Tragic Love Short Stories & Bias Cheating Novels

For five years, I was married to Angelo Harmon, who treated me like a queen, earning the envy of everyone around us. But my dream life ended when I discovered he had a second home with a younger woman. When I confronted him, he brushed it off. "It's just a fling for excitement. You’re still my wife. What's the problem?" His callousness repulsed me, pushing me to terminate my pregnancy and walk away.

My fiance's best friend Cindy Jones was an adult movie director. On the day of our wedding, we exchanged rings when she started yelling, calling me out for starring in adult films. "I've always been saying that Tina Lynd's filth and you shouldn't touch her with a six-foot pole!" Flinging a stack of photos at my face, she snorted. "You want evidence? There! Come take a good look, everyone!" As the guests flocked around for a look, my fiance's mother slapped me across the face after just one look, leaving me tasting blood in my mouth while she shrieked, "How dare you! Forget being a shrew—you'd scam my son too? That's why there's been so many botched weddings!" Indeed, it was the same thing three years ago, when Cindy brought a paid actor claiming to be my husband. My fiance, Sam Zimmer, didn't say a word as he stormed out, and it was not until last year that he came begging for reconciliation after finding out that it was all a misunderstanding. We just sent out the invitation when Cindy showed up, calling me a gold digger who married men to steal all their money, after which Sam canceled the wedding again. And now, with our parents present, she slandered me once more. I clutched my cheek, gritting my teeth as I glared at Sam. "Three times. Do you really care?" He wasn't even looking at me as he was busy patting Cindy's back to calm her down. "Cindy means no harm. She's just worried about you." I kicked the bridal shoes off my feet as I strode to my parents, scoffing, "You can marry her if you trust her that much!"

My husband, David Klaus, was a top surgeon with a strict rule: he didn't treat family. Conflict of interest, he said. Absolute professional ethics. He only broke that rule three times. The first was when severe period pain made me pass out, and he finally wrote me a sick note. The second was when my mother’s emergency surgery couldn't wait, and he allowed her into his hospital. The third was when I had a miscarriage risk, and he stepped in to save our baby. I should have felt grateful. But I didn't. Because he didn't break his rule for me. He broke it for my best friend, Wendy. All it took was a single phone call from her. "David, be good. Seeing her in pain hurts me too, and it won't ruin your reputation." And just like that, the unyielding doctor gave in for her. Afterward, he always looked at me with resentful eyes. "I keep breaking my boundaries for you." Waking up after surgery, I watched through the glass as they laughed together. She told him to stop being so rigid. He smiled and promised he would try. He never broke his rules for his wife. He broke them for her. And from then on, I didn't want his pity anymore. ---

On our wedding night, my CEO wife’s assistant barged into the bridal suite with a crowd behind him. He wrapped an arm around her waist and grinned in front of all the guests. “I've gotta thank Shawn for being so generous. Over the past year, Chloe and I tried all 1,000 positions in the Karma Sutra, won a $10,000,000 bonus, and even ended up with a baby. “Don’t feel too bad, Shawn, even if all you got was one dollar. “And of course, I should thank my future in-laws and everyone here for thinking so highly of me. Tonight, I’ll definitely make sure Chloe has the time of her life on our wedding night.” The room fell silent. No one said a word. Even my father-in-law, who always claimed he treated me like his own son, lowered his head and avoided my eyes. Chloe glanced at me and said casually, “He’s young and insecure. He just wants to spend the wedding night with me. That’s all. “Jason even gave me his first time because he wanted this baby so badly. I have to take responsibility for him.” My heart instantly turned ice-cold. I finally understood why she had given me that envelope with a single dollar in it. I made my decision as I looked at the woman before me, who suddenly felt like a complete stranger. I did not want her anymore.

By the time Kenneth Ford finally showed up, I was already soaked through. He wasn't alone. There was a girl under his umbrella, and at well over six feet tall, Kenneth had enough height to shield her almost completely from the rain. He'd tilted the umbrella so far toward her that one side of his shirt was getting drenched, but he didn't seem to care. He just smiled and let her stay tucked safely beside him. Then he saw me, and the smile on his face disappeared. "Sorry, I'm late," he muttered. The girl beside him immediately turned to me. "Hannah, it's my fault. I've gotten so used to sharing Kenneth's umbrella that I asked him to walk me home. And honestly, being tucked up against him makes me feel so safe." "How many times have you done that it has become a habit?" I held back my question. Instead, I smiled, stepped under the umbrella behind them, and hurried to keep up. Rainwater dripped from my hair down the back of my neck, while Kenneth kept the umbrella tilted toward her the entire way. I had dinner with them, shared a drink, and spent the whole night listening to their laughter. After midnight, when Kenneth was finally fast asleep, I took the umbrella, opened it, snapped a picture, and sent it to Berta Neal. [Since you like it so much, stay tucked against him for the rest of your life.]

In the sixth year of our long-distance relationship, I told my boyfriend I was too busy with work to spend his birthday with him. In secret, I boarded a ten-hour flight to Harborwick with the deed to the condo I'd bought. I was going to propose in front of all our friends and surprise him. While I waited for a car, I answered a few work messages and scrolled through social media. The first thing I saw was a post from my best friend. "I'm a godmother! Nine-pound baby girl. I'm so happy." I opened the photo and found my boyfriend, Lucas Wynn, standing beside another woman with a newborn between them. My mind went completely blank. I kept scrolling back through her older posts and found their entire life documented there. Meeting, dating, marriage, pregnancy, birth-six years of it, without a single gap. Several of my closest friends were smiling in their wedding photo. Something cold went through me, because now I understood. All of them had known. Only me. I'd been lied to for six straight years.

While I was playing house with my daughter, she held up a doll and said it was Papa, then pointed to a robot and said it was Mommy. "Then who am I?" I asked her. Her eyes lit up, then she clapped her hands and laughed. "You're the other man!" I froze where I stood. "Who taught you that?" My expression frightened her, but she pouted, unconvinced. "Godpa said so! He said the other man is the one nobody loves. He said he feels sorry for you, and he made me promise not to tell you." The moment she finished speaking, a message came in from my wife. [Honey, I'm so sorry. I didn't get the bonus, so I can't take you out for Valentine's like I promised. I've let you down again.] I stared at the message and did not question my daughter about it. That night, when I left for my part-time job, my best friend Calvin Reddick came to pick her up again. I asked the restaurant owner for the night off, took the last 200 dollars I had, and hailed a cab to follow him. His car finally stopped in front of a mansion. From the back seat of the cab, I watched my wife, who was supposed to be out working as a designated driver, walk out arm in arm with another man. My daughter ran happily into his arms, calling him Papa over and over, while Calvin stood by and smiled at the scene. The three of them went inside, talking and laughing. Tears slowly blurred my vision. For years, I had been working from dawn until late at night, washing dishes and hauling stock in a restaurant kitchen to help my wife pay off her debts. My hands were covered in calluses. As it turned out, she had never gone bankrupt at all, and she had even built a luxurious home with another man. Even my best friend had known, and he had been covering for them all along.

My husband, Gunther Lane, was strict about his boundaries. I was not allowed to touch him without asking first. The last time I went to a party with his friends, I instinctively took his arm because I felt dizzy after drinking a little. "Let go." Gunther shook me off as though I had electrocuted him, then took a large step back in front of everyone. "I told you not to touch me without permission. Can't you show a little dignity?" I stood frozen with embarrassment while his friends looked at me, clearly amused. In the end, I fled home alone. But last week at the mall, I had seen him walking with Chloe Davies, the new intern. Because she was not used to wearing heels, she twisted her ankle and fell straight into his arms. He said nothing and did not push her away. Instead, he bent down and picked her up, his eyes full of worry. That was when I understood. His boundaries were meant for outsiders like me. I did not interrupt them. I simply applied for a place in a study program abroad. If I couldn't get past his boundaries, I'd leave for a country without him and set my love free.

Once the graduation ceremony is over, I take a five-hour train ride to meet my boyfriend, Blake Jones. While I wait for him at the station, I come across a popular post on Reddit. "Am I Overreacting? My Childhood Friend Ditches Me for His Girlfriend, and I'm Pissed. "His girlfriend is my best friend, and the three of us have always been close since we were kids. He's always been really sweet to both of us. "Two days ago, I had a fever, and he rushed me to the hospital in the middle of the night. He even took a day off to keep me company. When my supervisor rejected my thesis, he stayed up all night to help me revise it… "I never used to mind his relationship. But now, whenever I hear him talking to my best friend on the phone, I can't help feeling awful." That catches me off guard. I remember one night when I called Blake, but his phone was switched off. He didn't get back to me until the next afternoon. He said something had come up, but he never mentioned who he'd been with. The comments on the post are all urging the poster to call her childhood friend back and see who he'll choose between her and his girlfriend. I'm just about to type a reply when a notification from Blake comes through. "Babe, something came up. I can't pick you up today. Can you take a cab and come over?" My breath catches. I click on the poster's profile and realize that her location tag is the same city I'm in.

To save Hugh, I took the hit—literally. The kidnappers beat me so bad I ended up with a brain hemorrhage. My mind? Stuck at thirteen. Hugh, all guilt and promises, said, "Wenna, I'll protect you forever." And he did. He watched over me. When the house caught fire, he threw himself over me, took the burns, didn't flinch. Then came his oh-so-perfect foster sister. "Mia's not into... slow people. Maybe you should live next door," he said. And my son? The one I nearly died bringing into the world? "Stupid woman! You embarrass me and Dad. You're nothing like Aunt Mia—she's smart and pretty. If it weren't for you, she could've been my mom. You should just die!" To play hero for Mia, my son shoved me into the street. A truck did the rest. When I opened my eyes, I was back on the day Hugh proposed. This time? I wasn't here for his pity. And I sure as hell wasn't marrying him.

The day my daughter was fighting for her life, my wife, Shirley Hartley, was busy helping her childhood friend Oliver Burke get married. I called seventeen times. On my eighteenth try, she finally picked up. "Shirley, Nyssa's getting worse. The doctor says she needs life support now. They want twenty grand upfront. Where's the money?" Her voice turned ice-cold. "I used it. Oliver's wedding is coming up, and that stuff costs money. I'm not letting his fiancée's family look down on him. "Nyssa just has asthma, right? She coughs a little and suddenly they want twenty grand? Sounds like a scam." Nyssa lay in the hospital bed, her tiny face ghost-pale. Her eyes slowly opened. "Daddy, I want Mommy." I turned away, biting my lip hard so she wouldn't see me cry. "Mommy'll be here soon." But over the phone, Shirley snapped, "Oliver still hasn't picked out his wedding suit. I don't have time for you freaking out over this." Then she hung up. By the time I scraped together the twenty grand, forty minutes were gone. Half an hour later, the doctor came out of the ER. He pulled off his mask and shook his head. "If we'd started treatment thirty minutes earlier, she might've had a chance." Then my phone buzzed. A transaction alert. Shirley had taken the money that could've saved Nyssa and bought Oliver a $220,000 Maybach. I looked at Nyssa's blue-tinged face and called my lawyer. "Draw up the divorce papers. "And pull the records for every expense Shirley ever covered for Oliver. "I want every cent of our money back."

For the 18th time, Tyra Stone calls off our wedding because I'm a beat too slow during the vows. She looks at me with utter disappointment. "You know I'm a perfectionist. Why can't you follow the wedding schedule exactly? If you can't keep up next time either, maybe you should just let your best friend marry me instead." My so-called best friend, Jeremiah Young, is known for being obsessively punctual. For some reason, Tyra has made him the standard I'm expected to meet. If I come downstairs a minute later than he does after work, she will drive off with him without looking back. If I arrive at the restaurant half a step after him on Valentine's Day, she will give him the candlelit dinner meant for me. If I reach the airport 20 seconds after him for our anniversary trip, she will cancel my ticket and board the plane with him instead. As a result, our wedding has been canceled 17 times. Each time, Jeremiah takes my place and goes through the entire ceremony with her. To ensure the 18th attempt finally goes smoothly, I fill the hall with countdown clocks and spend more than 200 nights practicing in secret. However, ten seconds before the vows are supposed to begin, Jeremiah jumps the gun and says, "I do." Tyra chooses to go by his timing. She ignores me as the hundred-something clocks around us chime in unison. For the 18th time, she calls off the wedding. It turns out the problem is never my timing. The problem is that I'm the groom, not Jeremiah. If that's what she wants, I'll give her the perfect wedding she's been blindly chasing. Tyra takes Jeremiah's hand again. "Watch closely. We'll show you one more time." I laugh and casually slip the wedding rings onto their fingers. "Save it. I hope you two have a long and happy marriage instead."

I just set up my husband's best friend, Abigail, with a guy. Then he looked at me and said, “You’re nasty.” I froze, unable to process the words. From the backseat, my son, Liam, doubled down. “Mom, Dad and Aunt Abigail have been together for two years. He gave you so many hints. How did you not notice?” I turned pale. My hands were still peeling the snacks I’d bought for them. “Why...?” Danny’s eyes met mine in the rearview mirror. He looked completely bored. “I didn't want to say anything. But now that you set Abigail up with someone else. Do you have any idea how hard she cried today?” He paused. “Divorce or separation. Pick one.”

I had been with Elias, a renowned astrophotographer, for five years. With that said, I had never asked him to take me on a shoot with him, all because he once told me, "The first rule of astrophotography is to avoid any kind of light pollution. Even a flicker of your phone screen can ruin an entire night's long exposure." This was why I never even dared to send so much as a text to ask him if he had arrived at the location. I was afraid of ruining his work. All I did was wait at home. Whenever he went to the snowy mountains or the wilderness for a shoot, I would fold a paper star. In each of these paper stars, I would write down the things I did not get to say to him because I did not want to disturb him. [Make sure you layer up.] [I'll wait for you to come back.] I accumulated a thousand and ninety-six origami stars over five years, filling three glass bottles. He never opened a single one of them. Just last week, he was shortlisted for an international astrophotography competition. I was happy for him and went to the website to see his entry called “Light.” Framed at the center of the image was his assistant dressed in a red windbreaker. She was toying with a sparkler and laughing cheerily. The judges' comment read, "In this submission, the photographer voluntarily passed up the chance to capture a once-in-seventy-years comet. Instead, he dedicated the shot to the figure in the image who exuded all the light for him." This whole time, his world was never devoid of light. He simply wanted to snuff out my light. That same night, I poured all of the stars out of the bottles. I opened them one by one, to read the messages within to myself. Then, I burned them all. At dawn, after washing the three empty glass bottles, I had them neatly arranged next to the box he used for his camera lens. There were tens of thousands of galaxies in the universe. There was no reason I should linger outside the frame and wait for someone's light to bleed into mine.

At the Lowell family's autumn memorial gathering, the moment my unfavorable token hit the floor, Spencer's girl best friend, Keira Boone, burst out laughing. "Wow, Lena. You're carrying a Lowell baby and the tokens still say no?" The Lowells had a rule: if an engaged woman couldn't draw a favorable token in five years, the engagement was void. Year one, I drew a bad token, and the wedding was pushed back. Year two, my dad was dying. I begged Spencer through tears to take me to the hospital, but he held me back. "Lena, ten more minutes. Don't let your dad's illness break the rules." Now it was year five. Keira tossed a marriage certificate in front of me. "But don't worry. Spencer already has a wife." In the photo, she and Spencer sat shoulder to shoulder. The registration date was the day after my fourth failed draw last year. Yet the night before they signed, Spencer had held me and said, "This is the last year. I swear I'll marry you." I went cold all over, but Keira wasn't done. "And lately, whatever needs Lowell had, your bro here took care of them for you." My stomach turned. I spun around to confront Spencer. He just rubbed his temples. "You're pregnant. I didn't want to risk touching you. What's wrong with her helping out? "The certificate's just to keep my family happy. You'll still get the wedding next week. "I've gone this far for you. What more do you want?" I slid off my engagement ring and set it back on the altar. "I don't want it anymore. "And I don't want you either."

Three days before my wedding, my younger sister staged a scene—one where I supposedly abandoned her in the mountains. She claimed I locked her in a cabin, left her to be nearly assaulted, and that she barely escaped with her life. Furious, my fiancé dragged me up the mountain and locked me in that same cabin. He said, "Wendy, a woman as vicious as you won't learn her lesson without punishment. I already told you I'd marry you. Why go after Chloe? Since you're so desperate to climb your way up, you can stay here until the wedding day." I begged him, over and over, but my scorched throat could only force out hoarse, grating sounds. Three days later, Mickey O'Brien stood at the altar in his suit, waiting for me. What he got instead was my remains.

Adrian Blackwood is my fiance, but he has kept a mistress behind my back. The hidden folder on his computer is filled with her photos. The thing is, Poppy Blackwood, the subject of Adrian's affection, keeps gazing at another young man with affection in her eyes. The young man, Jaguar Reed, is very good-looking. Not even his slightly worn-out and shabby clothes can conceal his charms. I point at Jaguar's photo while asking my butler, "What do you think about him?" "Ms. Sterling, what do you mean by that?" I raise an eyebrow at the question. "Well, I'm thinking of fulfilling a certain university student's dreams."

After my miscarriage left me depressed, I stood on the rooftop the day I discovered my cheating husband was having an affair with my best friend. My best friend, Natalie Smith, regretted it so much that she slashed her own face with a knife before leaving the country. To make me feel safe, my husband, Steven Palmer, had a tracking device installed on himself. Every time he came home, he would hand me his phone. Even if he was only leaving for five minutes, he would always video-call me and tell me where he was. But when I became pregnant again and went to the hospital to start my prenatal records, I suddenly received a video call from myself ten years in the future. I stared at the woman on the screen. She looked painfully thin. Terrified, I asked, "Did I lose this baby too?" Her eyes instantly turned red. Then she suddenly flipped the camera around. Steven stood behind Natalie on the screen; his eyes filled with a love he could barely hide. "You forced me to become a good husband, and I did. But she will never be able to have children again. This is the punishment she deserves for what she did to you." "Steven, no!" Natalie slapped him across the face, but she couldn't stop crying. I sat there with a pale face as the woman on the screen laughed like she had lost her mind. "Go ask the nurse. Find out just how stupid you really are." As soon as she finished speaking, I heard the nurse say in confusion, "Ms. Schneider, our system says you're unmarried. You said the father of your baby is Steven Palmer, but he registered here last year. His spouse is listed as Natalie Smith."

After I got a second chance at life, I stopped bringing lunch to my wife, who had become the factory manager. She would leave for meetings through the south gate, so I would sneak around through the north. In my previous life, I knew she only married me with an ulterior motive, but I still fell for her. I thought I could warm her heart over time. However, Shirley Scott was always just polite to me, nothing more. When I tried to get close, she would hand me a book and say, "Read more so people won't look down on you." Once, with a bit of liquid courage, I hugged her. Yet, she just stood there, stiff as a board, and said, "It's what married folks do." Years later, as I was dying, I read her memoir and learned about how she felt trapped in our marriage, like being stuck in the mud. She hoped she would never have to be with me again in another life. That hurt more than anything. However, then, I woke up and discovered that I was back to when there were whispers about her and the factory's technician. This time, I did not make a scene. I just asked for a divorce.

After my father died, the illegitimate daughter he had been raising abroad immediately returned to the country to fight me for the estate. Her name was Alma. I was his only legitimate child, and I even had a will on my side. However, I still failed to keep my rightful inheritance. My fiancé Wayne, who could command the entirety of North City with a flick of his wrist, insisted on helping Alma. He stood protectively in front of Alma’s wheelchair and asked me impatiently, “With the money I gave you, you could buy plenty of houses like that. Are you really so heartless? Why would you fight a disabled person over it?” I confronted him, my voice trembling with disbelief. “Fighting? That house is the only thing my mother left me.” In the end, Wayne helped Alma win the lawsuit. He looked at my red, swollen eyes with a trace of guilt and said, “Jocelyn, I’ll make it up to you in the future.” However, I knew then that there was no more future between us.