Immortal Girlfriend Novels & Stories

We had been married for 24 years. Twenty-four years of what I thought was happy. He got everything he wanted. The house he chose. The truck he loved. The vacations he picked. I made sure life ran smoothly so he never had to question comfort. And apparently, comfort made him bored. That’s how I met Vincent. Not in person. On Tinder. Same smile. Same scar on his chin. Same wedding ring conveniently missing.

I’d just wrapped up a short trip with my daughter, Elara. On the way back, I figured I’d swing by the Hale, our family’s casino, to check in on my son, Cassian. Maybe grab dinner together. I didn’t expect to be mistaken for his latest fling. Correction: not mistaken—accused. Violently. “You think you can just waltz in here like some queen?” she hissed. “I’m the woman Cassian loves! What kind of whore are you? And is this your bastard daughter with him?” She locked us in the basement. No phone. No light. Just concrete walls and the stench of mildew and madness. Then came the fists. She slapped me across the face—again and again—until my skin stung and my ears rang. When that didn’t satisfy her, she pulled a gun and aimed low. The bullet tore through my knee. I bit back a scream, shielding Elara with my body. “You need to die, whore,” she spat. One of her men hesitated, “We should at least tell Mr. Hale first. If we are going to kill these two in his casino.” Lila of course said no. But that man brought Cassian anyway. My son stepped into this dark little room like it was any other Tuesday—until he saw me. His whole body went still. The blood drained from his face. And then, in the smallest, most broken voice I’d ever heard from him, he whispered, “Mom? What are you doing in my basement?”

Elaine Foster loved to test my love for her. She faked a chronic illness and convinced me to donate blood for her 99 times. When it came for the 100th time, I was already severely anemic. I finally said no. She turned around and used the blood I had given her to make blood sausages for Karl Claflin’s dog. Karl was the most popular guy on campus. Curled up in Karl’s arms, she said to me, “Michael Messner, I was never sick. I only pretended to be, just to see if you really loved me. Unfortunately, you failed the final test. I’m very disappointed. We are done.” I smiled indifferently and walked away without looking back. Five years later, we met again at the top hospital in the country. By then, neither Elaine nor Karl knew that they both had malignant gliomas growing in their brains. I had become the only neurosurgeon in the country capable of successfully removing them. When she saw me in plain clothes, wiping vomit off the hospital floor, she had assumed I was a janitor. She sneered, “Michael, you’d really stoop to anything to run into me, wouldn’t you? You even followed me here. It’s time you faced reality. I’m worth millions now, and you are just a janitor. We are worlds apart. Stop embarrassing yourself.” I did not bother answering. At that moment, I was only thinking about which nurse I would need to speak to for slacking off on the job. Luckily, I had just finished surgery and was going home when I spotted the patient in distress. Otherwise, the patient could have been in serious danger.

My boyfriend's "best female friend" was angry again. Why? Because for our five-year anniversary, he got a gift just for me—and forgot about hers. Simone Baker threw a complete fit, sobbing and making a huge scene. Scott Tanner immediately blocked me and removed me on Instagram, then changed our matching couple profile pictures. "Girls can be so dramatic," he said. "Once I've calmed her down, we'll switch them back." I reminded him, "That makes a hundred times now." He just smiled and gave me a quick kiss. "I know. I'll make it fast this time." That night, Simone posted a status update: [Your effort was acceptable. You get three days of freedom.] Almost immediately, Scott unblocked me. [Okay, babe. We can put our couple pictures back now.] But then a male account—using my half of the matching photo—sent him a friend request, followed by a single question mark. [Since when are couple photos a group project?]

Pedro Hernandez spent seven years away from Los Angeles and after the death of his father, Maxwell Hernandez, he can finally return home. With Max's death, Pedro feels relief and freedom, after living a lonely life, trapped in Madrid, a city he hated, far from the people he loved. However, everything he knew is completely different and now he must adapt to the city again while taking on the responsibility of being the CEO of his father's company, something Max considered "The Hernandez Empire". His reunion with old acquaintances after so many years may bring back memories. Pedro faces a reality check when he meets Adrielle, his old girlfriend, someone he was forced to leave behind, married to Leonard Williams, a mysterious man who could threaten the stable life of the Hernandez family. Torn apart by anger, resentment and hurt feelings, Pedro is burdened with yet another conflict: Leonard is not only his love rival, but also the heir to the estate left by Max. The tension and anger grow with each passing moment, as Pedro tries to deal with Leonard, take over the company and make up for the years stolen from him. Pedro is no longer the same man who left Los Angeles seven years ago, there is resentment and anger surrounding his heart. With Max's death, he has a second chance to live alongside the people he loves, but he still wants answers to all the evil caused by his father. Is Pedro really willing to discover all of Max's secrets? How many tears can love endure?

My brother Christopher owned a boutique on Fifth Avenue. I'd gone in, picked out a few pieces, grabbed a silk scarf on the way, and was heading for the door. The clerk behind the register stopped me. "Ma'am, we'll need you to settle this now." I looked up. Her name tag said Yvonne. Unfamiliar face. Probably new. I didn't think much of it. "Just put it on the owner's account," I said politely. "He knows who I am." She gave a little snort through her nose, eyes raking from my hair down to my shoes. "We don't run accounts here. You might have the wrong store." She pushed an itemized bill across the counter. Four hundred thousand dollars. I scanned the line items. Personal Style Consultation. Premium Fitting Service. VIP Client Private Service. Every single charge cost more than the clothes themselves. I let out a short laugh. "I'm a Whitfield. Christopher's my brother. Whatever this is, he can deal with it at home." Her smile got uglier. "Anyone can claim to be a Whitfield, sweetheart. Are you trying to skip out on the bill, or are you just trying to embarrass yourself?" I didn't bother arguing. I pulled out my phone and texted Christopher: [Fire the clerk named Yvonne in the next ten minutes, or I pull every dollar I have in this store.]

Maren ’s ex invites her to his wedding just three months after their breakup, she almost spirals back into depression. Then her best friend who works for the Seattle Icehawks offers her job to date the star Goalie Gideon Patton who happens to be her ex favorite player and which sounds like the perfect revenge plan against her Ex. Pretending to date him is supposed to be payback. But somewhere between staged kisses and stolen glances, the line between pretending and real emotions begins to blurred.

The night Araya was born, the Moon refused her. Marked as wolfless, mocked and forgotten, she grew up as prey in her own pack. Even her fated mate broke the bond with a smirk and left her bleeding at the border — for rogues to finish. But they forgot one thing: Ash remembers. And so does the throne buried beneath it. The forest did not devour her. It bowed. The flame did not die. It waited. Until, in the silence between heartbeats, something older than gods whispered: “She is not blessed. She is not chosen. She is the reckoning the moon tried to silence.” Now Araya walks again — no longer mortal, no longer meek. She is Hollow-Blood reborn, daughter of the fire that swallowed fate, heir to a throne no god dares name. And fate has bound her to Dorian—Azrien—the exiled god chained to shadow and ruin. He expected to crave nothing but vengeance. Until her. Araya is the mate his immortal soul demands, the salvation he denies, and the spark that could either set him free… or burn the world to ash. But enemies stir in silence. Adira, the Luna who would claim the Alpha prince at any cost, forges a pact with a creature older than gods, a monster chained in rot and darkness. The price she pays will rip fate itself open. Betrayals. Forbidden desire. Gods who bleed. Wolves who kneel. And at the heart of it, one truth no prophecy can silence: The gods will end. She will not. And the last prophecy carved into stone whispers: “The Flame That Walks Returns. Let the gods burn first.”

During the company’s celebration party, Zenia Andrews, my girlfriend, declared in front of everyone that she was going to get married. Everyone turned to look at me with teasing smiles. “Not bad, Felix; you’re finally tying the knot with Zenia.” However, their smiles stiffened the very next second, because Zenia announced that she was not marrying me, but her assistant. I showed no sign of anger or sadness. I just dug out a wad of cash and threw it in her face. “Get someone else to be his bridegroom. Here’s five hundred dollars. Split it evenly between you two.” Zenia ran over and said airily to me, “Don’t get jealous so easily! I already told you that we’re just going through the motions. He’s a foreigner and wants to get a green card. The easiest way for him to do so is by marrying me. The moment he gets it, we’ll get divorced. Then, I’ll marry you right away, okay? He even prepared a wedding gift for you to repay you!” I just smiled as I listened to her. When she saw that I was not behaving strangely, she nodded in relief and returned to the banquet hall. She trampled all over my love like it was worth nothing. How could I possibly let her trample all over it again? My next reaction was to call our rival company. “We’ll do as we promised last time. I’ll bring all the core patents when I join you.”

Thirty days into our argument, my girlfriend kissed her first love passionately right in front of me. I quietly asked my boss for a transfer to the Northern City branch, which was thousands of miles away. Her friends clapped and teased me. “Ivan, your girlfriend’s getting a new boyfriend. Aren’t you going to win her back?” I held her hand and sincerely said, “I’m sorry.” She looked down at me with a proud smile. “Okay, I forgive you. Tomorrow, pack your things. We’re going to see my parents.” I smiled and agreed. But she did not know I was leaving for Northern City that night.