Romance Novels With Tragic Endings

My boyfriend is a forensic doctor. I've been abducted and tied to a bomb—there's only ten minutes to detonation. The abductors force me to call my boyfriend, but all I get is a scolding. "What the hell do you want, Michelle? What are you playing at, using your life as an excuse just because you're jealous? "Vi's cat has already been stuck in a tree for three days. She loves it like it's her life! If you delay me from saving it, you'll be a murderer!" I hear a coquettish voice ring out on the other end of the line. "Thank you for this, Kev. You're amazing!" I recognize that voice—it belongs to my boyfriend's childhood friend. I text my boyfriend when the bomb is about to explode. "Farewell forever. I pray we won't meet each other again in another life."

I'm Tristan Scott's driver's daughter. Ten years ago, my father died at the hands of Tristan's abductors as he tried to save Tristan. Tristan had held me close and told me, "I'll care for you for the rest of your life on your father's behalf." Later, my mother's cancer relapsed due to her sorrow after losing my father. Before her death, she hoped to see Tristan and me marry. But on the wedding day, Tristan leaves me at the altar. I weep and try to keep him around, but he sneers and says, "You should know where to draw the line—your father gave his life in exchange for the cushy life you now have. That should be enough for you! You're dreaming if you think you can marry me!" In the end, my mother dies without seeing Tristan put a ring on me. That night, his assistant shares an Instagram story. The photo is of her and Tristan's faces plastered to each other as she shows off the ring on her finger. It's captioned, "My answer is yes."

*Warning - contains mature scenes* When Monroe, a girl with a tragic past moves across the country to start over, she has big plans for her life. None of these plans, however, involve Cade, the school's most notorious player. They both know , but neither of them know real intimacy. Cade and Monroe both had less than ideal childhoods and have closed off their hearts and minds to protect themselves. Breaking down these barriers may prove more difficult than either one of them was prepared to handle.

My husband took our six-year-old daughter on a fishing trip, but when his first love called, he left her alone to answer his phone. With no one watching her, our daughter fell into the sea, and we never recovered her body. Heartbroken, I called him and begged him to return, but his voice was cold as he said, “Cheyenne, today’s Queenie's birthday. Can you stop being such a buzzkill?” When I stumbled back home in despair, I found his first love clinging provocatively to him, a smug smile on her face. “What’s got you so upset, sis-in-law?” she sneered. I let out a cold laugh and flipped the dining table over. “As long as you’re alive, I’ll never be happy.”

My boyfriend goes viral after uploading a video of him being lovey-dovey with a woman. Everyone praises him for being handsome and a good boyfriend, but I don't even have the courage to like the video. Why? Because the woman in the video isn't me.

On the night of her 18th birthday, under a blood moon, Aurora’s world is shattered. For centuries, a cruel tradition has ruled the land: when a girl turns eighteen, she is summoned to the palace for the Mating Ceremony—a night where bloodlines are bound, and the ruthless Alpha King hunts for his destined queen. None may refuse. None return the same. Behind the palace walls, whispers speak of broken hearts, shattered minds, and a throne soaked in centuries of suffering. Now, it’s her turn. Will she survive the claiming… or become just another name lost to the shadows of the crown, she comes face to face with the Lycan King—a beast of legend, forged in war and drowned in blood. Will she tame the darkness that rules him, or be consumed by the savage fate that awaits all who dare to defy his reign?

In the second year of my marriage to Jeffery Sadler, he brought a young woman home. When his eyes met mine, Jeffery smiled carelessly and said, "Naomi, perhaps you should try it too." He added, "After all, young and energetic people are truly different." I knew he was only testing me; he had always enjoyed tormenting and toying with me. But what he didn't know was that this time, I was genuinely tempted. Later, as he stared at the fresh scratch marks on the "young person's" waist and abdomen, his eyes blazed red with anger. "Naomi Sloan," he growled, “Who gave you the audacity to actually take this seriously?”

My brother's only child was diagnosed with acute leukemia, and the baby growing inside me became his only hope. The moment I got the news, I didn't hesitate, even though I was six months pregnant, ready for the transplant compatibility test. My brother drove me to the hospital to get the results, but things took an unexpected turn when my sister-in-law mistook me for a mistress. She waited until my brother stepped away, then locked me in the bathroom. Her face twisted with fury as she tore my clothes, stepped on my belly and insulted me. "You seduced my husband and even dared to carry his child! My son falls ill, and you rush back just to show off, is that it? No one steals my man! Today, I'll show you what happens to a mistress's baby!" It was only when my brother came with the compatibility report of successful matching that she collapsed…

After pursuing Yves Chapman for five years, he finally agrees to marry me. Two months before the wedding, I get into an accident. I call him thrice, but he rejects my call each time. It's only because Clarisse Tatcher advises him to give me the cold shoulder for a while to stop me from pestering him. When I crawl out of that valley, I'm covered in injuries. My right hand has a comminuted fracture. At that moment, I finally understand that certain things can't be forced. But after that, he starts to wait outside my door, his eyes red as he asks me to also give him five years.

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."