Short stories

The Price of Unrequited Love

Eighteen days after giving up on Brendan Maynard, Jayde Rosario cut off her waist-length hair and called her father, announcing her decision to move to California and attend UC Berkeley. Her father, surprised, asked about the sudden change, reminding her how she' d always insisted on staying with Brendan. Jayde forced a laugh, revealing the painful truth: Brendan was getting married, and she, his stepsister, could no longer cling to him. That night, she tried to tell Brendan about her college acceptance, but his fiancée, Chloie Ellis, interrupted with a bubbly call, and Brendan' s tender words to Chloie twisted a knife in Jayde' s heart. She remembered how his tenderness used to be hers alone, how he had protected her, and how she had poured out her heart to him in a diary and a love letter, only for him to explode, tearing the letter and yelling, "I'm your brother!" He had stormed out, leaving her to painstakingly tape the shredded pieces back together. Her love, however, didn't die, not even when he brought Chloie home and told her to call her "sister-in-law." Now, she understood. She had to put that fire out herself. She had to dig Brendan out of her heart.

A Wife's Bitter Reckoning

My husband, Bennett, and I were New York's golden couple. But our perfect marriage was a lie, childless because of a rare genetic condition he claimed would kill any woman who carried his baby. When his dying father demanded an heir, Bennett proposed a solution: a surrogate. The woman he chose, Aria, was a younger, more vibrant version of me. Suddenly, Bennett was always busy, supporting her through "difficult IVF cycles." He missed my birthday. He forgot our anniversary. I tried to believe him, until I overheard him at a party. He confessed to his friends that his love for me was a "deep connection," but with Aria, it was "fire" and "exhilarating." He was planning a secret wedding with her in Lake Como, at the same villa he'd promised me for our anniversary. He was giving her a wedding, a family, a life—all the things he denied me, using a lie about a deadly genetic condition as his excuse. The betrayal was so complete it felt like a physical shock. When he came home that night, lying about a business trip, I smiled and played the part of the loving wife. He didn't know I'd heard everything. He didn't know that while he was planning his new life, I was already planning my escape. And he certainly didn't know I had just made a call to a service that specialized in one thing: making people disappear.

Five Years, One Devastating Lie

My husband was in the shower, the sound of water a familiar rhythm to our mornings. I was just placing a cup of coffee on his desk, a small ritual in our five years of what I thought was a perfect marriage. Then, an email notification flashed on his laptop: "You're invited to the Christening of Leo Thomas." Our last name. The sender: Hayden Cleveland, a social media influencer. An icy dread settled in. It was an invitation for his son, a son I didn't know existed. I went to the church, hidden in the shadows, and saw him holding a baby, a little boy with his dark hair and eyes. Hayden Cleveland, the mother, leaned on his shoulder, a picture of domestic bliss. They looked like a family. A perfect, happy family. My world crumbled. I remembered him refusing to have a baby with me, citing work pressure. All his business trips, the late nights-were they spent with them? The lie was so easy for him. How could I have been so blind? I called the Zurich Architectural Fellowship, a prestigious program I had deferred for him. "I' d like to accept the fellowship," I said, my voice eerily calm. "I can leave immediately."

The Negotiator's Cruelest Game

My husband, Harrison Phelps, was the FBI's golden boy, the hero negotiator who never lost his cool. To the world, we were the perfect couple. Then a bank robbery went wrong. The desperate kidnapper grabbed two women as human shields: me, and Harrison's colleague, Brooke. He gave my husband a choice: save one. Through the megaphone, my husband's voice boomed, clear and decisive for the whole world to hear. "Let Brooke Shelton go! She is a national asset!" He rushed to embrace her, shielding her with his body, never once looking back at me. The kidnapper, enraged, turned his gun on me. I saw the flash before the world went black. I woke up in the hospital and the first thing I did was call a lawyer. I wanted a divorce. But he returned from retrieving our marriage certificate with a strange look on his face. "There's a problem, Mrs. Phelps," he said, sliding the document across the table. "According to official records, this was never filed. Legally, you were never married." Six years. Our home, our friends, our life-all built on a lie. It was all for her. He built a perfect, fake life with me just so he could wait for Brooke to come back.

My Fiancé Chose His Ex On Our Wedding Day

My hands were my entire career, the key to my life as one of New York's top hand models. My fiancé, Chase, had plucked me from a small town and given me a world of glamour. I thought I owed him everything. Then his high school sweetheart, Karis, gave me a "luxury" treatment at her salon that left my hands with chemical burns, destroying my ten-year career overnight. Chase called it an "accident" and defended her. He told me Karis was so upset she might have to join him on our honeymoon to St. Barts to feel better. At our rehearsal dinner, when Karis suggested I'd hurt myself for attention, Chase publicly shamed me for upsetting her. His bachelor party turned out to be a private date with her. I found the prenup he wanted me to sign: if we divorced, I'd get nothing. But the final blow came the night before our wedding. As he slept, he grabbed my arm and whispered her name. "Karis... don't go." I realized then I was just a stand-in, a warm body in the dark. My love for him had been a survival strategy in a world he built for me, and I was finally suffocating. The next morning, on our wedding day, I didn't walk down the aisle. I walked out the door with nothing but my passport and made a call I hadn't made in fifteen years. An hour later, I was on my way to a private jet, leaving my old life to burn behind me.

The CEO's Final Gift

For four years, I was a ghost in my own home, trapped in a loveless marriage to a man who despised me. The entire house smelled of lilies-the favorite flower of Hettie, his childhood sweetheart. The day she came back into his life, he tossed divorce papers at me. He demanded my family's company as his compensation and announced that Hettie was carrying his child. In a last, desperate attempt to hold on, I lied and told him I was pregnant, too. He just laughed and called me a pathetic liar. That night, he brought her to our home for dinner. He asked me not to wear my late mother's perfume because Hettie was allergic. He was asking me to erase the last piece of my mother for her. Then I saw it. Around Hettie's neck was the diamond necklace Brady had given me for our first anniversary. The doctors had already warned me that with my terminal illness, I didn't have much time left. That single, cruel act was the final blow. The last bit of love I had for the boy who once promised to protect me died completely. I walked over to the table and calmly signed the divorce papers. Then, I picked up my phone. "Darcy," I said to my lawyer, my voice steady. "I'm transferring all of my shares to Brady Kennedy. Make it effective immediately."

Coma, Cruelty, and Caleb's Betrayal

After donating bone marrow to save my brother, a rare complication put me in a coma for five years. When I woke up, I found my family had replaced me. They had a new daughter, Hailie, a girl who looked just like me. They told me my jealousy over her caused a car crash that forced Hailie and my parents into hiding. To make me atone, my fiancé, Caleb, and my brother locked me in an isolated villa for three years. I was their prisoner, their slave, enduring their beatings because I believed my suffering was the price for my family's safety. Then, a doctor told me I had terminal lung cancer. My body was failing, but my tormentors decided on one last act of "kindness"-a surprise birthday trip to a luxury resort. There, I saw them all. My parents, my brother, my fiancé, and Hailie, alive and well, drinking champagne. I overheard their plan. My torture wasn't penance. It was a "lesson" to break me. My entire life had become a cruel joke. So, on my birthday, I walked to the highest bridge on the island, left behind my medical diagnosis and a recording of Hailie's confession, and jumped.

From Brokenness To Billionaire Bride

My father raised seven brilliant orphans to be my potential husbands. For years, I only had eyes for one of them, the cold and distant Damien Paul, believing his distance was a wall I just had to break through. That belief shattered last night when I found him in the garden, kissing his foster sister, Eve—the fragile girl my family took in at his request, the one I had treated like my own sister. But the true horror came when I overheard the other six Fellows talking in the library. They weren't competing for me. They were working together, orchestrating "accidents" and mocking my "stupid, blind" devotion to keep me away from Damien. Their loyalty wasn't to me, the heiress who held their futures in her hands. It was to Eve. I wasn't a woman to be won. I was a foolish burden to be managed. The seven men I grew up with, the men who owed my family everything, were a cult, and she was their queen. This morning, I walked into my father's study to make a decision that would burn their world to the ground. He smiled, asking if I'd finally won Damien over. "No, Dad," I said, my voice firm. "I'm marrying Hunter Beach."

When Love Turns to Ash

My world revolved around Jax Harding, my older brother's captivating rockstar friend. From sixteen, I adored him; at eighteen, I clung to his casual promise: "When you're 22, maybe I'll settle down." That offhand comment became my life's beacon, guiding every choice, meticulously planning my twenty-second birthday as our destiny. But on that pivotal day in a Lower East Side bar, clutching my gift, my dream exploded. I overheard Jax' s cold voice: "Can't believe Savvy's showing up. She' s still hung up on that stupid thing I said." Then the crushing plot: "We' re gonna tell Savvy I' m engaged to Chloe, maybe even hint she' s pregnant. That should scare her off." My gift, my future, slipped from my numb fingers. I fled into the cold New York rain, devastated by betrayal. Later, Jax introduced Chloe as his "fiancée" while his bandmates mocked my "adorable crush"-he did nothing. As an art installation fell, he saved Chloe, abandoning me to severe injury. In the hospital, he came for "damage control," then shockingly shoved me into a fountain, leaving me to bleed, calling me a "jealous psycho." How could the man I loved, who once saved me, become this cruel and publicly humiliate me? Why was my devotion seen as an annoyance to be brutally extinguished with lies and assault? Was I just a problem, my loyalty met with hatred? I would not be his victim. Injured and betrayed, I made an unshakeable vow: I was done. I blocked his number and everyone connected to him, severing ties. This was not an escape; this was my rebirth. Florence awaited, a new life on my terms, unburdened by broken promises.

The Day He Brought the Other Woman Home

On my birthday, my husband of five years, Gifford Stanton, brought another woman into our home. Her name was Jovita, and he claimed we owed her a debt of honor. He didn't ask my permission; he informed me she would be staying with us. It was a decision, not a discussion. In the days that followed, he systematically dismantled our life. He sided with her in every disagreement, publicly shaming me for my "insecurity" and "lack of grace." He celebrated her, paraded her in front of his family, and made me an outsider in my own home. The final betrayal came late one night. He crawled into our bed, drunk, and whispered another woman's name in my ear as he touched me. Chloe. The next morning, after I confronted him, Jovita rushed to his side, accusing me of being hysterical and violent. He believed her. He looked at me with a disgust that hollowed me out. "Pack your bags," he snarled. "You can come back when you're ready to behave like a rational adult." He ordered me to play the part of the smiling, perfect wife at his annual charity gala in one month, after which he would "reconsider our marriage." I agreed to go to his gala. I would smile. And I would burn his entire world to the ground.

My Son's Watch Exposed My Husband's Lies

My son, Leo, died a month ago from what they called a tragic accident. My husband, Benedict, has been my rock, holding me together as our world ended. But when he brought the nanny, Kendall, to our home, he wasn't comforting me. He was comforting her. He called me hysterical for wanting to plan our son's funeral because it was upsetting Kendall. That night, I heard them together in the guest room. His low rumble, her soft reply. In a desperate need to feel close to my son, I went to his room and found his smartwatch. The one he was supposed to be wearing that day. I charged it, and a notification popped up: Leo's Journey - Data Upload Complete. I pressed play and heard it all. My son, begging for me as he baked to death in the car. Kendall, telling him to be quiet before locking the doors. The betrayal was absolute. My grief vanished, replaced by a cold, hard clarity. My husband wasn't just cheating on me; he was protecting our son's murderer. I scrolled past my family and friends and found the name of my husband's biggest rival. "Chase," I said when he answered, my voice steady and unrecognizable. "I'm leaving the company. I need a change of scenery."

His Secret Son, Her Public Shame

I was Aliana Donovan, a resident physician, finally reunited with the wealthy family I' d been lost from as a child. I had loving parents and a handsome, successful fiancé. I was safe. I was loved. It was a perfect, fragile lie. The lie shattered on a Tuesday when I discovered my fiancé, Ivan, wasn't at a board meeting but at a sprawling mansion with Kiera Reese, the woman I was told had a mental breakdown five years ago after trying to frame me. She wasn' t disgraced; she was radiant, holding a little boy, Leo, who giggled in Ivan' s arms. I overheard their conversation: Leo was their son, and I was merely a "placeholder," a means to an end until Ivan no longer needed my family's connections. My parents, the Donovans, were in on it, funding Kiera' s lavish life and their secret family. My entire reality-the loving parents, the devoted fiancé, the security I thought I' d found-was a carefully constructed stage, and I was the fool playing the lead role. The casual lie Ivan texted me, "Just got out of the meeting. So exhausting. I miss you. See you at home," while he stood beside his real family, was the final blow. They thought I was pathetic. They thought I was a fool. They were about to find out just how wrong they were.

My Rival, My Only Hope

On my birthday, my mother told me it was time to choose a fiancé from New York's most eligible bachelors. She urged me to pick Alexander Booth, the man I loved with a foolish passion in my previous life. But I remembered how that love story ended. On the eve of our wedding, Alexander faked his death in a private jet crash. I spent years as his grieving fiancée, only to find him alive and well on a beach, laughing with the poor student I had personally sponsored. They even had a child. When I confronted him, our friends-the men who had pretended to comfort me-held me down. They helped Alexander throw me into the ocean and watched from the pier as I drowned. As the water closed over my head, only one person showed any real emotion. My childhood rival, Darrian Golden, screamed my name as they held him back, his face twisted in grief. He was the only one who cried at my funeral. Opening my eyes again, I was back in our penthouse, just a week before the big decision. This time, when my mother asked me to choose Alexander, I gave her a different name. I chose the man who mourned me. I chose Darrian Golden.

Love, Lies, and a Vasectomy

At eight months pregnant, I thought my husband Derek and I had it all. A perfect home, a loving marriage, and our miracle son on the way. Then, while tidying his office, I found his vasectomy certificate. It was dated a year ago, long before we even started trying. Confused and panicked, I rushed to his office, only to hear laughter from behind the door. It was Derek and his best friend, Edison. "I can't believe she still hasn't figured it out," Edison chuckled. "She walks around with that giant belly, glowing like some kind of saint." My husband's voice, the one that whispered words of love to me every night, was full of contempt. "Patience, my friend. The bigger she gets, the bigger the fall. And the bigger my payout." He said our entire marriage was a cruel game to destroy me, all for his precious adopted sister, Else. They were even running a bet on who the real father was. "So, the bet is still on?" Edison asked. "My money's still on me." My baby was a trophy in their sick contest. The world tilted on its axis. The love I felt, the family I was building—it was all a sham. In that moment, a cold, clear decision formed in the ruins of my heart. I pulled out my phone, my voice surprisingly steady as I called a private clinic. "Hello," I said. "I need to schedule an appointment. For a termination."

The Alpha Pact: Love Enslaved, Love Unleashed

For my entire life, I believed my Alpha, Kaelen, was my fated mate. A sacred gift from the Moon Goddess. But on the eve of my eighteenth birthday, he presented another she-wolf, Seraphina, as his chosen Luna, using a borrowed pup in a cruel plot to crush my spirit. When Rogues attacked our pack, a silver chandelier fell towards us. Kaelen lunged past me without a glance, shielding Seraphina with his own body while I was left to be crushed. He never even looked back. Later, after falsely accusing me of hurting her, he dragged my injured body to an ice-cold hydrotherapy pool and shoved me under the water. As I struggled to breathe, he loomed over me, his voice a roar of command. "If you ever touch her again, I will strip you of your name and make you Rogue." Watching the man I loved try to kill me, the last of my hope finally turned to ash. That night, I accepted an offer to join the Silverwood Pack. Then, I walked to the forge and tossed every memento he'd ever given me into the flames, watching the girl who loved him burn away forever.

His Brother's Promise, My Silent Revenge

For one thousand, eight hundred and twenty-five days, I honored a deathbed promise to the man I loved. I stayed by his brother's side, acting as Grafton Mcleod's loyal assistant, his shadow, and the keeper of his secrets. When my five-year sentence was finally up, he announced his engagement to Cherrelle, the woman who took cruel pleasure in tormenting me. His celebratory gift to me? The task of planning their perfect engagement party. At the party, he publicly dismissed me as an "old obligation." Later, drunk and angry, he cornered me in a back office. He slammed me against the door, his mouth crashing down on mine in a brutal, clumsy kiss. He pinned me there, his body pressing into mine, and whispered a name against my lips. It wasn't my name. "Cherrelle." The violation wasn't the assault; it was the complete and utter erasure. I wasn't a person he hated or desired. I was just a stand-in, a warm body, a substitute for the woman he actually wanted. The last flicker of loyalty to his brother's memory died, leaving only ice in my veins. The next morning, Cherrelle screamed that I'd tried to seduce him, and he stood by and let her. My own mother called to shame me. That was it. I drove to a cliff overlooking the ocean, pulled the SIM card from my phone, and snapped it in two. It was time for Cayla Bass to die.

His Poisoned Love, My Escape

My husband, Austen, the man the world saw as my devoted admirer, was the artist of my pain. He had punished me ninety-five times, and this was the ninety-sixth. Then, a message from my stepsister, Joyce, buzzed on my phone: a photo of her perfectly manicured hand holding champagne, captioned, "Celebrating another victory. He really does love me more." A second message from Austen followed, "My love, are you resting? I' ve asked the doctor to come. I' m sorry it had to be this way, but you must learn. I' ll be home soon to take care of you." I had always known Joyce was the trigger, but I never understood the mechanism. I thought it was just Austen' s own brand of cruelty, ignited by Joyce' s lies. But then, I found a voice recording of Austen's. His calm voice filled the silent room, "...number ninety-six. A broken hand. It should be enough to appease Joyce this time. But my debt must be paid. Fifteen years ago, Joyce saved my life. She pulled me from that burning car after the kidnapping. I vowed that day I would protect her from everything and everyone. Even from my own wife." My mind went blank. Kidnapping. Burning car. Fifteen years ago. I was the one there. I was the girl who pulled a terrified, crying boy from the back seat just before it exploded. His name was Austen. He had called me his "little star." But when I returned with the police, another girl was there, crying and holding Austen' s hand. It was Joyce. He didn't know. He had built his entire twisted system of justice on a lie. Joyce had stolen my life-saving act, and I was paying the price. Every cell in my body screamed one word: Escape.

Purposely Tripping The Bad Boy Over

Avery Leighton is not one of your ordinary teenagers. Instead of being moody and stuck up, she is the total opposite. She is goofy, sassy, fun and you may think she is on drugs sometimes but she is fun to hang out with. She has one best friend but plenty of boys chasing after her. But, Avery has been waiting a long time for Mr Right... but what if that guy is the total opposite of prince charming? Can Avery really trust herself to do such a thing? Yes, yes she can and she made her move towards the boy who could change anyone's life in ways they couldn't even imagine. That's right, we are talking about the bad boy. But how do you get the bad boy's attention? Do you say hi? Do you flirt with him? Tell him your free for the night? No. You trip him over. That's how you get it all to start.

Regret of the Mafia King

Luna Hayes accidentally saved Liam Moretti, the heir to Ravenwood's largest mafia family. People whispered his name with fear. They said he was merciless, ruthless, a devil in business... and even worse in bed. Yet this very man would kneel to help Luna put on her heels, afraid to hurt her. In bed, he was always gentle with her-so much so that he kept a sex slave just to satisfy his darker desires. But everything changed the moment Liam decided to let that slave carry his child.

The Forgotten Neighbor

At seventeen, Beatrixa Watson and her neighbor Maverick Fuller tasted forbidden fruit, hiding their romance from everyone. That day, she nervously held her homework, seeking his help. Her budding affection burned too brightly. He noticed her feelings and gently coaxed her to lift her skirt. "Don't be afraid. It won't hurt," he said. Her unease and resistance melted under his charming, tender smile. After that day, whenever Beatrixa visited him next door, his voice carried a teasing warmth. "I worked so hard helping you with your problems, Bae. How about a little reward for me?" Her cheeks flushed as she agreed. When passion took over, he always kissed her forehead. "Bae, you're so good. I really like you." He promised to go public with their relationship once she got into his university. But when she arrived at his house, clutching her acceptance letter with excitement, his careless, mocking voice stopped her cold. "The only one I care about is Bailee. Beatrixa's just the neighbor girl. If Bailee hadn't been abroad as an exchange student this past year, and if Beatrixa didn't look a bit like her, I'd never have been with someone as overweight as her. Now that Bailee's back, it's time to ditch this problem."