Male Protagonist Novels & Stories

"I'm so sorry! Please don't tell anyone about my fetish!" The voice of my girlfriend's beautiful godmother, Jenna Johnston, drifts from the storage room in the convenience store. Well, I've stumbled upon Jenna's adult toy fetish in the storage room. Now that the cat's out of the bag, Jenna kneels before me and states that she's willing to do anything as long as I don't reveal her secret to anyone else. When Jenna arches her body with her back facing me, I can't hold myself back any longer…

Three years after my death, my mother finally remembered my existence. As my older brother was having kidney failure, she wanted me to give him my kidney. To force me to make an appearance, she pushed my severely depressed wife into committing suicide and left my daughter roaming the streets to be killed in a hit-and-run. However, she still did not give up. She started making up things about me on the internet. In the end, my friend told her, “Mrs. Harding, Aiden died in the earthquake three years ago. A steel girder pierced him right through the heart after he saved you, and he died on the spot due to blood loss.”

Loree Koester got hurt over and over by her dream guy—Harvey Geake—while I dragged her up from nothing to a damn fortune. Ten years later, she stood at my proposal, eyes full of tears, and said yes. Then she ditched our wedding ninety-eight times. Every time, same excuse—Harvey threatening to kill himself. On the ninety-ninth, she didn't even hesitate. Left our friends, our family—hell, left her ring on the floor. "Rowan, just wait a little longer. Two hours. I'll deal with Harvey and come right back." I'd already waited ten years. I wasn't waiting two more hours.

In the delivery room, my wife, Ashley Chase, is now fully dilated, but she refuses to go through with the delivery. She insists that I have to agree to accept her betrayal first. "Henry Madden, I want you to swear that you'll treat this baby as if it were your own. Or else, I refuse to give birth today. The baby and I will both die in this delivery room!" The medical staff joins in, trying to convince me that life matters more than anything else—that all Ashley has done is make a mistake, and I should just live with it. Ashley's mother even slaps me when she sees that I haven't agreed yet. "You're just a loser who married into our family! You should feel honored that we're letting you be the father in name. Don't be such an ingrate!" Sneering, I grab the delivery consent form and write the words "do not agree". "Since Ashley is so keen to end both her own life and the life of her love child, I'll let her have her way."

On the day we decided to get a divorce, I saw Miranda’s account book while I was packing up my stuff. Aside from our daily expenses, Miranda had also set up a scoring sheet for me. Miranda had taken notes of all the things I had done ever since we started dating. Some of them were such miniscule things that even I had forgotten. She took note of them all with a red pen, and she scored them by either awarding me points or deducting them. However, the further down the sheet, the more points were deducted. In the end, I saw Miranda add one line in black ink. [He’s no longer the Henry Jones who used to love me: -100]

My son’s family suddenly returned from abroad. I did not understand a single word at the dinner table. They were speaking in a foreign language. My grandson, Aiden, looked me up and down and said loudly, “Dad, Grandpa’s face is all bumpy and scarred. He’s lame, too. He’s so ugly!” My son waved his hand nonchalantly and said, “That was caused by a shell blast. Anyone who served in the military looks like that.” I did not understand their conversation. I simply placed the fish I had deboned onto his plate in silence. My grandson, however, became agitated. He picked up the hot soup and splashed it on my face. Then he cursed at me in broken English, saying, “Stay away, ugly monster! If it weren’t for you refusing to die, Grandma Sloane and Grandpa Wallace could’ve come home years ago!” My mind went blank. My wife had passed away decades ago. Who was this “Grandpa Wallace”?

My wife, Lindsey Kelsey, suffers from an aversion to intimacy. For ten years of marriage, she pushed me away again and again. Then, on our anniversary, she abandoned me and, in front of the crowd, kissed another man with reckless passion before the two of them walked hand in hand into a luxury hotel. Afterward, Lindsey brazenly declared that a real man should be magnanimous, not petty. Magnanimous? Then I wish them both eternal bliss—may they be bound so tightly they can never break free from one another. Later, I handed Lindsey the divorce papers with a blank expression. I was determined to walk away from her. But Lindsey went mad when she realized she couldn't find me anymore.

In order to gather 500 thousand dollars for my blind girlfriend's surgical bills, I've accepted a delivery order that's meant for someone at a private racing club. The huge floor-to-ceiling monitor is currently playing the live footage of the champion who's won the racing tournament. Champagne bottles can be seen spraying everywhere as the audience cheers loudly for the victor. Soon, the champion takes off her helmet and shakes her head full of curls off her face. Strikingly beautiful features are revealed the next moment. Next to the champion stands her childhood friend, Lewis Ross. I feel my hands clenching around the plastic bag containing the food containers. The woman shown on the screen is none other than Evelyn Carter, my so-called blind girlfriend. "Why aren't you happy even though you've won the tournament, Evelyn? Are you missing that boyfriend of yours who's still working his ass off for money?" A familiar voice comes from the lounge. An amused yet malicious smirk is played on Evelyn's lips at the moment. "Why did you bring him up? Then again, it's thrilling, pretending to be blind and all. Whenever he changes his clothes at home, he does it right in front of me." Everyone around Evelyn begins roaring with cheers. "You're so lucky, Ms. Carter!" After taking a sip from her champagne glass, Evelyn responds in a flippant tone, "Lucky? He's so busy with work every day just to gather enough money for my surgical bills! That man doesn't have a single romantic cell in him—he's just as stiff as the stick up his ass!" A wave of laughter echoes from the crowd once again. Feeling as though my blood had turned to ice, I turn on my heel and begin walking out of the club. I can still hear Lewis' cheeky voice ringing out from behind me. "There are only three days left in our one-year bet, Evelyn. Don't tell me you really fell for your boyfriend!" Evelyn merely snorts in response. She drawls back, "Don't worry. I'll dump him in three days."

I was a player. At the same time, I was juggling three gorgeous girlfriends. Then, after an accident, I got pulled into a horror game. That was when I discovered something terrifying. All three of my girlfriends were major bosses in the game. The good news was, none of them knew about the others. The bad news was, if they ever found out, I was dead. To stay alive, I spent every waking hour managing my messy dating life, doing everything I could to keep my three girlfriends from tearing each other apart. Until one day, several lines of floating comments appeared in front of me. [Run, kid. She is coming for you.] [Careful, baby. She wants to wring you dry.] Just as I was drowning in fear and despair, one of the women leaned close to my ear and asked in the softest voice, “Kid, do you know the female boss from the amusement park?”

Asya is the most promising ballerina the Royal Ballet has seen in years. Wildly ambitious, back-breakingly disciplined, and immensely driven, she has only one objective: prima ballerina. There is nothing she won't do to earn this once-in-a-generation title. But behind her ballerina grace she hides dark secrets of an inhumanly strict mother, pushing her body to cruel limits, and serial hookups with male dancers. Roman Zharnov is the star of the Russian ballet: young, successful, arrogant, beautiful, and worst of all, talented. He's come to London for a fresh start after earning himself the nickname 'the bad boy of ballet'. It is during a rehearsal that his eye falls on Asya, a nineteen-year-old soloist with spitfire in her eyes and a raw talent capable of silencing an auditorium. But Asya has a partner, and she wants to stay as far away as possible from the Russian prodigy with a reputation that won't seem to leave him alone. In the competitive world of classical ballet Asya is climbing the ranks, earning coveted parts and building a name for herself as a promising soloist. But all the while she is playing a dangerous game behind the curtain. Roman has found the one ballerina that can keep up with him and wants her to partner him, but he will soon realise that animals can't do what she does.