Ticket Please Guy Novels & Stories

It was the day of our wedding trip, and my fiancee only hurried over to the airport at the last minute. Right before we boarded, she got an urgent message from her male secretary. "Sorry, honey. There's a big project that needs my attention. Just showed up. You go ahead without me. I'll catch up once I'm done with work." It was a shame, but work was important. "Yeah, I get it." Then, I tore up the flight ticket after my fiancee was gone. My fiancee talking about a big project when I just bought the whole company hours earlier? Well, I'd like to see who was the idiot who worked around their new boss to talk to someone who did not exist.

On our wedding anniversary night, my husband, Lucian Moore, comes home with a seven-year-old orphan named Chloe Martin. He even hands her the necklace he bought me for our anniversary and lets her play with it like a toy. Because of her, my son, Ryan Moore, shouts at me for the first time. "You're a bad woman! I don't want you to be my mommy!" I watch the three of them sitting together, warm and cozy, and I say nothing. Instead, I buy a ticket to leave the country. At first, they think I'm just acting out and will come home in a few days. But when they return from Feanland after celebrating Chloe's birthday, they find out I've joined a ten-year classified research project and will not come back again. At that moment, they fall apart.

Briana stared at the floor, avoiding her father's penetrating gaze. "Who is the guy that got you pregnant? Answer me!" George asked his daughter grimly. "You never introduced your boyfriend to us, daughter," Rosita, her stepmother, chimed in. Briana dared not look in Jack's direction, fearing that her stepmother's observant eyes might connect the dots. She can't tell them that the guy who got her pregnant was none other than her stepbrother, Jack. "Um, I have a one-night stand with his good-looking guy, whom I met at the party last month. I forgot to take anti pregnancy pills, that's why I got pregnant with his child." Briana told them the lie that she had practiced two weeks ago. George sighed deeply and said, "Alright, can you bring this guy to me? I would like to meet him." Briana blanched, the color draining out of her face.

She was more than just an enemy’s daughter. She was his… Clara Hale is looking for a fresh start, not a storm. But from the moment she crosses paths with Zachary Langston, her life is thrown into chaos. Her chance at employment is shattered, and she finds herself entangled in his bizarre world. When she saves his sister from danger, Clara hopes it’s her ticket to peace. Instead, she ends up stuck under Zachary’s roof, where the friction between them only grows. There’s something irresistible about his sharp hazel eyes and dangerous charm, and being close to him feels as reckless as it does unescapable. But Clara had a secrets of her own, which was hidden even to herself. Anyway, Zachary wouldn’t expect that this young clumsy woman would shake the walls around his heart.

After Christmas, I went on a vacation. For the trip back, I failed to get a train ticket with a sleeping berth. Thus, I was tired and mussed when I got home. When I opened the door, someone shoved a bunch of cleaning tools at me. The man sneered at me and commanded, “Hurry up! You need to finish cleaning this place before 6:00 p.m.!” I looked at him and saw that he was wearing my father’s silk pajamas. I took a few steps back to check that yes, this was my family’s two-story mansion. It was my home, but who was this man? And what was this about cleaning? Did the man intend for me to clean? I was the son of the owners of the house! I messaged the family’s group chat and mentioned my mother. The message read, [@Mom, your boytoy is asking me to clean the place up. What gives?]

I have claustrophobia, yet Luther Jansen abandons me in a stopped elevator so he can bring some flu medicine to his assistant. I ask for a divorce after that. He signs the papers without hesitation and laughs about it with his friends. "She's just throwing a tantrum—her parents are dead, so there's no way she'll leave me. "Besides, there's a 30-day cooling-off period for divorces, right? I'll generously let this matter slide once she regrets this, and she'll be back." The following day, he shares an intimate photo of himself with his assistant. "I want to record every moment of your shyness." I count the days until I'm free. Then, I calmly pack my stuff and make a call. "Can you buy me a flight ticket to Nanderton, Uncle David?"

After Elias began working under Kael, his feelings for the aloof prince deepened every day. “What’s wrong with you?” Kael asked, reaching to feel Elias’ forehead. But Elias looked stuttered, avoiding his touch. “Please… don’t.” “Why are you acting like I want to eat you up? I’m not that desperate.” Kael scoffed, turning away. Elias followed silently, his head bowed. Kael stopped suddenly, and Elias bumped into him. “Why are you trailing me like some love struck puppy? Stop following me around, I don't need you to do anything for me.” “I just want to be near you.” “Why? Don’t tell me you’ve fallen in love with me.” Kael smirked. “What if I have?” Elias said, raising his gaze. Kael’s smile faltered. He assumed it was a cruel joke. “Don’t cross that line. You’re the same guy who reported me for being gay. What—suddenly you're in love now?” “I mean it. I’ve truly fallen for you. Tell me how to prove it.” “Enough. Just leave.” But it wasn’t that simple. Elias regretted ever reporting Kael before. Now that his wolf had found its mate, everything had changed.

I am a little ditzy all the time, and my mind is often hazy. Three years ago, I bring home a handsome drunk guy in a daze. After he wakes up and stares at me for a while, he suddenly says, "Let's get married." I do not feel like thinking too much, so I nod. Just like that, I spend three years as the wealthy Nolan Steele's wife. I am free to shop as I please, and I live in a luxury villa. I just find out I am pregnant and have not had time to tell Nolan yet when he hands me a divorce agreement. "I have gone bankrupt. This is the last sum of money. Take it and leave." At that moment, a few lines of comments suddenly appear before my eyes. "Whoa! Nolan's first love, Celia Sanders, has returned from abroad!" "Is he pretending to go bankrupt just to dump Lyra so that he can chase after his true love?" "He got drunk back then because Celia left the country. Lyra is just a substitute!" Oh? So I'm just a substitute… I nod slowly and say, "Okay. Let's get a divorce, then." The light in his eyes instantly goes out. I look at him, feeling like there is something I have forgotten to say. Forget it. I will say it when I remember.

Shortly after we said "I do," the Family sent my husband, Dario, down to the Mexican border. He told me it was a meat grinder down there—cartel territory. where guys were zipped into body bags every day. He said he had to go—to expand the territory, for the glory of the Family. He claimed it was too dangerous and that his enemies would paint a target on my back, so he wouldn't take me with him. I believed him. I stayed behind in his old, rot-infested house in New Jersey, taking care of his bitter, spiteful parents. I spent my days and nights in the Family's moldy laundromat, washing bills stained with blood. He told me he sent every dime he made down there to the widow of a brother who took a bullet for him. He asked me to be understanding. I never complained. Day after day, I pressed expensive suits in that humid laundromat, waiting for him to come home. It wasn't until the eighth year that a mobster came back drunk. When I asked about Dario, he froze, then sneered at me through a haze of alcohol. "Dario? Are you kidding? He’s been a King in Manhattan for years. He’s the youngest Underboss of the Corleone family." I stood frozen, the iron in my hand burning a hole right through a shirt. "And he got married seven years ago. Biggest cathedral in New Jersey. Half the mob was there to toast the groom..." He pulled a crumpled photo from his leather jacket. Snuggled up against my husband was a woman in a high-end couture gown—the very same "poor, widowed sister-in-law" he had told me about. The next day, I contacted a fixer who specialized in fake IDs. On the application for a one-way ticket to Europe—a ticket to vanish off the face of the earth—I filled in the fake name I had prepared long ago. He trapped me for seven years with a sham marriage. From now on, I’d be done with this damn loyalty.

What would you do if you stumbled upon a bride crying her eyes out minutes before the wedding, begging you to help her escape? You help her, of course. What would you do if you stumbled upon a drunken guy being mugged in the dark alley later that night? You help him too, of course. What would you do when you discover he was the same guy left hanging at the altar earlier that day? You regret everything, of course. What would you do when you start seeing that same guy everywhere you go? You fall in love, of course.