Tragic Ending Novels & Stories

My name is Christina Scott. In my previous life, Xavier Quinn, known as Don Quinn of the Quinn family, had asked me to choose one of his two sons to marry. The chosen one would then inherit his seat of power. Without hesitation, I chose the one I loved—Fletcher Quinn. He married me and assumed the role of the Don, but he blamed me for choosing him. He claimed that it drove his foster sister, Sabrina Quinn, who loved him, to leave. After our wedding, Fletcher hired someone to abduct me, causing me to die with our unborn child. The one who cried the hardest over my body turned out to be Lucas Quinn, a man whom the world called a cold-blooded demon. "Christina, if I had known this would be our ending," he confessed, "I would never have allowed Fletcher to have you." ... Now that I have been reborn, I will leave Fletcher to Sabrina, his foster sister, his true love. As for me, I choose to marry Lucas this time. However, when I chooses to marry Lucas, Fletcher begins to regret. "Christina, I love you. I love you most in the world."

On the night Uriah Parker married another woman, Irina Charlton trashed the home they had shared for eight years.

"Jamie, I've decided. I'm ready to join you at Hillridge as your exclusive screenwriter. I'll be there by the end of this month!" Melanie huddled in a quiet corner on the set as she made the call, a pregnancy test report clutched in her hand. She tried to shake off the chill from the freezing weather, but her hands and feet still felt painfully cold. Jamie's voice at the end of the line was a deep and pleasant baritone. "Your talent has long deserved a bigger stage. For eight years, you've turned me down nearly a hundred times for Ken's sake. Are you ready to leave him this time?" "Yes. I'm leaving him for good!" She clenched the pregnancy test report, her lips a bitter smile.

Before my mother passed away, the person she most wanted to see was her beloved son-in-law, Anthony Brosnan. She supported Anthony financially for five years, and the latter started his own business after graduating. At that time, I accidentally walked into his office and instantly fell in love with him at first sight. However, Anthony changed after three years of marriage and fell in love with his secretary. I called him over a dozen times, and it was the secretary who picked up the phone. "Anthony is cooking right now. Do you need something?" Just as I was about to speak, my mother overheard the voice. Her eyes widened in disbelief, and she passed away filled with resentment. Anthony, since I had lost my mother, you meant nothing to me anymore.

Three days before our wedding, I tell Gabriel Miller that I want to terminate our marriage once and for all. He just smiles helplessly at me. "Is it because I hooked Katherine's bra for her?" I nod in response. "Yup." The helplessness in his smile grows. "Kat is so clumsy. The last clasp came loose and she couldn't fix it herself. There were so many guests at the banquet last night, so I had to lend her a helping hand." Upon noting my lack of response, Gabriel pushes a Victoria's Secret giftbox in my direction. But I refuse to accept it. We've been together since our years in our hometown all the way till our time in Marise. Over the years, we've grown older and more mature. It's been 18 long years. Now is time for me to let go of this relationship once and for all.

By my third month on the job, I discovered that my coworkers had been calling me "the old crow" behind my back. The nickname came from none other than Jace's condescending secretary—because at 32, I was still clutching onto an eight-year relationship that hadn't ended in marriage. I confronted Jace. "Do you know your employees have been calling me the old crow?" He didn't even bother to look up. "That's just Sadie—she speaks her mind and means no harm. You're 32; why get so worked up over what a young girl says?" Then he gave me a faint, mocking smile. "Though honestly, it's a pretty fitting nickname." It felt like a cold hand had wrapped around my heart. So that was it—eight years of my youth, nothing more than a joke to him. I turned and walked away, handed in my resignation, and blocked every way he could reach me. But for the first time, the man who had always seemed so calm and untouchable finally panicked. "Elara," he pleaded, "please come back."

During the school holidays, I took my daughter to a park. I had barely entered the park entrance with my daughter when a supercar crossed the solid line and rear-ended us. The man who jumped out came storming toward me, furious. "Do you even know how to drive? Do you know how much this car costs? You can't afford it even if you went bankrupt!" I was about to argue back since he was clearly the one breaking traffic rules. But I froze. That car looked painfully familiar. Wasn't that the supercar my mother gave me the first year I took over the Milton Group? Even the license plate was identical. My wife, Hazel Bishop, had told me the engine was broken and that she'd sent it to the dealership for repairs. I met the man's arrogant stare. "Is this car really yours?" He paused, then grinned smugly. "My wife bought it for me. It's limited-edition. Someone like you wouldn't understand. Go call your family and sell your house. You owe me 200 thousand dollars." Sneering, he added, "Don't try anything clever. My wife's the GM of Milton Group. She has serious connections. She'll be here any minute." I let out a cold laugh. So Hazel canceled on our daughter today, not because of a business meeting, but because she was out spending the holiday with her lover and his kid instead.

No one knew that three days ago, the aloof CEO in the boardroom, Sophia Monroe, had been tangled up with me in her executive office, going at it for eight intense rounds. I thought Sophia had finally agreed to what I had been asking for. But then she pulled her dress back on, turned around, and disappeared without a trace. She was gone for an entire month. I stayed by Mom's grave for what felt like forever. Suddenly, my phone buzzed with the latest trending news. It was about Sophia's wedding of the century, but I was not the groom. At that moment, I was grateful Mom had not lived long enough to see Sophia's true colors. Before shutting off my phone, I sent her a message. [Monday. Courthouse. Divorce.]

The day before Chris Carter and I were supposed to get engaged, my parents sent me to prison. Three years later, when I was finally released, Chris was the only one who came to pick me up. I knew he despised me. I trembled, keeping my head down, hoping to slip away unnoticed. But he blocked my path, frowning. “Emily York? You stink.” He pinched his nose and told me to get in the car. I fell to my knees, desperately begging him not to take me home. If he did, I would die. He looked at me with chilling indifference and said, “Then go ahead and die.” I agreed. But later, he cried and begged me to stay alive.

When my husband, Drake Connor, posted a photo of me on social media, this random woman mistook me for his mistress. She confronted me in the street, a baby in her arms and a crowd of relatives and friends in tow, ready to teach me a lesson. "You shameless tramp! How dare you seduce my husband! "I’ll beat you to death, you disgusting woman!" The crowd beat me, smashed my car, and ripped my clothes. I left that encounter bruised and battered, suffering a concussion and a fractured arm. In the end, I called the police and demanded justice. I had a divorce agreement drawn up and threw it in Drake's face. "If it weren’t for me, you’d be begging in the streets! And now you dare to hide a woman and child from me? "Get out! Don’t expect a penny from me!"