Plot Twists Short Stories & Bias Cheating Novels

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."

To get back at me for taking one extra piece of lettuce at dinner, Simon Quinn drugged me right after my surgery and left me with a stomach perforation. My wife finally managed to book a specialist appointment for me, but Simon suddenly claimed his own stomach hurt so badly he couldn't stand it and stole my slot. I begged my wife to take me to the hospital first. She told me to endure it. Then, when I called an ambulance myself, she punished me by having someone hang me upside down in the bedroom. "If we hadn't had to eat those awful health meals with you, why would Simon's stomach hurt? "I heard hanging upside down helps stomach pain. After a few minutes, you'll naturally feel better." The pain made my body convulse. I cried and begged her to send me to the hospital. Instead, she kicked me hard in the abdomen. "Stop acting. Don't think I don't know you're just jealous of Simon! "Someone as kind as Simon would never drug you. If anything, you're the one who might've slipped something into the food to make his stomach hurt. Once the results come out, I won't let you off!" I grabbed her pant leg in agony. "I'm not lying. He told me himself he drugged me. Please, for the sake of our eight years together, give the specialist appointment back to me." She stepped on my hand in disgust. "You just had surgery. How could anything happen to you? Stop trying to drive a wedge between us. If you weren't such good househusband material, I would've divorced you long ago." Later, after she saw that Simon was perfectly fine, she finally remembered me. But the housekeeper was trembling all over. "Mr. Bowman died a long time ago..."

For his preschool career assignment, my four-year-old son, Joey Parker, writes that he wants to be a homewrecker. When I stare at him in disbelief, he defends his choice with complete confidence. "Mommy's secretary, Mr. Sebastian Hayes, is a homewrecker, and he's living a pretty great life. "Mommy buys him fancy suits that you don't have, and she always drives him to and from work without fail." Joey tilts his head and looks at me curiously. "I hear the grown-ups calling him a homewrecker all the time. So why don't you become one, too? "Besides, they say male homewreckers are super rare. And you're so amazing, Daddy! I bet you'd be the best one ever!" My face drains of color. I stand frozen, unable to utter a single word. Years ago, one comment from my wife, Amelia Brooks, about needing someone to take care of the family for me was enough to make me quit my job and become a stay-at-home dad. For years, I've swallowed my hurt and endured one humiliation after another, all because I want our son to grow up in a complete family. I've never imagined that my patience would teach him to mistake being the other man for being loved. I'm about to respond when Joey interrupts me. "Daddy, I know you and Mommy fought today because she's going out to dinner with Mr. Hayes instead of celebrating your birthday with you. "I don't like it when you and Mommy fight. So when I grow up, I'll be a homewrecker, too. Then you won't have to fight anymore." It feels as though an invisible fist closes around my heart. Rage surges through me, making the veins in my forehead throb. But the moment I meet my son's innocent gaze, the question that has tormented me for years suddenly has an answer. "Joey, being a homewrecker is wrong. If you don't like living this way, then I'll take you somewhere new. We'll find a home of our own, one without your mommy."

On the day Mom's condition turned critical, I stared at the mounting hospital bill and called my husband. He didn't even hesitate. Half a million dollars appeared in my account within minutes. But when I tried to use it, the transfer was frozen — pending review. It never cleared. Not even by the time Mom was wheeled into surgery. I crouched in the hospital hallway and called him again and again. No one picked up. On the seventieth call, he finally answered. "Honey! They're starting the surgery. Mom's in so much pain right now. I'm begging you." All I got back was the flat drone of a dropped call. I waited. And waited. I waited long enough to receive Mom's death notice. I waited long enough to see what his secretary had posted: a photo of a necklace worth a fortune, wrapped around her neck. [One offhand "I like it," and Mr. Gilmer wired me half a million dollars just like that. [Guess this wild little kitten finally found the collar that fits.] Robert Gilmer finally deigned to call me back. "Accounting still needs to sign off on it. Can't your mom wait a little longer?" I looked over at my own mother, standing right there beside me outside the operating room, very much alive. And that was when it hit me. He'd thought the one dying was my mother.

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.

The day my mother brought her childhood sweetheart back to the villa, my father—who had already quit smoking—stood on the balcony and smoked through the entire night. Back then, his colleagues at the research institute all envied him for having a wife who was a CEO. They said he should have stayed home and enjoyed life—why work so hard outside when all he needed to do was keep a firm grip on the household finances? But my father never agreed. "Those things are all external," he would say. "As long as the feelings are still there, we'll be fine whether we're rich or poor. And if one day she no longer loves me, I'll leave with nothing and walk away alone." He never expected his words to become prophecy. My mother truly did stop loving him. Later, when she appeared before the media, arm in arm with that man, my father didn't look back. He boarded a flight overseas and disappeared from our lives. And as I stared at the photo in my social feed—my fiancée's hand entwined with someone else's—I knew it was time for me to leave too, just like my father had.

I had hosted a late-night radio show for ten years. On the final call before the program went off the air, a male college student came on the line. "Mr. Miles, hello. I am in a lot of pain. I fell in love with my college professor. "She is married, but she treats me differently. "When I get sick, she cooks for me. When I am upset, we chat late into the night. She even takes me out on trips to clear my head..." After listening patiently, I spoke slowly and tried to counsel him. "It is normal to develop admiration for someone excellent and older than you, but right now, the most important thing is finishing school. "Actually, I once had a crush on a student teacher in high school. It was not until I met my wife that I understood what mature love really was. I hope you meet the right person one day too." The boy laughed in a way I could not quite read. "Well, good for you, Professor Cole's hubby."

I had been married to Adrian Foster for six years when I finally conceived his child. However, the doctor’s reaction upon hearing Adrian’s name left me frozen. "I clearly recall that Mrs. Foster already gave birth to a son here two years ago. She’s a famous actress, and she and Mr. Foster made the perfect couple." I stared at her in disbelief. "What are you talking about? We’re legally married. We have a certificate!" "There’s no mistake. Mr. Foster is someone notable, and he doted on his wife. He was always by her side." I stormed out of the hospital in anger, but my hope was shattered when the lawyer confirmed that my marriage certificate was a forgery. The world tilted into darkness. My ears rang, my surroundings blurred, and I could no longer hear a thing. At last, I understood. He had never been my husband. He had never once looked forward to the child growing within me. With shaking hands, I dialed my family’s number, and in my heart, I swore that this merciless liar would burn in hell.

In the fifth year of my marriage with Lionel Kruger, I suddenly develop an ability to see everyone's ranking system. To my mom, I'm ranked first. To my best friend, I'm ranked second after her daughter. Even the owner of the breakfast cart in the neighborhood views me as his sixth favorite person in his life. Delighted, I rush off to see Lionel's ranking system. His mom ranks first, whereas Natalie Cooper is ranked second. That's me! I'm ranked second! That piece of news makes me smile throughout the day. That is, until I see an unfamiliar name taking up the sixth spot—Lindsay Sloan. I tell myself that it's fine. I'm ranked second, while she's ranked sixth. But the next few days, I witness Lindsey's name climbing slowly up the ranks to the point she's almost reaching my rank. That evening, Lionel comes home and hugs me as usual. "I missed you." As I stare at the ranking system above his head, I notice that Lindsay, who's now ranked third, is slowly climbing upward as he speaks. "Lionel, who's Lindsey Sloan?" At that moment, Lionel freezes up while hugging me.

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."

The results of the arts entrance exam have been released. All seven colleges that my best friend, Nicole Porter, applied to have rejected her. If she wants to get into college, she'll have to work hard on her general admission exams. So, I seek out my boyfriend, Preston Nolin, who's the top of our year, and ask him to tutor Nicole. However, Preston, who has always been mild-tempered, seems extremely reluctant to do so. "Fi, you've helped Nicole out far too many times over the past few years. When she couldn't pay her school fees, you were the one who paid them for her using the prize money you won from the competitions. "When Nicole's sexist parents caused a ruckus at school, you were the one who called the police on them. But because of that, her family got their revenge on you and almost left you blind in your left eye. "Now, Nicole can't even get into any of the seven colleges she applied to. Since she's not book-smart, she should just drop out of high school and find a job. This outcome is the best for everyone involved." Preston and I have been in a relationship for three years. Yet, this is my first time getting mad at him. "Nikki is my best friend as well as the most important person in my life! You're not allowed to badmouth her like this! Since you don't want to help her at all, then we might as well break up!" In order to avoid breaking up with me, Preston has no choice but to comply. Later on, Nicole's grades keep improving by leaps and bounds. I've also worked hard in my studies, resulting in me getting pretty decent grades in my College Entrance Examination. In fact, I've hit the threshold where I can attend one of the most prestigious colleges in the state with Preston. But when there's barely a minute left before the deadline is up, Nicole changes my dream college to the top college in the country, one that I'm definitely not qualified for. As for Preston, he just watches Nicole tamper with my application without showing any intention of stopping her.

After wrapping up a book signing out of town, I received a message from a friend on the way home. "This personal trainer is something else. He can do all kinds of things with an exercise ball." He also sent me a Live Photo. In the Live Photo, a woman was lying on an exercise ball, pinned down by a man. Her hair was covering her face. In the Live Photo that was a second long, I heard a familiar moan. I called my fiancée. "Where are you?" Her voice was a bit hoarse, "I'm training with an exercise ball at the neighborhood gym, babe. I have a big surprise waiting for you when you get home." I snorted and said, real slow, "How about I give you a big surprise right now? Open the door!"

Kyson Ellis, the young man sponsored by my wife, Lara Sterling, earned a near-perfect SAT score and was accepted into one of the country's most prestigious universities. As a reward, Lara granted him "Adult Privilege." At a business dinner, Lara had him sit in my seat while our clients toasted him. Smiling, she introduced him to our partners. "He just turned eighteen, so I'm letting him experience the adult world a little early. Turns out he's even more mature and gracious than Nolan Taylor, my husband." She even handed him access to our joint bank account, claiming it was to "teach him how adults manage money." When I merely glanced through the transaction history, she instinctively stepped in front of him and shot me a cold look. "He only bought ten Rolex watches. Kyson is learning how adults handle money. What's wrong with that? You weren't even this responsible with money back then." After a long day at the office, I came home to find Kyson wearing my silk pajamas, sprawled across the bed in our master bedroom, scrolling through his phone. Lara sat beside him, feeding him blueberries. She looked up at me and said matter-of-factly, "The guest room doesn't get enough light. It'll strain his eyes if he uses his phone in there. You can sleep in the guest room tonight. You're an adult. Don't pick on a kid." I stared into her eyes without saying a word. So this was how it worked. Whenever it suited her, Kyson was old enough to enjoy "Adult Privilege." And the moment it didn't, he was a child again.

[Wanna do it?] I accidentally sent the message meant for my bestie to her brother, Gerald Cooper. Ten minutes later, I received his reply. [In the Maybach downstairs. Come down.] To my surprise, her brother was very well endowed too. That night, things got heated and we almost lost control. When we sobered up, he promised me that he would bear responsibility for his actions. He treated me well and doted on me, giving me anything I asked for. However, there was only one rule: I must never admit in public that I was his girlfriend. Five years later, he brought another woman home. With his arm wrapped around the woman, he told me that she was his girlfriend. I confronted him, asking, "If she's your girlfriend, then what would that make me? I waited five long years for you!" He chuckled indifferently and said something that chilled me to my bone. "Wait for me? Did I tell you to wait? Nyssa Bennett, don't ever fall in love with someone so desperately. It's terrifying." So it turned out that my love for him was nothing but trouble. From then on, I tried to live without him, let go of my feelings, and finally left him. But one week later, when I was exchanging my vows with another man, Gerald was standing there in the aisle, looking up at me with reddened eyes.

Before my wife, Camille Lamberg, left the house, she dropped an invitation in the entryway. It was for a sip-and-see party, a celebration to welcome a month-old baby. Since I was heading that way anyway, I figured I'd drop it off for her. But the moment I pushed open the doors to the hotel ballroom, I froze as if I'd been struck by lightning. My wife, the woman who'd sworn she wanted to stay child-free, was holding a chubby, rosy-cheeked baby and making the rounds with a glass raised alongside another man. My in-laws gathered around the three of them, beaming as they posed for a family photo. And the photographer was none other than my best friend since childhood, Jonah Grant. The second he spotted me, he rushed over and blocked me from going into the ballroom. "Adam, calm down! Camille just wants a baby. You can't take away her chance to be a mother just because you can't have kids!" It wasn't until the man turned around that I got a good look at him. The man my wife was cheating on me with was Oliver Weaver, my father's illegitimate son. My wife, my in-laws, and my closest friend had all known the truth, and every one of them had still betrayed me.

After seven years of marriage, my husband grew tired of our quiet life and took a college student as his mistress. That fragile, pitiable girl held Alain Roth so completely he didn't come home for an entire month, no matter how I begged. On our son's third birthday, I came to their villa, holding the feverish child and pleading for him to return. Inside, he stayed lost in passion with her. Jeff Roth drew his last breath in my arms while their pleasure echoed through the night. At the funeral, Alain held me and wept, swearing he would return to the family and love only me. I agreed, driven solely by Jeff's dying wish. Four years later, a video from his old kindergarten surfaced, showing Alain with a radiant Mabel Flores and a three-year-old boy. The boy smiled brightly at the camera, lifting a trophy high. "Mom, Dad, we're the happiest family in the world!"

Ethan Carter is an international captain for Delta Air Lines. I'd been engaged to him for five years. In those five years,the only time I ever asked him to indulge me was when I sent him a photo of my mother's flight journal. That journal recorded the route she'd flown on her last trip: Boston to Paris. Her health was already failing by then. I wanted Ethan to mark that route for me, and paste it on the last page of the memorial album. He just replied, "I've got a transatlantic flight tomorrow. Flight safety isn't for humoring people." Last week Ethan came home on leave, and while I was sorting his luggage, I found a waterproof document pouch tucked in a lining. Inside was a full set of simulator debrief materials. A name was written on the cover: Claire Bennett. A young first officer at Delta, the rookie Ethan had personally mentored these past two years as she pushed for her international route certification. I opened to the first page. From takeoff roll to stall recovery to approach deviation, every page carried Ethan's handwritten notes. Red circles, blue underlines, black annotations, the handwriting crisp, just like the man himself. A private recommendation letter was tucked into the pouch. He wrote that Claire had "steady judgment, an exceptional capacity to learn, and the potential to join a transatlantic flight crew." Every word was restrained, and every word was precise. The most recent file had been modified last Valentine's Day. That day I'd booked a restaurant. Ethan said he was prepping for a flight and couldn't have dinner with me. I didn't cry. I didn't ask. I picked up my phone and booked a one-way ticket to Seattle. Seattle's air medical transport program was hiring a lead physician. I used to think the future between Ethan and me was something I had to wait for: wait for him to fly less, wait for him to be less busy, wait for him to finally have a spare moment to glance at my journal. I didn't want to wait anymore.

My wife, Anne Baker, wants to remain childfree, so I decide to get a vasectomy. But on our way home, she hands me an ultrasound scan. "I'm three months pregnant, and the baby isn't yours." I look at her in shock. She smiles and points at the BMW behind us. "I didn't want to tell you I had a one-night stand, but I accidentally got knocked up. An abortion is bad for my body, so I decided to keep the baby." I grip her hand tightly as I say furiously, "So you lied to me? You were lying about wanting to be childfree!" She leans in, kisses me, and speaks in a gentle yet cruel tone. "Honey, I just love my baby too much. Since you've lost your ability to have a kid now, this baby will be your only heir. We'll raise him together, okay?" Just then, someone steps out of the BMW that's been following us the whole way. When I roll down my window, I see a familiar man. It's James Litt, my good friend of eight years.

On the day of the wedding, Galen Shaw forces me to crack walnuts with my bare hands for his so-called female buddy. My expression goes cold, and I refuse outright. "My hands are for holding a scalpel, not cracking walnuts for her!" He only chuckles and orders someone to hold me down. Then, he glues the walnuts to my palms himself. One by one, he slams them against the ground. "You cheated while studying medicine. Now that you've married me, forget about ever being a doctor again!" I grit my teeth through the pain. My fingers are aching, but I try to explain. "I went abroad to study medicine for you!" His so-called female buddy sneers in a shrill voice. "All that talk about the Shaw family's hereditary disease is nonsense! Galen has been perfectly healthy for over 20 years. Don't tell me you just want another excuse to cozy up with your precious senior?" The moment those words leave her lips, the faint thought of having someone bandage my hand disappears. A shadow crosses Galen's face. "Looks like you haven't learned your lesson!" He throws me into the basement and locks me there for three days. By the time I crawl out, my hands are completely ruined. Later, when Galen's hereditary disease finally surfaces, the doctor tries to comfort him. "This disease may be terminal, but there is still a way. Dr. Robinson has just returned from overseas. She's the only one in the world who can perform this surgery. "I hear that she's your wife."

Giordano Pellegrini, my Underboss husband, is swamped with work every day. In order to make sure that he can attend my birthday party, I've pre-booked two hours of his time half a year in advance. But the moment Giordano arrives at the party venue, he receives a message on his communicator. "Honey, someone has blocked a shipment of firearms. I need to deal with that matter right now. Next time, I'll celebrate your birthday properly with you." Our son, Fabiano Pellegrini, follows Giordano out of the venue as well. "Dad and I will deal with this matter. We'll also make it up to you with another birthday gift next time." Despite feeling a little disappointed, the emergency did come all of a sudden, so I can only nod in acceptance. But once Giordano and Fabiano leave, I secretly stalk them. I'd like to see which idiot dares to block the ship owned by me, the Donna of this mafia family. Also, I'm interested to see what sort of solution Giordano and Fabiano can come up with. After all, Giordano is only an Underboss in name.