Caught Cheating Short Stories & Novels

When my husband, Kevin, and I were at our favorite exclusive restaurant, he ordered a T-bone steak and told the waiter with practiced ease, "The usual, and no arugula in the side salad." I paused, then gently nudged his elbow. "Honey, did you forget? Arugula is my favorite." Kevin's body tensed, and he quickly corrected himself. I even teased him, asking if he was so tired lately that his memory was starting to go. A week later, I came back to the restaurant alone to unwind, only to overhear the young woman at the next table waving to the waiter with a smile. "The T-bone again, and no arugula in the salad. Just put it on my husband's tab." "The account number is 8993." My knife and fork clattered against the bone china plate. That string of numbers was my husband's private phone number.

The day I'm diagnosed with cancer happens to be the birthday of my wife's adopted son, Logan Smith. Before the party starts, I end up coughing up blood and ruining the cheerful atmosphere. My wife, Rosalie Smith, doesn't take me to the hospital. Instead, she locks me up in the basement. She looks down at me bleeding out on the ground and says coldly, "Xander Kastel, you really know how to pick your timing. Of all days, you had to cough up blood on Lolo's birthday. How dare you do it today?" I beg her to take me to the hospital, but she says she has already consulted the doctor and knows that early-stage cancer can't cause me to cough up blood. She's convinced I'm deliberately putting on an act to get back at Caleb Anderson, her first love. I pleaded desperately. "I am your husband! Rosalie, please take me to the hospital. I promise I'll never show up again." Rosalie's face darkens, and she grabs me by the throat. "Don't play these push-and-pull games with me. As long as you stay here quietly until midnight passes and Lolo's birthday is over, of course, I'll take you to the hospital. Once you've recovered, you'll still be the Smith family's live-in son-in-law." I keep screaming from the agonizing pain I'm in. Rosalie thinks I'm being annoying, so she takes Caleb and Logan to a hotel to celebrate instead. Some time later, she suddenly thinks of me, so she asks her secretary if my surgery has gone well. Her secretary's face pales as he answers in a trembling voice, "Mr. Kastel has… has left with Ms. Kastel."

The first time I find a hair tie in Ryder Jones' jacket pocket, his mother, Nara Winter, comes to me to explain. "Thea, you've misunderstood Ryder. I accidentally left that hair tie in his pocket." The second time, I find a moonstone earring in our den. His buddy comes over with a grin to claim it. "So, that's where the other one went. Ryder's hopeless. I asked him to buy me a pair of earrings, and he somehow lost one. Don't overthink it, Thea." Then, there's the third time, and the fourth time… Every time after that, one of his family members or friends would step in to defend him. The ninth time, I pull a pair of female panties from beneath his pillow. Holding them up in front of him, I ask softly, "Whose are these?" Ryder's fingers pause almost imperceptibly on the newspaper he's holding before he nonchalantly reaches for his phone. "Which one of you left your panties at my place?" On the other end of the line are my younger brother, Zane Thornton, and my best friend, Talia Stone. "Ryder? Talia must've left her panties over there. Sorry. You know what we're like during mating season. We can't control ourselves. Is Thea being paranoid again?" Talia's voice also sounds reproachful. "Thea, I really can't stand this anymore. How can someone like you be worthy of being the Luna?" When the call ends, Ryder flashes me an innocent look. "See? Can you stop doubting me now? How many times has this happened? If you keep making a scene, I think—" I cut him off with a smile. "Let's dissolve our mate bond." What he doesn't know is that the panties belong neither to his lover nor to Talia. I bought them myself and deliberately hid them under his pillow.

Just after I finish a meeting, the parents' group chat for my daughter's kindergarten suddenly buzzes with activity. Someone shares a viral post. The poster writes, "A daughter is always her daddy's sweetheart. She's already using her allowance to buy her dad a birthday present! I wonder who my gentle, wealthy little princess will marry someday." The one who shares the post adds excitedly in the comments, "She's the one and only successor to the Webb family in Jemton! She's a true heiress!" The parents in the group chat eagerly offer their sycophantic compliments. They can hardly wait to offer their own sons as potential suitors for the little girl. But I'm puzzled. Other than my wife, Lucy Webb, I don't think there is any other family with the surname Webb in Jemton. Then, I open the photo attached to the post and instantly freeze. The sweet little girl smiling as she holds the gift is unmistakably my daughter, Emilia Webb, whom I personally drive to and from kindergarten every single day.

In the fifth year of her marriage, Natalie Shaw is taken to the police for the 199th time after being mistaken for a mistress. Someone comes to bail her out. Her face is covered in scratches and blood. A chunk of her hair has been ripped out, exposing raw, bleeding skin. It's a horrifying sight. She cries from the pain. But soon, she goes numb. She sits in the chair in silence, trying to untangle her hair, which has been clumped together by thick, sticky blood. Only when a police officer hands her a document and tells her she is free to leave does she slowly lift her head. And sure enough, the person who has come to bail her out is not her husband, Adrian Carter.

I was attending a banquet with my fiancée and her nymph friends. But she made an excuse about checking the woodland springs and left the table. Two turns of the hourglass passed. The seat next to me remained cold. I stood up, ready to track her scent. That was when I heard her nymph friends talking. They were using the secret tongue—a language only woodland creatures could understand—to ruthlessly humiliate me. "That idiot who crawled out of the Underworld still has no idea how many times Lyra has betrayed him." "I bet Darius is taking Lyra on the peaks of Mount Ida right now." "Lyra swore Orion is just a prudish block of wood who worships the rules. He probably doesn't even know how to touch a woman. His cock can't even compare to Darius's. They've been fucking each other for ages. " "It's just pathetic. An Underworld Prince, fighting Olympus's ban just for a lowly nymph. Hahaha, look at him! We’re insulting him right to his face, and he just sits there like a deaf-mute idiot." My body froze. My mind went totally blank. Right then, Lyra pushed open the sanctuary doors. Her soft skin was covered in a thin layer of sweat. She reeked of the heavy, unmistakable scent of a woman who had just been thoroughly fucked and satisfied. "Ha, how was it? Does it feel amazing to make a fool of an Underworld Prince at our own banquet? You're so bad!" "Of course. His beastly thrusts drive me crazy."

The night before the bride-selection ceremony, my best friend was having sex with my childhood friend in the most sacred underground chapel. "You're getting married tomorrow... and I'm just a stray from the slums. How could I ever be worthy of you?" Chloe said, her voice thick with tears. Victor Moretti pulled her closer into his arms. "Isn't what we're doing here proof enough of how I feel? Relax. I've already rigged tomorrow's draw. God will choose you, and only you." "But will your family accept me? Everyone knows Elia is your fiancee. Tomorrow's ceremony is just a formality..." "A formality?" He scoffed. "She doesn't even deserve the effort of me going through the motions. My wife is whoever I say she is." I stood behind the door, my nails digging deep into my palms until the sharp sting kept me alert. I used to think we were each other's rock. But from the beginning, I had been the only one who felt that way. Victor, if tomorrow's ceremony is nothing but a show you can rig however you please, I'm done playing my part. Seven days later, I walked toward the wedding car in my gown. Victor charged toward me like a man possessed, clinging to the car door as he screamed, "Elia, don't marry him! I love you..." I slapped him hard across the face and enunciated every word. "From now on, call me Aunt Elia."

The day I caught Joel Kemper in bed with another woman, she slashed up her own face. Joel pulled her tightly into his arms, refusing to let me see her no matter how hysterical I got. His eyes were bloodshot as he looked at me. "This is all my fault, Valerie. I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to you. I'm begging you. Don't go after her." After that day, Joel gave up every shred of privacy. He handed over his phone every day and even installed hidden cameras throughout his car. If a female patient so much as texted him, I would question him over and over, and he never once complained. He went along with everything, asking only that I take him back. Then, three days before our wedding, I went to pick up my dress, only for the sales associate to stare at me in confusion. "Ms. Clayton, you already picked up your wedding dress this morning. I actually just saw a video from your ceremony online." She pulled up the clip. The same friends of Joel's, who had still been acting like I was the one he was going to marry yesterday were now handing the rings to the bride and groom, with several of our mutual friends standing nearby. Joel leaned toward the bride with a smile and murmured tenderly, "I love you, Daphne." The name, and the face that looked exactly like mine, left me frozen in place.

When I brought my girlfriend, Ivy Rossum, home to meet my family, my cousin, Kevin Lonsdale, snuck into her room, took off his clothes, and got into her bed. When we found him, he clutched the sheets and said in a shaking voice, “Paul, I didn’t do this on purpose. I thought I was going to my room.” It was the same excuse he had used before. Eight years ago, when I brought my first girlfriend home, he had done the exact same thing and used the same excuse. I finally called him out on it. “Everyone occasionally ends up at the wrong door, but how did you get in with the wrong keycard?” Kevin’s face went white, his tears suddenly halting. Dad defended him and scolded me. “Kevin has always been absent-minded, you know this! Look at him now. He’s had a shock. How could you humiliate him when he’s already in such a state?” I felt suffocated. I held strong and did my best not to tremble. I looked at the woman I had loved and kept secret from my family for six years and asked, “Ivy, how would you like to deal with this?”