Moon Goddess chose for me." My heart felt as if it were being torn apart. I held back my tears and answered calmly, "All right." I crushed the pregnancy report I had been hiding into a ball and threw it into the hearth fire.

Charlotte Crowe's childhood sweetheart started acting up again, which meant she was ready to divorce me again. By then, I had gone numb. I looked at her calmly and said, "This will be the eighth time." Guilt crossed her face as she looked at me, her eyes full of helplessness and pleading. "Gregory, I don't have a choice. You know Victor talks about killing himself every day. I can't just ignore him. But don't worry. As soon as I calm Victor down, we'll get married again." I said nothing. She had said the same thing to me more times than I could count. We got married eight times and got divorced eight times. Even the courthouse staff knew me by now. Behind my back, they said we practically kept the divorce court in business. With the freshly issued divorce papers in my hand, a staff member behind me asked curiously, "So when are you coming back for your next remarriage?" I gave a faint shake of my head. "There won't be a next time."

To make up for past regrets with his first love, my husband, Pierce Ronan, lied that he could see everyone’s lifespan. He told me I had sixty years left, but his first love, Jessica Stone, had only seven days to live. So, for those seven days, he said he had to fulfill the promises of their youth. He brought her home, cared for her, and when they went back to their old college campus to relive their love, I didn’t protest. When he confessed his love to her and planned the wedding of the century, asking me to be the bridesmaid, I didn’t raise my voice. It wasn’t until he wanted to break the final taboo — in our marital bedroom — that he looked at me with guilt in his eyes and begged me to move out. The housemaids watched, snickering behind their hands, but I only smiled and nodded in agreement. I packed my bags, carried our child, and moved into the guest room next door. Seeing how obedient I remained, Pierce was touched. “I promise, this will be the last time I wrong you. Once Jessica passes, I’ll make it up to you.” What he didn’t know was that I had already seen through his lies. What he also didn’t know was that the one truly dying of cancer, the one with only seven days left to live, was me. Three days remained. Then, I would be gone.

I called my wife, a forensic specialist, after learning that my in-laws were involved in a car accident. It was on the 80th call that she finally answered, "I'm just trying to celebrate Justin's birthday for him. What's wrong with you? Can you not get jealous over just about anything?" I informed her that Mom, Dad, and sister had died in a car accident, and that she should hurry back to arrange for their funeral. To my surprise, she scoffed at my suggestion and replied, "What does your family's death have to do with me?" She was not involved in the funeral arrangements at all. On top of that, she even falsified evidence for her love interest—the culprit who killed her family—in court as a forensics specialist. Eventually, on the day I informed her of my intention to divorce, she threw a fit. "Patrick, it's just the death of a few of your family members. Justin didn't do it on purpose. It was just an accident. "Moreover, it's because of your parents' and sister's carelessness on the road that led to the accident. Why are you making things difficult for me and insisting on divorce? I've truly misjudged you…" Noticing the indignance in her response, I finally understood. It seemed she had no idea that it was her family that died in the accident all this while.

The explosion wiped out my parents—and their company. All I had left was some insurance cash and a pile of patents nobody cared about. I begged their old partners to back me. Crickets. Then Alex Ross strolled in, played the hero no one asked for, and proposed. Five years deep into our marriage, after my 99th FDA rejection, I finally cracked. I was in the garage when I heard his phone on speaker. Mark's voice came through: "Dude, you're still handing Lily Emma's blueprints before she even files? How many times has she flopped now? Girl's relentless, huh?" Alex? Straight-up ice. "Ninety-nine. She'll quit soon." "You're really tanking your wife to boost Lily's brand? Worth it?" "Lily's launching her new product tomorrow at the Boston Medical Summit. Patent number 100. Watching her blow up from nothing... makes me proud." "But it's all Emma's stuff. Your dad made you marry her for her brain, didn't he?" "Don't bring up my father." His voice turned sharp. "He forced me to dump Lily. I just played along." I sank into the driver's seat, frozen. I wasn't a partner. Just a pawn—revenge bait for his dad and backup fuel for his ex.

Charles Jansen's true love returns to the country in my seventh year with him. The first post on her social media after she lands is an intimate photo of them together. She captions it, "I'm glad we've come full circle." Only then do I find out the ring hidden in the living room isn't for me. Charles' proposal isn't for me, either. Suddenly, I feel exhausted.

At nine months pregnant, I suffered an unexpected miscarriage. My husband, Graham Pearson, fought back his own grief as he comforted me. He would whisper to me every day, trying to soothe my shattered heart, "Whitney, we will have children again someday. Our little angel was here for a while, and next time, we'll make sure we hold onto them..." Under Graham's careful care, I slowly began to pull myself out of the numb fog I'd been trapped in. But then, a month later, I overheard him talking to one of his friends. "If Whitney finds out the baby didn't actually die and that you've let Cassidy raise him, don't you think she'll flip out? You've worked so hard to get where you are; you can't let this mess it all up." Graham casually flicked his cigarette, his voice almost detached as he waved a hand dismissively. "Cassidy can't have kids, but she loves children. If this baby brings her joy, it's a blessing for the child, too. "I might never get the chance to be with Cassidy, but letting her raise my son, in some way, feels like a kind of fulfillment..." The truth hit me like a frozen wave, paralyzing me in place. It turned out this whole ordeal had been part of Graham's plan from the start.

My mate, Kane Blackwood, was the most feared Alpha in the Northlands. For three years, he treated me like something that belonged to him. He would drag me into his arms on the stone steps after moon rituals, pin me against the wall in Blackthorn Keep’s long corridors, and bite the mark on the back of my neck beside the patrol trails in the border woods, as if he needed everyone to remember exactly whose Luna I was. I used to think that was his way of loving me. Rough. Possessive. Lacking tenderness. But love, all the same. Until one night, I stopped outside the council hall and heard an elder say in a furious voice, “Those charcoal sketches on the black market were released by your people, weren’t they? Every one of them is of you and Elena in bed. She has become a joke across the pack. Do you even understand what you’ve done?” There was a brief silence. Then Kane said, coldly, “She is the Luna the council chose for me. She is not the woman I wanted.” I stood frozen outside the door. All those years, I thought his roughness meant he loved me too fiercely to be gentle. But it was never love. It was humiliation. Punishment for taking the place of the woman he actually wanted. I lowered my eyes to the moonstone bracelet on my wrist, the one he had clasped there the day our mating contract was sealed. If that was all I had ever been to him, then I would leave.

My mother-in-law and I were trapped during an earthquake overseas. The rescue team knew that my husband had a private plane nearby and asked me to contact him, but I could only shake my head in rejection of the idea. In my last life, I tried my hardest to call him and get him to come save us. My mother-in-law and I were saved, but my husband’s true love got angry and went out to let off some steam. The incident ended with her being tortured to death. In front of his mother, my husband said that his lover deserved it. Yet, on the anniversary of her death, he killed me the way she had died. “I’ve always known that it was your scheme. You have to die as Shevonne did!” This time round, when my husband took his lover on a private plane to admire the cityscape at night, he found out everything that had happened and went mad.

Eight years after my boyfriend’s mom made us break up, that strong-willed, wealthy woman suddenly showed up again. “After you left, Nigel’s hair turned white overnight. He’s been in and out of mental hospitals so many times… “Please, come back. If you don’t, he might die!” I touched the scar on my forehead and gave a bitter smile. “But I’m no longer young or pretty.” She got on her knees and begged, “If you come back, I’ll give you ten million to help pay for your mom’s treatment, no matter what happens.” For my sick mom, I decided to return to Nigel Jefferson. “But now that I’m no longer pretty… would he still love me?”