Cheating Short Stories & Novels

Liam Pearce is supposed to be celebrating our daughter's birthday when she dies after ingesting wolfsbane. Instead, he's with a human woman as she goes for a prenatal checkup at the hospital. My daughter's dying wish is to celebrate her birthday with both her parents. However, she ultimately dies with regrets. My heart dies with her. I take her ashes to the place she most looked forward to going to in life. That's when I see Liam kissing another woman. She leans into his arms and asks daintily, "Isn't your daughter sick, Liam? Why do you have time to be with me?" "Don't even mention her. Sofia, that scheming woman, must be using that as an excuse to keep me there. You're the one I love the most, sweetheart," he says dotingly. "What about your daughter, then? Who do you love more, me or her?" "You, of course. You're my darling Mia." His words stun me like a bolt of lightning. After crying my heart out, I pack my daughter's belongings. I decide to leave Liam forever. However, he and the rest of the royal family get on their knees before me. They beg me not to leave.

Grayson Harmon's childhood friend, Sophia Lexton, got into a car accident. She didn't just lose her memory—she came away with some post-traumatic stress disorder, too. That's what the doctors called it. They said we had to keep her calm, avoid anything that might upset her. So, for the sake of her recovery, Grayson asked me not to argue with her. To let her have her way, no matter what. She took my engagement necklace and moved into the little love nest Grayson and I had made our own. And on our wedding day, she threatened to kill herself, forcing Grayson to take her to the hospital. He looked at her bleeding out and said to me, calm as ever, "Brianna, I'll make it up to you after the wedding. I'll throw you an even grander one. Sophia is dying." Then he picked her up and walked away, never once looking back. If he had—just once—he might have seen something was wrong. He might have seen the blood soaking into my wedding dress.

I was the last one to find out that Rowan River was going to be a dad. When I arrived at the hospital, I saw him giving orders to his staff. "Don't let the news of the baby leak out. If Angela finds out, she'll definitely come back and cause a scene." I had liked him for ten years, and a year ago, I confessed my feelings to him. At the time, he said, "Wait until you finish school and come back, then we'll be together." I found it laughable. This time, though, I didn't react like before. I didn't yell at him or ask why he had lied to me. Instead, I boarded a plane and left the country, agreeing to marry the guy who had been pursuing me recently. From that moment on, I no longer loved Rowan.

I had been begging my wife for weeks, and she finally agreed to come to the movie theater with our son and me to catch the latest blockbuster. My plan was to wait until the credits rolled, then hit her with the big news: I’d just been promoted to general manager of the entire multiplex. Then, right in the middle of the movie, my phone buzzed with a wave of notifications from the work group chat. [Holy crap! Hall 3 is wild right now, 4K quality!] [Are people for real right now? Doing it in a movie theater like they’re glued together?] [Seriously though, ping janitorial ASAP. That row is gonna need a deep clean.] My mind went blank. Hall 3? That was the exact theater we were sitting in. Curiosity got the better of me, and I tapped on the video file. The second the screen lit up, my whole body froze. The couple in the video was sitting right in our row. It was my wife, sitting just past our son, locked together with the guy next to her. I spun my head toward her. Her cheeks were flushed, her breathing heavy. "What the hell are you doing?!" I snapped.

My mother-in-law, Olivia Austin, stands out and performs a heroic deed, only to get stabbed 99 times by the human trafficker she's apprehended. Needless to say, she's in critical condition. On the way to the hospital, I'm about to inform my wife, Elaine Russell, when a voice interrupts me. "Don't call Mom!" I'm stunned, to say the least. Right now, the only other person besides me is my son, Enzo Burke, in the back seat. But he's only three months old! How can he possibly talk? The next thing I know, the voice rings out again. "Mom's male best friend's company has filed for bankruptcy, so he's threatening to kill himself right now. If Mom ditches him and goes to the hospital instead, he will definitely kill himself!" At that moment, Elaine's impatient voice drifts from the other end of the line. "Since your mom is already dying, no miracle in this world can save her. What else can I do? You might as well use the time to prepare her funeral right now! Stop pestering me already!" I feel my heart sink to the pits of my stomach. To think that Elaine actually thinks my mom is the one dying! "Dad, Grandma can't make it anymore. If anything were to happen to Mom's friend, she'd definitely kill both of us!" As I listen to Enzo's choked-up thoughts, I decide not to say anything. After ending the call, I caress Enzo's cheek with a smile. "Darling, from now on, you and I are the only ones in this family."

The staff member handed the marriage certificate back to me. "Mr. Evans, this marriage certificate is a forgery. According to our records, Mrs. Fielder's spouse is Marcus Brown. They have a six-year-old son together." The words on the certificate blurred before my aching eyes. I held my daughter tightly in my arms as my ears rang. A second later, my phone vibrated. A message had arrived from Marcus, Natalie's assistant and her legal husband. Marcus: [Matthew, my wife is at our son's parent-teacher conference. She doesn't have time to register your illegitimate daughter.] I clutched my phone and stared at the message until tears blurred my vision. So I was the other man all along. The grand wedding we'd once held, the years we'd spent inseparable, the marriage I'd been so proud of... None of it had been real. On the way home, I called the woman Natalie hated most, her sworn enemy. "I'm single now. If you're still willing, I'll marry you in seven days," I said.

On day ten of our cold war, Barry posted a pic—him and Lyla, locked in a kiss. His 'one true love.' I sent in my study abroad application without a word. At our grad party, he strolled in with Lyla, fingers laced with hers, looking at her with all his affection. A friend hesitated. "But what about Amelia? She loves you. You guys are getting married." Barry smirked. "She was just a stand-in. Now that Lyla's back, my fiancée should change too." So I slipped off the ring, handed it over, and disappeared. And he lost it. Tore through everything trying to find me. Years later, he finally did. Saw me with my husband, picking out baby supplies. His eyes went red. "Amelia, come back with me. Please?"

The night we get married, Hugo Lambert caresses the burn on my shoulder and says, "They said you risked your life to go into the fire and save Hayden back then. I didn't believe them, but now it seems like they were telling the truth." He smiles bitterly. "So, in your eyes, I'm nothing more than a stand-in for him." Before I can explain, he silences me with a kiss. After a night of passion, I just assume he's jealous and teasing me. But after that night, Hugo starts seeing other women and never comes home again. Even when my father, Bernard Colgan, is on his deathbed, Hugo is still spending the night with his mistress, Janelle Langdon. I call him for the first time in three years. "Hugo, my dad is dying. He has something he wants to tell you…" Before I can finish, he cuts me off with a cold laugh. "Perfect. Hayden's been dead for years. Your dad can tell him in the afterlife."

Three years after Madeline Brooks, my wife, cheats on me and promises never to betray me again, I finally cheat on her too. When she rushes home, she finds me lying on our bed, my body covered in hickeys. "Madeline, no wonder you cheated so many times. I get it now. It really does feel damn good," I say mockingly. The shock on her face is unmistakable. Her eyes quickly turn red as she grabs me by the throat. "Sebastian Donovan, do you hate me that much? I swear I'll always stay loyal to you. I haven't seen him in the past three years. What more do you want from me?" She isn't wrong. For the past three years, she's done everything she can to make me feel secure. Whenever she comes home, she hands me her phone without hesitation. Whenever she goes out, if she's gone for more than five minutes, she video-calls me just to show me where she is. She knows exactly how much her betrayal has affected me. Every time we're intimate, she showers repeatedly and disinfects herself before coming anywhere near me. However, she hasn't exactly been loyal. As I stare at her, I can feel my body trembling. "You cut things off with him physically. But what about emotionally?" I ask. "Every time you get drunk, you call out Nathan Donovan's name. Every piece of clothing you've bought me is something he would like. Even when you buy me a watch for my birthday, you instinctively pick the one he would have liked most. And the anniversary ring you give me? It's even his size." I swallow hard. "You may have ended things with him, but you're forcing me to become him." Madeline's hand trembles. She grits her teeth, then forces a smile. "Sebastian, you don't get to hold this over me anymore. Yes, I cheated. But how are you any better than I am? We're both terrible people. We're perfect for each other." She says it without a trace of guilt. And just like that, the three years I've spent struggling with the aftermath of her betrayal suddenly feel like one big joke. All the things she's done to reassure me, all the ways I've tried to convince myself that we've finally moved past it—suddenly, they all feel meaningless. A wave of exhaustion washes over me, overwhelming me. For the first time, I realize I'm not angry anymore. I'm simply tired. And suddenly, I don't want this marriage anymore.

On the day of my wedding to Christine Moore, strange floating comments suddenly appeared before my eyes. [LMAO, the real young master still has no idea the bride is fake! Christine is at the hospital accompanying the fake heir Troy Bolton right now!] [It doesn’t matter who the bride is anyway. Christine only agreed to the marriage for the Shane family’s investment. The fake heir is her true love.] [Serves this villain right for driving our poor Troy away the moment he came back. In the end, the female lead destroys his entire family, and honestly, he deserves it.] I hid the shock in my eyes and finished the wedding as if nothing had happened. I refused to become a stepping stone in someone else’s love story. And I definitely refused to die as their disposable villain. If she did not want to marry me, then fine. I would make the fake wedding real, and marry someone else instead.

During a game of truth or dare at our pre-wedding party, my fiancee, Marissa Jones, plays a game of truth-or-dare with her childhood friend, William Chase. The one who chooses dare is required to sleep with the person next to them. Alarmed by the dare, I quickly suggest, "Why don't you choose truth instead?" However, William refuses to let that happen. He eyes me scornfully and says, "I can't believe you still have such an old-fashioned mindset. I don't mind sleeping with her, so why are you making a big deal out of it?" He turns to Marissa and asks, "Will you sleep with me, Rissa?" Everyone else in the room starts egging them on. "Kyle is way too uptight. If Marissa won't do it, I will. Pick me, William, you handsome devil!" I grab Marissa's arm and try to leave with her, but she flings my hand off. "If I leave now, what about William? We're about to get married anyway, Kyle. Can't I have one night of freedom?" She climbs right onto William's lap, and the crowd cheers wildly. As I stare at Marissa and William, I know without a doubt that my relationship with Marissa has come to an end.

My fiancé was the CEO of a powerful financial conglomerate, and to the outside world, he adored me beyond measure. A week before our wedding, I found out I was pregnant with triplets. I had planned to tell him the joyful news in person. But instead, I witnessed him in bed with other women. Not with just one. It felt like a knife had carved into my soul, cutting so deep I lost all hope, all trust. My tears begged for release, but I held my head high, forcing myself to stay strong. For him, I had given up everything—my pride, my family, my career. Yet he chose to share our love with others. All those vows to love me and only me for a lifetime had been lies. Our so-called future, our wedding—it was all a cruel joke. He was no longer the man I once loved. He had become tainted. I would not endure his betrayal. He no longer deserved to be the father of my children. So I made my decision—to disappear, to fake my death and start over, to give myself and my babies a chance at a free, unburdened life. But I never imagined he'd become obsessed and start searching the world for women who resembled me, all while declaring I was the only one he ever loved. Too little, too late. His affection now is worth nothing. This time, I'm not looking back.

My Alpha mate secretly marked me for three years. I helped him manage the pack as a Beta and even helped him successfully run for Alpha King. But after the successful election, he publicly announced that his Omega assistant Scarlett was the one who helped him the most. "I'm announcing that 15% of our territory will be placed under Stella's management. From today forward, Stella's position in the pack will be second only to mine." With two simple sentences, he'd erased twelve years of my efforts. But my mate thought I was making a mountain out of a molehill. "I just showed a little extra care for the pack's Omega," he said dismissively. "My body never strayed. You're acting like I committed some unforgivable sin." I turned and left, aborted our child and proposed a mate bond severance agreement. Then, I called a number that I hadn't contacted for 12 years. “I regret it. I am willing to be the Alpha of your pack.”

My husband, Jake Langford, gets poisoned with the toxic aphrodisiac in order to save me. Apparently, he needs to sleep with 99 virgins in order to get cured. Every time he's done with a session, Jake looks at me with red-rimmed eyes. "You mustn't think badly of me, Lily!" Whenever he says that, the jealousy and resentment I feel get drowned out by guilt immediately. I count the days, thinking that things between Jake and me will go back to how they were like before once we've gone through 99 days of hell. That is, until I discover the second phone hiding inside our closet. Only then do I realize that there's no such thing as 99 virgins. It turns out that Jake has been sleeping with the same woman every night this whole time.

While working overtime late into the night, I suddenly received a video from my wife. "Honey, there's a homeless man outside our door. I'm so scared!" In the video, a disheveled man was sitting outside my house. He occasionally muttered strange, unintelligible words. I immediately got permission to leave work and drove home, but on the way back, I got into a car accident. Only after I died did I learn the truth. It was a prank that had gone viral online. The footage of the homeless man had been generated using AI. What I never expected was that my wife's male best friend had taught her how to pull it off. They had even tampered with my car's brakes in advance. Worse still, the two of them had tampered with my car's brakes beforehand. After my death, they even went live and tearfully blamed the AI prank for killing me. Countless viewers sympathized with my wife, allowing the two of them to make a fortune from the livestream. Seeing how deep my resentment ran, the Grim Reaper gave me a chance to start over. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day my wife sent me that video.

In the ward, Lydia Webb leans bashfully against Hayden's chest as he tenderly feeds her soup. Lydia pouts. "It's all your fault, Hayden. You were so rough that you made me bleed." "I just couldn't help myself," Hayden says, his voice thick with affection. "I'll be gentler next time, okay?" Outside the door, Melissa Smith clutches a lab report so hard her knuckles turn white. Her heart aches as if crushed in a vice. The report states, "Two months pregnant, with healthy fetal development." The man inside is her husband—the very man who swore to love her forever. Ten days ago, Hayden said he had to work overtime and hasn't been home since. She never imagined he spent those ten days indulging in another woman's bed.

I used to be that girl in the mafia—envied, untouchable. Orlando Leone, the big bad Don everyone feared, had eyes only for me. I took a bullet for him. After that? People whispered I couldn't have kids. He tried to shut them up by knocking me up—ninety-nine tries. Try number ten? His shiny new secretary texted, all confused over a decimal. He bailed on me. By thirty, she crashed his sports car while shopping. Claimed she couldn't park. I was left freezing in a bathtub. He said he loved me, but when it counted, he always picked the girl who played dumb and helpless. That's when it hit me—his love was never really mine. And by the time I disappeared for real, he lost his mind looking. Too bad. Me and that promise? Already buried at sea.

As soon as I get off the surgical table after my miscarriage, my husband, Presley Quinn, sends me a text message. "You were ten cents short when you paid your share of the power bill this month. Transfer the money to me immediately." I can only sit on the cold bench in the hospital on my own. The anesthesia has yet to wear out, but my belly is already hurting so much that I can practically feel it constricting on itself. The next thing I know, a new post appears on my social media homepage. It's a post made by Vivienne Ashford, the intern Presley is in charge of tutoring. In the photo, Vivienne can be seen holding a bouquet of flowers folded from money bills. A bright and radiant smile blooms on her face. The four-leaf clover necklace adorning her neck is the same necklace I've seen in Presley's purchase history two days ago. The caption of the photo writes, "I don't want a lot of money. I want a ton of love instead." Only then do I remember that today is Valentine's Day as well as my fifth-year anniversary with Presley. Over the past five years, Presley and I have been splitting every single bill, down to two decimal places. If I take a shower for more than 20 minutes, Presley demands that I pay extra for the water heater's power bill. When I cook myself some supper in the middle of the night, Presley wants me to split the gas bill generated by the stove. Even when my mom is hospitalized due to kidney failure and is waiting for her surgical bills to be settled, Presley refuses to lend me a single cent. Instead, he sends me a few links leading to web loans. As I stare at the social media feed, I chuckle all of a sudden. It turns out that Presley does know how to spend money. It's just that he doesn't have the heart to spend it on me. I smile once again as I leave a like on the post. Then, I transfer the ten cents to Presley. From now on, I don't owe him any single penny.

The day my wife, Megan Carrick, is due to give birth, her ex-husband, Ian Reynolds, calls again. This time, his excuse is an alcohol allergy. To take care of him, she ignores her labor pains and wraps a thick rope tightly around her pregnant belly to delay the delivery. By the time I arrive at the hospital, the doctor tells me our baby has suffocated to death. I light a cigarette and ask Megan for a divorce. That night, despite having just lost our baby, she drops to her knees outside our door and kneels in the pouring rain for an entire day and night. She begs for my forgiveness and swears she'll never contact Ian again. I believe her and stay. For three years, I endure a sexless marriage, just to accommodate her postpartum depression. It isn't until my birthday this year that she willingly climbs into my bed. But right at the peak of our intimacy, the custom ringtone reserved just for Ian rings out in the room. "Aiden's sick, Megan. His fever won't come down. What do I do?" Megan looks at me, torn and hesitant to speak. I look at the untouched birthday cake and the disheveled clothes, and suddenly, everything feels pointless. "If you walk out that door tonight, our marriage ends here."

I have a severe case of logorrhea. Only speaking makes me feel alive. My classmates all call me a freak, but Marvin Britt is the only one willing to listen to me. One day, I bring some homemade soup over to see him, only to catch him holding his junior's hand. "Lexie, your voice is so lovely, unlike my wife at home. She sounds like a squawking duck. It's exhausting." My hands shake so violently that I drop the thermal flask. The commotion angers a nearby madman, who forces a bottle of boiling water down my throat. With my mouth full of blood and blisters, I realize I need proof. I send Marvin—a lawyer—a frantic voice note to accompany me to the police station for evidence. Marvin shoots back a single word—"Noted". Of course. He doesn't even listen to it, as usual. He used to reply to everything I said with voice notes at least a minute long. But we hit the seven-year itch, and he's sick of my endless talking. Leaving the hospital, I stare at my diagnosis of permanent mutism and laugh bitterly. He must be thrilled. His world is finally quiet.