Read Short Stories Online
Explore Moboreader's curated short story collection. Read best English fiction, mystery, romance, werewolf, and drama. Perfect for quick reads!
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The Ninety-Ninth Goodbye
The ninety-ninth time Jax Little broke my heart was the last time. We were the golden couple of Northgate High, our future perfectly mapped out for UCLA. But in our senior year, he fell for a new girl, Catalina, and our love story became a sick, exhausting dance of his betrayals and my empty threats to leave. At a graduation party, Catalina "accidentally" pulled me into the pool with her. Jax dove in without a second's hesitation. He swam right past me as I struggled, wrapped his arms around Catalina, and pulled her to safety. As he helped her out to the cheers of his friends, he glanced back at me, my body shivering and my mascara running in black rivers. "Your life isn't my problem anymore," he said, his voice as cold as the water I was drowning in. That night, something inside me finally shattered. I went home, opened my laptop, and clicked the button that confirmed my admission. Not to UCLA with him, but to NYU, an entire country away.
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Erased Memories, A Second Chance At Love
They found me days after the avalanche, a bloody canvas against the stark white snow. When my fiancé, Gabriel, finally arrived, I thought I was saved. But he wasn't there to rescue me; he was there to blame me. His mistress, Candace, clung to his arm with a tiny scratch while my leg was a mangled, frostbitten wreck. "What in God's name did you do?" he spat, his voice like ice. Back at the hospital, Candace and her therapist brother convinced him my injuries were minor. They secretly withheld my treatment, laughing at my silent agony while Gabriel accused me of faking it all for attention. He called off our engagement, reminding me I was just a burden he was forced to care for after my parents died saving his family. His disgust and her lies finally broke me. So I made a deal with a goddess. I threw myself from the hospital balcony, trading my love and all my memories of him for a new life. When I opened my eyes again, the man who had destroyed me was a complete stranger.
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From Rejected Omega to the Supreme White Wolf
I was dying at the banquet, coughing up black blood while the pack celebrated my step-sister Lydia’s promotion. Across the room, Caleb, the Alpha and my Fated Mate, didn't look concerned. He looked annoyed. "Stop it, Elena," his voice boomed in my head. "Don't ruin this night with your attention-seeking lies." I begged him, telling him it was poison, but he just ordered me to leave his Pack House so I wouldn't dirty the floor. Heartbroken, I publicly demanded the Severing Ceremony to break our bond and left to die alone in a cheap motel. Only after I took my last breath did the truth come out. I sent Caleb the medical records proving Lydia had been poisoning my tea with wolfsbane for ten years. He went mad with grief, realizing he had protected the murderer and rejected his true mate. He tortured Lydia, but his regret couldn't bring me back. Or so he thought. In the afterlife, the Moon Goddess showed me my reflection. I wasn't a wolfless weakling. I was a White Wolf, the rarest and most powerful of all, suppressed by poison. "You can stay here in peace," the Goddess said. "Or you can go back." I looked at the life they stole from me. I looked at the power I never got to use. "I want to go back," I said. "Not for his love. But for revenge." I opened my eyes, and for the first time in my life, my wolf roared.
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His Unwanted Wife: The Genius Artist Returns
On our fifth anniversary, my husband slid a black velvet box across the table. Inside wasn't a diamond ring, but a fountain pen. "Sign the separation papers, Aurora," Ethan said. "Ilene is spiraling again. She needs to see we are over." I was the wife of the Mafia Underboss, yet I was being discarded for the Family Ward. Before I could answer, Ilene stormed into the restaurant. She shrieked that I was still wearing his ring and threw a bowl of boiling lobster bisque directly at my chest. As my skin blistered and peeled, Ethan didn't rush to me. He hugged her. "It's okay," he soothed the woman who had just assaulted me. "I've got you." The betrayal didn't stop there. When Ilene pushed me down the stairs days later, Ethan erased the security footage to protect her from the police. When I was kidnapped by his enemies, I called his emergency line—the one meant for life-or-death situations. He declined the call. He was too busy holding Ilene's hand to save his wife. That was the moment the chain broke. As the kidnapper's van sped onto the highway, I didn't wait for a rescue that would never come. I opened the door and jumped into the dark. Everyone thought Aurora Bruce died on that pavement. Two years later, Ethan stood outside a gallery in Paris, looking at the woman he had destroyed, finally realizing he had protected the wrong one.
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This Time I Chose Him
The list lay on the polished mahogany table, four names, my future, dictated by my father. Just four heirs to the city' s most powerful families. The world expected me to choose Ethan Miller, the charming heir I had publicly chased for years. They thought they knew our story, the pathetic heiress hopelessly in love. They didn' t know the real story, the one that ended with the screech of tires and the crushing impact of metal. I remembered the joy of my wedding day, shattered a year later when he declared our marriage a sham, publicly embracing his assistant, Sophia, his supposed true love. Then Sophia vanished, and Ethan turned his grief into a weapon against me. He brought home a new woman with Sophia' s gentle eyes every week, forcing me to endure his cruel reminders. The last thing I remembered was his unfeeling face as paramedics pulled my broken body from the car wreckage – the brakes had failed. It was no accident. Six months ago, I woke up in my own bed, nineteen again, the cold truth a burning scar on my soul. My heart went cold, a familiar chill, as I looked at the list. I would not choose Ethan Miller. I would not walk that path again. My finger traced past his name, landing on Liam Thorne. He was quiet, often overlooked, but he was kind. This time, my definition of smart had changed. It was no longer about power or passion. It was about survival.
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Lure of His Kiss
Three years into my engagement with Ethan, he secretly got involved with my best friend. He openly flaunted his new girlfriend in our social circle and repeatedly allowed the mistress to provoke me, turning me, his childhood sweetheart, into a complete joke. He was sure I wouldn’t make a scene and would tolerate him, until my new man handed me a wedding invitation and then posted our marriage certificate. When Ethan knelt down to apologize and try to win me back at my wedding, I stood beside my rich man in Alexander, looking at him coldly. "Having been with someone like you, I find it embarrassing."
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His First Love, My Last Goodbye
The world came back in a blur of twisting metal and the horrifying screech of tires. One moment, we were driving. The next, a truck had run the red light. In the passenger seat, my head throbbing, I watched my boyfriend, Adrian, scramble to comfort his first love, Cassie, who was crying in the backseat. He didn't even glance back at me, his girlfriend of five years, as he helped her out of the wrecked car. Paramedics arrived. Through the haze of pain, I watched Adrian hover over Cassie, refusing to leave her side for a second. It was like I wasn't even there anymore. He didn't remember my birthday, never knew my favorite food, and never cared that I was allergic to the flowers he bought for me, the same ones Cassie loved. I had been a side character in their love story, a placeholder until the real star of his life returned. I had been obsessed with Adrian Payne, but it wasn't love; it was a sickness, a trauma bond I had mistaken for devotion. Why did I do that? Why did I let him mold me into someone so submissive, so unlike myself? It felt like I was being controlled by some invisible force, a plot that wasn't my own. The spell was broken. The obsession vanished. All that was left was a cold, empty feeling and a sudden, desperate longing for someone else: Kellen Campos, my childhood sweetheart, the boy I had left behind five years ago. I booked the first flight to New York.
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Contract With The Devil: Love In Shackles
I watched my husband sign the papers that would end our marriage while he was busy texting the woman he actually loved. He didn't even glance at the header. He just scribbled the sharp, jagged signature that had signed death warrants for half of New York, tossed the file onto the passenger seat, and tapped his screen again. "Done," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. That was Dante Moretti. The Underboss. A man who could smell a lie from a mile away but couldn't see that his wife had just handed him an annulment decree disguised beneath a stack of mundane logistics reports. For three years, I scrubbed his blood out of his shirts. I saved his family's alliance when his ex, Sofia, ran off with a civilian. In return, he treated me like furniture. He left me in the rain to save Sofia from a broken nail. He left me alone on my birthday to drink champagne on a yacht with her. He even handed me a glass of whiskey—her favorite drink—forgetting that I despised the taste. I was merely a placeholder. A ghost in my own home. So, I stopped waiting. I burned our wedding portrait in the fireplace, left my platinum ring in the ashes, and boarded a one-way flight to San Francisco. I thought I was finally free. I thought I had escaped the cage. But I underestimated Dante. When he finally opened that file weeks later and realized he had signed away his wife without looking, the Reaper didn't accept defeat. He burned down the world to find me, obsessed with reclaiming the woman he had already thrown away.
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Bankrupting The Alpha: The Rejected Mate's Ultimate Payback
On the tarmac, the wind was cold, but my husband’s rejection was freezing. "You aren't coming on the jet," Jackson said, adjusting the diamond cufflinks I had bought him. He pointed to the stairs where his mistress, Amber, stood wearing a silk dress I had commissioned for myself. "Amber is frail. She needs the comfort of the private cabin. I booked you a commercial flight. It leaves in three hours." He shoved an envelope into my hand. Economy. Middle seat. Two layovers. I stood there, the Luna of the pack, being told to fly cargo while a Rogue took my seat on the Gulfstream G650 'I' had paid for. My mother-in-law even chimed in, clutching the designer bag I bought her, claiming my "healer energy" was too stressful for their precious guest. Jackson blocked our telepathic bond, took his mistress's hand, and the door hissed shut in my face. He thought he was the Alpha. He thought he held the power because I had let him play the part for five years. But he forgot one tiny detail: his name wasn't on the trust fund. As the jet taxied away, I didn't cry. I pulled out my phone and dialed my personal banker. "Dr. Hogan?" "Cancel the flight plan," I said, my voice steady. "Revoke their clearance. Ground the jet at the first refueling stop. And cut the credit lines. All of them." "All of them, Ma'am? The pack accounts?" "Everything," I whispered, watching the plane lift off. "Let's see how the Alpha survives without my wallet."
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His Discarded Gem: Shining In The Ruthless Don's Arms
For four years, I traced the bullet scar on Chace’s chest, believing it was proof he would bleed to keep me safe. On our anniversary, he told me to wear white because "tonight changes everything." I walked into the gala thinking I was getting a ring. Instead, I stood frozen in the center of the ballroom, drowning in silk, watching him slide his mother's sapphire onto another woman's finger. Karyn Warren. The daughter of a rival family. When I begged him with my eyes to claim me, to save me from the public humiliation, he didn't flinch. He just leaned toward his Underboss, his voice amplified by the silence. "Karyn is for power. Ember is for pleasure. Don't confuse the assets." My heart didn't just break; it incinerated. He expected me to stay as his mistress, threatening to dig up my dead mother’s grave if I refused to play the obedient pet. He thought I was trapped. He thought I had nowhere to go because of my father’s massive gambling debts. He was wrong. With shaking hands, I pulled out my phone and texted the one name I was never supposed to use. Keith Mosley. The Don. The monster under Chace's bed. *I am invoking the Blood Oath. My father’s debt. I am ready to pay it.* His reply came three seconds later, buzzing against my palm like a warning. *The price is marriage. You belong to me. Yes or No?* I looked up at Chace, who was laughing with his new fiancée, thinking he owned me. I looked down and typed three letters. *Yes.*
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My Wedding, Not With You
Five years ago, I saved my fiancé' s life on a mountain in Aspen. The fall left me with a permanent vision impairment-a constant, shimmering reminder of the day I chose him over my own perfect sight. He repaid me by secretly changing our Aspen wedding to Miami because his best friend, Annmarie, complained it was too cold. I overheard him call my sacrifice "sentimental crap" and watched him buy her a fifty-thousand-dollar dress while scoffing at mine. On our wedding day, he left me waiting at the altar to rush to Annmarie' s side for a conveniently timed "panic attack." He was so sure I' d forgive him. He always was. He saw my sacrifice not as a gift, but as a contract that guaranteed my submission. So when he finally called the empty Miami venue, I let him hear the mountain wind and the chapel bells before I spoke. "My wedding is about to start," I told him. "But it' s not with you."
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Love's Cruel Contract, His Endless Regret
My husband was going to kill me. Not with a bullet, but with a text message I was never meant to see. It popped up on the family iPad: "Last night was insane. Can't stop thinking about that hotel room. You owe me round two... ASAP." My first thought was our sixteen-year-old son, Marco. But an anonymous online forum quickly pointed out the holes in my theory—the expensive hotel, the transactional tone, and an eggplant emoji, a code for performance enhancers used by men my husband's age. The truth hit me when I found a condom in his laundry—the same brand I’d found in our son’s room months ago. It was never Marco. It was my husband of twenty years, Lorenzo. The betrayal deepened when I overheard him talking to our son. They laughed about my "episodes" and mocked me for being boring. Marco even told his father, "You should just leave her and be with Katia." Katia—his history tutor. Their conspiracy, hatched within the walls of my own home, destroyed the last of my love for them. Now, I've gathered my proof, and his biggest career achievement—the Innovator of the Year award gala—is next week. It's the perfect stage. He thinks I'll be the supportive wife on his arm, but he's wrong. I'm not just leaving him; I'm going to burn his world to the ground in front of everyone.
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The Bullet I Took For You
For five blissful years, I poured my heart and soul into saving Ethan Lester, the tragic hero from a TV show, now the man I loved. Our wedding was just seven days away, my mission 99% complete, a lifetime of happiness within reach. Then, his voice, thick with emotion, echoed from the guesthouse. "Annie, I never stopped loving you." He declared I was just "static," background noise to his enduring love for Annabel, his wealthy ex-fiancée. The woman whose family destroyed him. The woman for whom he promised to still take a bullet. That promise felt like a bullet through my own heart, erasing my entire existence, my sacrifice of literally taking a bullet for him. How could he betray me so completely, after all we had built, after the life I gave him back? I yanked out my phone, contact the program, my voice steady despite the tremor in my hands: "I want to pull the plug. I' m going home."
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Betrayed By The Fiance: The Unsinkable Heiress
My first life ended in the icy, unforgiving grasp of the Hudson River. The memory of the dark water choking me, burning my lungs, was as real as the silk sheets I lay on now. Ethan' s voice, a blade to my soul, still pierced me: "You deserve it, Ava, for stealing Chloe' s life." Noah, the kind cousin who, despite his weak heart, desperately tried to save me, struggled and disappeared beneath the waves alongside me. Then, miraculously, I gasped awake in my opulent SoHo bedroom, sunlight warming my face, a stark contrast to the cold dread that now gripped me. My phone buzzed with a reminder: "Lunch with Ethan, 1PM." Panic surged – it was today. The very day Chloe Jenkins, a deluded scholarship student, had convinced my fiancé, Ethan, that she was the real Miller heiress, leading him to betray me. The brutal memories weren' t a dream; they were a chilling premonition, every detail of my impending kidnapping and murder replaying in vivid terror. How could the man I was to marry so easily believe such an insane lie, so readily trade me for a perceived better option? His betrayal had been a fresh wound even in my last moments, and now it was a ghost haunting my every breath. Ava Miller, the Miller heiress, was alive, but the exact script of my agonizing death was already written, the cruel actors in place, their roles meticulously cast. I remembered Chloe' s smug face at the desolate pier, just before she snatched my phone, relishing the thought of me begging for my life. But this time, I wouldn' t repeat the past. I wouldn't call Ethan. My trembling fingers scrolled past his name, reaching instead for Jackson, my fiercely protective brother and the CEO of the Miller empire. Then, a cryptic text to Noah Williams, the gentle soul who died trying to save me. This time, I would rewrite the ending.
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He Drove Me Away, Now He's Hunting Me Down
My husband, Liam Goldstein, was publicly the perfect man. He donated a kidney to save my life and named the new tower of his corporate headquarters after me. The world saw us as the ultimate power couple, a love story for the ages. But in private, he was cheating on me with an influencer. He arranged a "romantic evening" with private fireworks, only for me to discover it was a birthday party for his mistress, Ava. I overheard him promise her my "Maya's Horizon" necklace, the one he gave me after the transplant. His friends were all in on it, laughing behind my back and calling me "the main course." After a car accident, I found them together at the hospital. She was pregnant with his child. When I lunged at her, he grabbed my wrist and snarled at me to apologize to his pregnant mistress. Then came the final blow. A text from Ava with a picture of the sonogram. "Our baby, Maya." Underneath it, a photo of her wearing my necklace. "He says it looks better on me." On our anniversary, I had his prized rose garden bulldozed. Then I had the divorce papers delivered to his office, along with every single taunting message Ava had ever sent me. By the time he read them, Maya Goldstein was already a ghost.
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His True Inheritance: Love
For forty years, I, Ethan Miller, lived a golden life with Olivia Hayes, my wife, a pillar of Denver society and owner of Rockies Brew Co. As she lay dying, her shallow breaths broke the perfect illusion. "The boys," she whispered, "Liam. Noah. They're not yours, Ethan. They're Jake's." My heart, already weak, hammered with ice-cold betrayal. My "sons" walked in, their eyes scanning for inheritance, trailed by Jake Riley, her high school flame. They were all complicit, here to claim everything I' d built. "Get out!" I rasped, a foolish, wealthy man suffocating under decades of deceit. The crushing weight of a wasted devotion shattered my chest, a searing pain, and I died heartbroken, alone, utterly betrayed. Then, a jolt. Light. Laughter. The smell of beer and bratwurst. I sat bolt upright amidst the familiar revelry of Denver Oktoberfest, years in the past. Younger, stronger. Olivia Hayes, her eyes glinting with feigned vulnerability, reached for my hand. "Ethan, will you marry me?" The very words that began the lie. I was back. And this time, I wouldn't be a fool.
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Dumped With Cancer: I Became The Woman He Spends His Life Chasing
On New Year's Eve, Aria Hart watched Julian Lawson come home with an eighteen-year-old model on his arm. Her fingers tightened around the late-stage stomach cancer diagnosis, while he mocked her without even blinking. "If I'm not marrying her, what, you think I should marry you?" Aria had given him ten full years, only to be repaid with the news that Julian was going to marry someone else. This time, she neither argued nor fought. After calling the hospital and agreeing to go abroad for treatment, she quietly disappeared. She thought it would end cleanly there, but after Aria left, Julian completely lost his mind. He ran from his wedding in front of everyone, put all his work on hold, and searched for her across the world. Eventually, he found information about Aria at the hospital. The nurse frowned. "Are you her family member?" Julian nodded urgently. "I'm her husband!" The nurse shook her head. "That's impossible. She said she has no family member. And she isn't here anymore."
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Mafia Wife's Revenge: Unleashing My Fury
For five years, I lived a beautiful lie. I was Aliana Hughes, the cherished wife of the city's most feared Mafia Capo and the beloved daughter of the Don. I believed my arranged marriage had blossomed into love. On my birthday, my husband promised me the amusement park. Instead, I found him there with his other family, celebrating the fifth birthday of the son I never knew he had. I overheard their plan. My husband called me a "naive fool," a placeholder to legitimize his secret son. The ultimate betrayal wasn't his affair, but the sight of my own father's car parked across the street. My family wasn't just aware; they were the architects of my ruin. Back home, I found the proof: a secret photo album of my husband's other family posing with my parents, and records showing my father had bankrolled the entire deception. They had even drugged me on weekends so he could play happy family. The grief didn't break me. It turned into something cold and sharp. I was a ghost in a life that was never mine, and a ghost has nothing to lose. I copied every damning file onto a USB drive. As they celebrated their perfect day, I sent a courier with my parting gift: a recording of their treachery. While their world burned, I walked toward the airport, ready to erase myself and start over.
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The Silent Mate The Alpha Left to Die
My mother was in the hospital after a nasty dog bite, so I called my fiancé, Cohen. He was supposed to be my rock. Instead, I got annoyance. He was in Aspen, on a ski trip with my best friend, Hillary. “What do you want me to do? Fly back right now?” he snapped, before hanging up to get back to the “perfect snow.” The dog, it turned out, was Hillary’s. The bite on my diabetic mother’s leg quickly developed into a raging infection. I texted Cohen an update, telling him she was getting worse, that they were talking about surgery. He didn't call back. Instead, Hillary’s Instagram story updated: a photo of her and Cohen, cheeks flushed from the cold, smiling in front of a fireplace. The caption was a single heart emoji. While they were sipping hot chocolate, my mother went into septic shock. As I sat alone in the grim hospital waiting room, staring at my silent phone, I knew he had already made his choice. He had chosen a vacation. He had chosen my best friend. He had left my mother to die all alone. She passed away at 3:17 AM. I held her hand until it grew cold, then walked out into the gray dawn. I wasn't just grieving. I was done. I was going to erase myself from his world and burn everything to the ground.
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The Vindictive Wife Comes Back
After I was diagnosed with infertility, my husband insisted on divorcing me, but Makenna stopped him. She said: "You can't lose out on the wedding gifts you spent to marry her; why not sell her and recoup some of your investment?" So, Makenna sold me off into the mountains, where I endured humiliation and was tortured to death. When I opened my eyes again, I found that I had returned to the time before I was trafficked. In this new life, I would no longer tolerate it; instead, I sold Makenna out.
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