Feel-Good Story Short Stories & Bias Cheating Novels

I've been in a secret relationship with Declan Gibson for five years, and I've tried to seduce him more times than I can count. Yet, when I stand in front of him in my birthday suit and a pair of bunny ears, all he does is worry that I'll catch a cold and wrap me in a blanket. I used to think his restraint came from being the mafia don, that he was saving our first time for our wedding night. However, one month before the ceremony, he secretly plans the city's grandest fireworks show to celebrate his childhood sweetheart's birthday. They hug and share a slice of cake in public. That night, they check into a hotel. … The next morning, I watch them leave together. That's when I realize Declan is not restrained. He just doesn't love me, so I walk out of the hotel. I call my parents. "Dad, I've broken up with Declan. I'll marry into the Sullivan family as planned." My father is stunned. "I thought you were madly in love with Declan. Why did you break up? I heard Bryson can't have children. You've always loved kids. What will you do once you marry him?" "It's fine," I reply, disheartened. "We can always adopt."

On the day of my wedding, I accidentally oversleep by six hours. By the time I rush to the venue, my fiance, Jared Marshall, has already gone through the entire ceremony with his first love. He looks at my sweat-drenched face and just smiles and comes clean. "I'm the one who drugged you. Amber wanted a wedding, and it's no big deal, so I gave her one." As if worried I might cause a scene, he adds casually, "Be good, and I'll take you to get our marriage license next week. Besides, making a fuss now won't change anything. "Look, the wedding dress isn't even your size." My gaze settles calmly on the bride, who is wearing the gown I've spent nearly half a year choosing. Everyone holds their breath, expecting me to lose it. But I actually feel nothing but relief. He should've just said so sooner. I've been regretting this engagement for a while now. My ex has proposed with a 10-carat diamond ring, and now I don't have to return it.

Seven years into our marriage, my husband, Lucas Thorne, is hailed as a legendary astronomer in the field of astronomy. It is no secret that he absolutely adores me, his wife. He always keeps a polite, distant demeanor with those around him. Even when his new assistant, Serena Cox, asks for his number, he coldly turns her down. In the year he proposed to me, he named a star "LAW", which was an acronym for "Lucas Adores Wilma". Since then, every asteroid he discovers is named with initials that hold a special significance only the two of us know. To others, they might just be scientific achievements. But to me, they are unspoken love letters. This goes on until this morning, when I stumble upon an unfamiliar phone. I unlock it easily with my middle name, thinking it's yet another quiet gesture of his love. But to my horror, I find a string of explicit messages between him and another woman. The person who was at the receiving end of those messages was none other than… Serena, his assistant.

The new teacher gave the wrong medicine, causing a child to suffer sudden cardiac arrest and die after failing to receive timely help. My fiance, who was also the vice principal, forged evidence on her behalf and pinned all the blame on me. I was fired and reported by the child's parents. Due to insufficient evidence, I was acquitted. But the child's devastated parents broke into my home with a kitchen knife and hacked me to death, severing me in multiple places. My fiance chose to cover it up for them. He disposed of my body and even comforted the parents. "A life for a life. Let this be my atonement." When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the very day the teacher gave the child the wrong medicine.

When I turn 20, my grandfather's old friend—now the richest man in the country—lays out photos of his grandsons in front of me. He says, "Pick one to be your husband." Without hesitation, I choose Nathaniel Chapman. Everyone in the room is stunned. After all, it's no secret I've always been hopelessly in love with George Chapman. I used to swear I'd marry no one but him. In my previous life, I got what I wanted—I married George. And because of that marriage, he inherited the lion's share of his grandfather's wealth. But after the wedding, he started an affair with my sister. My parents were furious and sent her abroad to study. George thought I was the one who exposed them. From then on, he hated me to my very core. Women came and went at his side, each one resembling my sister more than the last. The betrayal crushed me. I fell into deep depression. Later, he secretly replaced my medication with slow-acting poison. I died with a child in my womb—alone, bitter, and betrayed. Now, I've been reborn. This time, I choose to let them have each other. But what I don't expect is that George has been reborn too.

The stray cat I adopted had recently started looking at my boyfriend, Logan Bennett, and his female best friend, Chloe Dawson, like they were complete idiots. Then one day, Chloe climbed into the passenger seat of Logan’s car again and shot me a provocative smile. A fierce little voice suddenly rang out in my head: “Human, that woman is calling you an idiot in her head! She’s also planning to get your man drunk tonight! Hurry up and slap her! If you do, I’ll make sure you find money on the street when you leave!” I froze and stared down at Mochi in my arms. So my cat could not only talk, but also read minds and predict the future? Fine. From today on, Mochi and I would make these two shameless cheaters pay—and make sure everyone knew exactly who they were!

For three years, we held a wedding in name only—my husband, Kit Rutgers, a pilot, canceled our marriage registration eighteen times. The first time, his female trainee, Katy Ferguson, had a test flight. I waited outside the county clerk’s office the whole day. The second time, he got a call from her mid-drive, made a sharp U-turn, and left me standing on the side of the road. After that, every time we planned to make it official, some crisis with Katy mysteriously arose. Eventually, I chose to walk away. But the moment I boarded a plane to Solara, he lost his mind—and chased me there.

I had been able to see the labels above people's heads ever since I was little. When I was three, my grandpa held a family dinner at his house. Dad showed up with his secretary, Vivian Clarke. The moment she walked through the door, she went straight to Mom's seat. She rubbed her lower back and smiled sweetly. "Mrs. Lincoln, I hope you don't mind. Mr. Lincoln and I have been working on a project all day, and we're exhausted." I looked around the room. Above Eric's head was a glaring label. "Cheater." Above Mom's head was a dull gray label. "Loser." And above Vivian's head was a brightly shining label. "Ultimate gold digger." I immediately tugged on Eric's sleeve and asked loudly, "Dad, what do ‘cheater’ and ‘gold digger’ mean?"

Our wedding was canceled again and again because Lynn’s childhood friend kept pretending to commit suicide. I was humiliated in front of relatives and friends, and my mother was so angered that she repeatedly fainted and was hospitalized. Lynn Wensley was filled with regret and anger, even swearing, “If I ever run off with that bastard again, I’ll die a terrible death.” I believed her. However, when I finally gathered the courage to stand in the center of the crowd again, Kyle Lane barged into the wedding wearing a blood-stained suit. As a doctor, I recognized at a glance that it was fake blood dye, but when I grabbed Lynn to explain, she slapped me hard and knocked me to the ground. “Someone is dying and you’re still trying to stop me? Are you even human? If anything happens to him, you’ll all pay for it!” Then, she ran after him without looking back. My mother suffered a sudden heart attack from the shock and died in my arms. Meanwhile, Lynn was celebrating Kyle’s safety with fireworks above the city sky. After I finished handling my mother’s funeral, I received a text from her: [Trust me, there won’t be a next time.] My face was pale, but I felt nothing. There was no anger or sadness. There really would not be a next time. It was completely the end for us.

Mindy Graham left me at the altar to meet her ex-boyfriend, who left her five years ago when she was almost disabled. The wedding guests were shocked when they saw me clenching the corner of her wedding dress, trying my best to keep up appearances. "Can you not leave now?" Mindy hesitated but chose to slowly pry off my fingers while shaking her head. "I'm sorry. I have to go. I need to find out why he left me so heartlessly back then." She left without turning back amidst the shocked gasps from the crowd. My mother, who had a heart condition, trembled with rage, and I watched in shock as she passed out and fell to the ground. "Mom!" I was breaking down but forced myself to get it together and take her to the hospital. I fell to the floor outside the surgery room, and that was when two messages popped up on my phone. The first message was from Johnny Packer: [I told you that Mindy would never choose you if I came back. You've lost again.] Mindy sent the second message: [Give me 30 days. We'll be broken up during this time, but I promise I'll love you and only you after this is over.] There was a dead look in my eyes as I laughed bitterly with self-deprecation. This time, I refused to let myself lose.

I had just found out I was a perfect match and was preparing to donate a kidney to my wife’s foster brother. That night, he left his iPad in the living room, and the screen lit up with a chat history between him and a doctor. “Doctor Evans, whatever you do, don’t tell my brother-in-law,” the message read. “If his kidney is removed, his hidden heart condition will flare up, and he won’t last three months.” The next day, I decisively canceled the donation. My wife was furious, calling me cold-blooded and forcing me to sign a divorce agreement that left me with absolutely nothing. A day later, I overheard his smug laughter from outside his hospital room. “He’s so stupid,” Boyd said. “I just photoshopped a fake chat log, and he actually believed he was sick. Now, we’ve stolen his luxury penthouse, and we can finally be together out in the open.” My wife kissed him. “Good boy. I’ll buy you a better kidney on the black market later.” Standing outside the door, I sneered. Of course, I knew the record was fake. After all, I had just reincarnated from the future. In half a month, a zombie apocalypse would strike, and this toxic pair of secret lovers would not only steal my medicine but also throw me to the undead. This time, with only three days left before the city is overrun by zombies, I want to see something. I want to see exactly how many days a sick bastard without a kidney transplant and a heartless woman without any survival supplies can last inside my luxury penthouse.

On the first day I take my daughter, Layla Gibson, to an elite kindergarten, I'm told that Layla hasn't been admitted to the kindergarten at all. I call my husband, Maverick Gibson, on the spot. After all, he's the one in charge of enrolling Layla in the kindergarten. How is it possible for her to not fit the criteria to be accepted into the kindergarten? In an upset tone, Maverick tells me that the kindergarten has gotten it wrong. "I'm sorry, darling. Our company's assets have yet to reach the minimum requirement that's needed for the kindergarten to accept Layla as a student. "I was worried that you'd be saddened when you found out about this, so I didn't say anything about this. This is my fault for not working hard enough. Because of me, Layla lost to her peers in terms of education." After ending the call, I call my dad, who's actually a board member of the kindergarten. At the same time, I have my lawyer draft a divorce agreement. I'm interested to see which bastard child has taken Layla's spot, which has already been reserved by my dad a long time ago.

Caitlin Wiggins' assistant, Bryan Shepard, complains about a client's bad breath, causing the company's project to be ruined. I do everything I can to help Bryan salvage the situation. But all I do is remind Bryan to watch his words, and yet he has the audacity to pin the blame on me. "Zane, your incapability is the reason why the client got mad at us. I used my family's resources to help you salvage the situation out of the kindness of my heart, you know! How could you accuse me like that?" Despite knowing the truth, Caitlin still chooses to side with Bryan. The punishment she issues me is a one-month suspension from my position. On top of that, I need to transfer the project to Bryan. Everyone in the meeting room turns to look at me. They think I'll definitely argue with Caitlin and fight for my rights. But I just hand over the rights of the project to Bryan obediently. Seeing as I've finally learned my lesson, Caitlin happily promises me that she'll marry me once the project turns out to be a huge success and that she gets promoted to the CEO's position. But what she doesn't know is that the client isn't Bryan's relative at all, but rather, my own uncle, Donovan Eaton. It all depends on me whether or not he wishes to continue working with Caitlin's company. In fact, I don't plan on helping Caitlin clean up her mess anymore. When the time comes, not only will she lose her promotion, but she'll also get kicked out of the company.

My mother-in-law, Kate Irwin, has a hood over her head and a time bomb strapped to her body. Ten seconds are left. My husband, Sean Quimby, could have saved his mother. As Efton's top bomb disposal expert, Sean could cut the right wire without breaking a sweat. Instead, he hands the wire cutters—the tool that will decide whether Kate lives or dies—to his sobbing intern, Yara Gibson. I watch as Yara cuts the wrong wire. The timer hits zero. A wall of flames engulfs Kate. The blast wave slams into me, but Sean's first instinct is to pull Yara into his arms. He even turns his back to shield her from the flying debris, gently soothing her. "Don't be afraid. I'm here." He doesn't even spare a glance at the charred remains behind him. Only after calming Yara does he finally turn to me. He sheds a few tears and says, "Wendy, I'm sorry. I couldn't save Dahlia." My mother, Dahlia Green, is overseas, enjoying the sun and beach. She sent me a photo just moments ago. So I put on a sympathetic face and comfort him, "It's okay." After all, my mother isn't the one who died.

My gastritis medication fell out of my bag during my engagement party. My best friend, Celeste Sims, frowned and said, "Didn't I tell you not to take birth control pills? They’re bad for your health!" I shook my head weakly. "Birth control pills? You're mistaken, Celeste. This is my gastritis medication. I’ve never used—" Before I could finish my sentence, I was suddenly reminded that my fiancé, Justin Ludwig, always gave this medicine to his friend, Callie Fuller. After looking everywhere for Justin, I heard him and Callie having 'fun' in the storeroom upstairs. I did not make a fuss as I quietly turned on the recently repaired security camera in the storeroom.

Ten minutes before the ceremony, my phone lit up with a photograph that made my stomach turn. A woman with sunken eyes, thin down to the bone, crawling across a floor on her hands and knees like a dog. My fiance, Harrison Blake, stood over her, looking down at her with disgust. I was about to block the number and write it off as a prank when two more messages came through. "Run. Right now. Whatever you do, don't marry Harrison Blake." "That woman on the floor is you, ten years from now."

My wife cheats on me after five years of marriage. Standing at the doorway, I hear her whisper to her lover in a soft voice, "What are you afraid of? He's broke and pathetic. Do you think that he dares to divorce me?" I tighten my grip on the lottery ticket in my hand. I have just won 60 million dollars a moment ago. This time, I will see who is the broke and pathetic one!

On our seventh wedding anniversary, my wife handed me a divorce agreement that was valid for seven days. She had fallen for a male intern at her company who was seven years younger than her. She wanted to experience what she called a proper romance with him, one that would last exactly seven days. On the first day, they booked an entire private cinema and made love to each other from the entrance to their seats. On the second day, they went to the seaside to set off fireworks, and the light spread across half the skyline of Veyron. On the fifth day, the intern burst into an art exhibition I hosted and cried in front of the entire press. He accused me of coming between them. That same evening, the story of a rising painter becoming a homewrecker for love reached the top of the trending searches, and the hate comments poured in. On the sixth day, my wife apologized to me on the intern’s behalf, and his punishment was a three‑day ban from shopping. On the seventh day, my wife finally sensed something was wrong. She called me ninety‑nine times and reminded me that we were supposed to reconcile the next day. I replied with a single “okay” and quietly told my assistant to arrange for my luggage to be shipped out. What she did not know was that seven days earlier, I had already made plans to go abroad to continue my studies. This time, I was done playing her game.

On Valentine's Day, my husband, Michael Graham, breaks the promise we made to have dinner together. Left with no choice, I call my brother, Owen Sinclair, to pick me up. When we arrive at the restaurant, I find Michael, who claimed he was working late, having dinner with another woman. He doesn't look the least bit guilty when he sees me. Instead, he demands, "Who is he?" My daughter, Bella Graham, nervously hides behind Owen and calls out to him. Michael immediately blows up. "So, you were seeing another man behind my back?" I'm livid, but I patiently explain, "He's my brother." That only makes him angrier. "I bet he's your boyfriend. You shameless cheater. I want a divorce." Without a second thought, I sign the divorce papers, then call my family. "Mom, Dad, pull the five-million-dollar investment."

I've gone on a business trip. It's 3:00 am when my best friend suddenly calls me. He asks me why I didn't tell him that I already have a baby, seeing as we haven't met for a year. That question takes me by surprise. Josephine Bennett and I have been married for many years, but we've been using contraception all this time. Since when do we have a baby together? My best friend then sends me a screenshot of Josephine's social media feed. The caption shows, "This marks our 100th day together, my darling baby! I love you so much!" My heart goes tense when I see the screenshot. Immediately, I call Josephine to ask her what's going on. Her reaction is very cool and collected, though. "That's a relative's baby. I found the baby super adorable, so I decided to share the post. I didn't think I'd end up sharing the caption too." I just smile when I hear Josephine's answer. Later on, I call my older brother, Leonard Sterling. "Cut the funding for Josephine's research project. Turns out she's been cheating on me."