Tragic Ending Novels & Stories

After Leo Carter’s older brother passed away, his mother proposed that he marry his late brother’s pregnant wife, Ariel Sullivan. Leo refused. “Fawn is my life,” he said coldly. “I’d rather give up inheriting my brother’s position as the don than ever betray my wife.” I was deeply moved by his devotion. That was until I accidentally overheard a conversation between Leo and his mother. “The child in Ariel’s womb is clearly yours,” his mother said sharply. “So why won’t you marry her?” Leo exhaled a cloud of smoke. His gaze drifted somewhere far away, unreadable. “I promised Ariel I’d leave my brother with an heir,” he said calmly. “But this stays between us. If Fawn ever finds out, I’m dead.” His mother’s expression darkened. “So what if she finds out? She can’t even have children herself. Are you going to end the family bloodline because of her?” Leo cut her off, his voice suddenly cold and dangerous. “If she finds out, she will leave me. And I can’t survive losing her. If you want a grandson, then keep your mouth shut.” I stumbled away in a daze, and the blood in my veins slowly turned cold. Leo understood me better than anyone. He knew that in my world, love could not tolerate a betrayal. So the moment he betrayed me, I made my decision. I was leaving.

Everyone in Palermo knew Alessandro De Luca had a reputation. He was the Boss of the De Luca family, one of the oldest bloodlines in Sicily — a name tied to the port, the courts, and half the construction contracts in Palermo. Wealth, power, discipline—those things were expected. Romance was not. He didn’t chase women, and he never went back to the same one twice. Until me. When we broke up after a brutal argument, he did something no De Luca had done in generations—he stood outside the gates of the Moretti estate, my family home, for an entire day and night. I watched from behind the curtains and never opened the door. The next day, he came inside the estate kitchen himself. Alessandro De Luca, who grew up surrounded by servants, tried to cook my favorite seafood pasta with his own hands. He burned the sauce. I threw it away without tasting it. On the third day, he found the necklace my grandmother had left me—something my uncle had sold years ago—and bought it back, paying far more than it was worth, just to return it to me. At a formal family dinner, in front of elders and allies, he made it clear: No more women. Only me. It took him a year to win me back. That summer, fireworks lit up the Palermo coastline as he announced our engagement. I believed he had chosen me. Until the night of a private gathering at an old harbor estate. A young woman was being pulled forward in the middle of the courtyard, her dress torn at the shoulder, tears running down her face. Alessandro went still. Then he stood up. He didn’t look at me. He didn’t explain. He just walked toward her. And something inside me went cold. I rested my hand over my abdomen. There was something I hadn’t told him yet. He broke his word that night. So I broke mine.

My wife, Sandra Wren, had suggested taking our daughter, Annie, to a childcare center, saying that it would be better for our daughter. I didn't think much of it and handed her a card. I went on a business trip for half a month. Watching the daily charges on my card, I felt nothing but satisfaction. Until my best friend suddenly sent me a video. The location tag was at the childcare center. "Dude. Why is your wife staying after class for 'extra lessons'? Is it more exciting in the classroom?" In the video, Sandra's lace underwear hung around her ankles. The floor was littered with used condoms. The tables in the childcare classroom creaked noisily. I immediately called her. On the phone, I could faintly hear her suppressed yet excited breathing. She said, slightly panting, "Honey, I'm flying a kite with Annie. Did you miss us?" I let out a cold laugh. "Yes. I missed you so much, I came back overnight. Which classroom are you in? I'll bring you condoms."

Years ago, I, Ella Marin, became the wife of Andrew Lorenzo, the underboss of the Lorenzo family. Sadly, my last three years were spent in prison after I caused a fatal car accident. I heard plenty of “good news” about my husband while I did my time. Andrew had officially taken over the Lorenzo family once the Don had stepped down. He then spent a fortune on a woman called Rose Gunfire and was rumored to have had a one-night stand with a rival. He was also seen acting intimately with Sophia, the Principessa of the Rossi family, and private photos of them kept appearing online. When the underboss came to warn me about Andrew, I remained calm. “The Don says that as long as you don’t cry or make a scene, you’ll still have a place in the Lorenzo family after your release.” I replied quietly, “So he has women on the side. I can handle that.” Three days before that, the church’s hospital had called to tell me that my mother was terminally ill. Since the Lorenzo family could help find a kidney donor, I agreed to a marriage in name only. All for my mother’s sake.

Six months after our divorce, my ex-wife, Shanon Reich went viral with her new influencer boyfriend, Tobias Hunt, gaining over ten million followers. One day, by sheer accident, I scrolled into their livestream and saw my three-year-old daughter, Ginny Herbert, trapped inside a car. She was crying so hard she could barely breathe. Her little face was flushed, her eyes wide with fear and confusion. She looked utterly helpless. Shanon didn't smash the window, nor did she call the police. Instead, she laughed brightly at the camera. "Thank you to our top fan for the moneybag gift!" Then she grinned and said, "Send another moneybag! I'll smash the window once I get it, okay?" I lost my mind. I raced over like a madman and wrenched the car keys out of her hand. "Leomund Herbert! Are you insane?" she screamed. "Do you know how much this stream is worth? It's just a little heat! She's not going to die!" I held my daughter in my arms. Her tiny body was limp, and she was barely conscious. With reddened eyes, I pointed at her and shouted, "Shanon Reich! You will pay for this!"

When I bring up divorce in front of my husband, Vito Corti, he happens to be toying with a lace thigh strap that's gifted to him by a rising adult film star. Vito, the head of the Corti family as well as the youngest Don in Emaly, orders his Soldato to pick up his new lover tonight. Then, he shoots a languid glance at the divorce agreement on the table. "How big of a tantrum are you throwing this time, my dear Donna?" I reply calmly, "I didn't touch the bank card tied to the private account. I also don't want the estate in Emaly as well as the bulletproof convoy. I have already entrusted the asset management authority to your Consigliere." Vito is stunned for a moment, but he still thinks I'm still throwing a tantrum. "You don't want those assets? Then what do you want? My devotion? Gia, I already told you in the past that you're the woman with the highest position in the family. But it's too boring for a Don to own just one woman." He tries to reach out to feel my cheek, thinking that I'll act the same way as before; that I'll forgive him in a roundabout way after lashing out at him. But I just avoid his hand. I no longer want Vito's devotion to me. Now, I just want to leave him.

In the second year of our marriage, which Brett Mason had secured through relentless means, he brought home his latest conquest—a stunning blonde. As the door swung shut, he ran his fingers through her silky hair, flashing me a smug, triumphant grin. "Wanna join us? You might learn a thing or two about not being such a dead fish." I could still recall how he once adored my hair, claiming that just stroking it would melt away his deepest worries. It turned out any woman could serve that purpose. In that instant, a profound sense of release washed over me. I retrieved the divorce agreement I'd stashed away in a drawer and handed it to him. "Sign it, and I'll make room for her." My days were numbered, and I had no intention of wasting what little time remained entangled in his resentment.

I was the belle of the school, good grades and all. But I wasn't the nerd they thought I was. I had been secretly dating my adopted brother's sworn enemy for three years. Lucian Palma had a strong desire for intimacy, so I went along with him in unlocking countless places to make love. He promised that he would marry me after graduation. Once he took over the family business from his wealthy father, he would make me the happiest woman alive. I believed him, even indulging him in his kink of recording us sleeping together. Lucian assured me that those videos were for his eyes only, and that no one else would ever see them. But then, I accidentally overheard a conversation between Lucian and his friends. "Lucian, you had deliberately staged a hero saving the damsel in distress situation to make Nina Etienne fall for you, all just to get it back at your archnemesis, Aaron North. If he found out his little sister had been sleeping with you, wouldn't it kill him with rage? "You've filmed hundreds of intimate videos, haven't you? When do you plan to release them? We'd love to see the nerd stripped bare under you." I didn't confront him about this. Instead, I quietly walked away and agreed to meet the fiance my father had arranged for me.

On our sixth wedding anniversary, I felt a seam split open in my skull. Not from pain, but from truth. “Ethan, that new assistant… how does she taste?” Marcus’s thought, slick as oil. Ethan's reply slithered through my veins: "Young. Tender. Like summer berries." His lips shaped a lie. His hand shielded me from the crowd, even as his fingers pressed a blood-red cocktail into my palm. "Don't let Lena find out,"he thought, the words clear as speech. "I’d in a big trouble." Laughter swirled. Champagne clinked.their mind. Nobody knew I could hear every thought ,the ability to read minds awakened in me last night. . Nobody knew I had already known about his betrayal long ago. There were no tears, no screams I just replied “yes” to Professor Johnson’s encrypted call-the path I should have chosen six years ago. In three days, I would vanish. Not running from him. Running back to who I was at twenty—the rising star of virus research.

On the day the true heiress and I swapped places, my childhood sweetheart, bound to me by a promise made in youth, gripped my hand before our families and declared, "I chose you, not your title." Anna Pedersen, tears brimming in her eyes, enveloped me in a trembling embrace. "Joanne, we'll always be family. I'd never take what's rightfully yours." Everyone assumed I'd turned misfortune into fortune. Though I lost my status as the Pedersen heiress, I gained a steadfast lover and a selfless sister. But three years after fate corrected itself, photos of Calvin Thomas escorting Anna to a prenatal checkup flooded the internet. When I confronted him, he exhaled a plume of smoke and said coolly, "Anna is my true betrothed. This is just setting things right. Why are you so worked up?" He seized my wrist and dragged our engraved engagement ring across the back of my hand, leaving a bloody gash. "This scar will remind you of the twenty years of life you stole. Your life and I belong to their rightful owner."