Bittersweet Cheating Short Stories & Novels

From dating to marriage, seven years together, Kevin Fletcher bailed on fifty-two trips with me. Every single time, he had an excuse. A project deadline. A last-minute business trip. An elderly relative who suddenly wasn't doing well. And every single time, he promised he'd make it up to me. I believed him. Fifty-two times. Until last month, when I found a travel planner tucked away in his study. Inside were fifty-two plane tickets to the same city. And fifty-two photos of him and his so-called childhood friend, Fiona Snow. Written on the first photo: [She said she wanted to see the ocean, so I cleared my schedule and took her.] On the thirty-third: [She got drunk and said her biggest regret was never starting a family with me.] The fifty-second photo was dated the same day he blew off our fifth wedding anniversary trip. On the back, he'd written: [She's pregnant. I'm going to be a dad!] I wiped my tears away, opened my laptop, and drafted the divorce papers. Then I booked a ticket to Antarctica. This time, I was going to see the view alone.

After Nathaniel Cross promises to break things off and refocus on our marriage after having an affair, I give him three chances to meet with the young lady to end things between them completely. He uses every possible moment to spend time with her. They have dinner and do crafts. He even stays by her side through the night. When he comes back, he throws away everything that has to do with her and takes my hand again. "Trust me. I'll never betray you again," Nathaniel promises. One day, I collide with a young woman on the road. She makes a phone call to ask for help. The voice that answers belongs to one of my husband's friends. "Nathaniel, I don't think you should go. You've already used up all three chances. If Caroline finds out about this, she'll definitely ask for a divorce." Then, I hear Nathaniel's confident reply. "Caroline is an orphan. No one has ever loved or cared about her. She's more afraid of divorce than I am. Just keep quiet about this. I know what I'm doing. This is the last time." I feel my entire body turn cold. Only then do I realize that the sobbing woman in front of me is the mistress he has been so devoted to protecting. 20 minutes later, the man who has just sworn to return wholeheartedly to his family with me rushes frantically to the hospital.

Zachary Lawson brought his pregnant secretary to my bridal store for a fitting. They had chosen a white gown. His friends were in the VIP lounge, betting on how long I'd last before I'd lose it. I lasted until the very end, where his secretary had tried out the final gown. I was still there, taking her measurement down to the precise decimal. "I can't believe your wife took your mistress' measurements. Her patience is impressive!" Zachary had sunk into the couch's soft caress, flicking his cigarette. "She's a barren woman who lives on my money. She'll have to get used to the part. I don't need a stepmother to manhandle my son." I pulled the tailor's tape back and showed them the bill. "The measurements are perfect. Two million. That's the deposit." Zachary tossed an asset split agreement over to me. "Sign this. Wendy's mood swings are horrible during pregnancy. She's not staying put unless she gets to be my wife. I'll need you to get a divorce and not take a single cent. Once the baby's here, I'll take you back into the fold." I signed the papers without even a moment's pause. Then, I tore the check into tiny little pieces.

My boyfriend of nine years suddenly changed his WhatsApp name to "Peanut Love." When I asked why, he wouldn't say. Then his secretary, going by the name "Peanut," sent me their intimate photos. I understood everything. I calmly saved the photos and opened my mom's chat. I sent a single message: [Mom, I've decided to come home for the arranged marriage.] Mom immediately video-called me. "Sweetheart, we'll set the wedding for the end of this month." Fifteen days. That's all that's left between Jason and me.

Before heading off to war, Sebastian Crawford made a solemn blood vow on his honor—just to keep me from worrying while he was gone. He promised to come back and marry me with a grand ceremony, the whole nine yards. Eight years later, Sebastian returned as a general, draped in glory. But by his side was a woman—dressed like a man, her very pregnant belly sticking out like a sore thumb. I took a deep breath, calmly slipped off my engagement ring, and called the whole thing off. Sebastian scowled, clearly annoyed. "Lena bled with me on the battlefield. I've always seen her as a brother in arms. She's pregnant because she helped me take care of a physical need. It was simple and practical. No strings attached." I let out a bitter laugh. Then I sent a messenger pigeon. "Fine. Then I'll find someone to help me out too."

Seven years into our marriage, my husband Theo ordered me an Americano, the way he always did. Except I'd just told him, again, that caffeine made me sick. The moment I opened my mouth to say something, his phone rang. He stood up and walked out without a word of explanation. Half an hour later, Lydia posted to her socials. "Thanks to a certain someone for taking time out of his insane schedule to fix my plumbing. Also, the fresh hot cocoa was incredible." The comments filled up with people gushing over her. Steam curled off the mug in the photo. It made the drink in my hand feel even colder. Lydia and Theo had grown up together. Seven years ago, within months of each other, they'd both rushed into marriage. The difference was that Lydia had married a man who hit her. Night after night, Theo would peel himself away from me and run off to defend her. Sometimes he'd fought with her husband and end up at the police station. It happened more than once. I used to think it was just his sense of justice, so I always cleaned up after him and smoothed things over. Now I could see it for what it was. He'd given so much of his attention to someone else that all I got were the leftovers, neglect and a cold shoulder. Fine. This love had already gone cold. I didn't want it anymore.

"Jump. You love me to death, don't you? Didn't you say you'd do anything for me?" Ethan Hart wanted me to throw myself off the observation deck of the tallest tower downtown, live, in front of the millions of people watching the broadcast. I stood on the wrong side of the railing. Below me, traffic streamed through the streets and neon flickered in the distance. His friends clapped and cheered. Vivian Lane laughed softly and curled herself against his arm. Ethan's grin turned vicious. "Come on, don't waste everyone's time. Jump, and I'll marry you." He'd made me a promise once. Finish a hundred of his demands, and he would marry me. When his company was circling bankruptcy, he told me to hand over everything I owned, and I did. Then he moved Vivian into my house in the suburbs and left me to sleep in a motel. The night he was tangled up with Vivian at a private party, he sent me over with something for his hangover, and made a point of telling me to bring a box of condoms, the right size. I stood at the door holding the soup I'd made, and heard him laugh. "She's my ATM. I use her, then I throw her out." No matter how far it went, I'd done all ninety-nine. This was the last one: jump. He thought I'd hesitate, thought I'd cry and beg him to pick something else. I didn't. I let go and fell. The wind roared in my ears, and the whole lit-up city slid past me. I heard him shout, heard the crowd scream, and underneath all of it, the one voice I'd waited too long to hear. [Congratulations, host. Emotional conquest progress: one hundred percent. Reward delivered. Your mother's terminal illness is fully cured.]

I was the sole heiress to the Alpha King of the Northern Territory, yet I fell in love with Caine, the Alpha of the Silver Moon pack in the East. Our territories were sworn enemies, so I kept my identity hidden and stayed by his side in the shadows. For ten years, I was his secretary, his weapon, and his only woman. I helped him transform the Silver Moon pack into one of the most powerful forces in the East. I had always hoped he would propose. After all, every night in bed, he would fuck me hard, his voice rough against my ear as he whispered over and over that I belonged to him. Then one day, after we made love, he said casually,”Starting tomorrow, you'll handle the schedule for the engagement.” I lay there, still trembling in the aftershocks. “Caine.” I sat up, my voice shaking. “Are you... asking me to marry you?” He turned and looked at me like the question surprised him. Like he hadn't expected anything so naive. “Marry you?” His tone was lazy. “The engagement's for Celina.” Celina. The daughter of the River Pack Alpha, next territory over. Something closed around my heart and dropped it straight through the floor. “You're marrying her.” My mind went blank.”Then what am I?” “Sophia,” he said. “You're an Omega. For ten years I've given you the best of everything. Protection. Status. My time.” His thumb stroked along my jaw. “But you know you can never be Luna. Don't go telling yourself fairy tales.” That's when I knew he had never considered me his mate. For his ambition, for that princess, he chose to sacrifice me. So, I chose to destroy everything I had ever given him. I dialed a number I hadn't called in ten years. “Dad.” “Sophia. My little princess. You've finally come to your senses?” The second I heard his voice, my throat locked up. “You were right, Dad. I want to come home.” I forced down the catch in my voice. “Come for me in five days.”

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.

In the fourth year after my husband, Jayden Stone, falls to his death, I finally save enough to pay off the 300,000 dollars in debt he owes. I drag my sick body there to repay the debt, but a security guard shoves me to the ground. "Today is the wedding of the century for Marilyn Jagger, the Jagger family's true heiress. Get lost, you filthy beggar!" I turn my head and see Jayden's face in the wedding photos. How is that possible? I watched him fall off a cliff and die! I go around to the hotel to find out the truth. Instead, I overhear Jayden's friends joking. "Jayden even faked his death just to marry Marilyn. Now that's true love!" "She's the real Jagger heiress, after all. A fake like Vivian Jagger doesn't even deserve someone like Jayden." Jayden clears his throat. "With Marilyn's health, she won't make it through this year. I'm marrying her to fulfill her final wish," he says. "When the five years are up, I'll go back to Viv." I clamp my hand over my mouth as blood seeps through my fingers. But Jayden, I won't make it to the fifth year.

The day Mason Jablon came with me to try on wedding dresses, his assistant, Gigi, wrecked the custom gown I'd waited three months for. Mason stepped in front of her, way too calm. "The dress has a ton of tiny details. Of course Gigi had trouble holding it. Cut her some slack." I just stared at him. "Mason, I've been waiting three years for this wedding. Do you have any idea how long I waited for that dress?" His face tightened. "So we'll get another one made. It's not like that's the only dress on the planet. Once the new one's ready, I'll give you the wedding of your dreams. Promise." I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. I just nodded. The dress didn't have to be this one. And the groom didn't have to be Mason.

For the first time ever since we got together, my boyfriend, Clarence Xenos, got angry with me because an eight-million-dollar company deal was ruined. In front of everyone, he belittled me and called me worthless. When we got home that night, he said in a cold corporate tone, “Work is work. There’s no ‘us’ in the office. You messed up, and that’s that.” An intern in our office, Naomi Smyth, texted me an apology. [Lucia, I’m so sorry. This was totally on me. But don’t worry, Clay got me a cupcake to cheer me up. It was actually pretty good. Do you want me to order one for you, too?] The next morning, Clarence habitually threw the breakfast I had prepared into the trash can. “How many times do I have to repeat myself? I don’t eat breakfast.” At work, my colleague, Zoey Thorpe, leaned in with a sly look and gossiped to me. “That new intern is so bold. She went up and talked to Mr. Xenos, and even bought him coffee and a sandwich. He not only ate them but also commented that they were delicious.” Whatever. I was beyond caring at that point. The person on my phone was still relentlessly trying to get me to be with him. [Look, if it doesn’t work out with him, I’m fine being the other guy. Just give me a chance, alright?] I pursed my lips and typed back. [There’s no need to be the other guy. You can just be my boyfriend.]