Tragic Romances Novels & Stories

I'm attacked after the murderer who took my sister's life is released from prison. He pins me to the forest floor, allowing me to scream and shout until I run out of strength. As the fireworks explode above me, blood pools around me. Two months later, my husband becomes his next victim. I burst into manic laughter when I see the torment he has to suffer.

I've been married to Shawn Ford for three years, and he's humiliated and insulted me throughout. When he's with his friend, he brags, "The woman my Uncle Cameron can't have is licking my boots. I want to laugh whenever I see her sucking up to me." It wouldn't ever occur to him that I'm frequently in his uncle's bed, covered in hickeys and love bites he leaves on my body.

Zackary and I had been married for seven years and finally had our first child. But seeing the pregnancy result, he suspected that the child was not his. Out of anger, I went to do a paternity test with him. On the day the result came out, Zackary, who was supposed to be in the hospital, appeared at my door. He was holding a photo. The photo showed that my underwear was at his friend's house. He kicked me so hard that I lost my baby. He shouted, "You bitch, you dare to cheat on me. I won't raise another man's child, you know. Go to hell!" Later he knew the truth and begged my dead child to come back.

I have a premature rupture of the membrane when I'm 38 weeks pregnant. I have no choice but to undergo an emergency C-section. To my surprise and dismay, the anesthesiologist is my ex-boyfriend, with whom I broke up eight months ago. God, save me! Could I please have another anesthesiologist? It's my ex-boyfriend's child I'm giving birth to, and I suddenly don't want to bring the child into the world anymore!

To cure our daughter's pancreatic cancer, I made a deal with the System, trading the rest of my life for a miracle drug. My husband called me insane to my face, but secretly gave the medicine to his mistress to treat her facial scar. When I was falling apart in despair, he had the audacity to explain: "Vicky has dreams of becoming a star. She's already 24, she can't wait any longer. "Besides, didn't you get that drug by sleeping around? How could a housewife like you possibly get such high-end medicine on your own? If you want to save our daughter, why don't you go whore yourself out again? It's not like it'll kill you, right?" But the truth is, I really don't have another life to trade for another dose.

On Teacher's Day, my wife, Hera, was promoted to associate professor. Even for our marriage we simply registered without a proper ceremony, yet this time, she specifically prepared a feast at home to celebrate. During the dinner, she took out the flowers a male student had given her and was about to put them in a vase. Without warning, I knocked the flowers out of her hand, flipped over the vase, and, under the bewildered gazes of the whole family, calmly said, "Let's get a divorce." Hera was stunned at first, then angrily snapped, "Stanley Lawson, what's gotten into you? I’m just putting some flowers my student gave me in a vase. What's the big deal?" My mother-in-law, Sarah Swift, chimed in, "Hera just got promoted to associate professor, and it's Teacher's Day. What's wrong with a student giving her flowers? Are you seriously getting jealous over that?" I glanced at the scattered petals on the floor and slowly said, "Yes, it's because of these flowers that I want a divorce."

Ever since my wife had that oversized custom sofa delivered, she'd been sleeping in the living room every night. Whenever I tried to bring her back to the bedroom, she brushed me off with the same excuse—she was tired. Sometimes, she even locked the bedroom door from the outside. I would hear muffled, muffled sounds coming from the living room late into the night. The door wouldn't open again until the next morning. I couldn't take it anymore. The day she gave birth, she had just been wheeled out of the delivery room, still lying on the hospital bed, too weak to even sit up. I refused to hold the baby. Instead, I told her I wanted a divorce. Her eyes turned red as she stared at me. "Just because I've been sleeping on the couch every night, you're divorcing me, right after I give birth to our child?" I didn't hesitate. "Yeah."

It was our tenth anniversary, and I thought Joseph Lynch was finally going to propose to me. However, I accidentally saw the texts on his phone and realized what a joke I had been these past ten years. [It’s our first anniversary. Darling, I want you to spend time with me.] That woman uttered such sweet and intimate words, which I rarely said to Joseph. [I’ll give her some sleeping pills before I see you.] I could not believe Joseph would say such a thing. My fingers trembled as I scrolled down their conversation. [Don’t marry her. Marry me instead!] Then, she sent him a cute and attractive photo of her. She looked like a student. [Let’s see how you behave tonight. I bought you some new lingerie. Be good and put them on. Wait for me next door.] I was wearing some ill-fitting undies while sitting in bed. Right then, I was filled with bitterness. It turned out that Joseph had bought these undies for someone else.

After dying in a tragic accident, Rhianne found herself transmigrated in a novel world as a character. To her much disappointment, she became the character who has a tragic fate in the end just because she falls in love with the wrong person. To avoid her tragic fate in the novel, she decided not to do all the stupid things the original character did in the novel. Instead, Rhianne decided to fulfill the dreams she didn't accomplish in her past life. But the novel doesn't want to let her off easily. Instead, all the people she wanted to avoid were now approaching her one by one. Even if she decided to change her fate, how can Rhianne avoid her tragic ending?

My husband's childhood sweetheart kills my parents in an accident due to drunk driving. I want to call the police, but my husband blindfolds me and takes me to the cellar. I'm tormented and subjected to inhumane treatment for the next three years. After each torture session, an icy male voice will ring out in my ear. "Do you still hate her, Sabrina?" One day, I finally cave and submit to the icy voice. "No, I don't. I don't hate her anymore!" I hear my husband's joyous laughter on the other end of the line. On the day he welcomes me out of the cellar, I avoid his embrace. Yet he loses his mind when I ask him for a divorce.