Short stories

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 I Died and Lived Again

Ava Rodriguez clawed for breath, her chest a suffocating vise. Her six-year-old, Leo, watched, his face pale with terror. Anaphylactic shock. Rapidly worsening. She choked out her husband Mark's name, begging him to call 911. “Mommy can't breathe!" Leo cried into the phone. But Mark, busy "networking" with his mistress Chloe, dismissed it casually as a "panic attack." Minutes later, he called back: the ambulance he'd supposedly called for Ava was now diverted to Chloe, who had only "tripped" and twisted her ankle. Ava’s world fractured. Leo, a hero in his small heart, raced out for help, only to be hit by a car. A sickening thud. She watched, a ghost in her own tragedy, as paramedics covered his small, broken body. Her son was gone, because Mark chose Chloe. Devastation. Horror. Guilt. The image of Leo haunted her, a searing brand. How could a father, a husband, be so monstrously selfish? A bitter, consuming regret clawed at her soul. Chloe. Always Chloe. Then, Ava’s eyes snapped open. She was on her living room floor. Leo, alive and well, ran in. It was a terrifying, impossible second chance. That catastrophic future would not happen. She would reclaim her life, protect her son, and make them pay.

A Husband's Betrayal, A Wife's Rebirth

The two pink lines on the test stick perfectly embodied five years of quiet hopes and hushed prayers-a dream finally coming true. But that dream shattered when I overheard my husband David, in his study, confessing that she could "never find out," followed by his best friend Liam's horrified reply: "Five years. You' ve been living a double life for five years." Rebecca. The name of the struggling artist my family' s charity had sponsored, the woman David always dismissed with pity, was not only his wife but the mother of his son and heir, Thomas. Not only had my entire marriage been a lie, a performance for his "sweet, trusting" mistress, but I was also carrying the child of a man who secretly plotted: "She can never, ever get pregnant." He had been replacing my birth control pills with placebos for years, orchestrating my pain and feelings of failure, all to protect a life I never knew existed. The final insult came on my birthday, when the Astor sapphire necklace David had "promised" me appeared on Rebecca' s neck, a cruel trophy. And then, she introduced herself: "Thank you… brother-in-law." Something inside me snapped. He thought I was easy. He wanted me to disappear. Fine. I would disappear. I called an old contact, my voice steady, saying: "I need your help. I need to fake my death."

A Second Chance, A True Love's Kiss

The Montauk Highway rain slammed against our windshield, just like my stomach cramped with familiar, sharp pain. Marcus drove, his knuckles white, until his phone flashed 'Izzy.' My husband, always her loyal puppy, was gone in a flash. "Ellie, call an Uber. Izzy needs me," he' d declared, abandoning me sick and alone on that dark road. It was the ninth time Marcus chose his ex-girlfriend over me, his wife. The 'ninth goodbye' in a cruel bet Izzy orchestrated years ago: "Nine times, Ellie. Nine. Then you walk away." Each incident a deeper cut: my anniversary dinner, my emergency surgery, my grandmother' s memorial. I was just his convenient rebound, his 'consolation prize,' a pawn in their twisted game. Days later, after an elevator accident left me shattered and hospitalized, Marcus cradled Izzy, his terror only for her. I finally saw it with chilling clarity: he never truly loved me. My marriage was a meticulously crafted lie, orchestrated by Izzy from college. My love for him, that foolish, stubborn hope, was finally drained, leaving only an aching void. But the game was over. I had already signed the divorce papers he carelessly overlooked, ready for my freedom. When Izzy later set a vicious trap to publicly shame me, accusing me of assault, a mysterious stranger stepped in, changing everything. This was the end of a nightmare, and the beginning of my true life.

Weeks Before My Wedding, My Fiancé Forgot Only Me

My wedding to Ethan Reed was just weeks away. After seven years, I was certain of our perfect future. Then, Ethan claimed "selective amnesia" from a head injury, forgetting only me. I tried to make him remember, until I overheard his video call. "Total genius move," he boasted to friends. His amnesia was a fake "hall pass" to pursue influencer Chloe Vance before our wedding. Heartbroken, I feigned belief. I endured his open flirting with Chloe and their taunting selfies. He mocked my distress, prioritizing Chloe's fake emergency. After an accident he caused, he abandoned me, injured, choosing to send Chloe to the hospital first. He even tried to cut me off financially. How could my fiancé be this cruel, calculating monster? His betrayal poisoned every memory. I felt like a fool for trusting such boundless cruelty. His audacity left me reeling. But I wouldn’t be his victim. Instead of breaking, a cold plan formed. I would shed my identity, become Olivia Carter. I would disappear, leaving him, my past, and his engagement ring behind forever, claiming my freedom.

Irresistible Invitations

Never imagined that the devil himself falls into the trap of destiny and gets married to a woman forcefully. But little did he knew that the woman he married forcefully for some kind of revenge will become his reason to live, his heartbeat, his love for eternity. Zachary Udolf Sullivan a successful Billionaire but what people did not know about him is that he is not just some simple Businessman but also a leader, not just some leader but a Mafia Leader. Get into the story to know why he married a woman named Juliette Swanson forcefully. Was it for love or Revenge? TYPOS and GRAMMATICAL MISTAKES

The Truth About His Mistress

I was four months pregnant, a photographer excited for our future, attending a sophisticated baby brunch. Then I saw him, my husband Michael, with another woman, and a newborn introduced as "his son." My world shattered as a torrent of betrayal washed over me, magnified by Michael's dismissive claim I was "just being emotional." His mistress, Serena, taunted me, revealing Michael had discussed my pregnancy complications with her, then slapped me, causing a terrifying cramp. Michael sided with her, publicly shaming me, demanding I leave "their" party, as a society blog already paraded them as a "picture-perfect family." He fully expected me to return, to accept his double life, telling his friends I was "dramatic" but would "always come back." The audacity, the calculated cruelty of his deception, and Serena's chilling malice, fueled a cold, hard rage I barely recognized. How could I have been so blind, so trusting of the man who gaslighted me for months while building a second family? But on the plush carpet of that lawyer's office, as he turned his back on me, a new, unbreakable resolve solidified. They thought I was broken, disposable, easily manipulated – a "reasonable" wife who would accept a sham separation. They had no idea my calm acceptance was not surrender; it was strategy, a quiet promise to dismantle everything he held dear. I would not be handled; I would not understand; I would end this, and make sure their perfect family charade crumbled into dust.

Goodbye, I'm Not Your Substitute Wife Anymore

For three years, I was Mrs. Sarah Davis-a title that meant nothing more than being a ghost in my own opulent home. My architect husband, Mark, kept our marriage a secret, a mere convenience while his heart belonged to another. The shattering truth unveiled itself in a hidden room: a shrine filled with portraits of Emily, his childhood sweetheart, his "one true love." I wasn't a wife; I was a placeholder, a warm bed until she returned. When Emily rejoined Mark's firm, his joy was palpable, his neglect of me complete. He spent endless nights by her side, leaving me invisible, my love unrequited, my existence dismissed. How could I have been so blind, so foolish, to waste three years on a man who could only offer polite indifference? The pain wasn't just his betrayal; it was my own self-inflicted wound, the slow erosion of my spirit. So, I devised a desperate plan-a carefully orchestrated deception designed to win my freedom. I would get his signature on a blank sheet of paper, and then the real work would begin. He wouldn't even know what hit him, consumed as he was by his public persona and his undying devotion to Emily. He would release me, even if he never truly saw me.

My Perfect Amnesia Wedding

Our Las Vegas wedding shimmering with joyous promise dissolved into a planned, perfect honeymoon, the start of our forever. That blissful illusion exploded when a text message from Alex' s ex-girlfriend, Jessica, flashed across his phone: "Last night was incredible, Alex. Worth the wait. See you soon. J." My world fractured; he' d slept with her the night before our wedding, then married me anyway. Alex immediately concocted a cowardly escape, feigning selective amnesia where he conveniently forgot only me. He then brazenly reunited with Jessica, and through manipulative family connections, they forced me-the successful event planner who' d poured her soul into our cancelled dream wedding-to arrange theirs. They paraded my painstakingly chosen peonies, my caterer, even my Vera Wang gown, as Jessica publicly reveled in my agonizing humiliation. The brutal betrayal of seeing my love meticulously dismantled and paraded as their triumph ignited a cold, burning fury in my soul. But they mistook my shock for weakness; he thought he' d erased me, yet I was already plotting my masterpiece, armed with a perfectly feigned amnesia he' d soon discover wasn't so convenient.

My Husband Fall In Love With That Sponsored Student

Friday nights used to be perfect. The smell of roasted chicken, Liam' s smile across the dining table-five years of DINK bliss, just us, no kids, no pets. Then, he dropped the bombshell: a sponsored student, Sarah, was pregnant. And it was his child. He swore it wasn' t an affair, a bizarre tale of stolen sperm and his powerful, bloodline-obsessed family. But the consequences were brutally real: Liam, who "didn't like kids," transformed, devoting himself to Sarah and their unborn child. He stripped our shared office to build a nursery, his tenderness reserved for her. My home became haunted by a happiness that was no longer mine. The final insult came during a fire. Trapped, I screamed his name, but Liam scooped up a cowering Sarah, whispering, "Our little family will be safe." He left me, choking on smoke, as a burning beam crashed down on my back. I survived, barely. But when I woke, he was asking for a temporary divorce. "It's just for the birth certificate," he said. "Then we'll remarry." Was I really supposed to wait for him while he built a life with another woman, using my name for their child? No. Not anymore. I pulled out my IV. I was leaving. For good.

The Unwanted Fiancée's Sweet Escape

My eyes snapped open in the blinding hospital light. A nurse murmured the date: July 15th, 2013. The number slammed into me. It couldn't be. That was ten years ago. Ten years before the crash that supposedly just happened. Ten years before I, Sarah Miller, endured a decade of quiet suffocation married to Ethan Hayes. In my real recent past, just before the crash, I'd discovered gut-wrenching betrayal: Ethan and Olivia Cartwright, his high-school flame, renewed vows in secret. While I was still his wife. The misery, the constant, gnawing neglect, Ethan's emotional energy poured into Olivia like water into sand—it all came rushing back. He had lived a double life, building a separate future with another woman while married to me. My spirit, a withered thing, had accepted it. Now, I was back. Before the suffering, before the constant, soul-crushing betrayal. A cruel irony: my alleged accident had sent me backward in time, to before the misery even began. The quiet misery was a screaming void. I just relived it, and realized I was about to restart it. But not this time. This was it. My second chance. Ethan could have Olivia. He could have her from the start. Sarah Miller was not walking that path again. I was going to orchestrate their "happiness" and secure my own escape into a real life.

His Other Woman, My New Life

This Valentine's Day, I finally convinced my boyfriend of ten years, Ethan Hayes, to take me to that trendy new restaurant, the one with a six-month waitlist. It was our tenth anniversary, a big deal, and I thought maybe, just maybe, this time would be different. We had just sat down when his phone rang. It was Ashley Cooper. I heard Ethan say, "Don't be silly, you're more understanding than her. I'll be right back." He walked out and never returned. I sat there alone until the restaurant closed. He sent a text later: "Ashley isn't feeling well. I need to get her home safely. Take a cab home. Text me when you get there." I saw Ashley's social media post with pictures of them, new and old, captioned, "Never learned to grow up, but thankfully, there's always someone to tolerate my whims." Later, back at our apartment, I saw two figures getting into the elevator with Ethan. It had to be Ashley. He texted, "I'm tired. I don't want to fight tonight." I felt a crushing weight. After college, I had turned down a fantastic job offer to follow Ethan, giving up my dreams for his. I lost touch with most of my old friends. Now, I truly had nowhere to go. I had spent ten years waiting for him, helping him build his life and his business. I had been "understanding" and "obedient," always putting his needs first, only to be compared to Ashley, the woman he truly desired. Why did I sacrifice everything for him? That night, I picked up my phone and sent him two texts: "I don't want to be understanding anymore. Ethan, we're over." It was time to find out who Chloe Miller was without him.

The Billionaire Heiress's Revenge

The first sign was a text message glowing on Liam' s phone screen. "I miss you. When can I see you again?" it read, from a woman named Sarah. I was sitting on the edge of our bed, waiting for him, clutching the phone that held a history of his secret intimacy. When he walked out of the shower, naked save for the towel around his hips, I didn' t scream. I just held up the phone and said, "Her or me, Liam." He chose me, deleted her number, and swore it was a mistake. But the silence in our penthouse grew louder, his touch became a habit, and his eyes looked through me, not at me. I felt myself disappearing, desperate and pathetic, despite being the heiress to a real estate empire. So, I proposed to him, clutching at a phantom hope at a charity gala, only for his forced "Okay, Ava. Let' s get married" to ring hollow. The wedding preparations were a blur of my efforts, conspicuously absent of him. My friends and family saw the pity in my eyes, but I pushed on, convinced the vows would banish Sarah' s ghost. Then, on our painfully beautiful wedding day, as the officiant prepared to pronounce us, a small voice cut through the air. "Daddy?" A little girl, no more than five, stood at the aisle's entrance, huge tearful eyes fixed on Liam. His face went ashen. He dropped my hands as if burned, turned, and ran-away from me, our vows, everything-scooping the little girl into his arms. Sarah stood behind her, a triumphant, sorrowful look on her face. He abandoned me at the altar, humiliating me for the world to see. Deep down, a cold clarity told me this was always a possibility, and I was not unprepared. Taking the microphone, I announced, "The groom has a prior commitment. Enjoy the food. Consider it a celebration of my newfound freedom." I ordered security and called my lawyer. They had robbed me of my dignity, but I wouldn't let them rewrite my story. It was time to fight back.

Three Years, A Shattered Reality With The Heir

Three years. Three years of marriage to Olivia Reed, the woman who redefined my world. On our anniversary, I went to sign the final papers for our joint asset trust, a mere formality. But the city clerk told me words that shattered my reality: "According to our records, you are not legally married to Olivia Reed." My laughter died in my throat when she added, "There is a record of a marriage for Ms. Olivia Reed... to Alex Thorne. It was filed two years ago." Alex Thorne. My protégé. The talented young architect I'd mentored, the man I trusted after our ceremony. The wedding certificate, the grand gestures, the vows-all lies. Every single one. I pieced it together: Olivia's sad eyes, her whispers of a "replacement" while I was overseas, her tears and apologies for being "paranoid" about Alex when I returned. Now, I heard her cooing to him on the phone, "To him, I'm his devoted wife. To the world, you' re my husband. It' s a perfect arrangement. I have his love and your legal status. I have everything." Everything. And I had nothing. I was a sham. A joke. The love I felt, a towering structure, crumbled to dust. There was no rage. Just a cold, empty void. Then, the sculpture crashed. Olivia chose him, shielding him, letting the heavy steel frame slam into me, crushing bones. Lying broken in the hospital, I watched her dote on him while ignoring me. I realized she had intended to erase me. This wasn't a mistake. This wasn't an accident. This was a brutal choice, a calculated punishment. Ethan Miller, the trusting fool, was dead. I decided then. I wasn' t confronting her. I was disappearing. And then, when she least expected it, I would take it all away.

When Love Died, Freedom Began

The jagged glass bit into Amelia Hayes' s cheek. "Help me," she choked into the phone, but her husband, Ethan Caldwell, snapped: "Amelia, for God' s sake, I' m in a meeting." A sharp blow, then darkness. She awoke not in her blood-slicked car, but in her opulent master bedroom, the calendar marking three months after her wedding. Three months into a marriage that had already begun to kill her. Ethan stood by the window, his voice softening, "Yes, Jessica, tonight sounds perfect." Jessica Thorne, his true love, the shadow over Amelia' s first life. The familiar ache in Amelia' s chest gave way to a chilling, new fury. For seven miserable years, she had given Ethan desperate, unyielding devotion. She endured his coldness, his brazen affairs, his emotional abuse, all for a flicker of his attention. She had become a shell, a caricature, ridiculed by Ethan' s circle and condescended to by his family. The profound injustice, the sheer blindness of his indifference, was a bitter pill. Her heart, once broken, now felt nothing but a hollow echo of unrequited love. Then, at a gala, a cruel act involving Eleanor' s ashes, and Ethan, without hesitation, shoved Amelia, his accusations echoing: "You are a disgrace." He comforted Jessica while Amelia' s head reeled from the impact. That was the final straw. No tears, no anger. Just a cold resolve. She delivered a small velvet box to his penthouse. Inside: the wedding ring and a divorce decree. "I. Want. You. Out. Of. My. Life. Forever," she stated, her voice clear. She was reborn to be free.

Lost Love, Found Freedom, and Escape

For ten years, Alexander Sterling was my world. He found me, a quiet designer, and lifted me into a life of unimaginable privilege, showering me with a love so fierce, it felt like a fairytale. Then Clara Bell appeared, and that man vanished, replaced by a ruthless CEO who watched me bleed in the snow after I lost our baby, a child he didn' t even know about. He called me an embarrassment, demanded I apologize to her as I lay broken in a hospital bed, and then, as she and her mother threatened my dying brother, he stood by and did nothing. The love that was once my sun, moon, and stars died that day, leaving only ash. But in that silent, desolate room, a cold resolve hardened: A new Eleanor would rise from the ruins of the old, destined to break free from his gilded cage and reclaim her life.

Mistress's Second Life Revenge

I woke up in my New York penthouse bedroom, sunlight harsh in my eyes. The date on my phone read five years ago, before the fire, before I died. My breath hitched in my throat as I understood: I was reborn. My husband, Ethan, walked in, his voice flat, demanding I authorize a quarter-million dollar transfer from my trust fund. In my first life, that money went to Chloe Sanders, his intern, his mistress. Every painful memory came flooding back: his coldness, his brazen affairs, and finally, him locking me in a remote ski lodge wing as smoke filled the air. He drove away, leaving me to die in the flames. I whispered that I didn't feel well, but he only scoffed, telling me to sign the papers and stop being dramatic. Later, I saw him with Chloe, his tenderness and warm smile solely for her, confirming his betrayal was still ongoing. When I finally confronted him, his hand swung, cracking across my cheek, leaving me stunned and bleeding. He then slammed the door to our bedroom shut, locking me inside, threatening a private care facility, calling me "unhinged." The injustice burned, fueling a cold fury deeper than fear. Was this my cruel fate, to relive the same nightmare with the same monster? Why had I been given a second chance, only to face his baseless accusations and violence once more? This time, I wouldn't just endure his cruelty; I would break free. As I sent a coded message to my parents, my escape plan was in motion, and my fight for freedom had truly begun.

An Empire of Ash, A Heart of Steel

To save his date from a spilled drink, he ripped my mother's priceless shawl from my shoulders and used it as a rag. In front of a thousand people, Kurt Salazar showed me my place. But the ultimate humiliation was yet to come. He had me design my own wedding gown-only to use it for his public proposal to another woman. The shock nearly killed me, landing me in the hospital with a literally broken heart. He thought I was just another mess to be cleaned up. He didn't know that from the shards of my heart, a new designer would be born. Now, his name is a curse, his fortune is ash, and he's obsessed with the woman whose soul he tried to steal. He's about to learn that some debts can only be paid in ruin!

His Wedding, Her Secret Grave

I lived in a gilded cage, Liam Donovan's opulent penthouse, a testament to his success and my inescapable prison. My real life, a fierce purpose to find justice for my mother, burned deep within me, a silent ember waiting to ignite. But tonight, his return, and the sickly sweet voice of Sarah Chen, echoed through the vast space like a calculated torment. He called it marriage. I called it revenge. He brought women home, but Sarah became a constant fixture, his confidante. He paraded her, commanded me to serve them champagne, and paid me for "services rendered"—a crude hundred-dollar bill for my "trouble." Each interaction was a fresh humiliation, yet my practiced coldness, my emotionless facade, only seemed to fuel his blistering rage and Sarah's smug triumph. He saw me as a mercenary, a heartless woman who abandoned him for money. He never knew I'd secretly funneled my entire inheritance to save his failing company, anonymously donated bone marrow to save his life when he was desperately ill, or trekked alone through a blizzard to rescue him from a crashed car. Every truth, every selfless act, was twisted into a lie by Sarah, perfectly weaponized against me in his eyes. How could he be so utterly blind? How could my deep sacrifices, my desperate, enduring love, be warped into such consuming hatred? The agonizing injustice was a constant ache, a wound that never healed. I bore his cruelty silently, believing it was the only way to shield him from an unseen enemy. But the torment became unbearable, unsustainable. So I tore out my own heart, performing the ultimate act to protect him: I faked my own death. I erased Maya Rodriguez from existence, hoping he could finally be safe and truly free. But freedom, I learned, comes with a brutal price, and the path he walks now, fueled by his grief and her lies, is more dangerous than ever.

Reborn Wife: Billionaire's Unexpected Love

They called us the brilliant Reed sisters, both surgeons. I was Evelyn, the older one, and in my last life, I poured everything into saving Daniel Sterling, the man I was supposed to marry. I sacrificed my career, my groundbreaking research, my very soul, all to make him whole. My younger sister, Sarah, was meant for Alexander Thorne, a dying tech mogul, in a high-risk medical trial, and she died tragically. Everyone thought Daniel adored me, but the moment he no longer needed me, he ruined me. He revoked my license, shattered my reputation, and cast me out, spitting, "Sarah was supposed to be my wife!" I died alone, broken and in debt, a shell of who I once was. But when I opened my eyes again, I was back, sitting in our living room, at the exact moment my fate was sealed. My parents worried, Sarah looked pale, and then came the words: One of us would marry Daniel Sterling, the other Alexander Thorne and his substantial compensation. Sarah, the selfless act perfected, whispered, "I can do it. I'll marry Mr. Thorne." In my past life, I fell for it, sacrificing myself for her. But this time, I saw the flicker of triumph in her eyes, I remembered Daniel's coldness. The words tasted like poison, but I forced them out, changing everything: "No, Sarah. You're right." To the stunned silence, I stated, "You said you would do it for the family. So you should marry Daniel Sterling." I turned to my parents, my voice clear. "I will marry CEO Alexander Thorne." Sarah's panic was real. "You love Daniel! You can't throw your life away!" Daniel burst in, disdain and anger on his handsome face. "Evelyn, what is this nonsense? Marry Alexander Thorne? Are you out of your mind?" He saw me as a transaction, a tool, but that realization no longer hurt. "I said," I repeated, my voice ringing with finality, "I am willing to marry CEO Alexander Thorne."