Obsessive Romance Novels & Stories

Sated from their passionate deed, Jonathan Sheffield rises and gently scoops the worn-out Eloise Carter into his arms. He cleans her in the bathroom, carries her back to bed, and lets her settle in. Normally, Eloise will have fallen asleep by now. But she won't allow herself to doze off tonight, not before she takes out the birthday present she's carefully prepared for Jonathan. Jonathan is making a phone call out on the balcony when Eloise quietly takes out the present she has hidden. It's a red velvet box, containing the ring she plans to give him when she proposes. She inches closer to the balcony and is about to speak when she freezes. A shocked, male voice rings out from the other end of Jonathan's phone, which he's casually left on the balcony ledge. "What the hell? You must be out of your mind, Jonathan! You're planning to take Eloise's heart and give it to Sonia?"

The day before our wedding, I received an expensive suit from my wife. Not long after, her young lover called me, his voice trembling. "I'm sorry. It was my fault. My bad for mixing up your size. Please… please don't blame Sylvie." On the other end, I could hear Sylvie soothing him gently, patiently, until he calmed down. I stared at the plane ticket in my hand—a one-way trip out of the country—and calmly asked her for a divorce. Then, as if I no longer mattered, she left me with a single, cold sentence. "Just don't regret it."

I used to be a top ballet dancer. The year I was diagnosed with a spinal hemangioma, my boyfriend Julian Blackwood said, "Wherever you go, I go." We'd been together three years. He walked beside me as I went, step by step, from the most luminous dancer on that stage to a woman in a wheelchair. Every time the nerve pain hit and I collapsed, he was the one who lifted me off the floor. Every round of electrostim and acupuncture, he sat in the corridor outside the therapy room and waited for me to come out. Before I got sick, he promised me—the night I finished my final performance of Swan Lake, we'd sign the marriage license. He'd bought tickets for that show three months in advance. I never stood on that stage again. And the marriage license never came up. Until the morning I noticed the collar of his white dress shirt carried a smudge of lipstick that wasn't mine. I heard him on the balcony. A woman's voice on the other end. "Mr. Blackwood, you left your jacket at the hotel last night. I'll bring it over." I stared at that smear of red, and something in me snapped. I laughed. "Send me to Westbrook. The locked-down rehab facility. I don't want to drag you down anymore." Something flickered in his eyes—a brief, animal panic. Then he nodded. He thought I meant rest. He didn't know I'd already signed the papers to donate my body to science. I was going there to die.

I used to be so happy with my husband, Ian Shaw, until his first love got too drunk one day and was taken away by five strange men for an entire night. To protect her reputation, he told everyone that I was the one who was kidnapped that night. Everyone criticized me, calling the baby in my belly a child of shame. I questioned Ian hysterically, but he said nonchalantly, "Ruby isn’t married yet. People will laugh at her if the news spreads." I looked icily at the man I had loved for six years, shock taking over as I realized he had probably never loved me back.

I filed to leave Doctors Without Borders a year in advance, just so I could return home, keep my promise, and marry Dennis McMillan. But by the time I got back, Dennis was already a father. I overheard him telling the housekeeper, "Let Anna stay abroad a little longer. Best if she doesn't come back at all. If she finds out I have a son now, she'll definitely cause a scene." It was only then that I understood—he had deceived me. Three years ago, he said to me, "Go spend three years with Doctors Without Borders. Toughen yourself up. Once you are more mature, you'll be ready to be my wife." And I was mature now. I wasn't the same girl who used to break down in tears whenever something went wrong. My tastes had changed too. And now, I wasn't interested in someone like him anymore.

On the way to get our marriage certificate for the twentieth time, Rolf Trivett regretted it once again. In eight years, this was our twentieth attempt to get the certificate. But every time we reached City Hall, he would always say he needed time to care for his seriously ill childhood friend and couldn't promise to marry me. This time, I couldn't take it anymore and asked him, "If she’s never going to get better, does that mean you’ll never marry me? What am I to you?" Rolf immediately lost his temper and yelled at me, "I've already promised to take care of her for life. Can you stop being so selfish? "Besides, we've been together for eight years. What difference does it make if we don't get this certificate?"

“Mom, Dan, I received an offer from an overseas university. I plan to take it.” Lucille Shaw’s voice was soft in the silent living room, like a single drop of water rippling across a still pond. Her mother Victoria exclaimed with joy, "Really? Congratulations! When are you planning to go?" “In Ten days.”

I'm in the middle of my pediatric shift when an emergency call comes in. A three-year-old boy arrives, hemorrhaging and unconscious from a car crash, but there is no matching blood type in the bank. Then, it hits me that my husband, Ethan Stone, has the same blood type, so I ask him to donate blood right away. When he arrives and stands frozen to the spot, I can no longer hold back my rage. "What are you waiting for? Saving his life is the priority here!" That's when the boy's mother sprints over and screams, "No! Close family can't donate! He's the boy's father!"

Liam Chase and I were legendary in Celandre City—the most infamous enemies ever bound by marriage. He hated me for being shameless, convinced I'd schemed my way into becoming his wife. I despised him for playing the celibate knight for Alexa Conley and treating me coldly. In eight years of marriage, his most frequent words to me were, "Get out." Then the flood came. The man who'd never spared me a single kindness shoved me onto the last lifeboat. Over the roaring water, he shouted, "Don't look back! Go! Khloe, my debt to you is paid. In the next life, I belong only to Alexa." I lunged for him, but someone wrenched me back. I could only watch as the water swallowed Liam whole. When rescue teams finally came, they found his body bloated, his fingers locked around Alexa's pendant in a grip no one could break. Afterward, I sold everything we owned, donated it all to the disaster relief, and jumped off a building. But when I opened my eyes, I was back… on the night Liam got drugged.

After I'm abducted, I call my mother, a policewoman, for help. However, she hangs up on me and stays by my adoptive sister's side. "Go to hell if you're so keen on it!" she snaps. I calmly watch as the abductors pluck my nails and torment me until none of my skin is left unharmed. In my past life, my mother actually came to my rescue. She left my adoptive sister by the roadside, and the latter ended up being violated and murdered. From then on, I became a criminal in my mother's eyes. She received an anonymous text on my adoptive sister's death anniversary. "I bet a good girl like you wouldn't want your mother to know you hired us to abduct you, right?" She thought I orchestrated the abduction because I wanted to vie for her attention. She thought that was the cause of my adoptive sister's death. "I've saved people all my life. I never would've expected my flesh and blood to be such a shameless monster! You should go to hell as atonement for killing Charlene!" She sewed my mouth shut, shattered every bone in my body, and threw my ashes into a junkyard. When I open my eyes again, I find myself back to the day my mother makes her choice.