Tragic Love Cheating Short Stories & Novels

The night before I officially registered my marriage, my friends convinced everyone to play a "mystery box game." The female guests each placed a gift into a box, and the gifts were randomly given to the men at the party. Everyone said it was the fairest way. When I opened my box, there was only a thin card inside. It said, "Thanks for participating." The entire room instantly went silent. Some people couldn't hold back their laughter. My fiancée, Charlotte Kilbourn, reached over and straightened my collar. "Your luck is still terrible." Lyra Sharpe, my childhood friend who grew up with me, whispered, "Just smile. Don't make people think you're a sore loser." Meanwhile, Connor Winfield got the hidden prize in the same round. Inside were a limited-edition mechanical watch personally chosen by Charlotte, a couples' island vacation package I had dreamed about for three years, and a handwritten note from Lyra that said, "We'll always protect you." I forced myself to laugh along, then placed the card back into the empty box. I thought winning a game was just about luck. But when I went to the restroom, I overheard the host checking the prize list in the lounge. "Ms. Kilbourn, you didn't give out the prizes wrong, did you? The hidden prize went to Mr. Winfield, and the participation prize went to Mr. Rayner." Charlotte answered calmly. Lyra laughed and added, "That's right. He won't take it seriously." Standing outside the door, I suddenly remembered the night I turned 18, when I stood in the rain waiting for the midnight fireworks at my debut party. Charlotte and Lyra had given the only umbrella to Connor. Then they turned back and told me, "George, you're closer. Just run a few steps and you'll be fine." That night, after I walked home soaked in the rain, I still believed I was just unlucky. But tonight, I finally understood the truth. They had never planned to give me that umbrella from the beginning. So this time, I tore the card into pieces and canceled my marriage registration appointment. I didn't want to play a "lucky game" they had already planned for me anymore.

My fiancee, Bianca Milas, had a peculiar quirk. She never answered my phone calls after 9 p.m.. Even during our honeymoon phase, she would hang up on me without hesitation as soon as it was 9 p.m.. Once, I came home late and realized that one of my enemies had sent killers after me. In a panic, I had called her. When she finally answered, she simply said impatiently, “Grow up. Ever heard of respecting someone’s routine?” That night, I was slashed three times and nearly lost my life. One day, while using her computer, I accidentally saw a call log synced to her phone showing a call from 9 p.m. to 9 a.m.. Every single night, for five years, she had been engaged in twelve-hour calls. I recognized the number. It belonged to her mother’s student, Derek Steadman. Derek worked as her teaching assistant. My whole body sagged, and fatigue washed over me. I sat there motionless for a long while, then called off our marriage license appointment. She never answered my calls, so I did not see the point in answering hers any longer.

On June nineteenth—the day my boyfriend and I had planned to get our marriage license—he vanished without a word. It wasn't until that night that I stumbled across a post on his social media. He'd forgotten to block me from seeing it. "From twenty to twenty-eight, our youth: signed, sealed, delivered." The photo attached showed two marriage certificates. In the wedding picture beside it, a girl I didn't recognize leaned into his shoulder, beaming. Furious, I opened the comments to demand an explanation, and found my best friend's message waiting there instead. [Congratulations to the old flames who finally found their way back to each other!] My chest went tight. My hands shook as I called her. After a long silence, she finally told me the truth. "Yeah. They've been together for eight years. Everyone already knew. We didn't hide it to hurt you. We were just scared you'd make a scene. "Alice and Chase were always the better match. It wasn't easy for them to get to where they are today. Why make things hard on another woman? Just be the bigger person." The tears that fell were cold as ice, but where they landed, they burned straight through me. Twelve years together, and for eight of them, Chase Peterson had loved someone else. Everyone had known. They'd just all agreed to keep it from me.

On graduation photo day, my boyfriend, Ethan Jones, takes more than 200 photos of Chloe Lloyd, the prettiest girl in our class. As president of the photography club, he knows better than anyone how to find the most flattering angles. Chloe stands beneath a tree and smiles at him. "Are you sure this isn't too much trouble?" Ethan looks down and flips through the photos on his camera. "Not at all. You look good no matter how I photograph you," he says gently. When my turn comes, I clutch the hem of my skirt and walk over. Ethan casually presses the shutter twice. "Done." I stare at him. "That's it?" He frowns at me. "You never look good in pictures anyway. Don't hold everyone else up." I look at the two photos on his camera. My eyes are closed in one, and half my face is hidden in the tree's shadow in the other. I ask him to take a few more, but instead, he puts up a post on the campus forum. "Photographer wanted. 20 dollars to snap a few graduation photos of my girlfriend." Half an hour later, I receive a private message from an unfamiliar profile. I send over my location, then say quietly, "Just so you know, I'm not photogenic." The reply comes almost immediately. "Your photographer didn't know how to work with you." After the shoot, he sends me the unedited photos. I'm stunned when I see the photos. I never knew I could look this good on camera. Even crazier, the photographer who took the job for 20 dollars seems to know what he's doing better than the president of the photography club.

Five years into therapy, my doctor pushed a consent form across the desk. "Electroconvulsive therapy is the most effective treatment available. But there's a strong chance you'll lose a significant portion of your memories." I stared at the form for a long moment, then picked up the phone and called my wife, Celeste Kendrick. As always, the call was routed to her company's front desk. "I'm sorry, Mr. Hartley. Ms. Kendrick is in a meeting." The receptionist's response was brief and professional. The whole exchange lasted less than three seconds. Five years ago, my mother died in an accident on the same day as our wedding. I left Celeste at the altar. After that, we were married on paper and strangers in every way that mattered. When I called to ask if she was coming home, the call would go straight to the front desk. When I needed a family member's signature for surgery, the call would go to the front desk. Even when I was falling apart and just needed to hear her voice, all I ever got was the receptionist's rehearsed reply. I opened our message history. She had read every single message and never replied to one. Yet just one minute earlier, she had posted on social media.

I have a possessive boyfriend. After seven years together, Jared Jackman's favorite thing to say is, "Do you know how cute my girlfriend is? If you do, you're in trouble." "Babe, you're so beautiful. Whoever sees you will fall for you. If someone looks at you for even a second longer, I'll get jealous." That's why he never lets me step into his world. Until one day, I use an alternate account and stumble upon his social media. Three years, and over 600 posts. Every single one is about his moments with another woman. They stroll through Pilton Palace, make wishes atop snowy mountains, and kiss on the streets of Sidwell City. His latest post shows him kissing that woman on the beach while their friends cheer and shout around them. The caption reads, "Loving someone means you can't help but show them off to the world." My fingers tremble as I quietly close the page and book a flight to Northram. It turns out that after seven years of love, letting go only takes a moment.

On the day of our graduation trip, my boyfriend, Josiah Holt, and my childhood friend, Meredith Sloan, leave me behind at a highway rest stop. They drive for half an hour before realizing that I am missing. When Josiah calls me, there is no panic in his voice, only impatience. "Calliope, why didn't you get in the car? Stop messing around. We're rushing to catch the sunset. We can't turn back for you. Just take a taxi and catch up with us yourself." Through the phone, Meredith's voice comes through clearly. "She's not a child. You can't expect to take care of her forever, can you?" In the past, I would have apologized with tears in my eyes. Then I would drag my luggage along and do everything I could to catch up with them. But this time, as I stare at the gray-blue sky outside the rest stop, I suddenly no longer want to chase after them. I cancel all the hotels I have booked for the rest of the trip. Then, I change my ticket and head to a seaside town I have always wanted to visit—the one they always dismissed as boring. From this moment on, the world is my oyster. I finally set out on my own journey, no longer trailing after anyone.

I had been dating a photographer for seven years, yet I didn't have a single decent photo of myself. "I only photograph scenery, not people," Nina Jensen said. She even said her last relationship ended because her ex-boyfriend kept asking her to take pictures of him. So for seven years, I stayed quiet. I never asked or brought it up. That was until today, when I came across the latest post from my influencer friend, Julian Locke. [Let me show off my photographer. She's been taking amazing photos of me for seven years for free!] One of the top comments is: [It's an honor to photograph my muse.] The profile picture was completely white. The tone felt familiar, and it sent a chill through my entire body. Turns out, it wasn't that Nina didn't take photos of people. She just never wanted to take mine. 'Nina. If I don't exist in your viewfinder, from now on, you don't exist in my world either.'

I had stayed up all night to get the merchandise. It was then callously discarded by my boyfriend. On that stormy day, I knelt beside a dumpster and searched through bags of trash. Yarden Scott stopped in his tracks. “What are you looking for?” “My merch.” I did not look up. “I reminded you three times. It was in the left drawer of the sideboard.” His shirt was soaked from the rain. He subconsciously said, “Yvonne’s car broke down. I went to pick her up. I forgot.” He forgot. Last week, he threw away the commemorative ticket stubs I had stayed up all night organizing because he thought they were scraps of paper. The month before, he threw away the brooch my grandmother left me because he thought it was an old button. Every single time, he brushed it off with the same excuse. I gave a mocking smile. “You always remember everything when it comes to Yvonne, don’t you?” Yarden carefully wiped the hair tie Yvonne Jordan had left behind and answered as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “She’s your best friend. That means I have to treat her very well. “If I keep her happy, our relationship will last. Isn’t it all for your sake?” I watched his practiced movements and felt completely drained. I could not say another word. I had reminded him countless times before not to touch the drawers in my study. He ignored me and threw away my collection of rare stamps. I told him again and again that I was allergic to mangoes. At a group dinner, he still ordered a mango shake for me. But when Yvonne casually mentioned that she had trouble sleeping, he started sending her music to help her sleep every single day. If Yvonne wanted to eat at her favorite restaurant, he would pull every string he could to get a reservation. To him, everything about me was a burden. Everything about Yvonne was worth his time. If that were the case, then I should not bother him any longer.

After my parents got divorced, my mom settled in Teania for good. Every year, I would receive a [Happy Birthday] text message from overseas. However, she never replied to the messages I sent her. I had always wanted to ask my mom in person if she actually cared about me. So, before my SATs, I worked like crazy to save money. I was even afraid I would not be able to resist spending it, so I gave the money to my boyfriend and asked him to keep it for me. However, just as I was about to buy my plane ticket, my boyfriend sent me a screenshot showing that my balance was zero. He brushed it off casually. “Last time we played Truth or Dare, I lost a wish ticket to your best friend. “She said she wanted to go see the Auroras, and there was a ‘buy two, get one free’ deal on mystery flight tickets. So, I bought two tickets. We’ll just have to visit Teania another time.” I struggled to keep my voice from trembling. “Lennon York, if you go see the auroras, we’re breaking up.” His expression did not change. He just reached up and ruffled my hair. “Don’t be silly. Once I’m in college, I’ll get a part-time job. Then, I’ll definitely take you there during semester break, okay?” I looked downwards and smiled. I messaged my childhood friend, whom I had not spoken to in a year, and typed. [Is that wish slip you promised me still valid?]

Gianna Connor and I make plans a month in advance to take my parents on a trip. My parents arrive in Havenport the night before the trip, worried they might miss our early departure and keep Gianna, their future daughter-in-law, waiting. The next morning, my parents and I wait downstairs early, but Gianna never shows up. Worried that something has happened to her on the way, I call her more than a dozen times, but she doesn't answer. On the 20th call, she finally picks up. "Everett's mom has a follow-up appointment today. I need to take her in for a full checkup. We'll have to do the trip another time." Before I can say anything, she hangs up. Dad smiles, trying to comfort me. "We'll just go another time." But Mom can't hide how much she's hurting for me. "Jayden, this isn't the first time she's stood you up for some old classmate. Are you sure you want to spend the rest of your life with a woman like that?" Dad shakes his head at Mom, then rests his hand on my shoulder and gives it a gentle pat. "Your mom and I will always have your back. We'll never stand in your way. Follow your heart and make the choice that's right for you. Whatever you decide, we'll support you." I look down at the engagement ring I've worn for eight years. Gianna, can I still trust you?

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.

The day high school seniors across Cedarhaven received their college decisions, my own graduation ceremony had just ended. Adrian Hawthorne came to meet me outside the campus with Celeste Monroe, his newly divorced former sister-in-law. He had barely offered me the sunflowers in his hand when Celeste brushed them aside with a laugh. "Sunflowers? You could try harder if you're courting a young woman." Adrian smiled and handed the bouquet to her. "Then you choose. Clara will like whatever you pick." I stood beside them without finding a place in the conversation. Celeste patted his shoulder. "Your tie is crooked. There are too many people here for you to embarrass me." Adrian lowered his head and let her straighten it. After the graduation photographs, he drew Celeste close and told me, "You're good with a camera. Take a few more pictures of us." For three years, every movie meant for two came with a third ticket, and every anniversary dinner had been chosen around another woman's restrictions. I had protested before, but whenever the argument ended, I was always the one Adrian set aside. Then Celeste accidentally left her phone in my purse, and I saw the photograph on her lock screen. Across the image were the words: July 2 - finally free. The same date was engraved beneath Adrian's watch. He called impatiently, "Clara, hurry. Celeste can't wait all day." I stared at the screen for several seconds and deleted the photograph. Everyone online was discussing how to choose the right college, and I finally understood something too. When the first choice is wrong, you withdraw before it is too late. There was no reason to keep a photograph of Adrian and me either.

After finishing the buffalo wings, I casually pick up an iced beer to cut the spice. My stepsister, Zoe Cruz, tries to copy me, fanning her mouth and sticking out her tongue from the heat. But my boyfriend, Luke Nash, snatches the beer away. He pinches her cheek playfully and says, "You just ate all that greasy, spicy food, and now you're chugging ice-cold beer? Are you trying to wreck your stomach?" Then he turns his head and frowns at me with displeasure. "Same goes for you. You know Zoe has zero self-control, so why do you have to drink that right in front of her? Go outside. Come back in after you finish your beer." My grip instantly tightens around the beer bottle. Furious, Zoe wraps her arm around his neck, pretending to strangle him. "Since when do you get to boss me around? Mia, tell Luke off! Luke, I'm older than you! Watch your tongue, or I won't give Mia permission to marry you." Refusing to back down, Luke sticks his hand into her clothes to tickle her. "Mia, you tell a certain someone that if she doesn't listen to me, she'd better not call me crying in the middle of the night complaining about a stomachache again." I watch the two of them fall back into their seats, laughing. All of a sudden, everything just feels pointless.

My wealthy wife, Celia Quayle, controlled the household. I bought a three-dollar bottle of water, and she scolded me for wasting money. But she bought her bodyguard, Mason Johnston, a house, saying she got a deal on it and that he deserved better. I confronted her about it. She said buying the bodyguard a house was to keep him motivated, and that she was saving money for our wedding. However, while I was working a part-time job with my younger brother, Cyrus, we saw her booking the Century Hotel for a wedding ceremony with Mason. She even broadcast the entire event live. Cyrus was furious and went to confront her, but Mason’s men rammed him with a car. It was a BMW. The accident left Cyrus with massive medical bills. I called Celia and begged her to return my bank card so I could pay for his treatment. She replied coldly, “I can’t believe you’d use your own brother as an excuse to cause a scene. Look, I’ll explain everything after the wedding.” I desperately rushed to the venue. But before I could enter the hotel, I learned that Cyrus had passed away. When Celia saw me arrive, she hurriedly pulled me aside and explained, “This wedding is just a business arrangement. Don’t overthink it. Once everything settles down, I promise I’ll give you a proper wedding.” Little did she know that the moment I received news of Cyrus’ death, I no longer wanted her as my wife.

"Boss... it's so hard, so deep... fill me up, please?" The moans belonged to my former best friend, Tessa. But the man thrusting into her like a wild animal, slapping her ass and groaning about how good she felt, was my husband. Don Killian. The man who made sure all of Chicago knew he loved me. He even implanted a micro-GPS chip in the back of my neck just to protect me. He always knew Tessa wanted him. But he rejected her countless times. He once said publicly that if she wasn't my best friend, he would've dumped a bitch like her in the river. But three months ago, she finally crawled into his bed. And everything changed. Killian got addicted to her body. Three months. Sixty-six times. And they thought I didn't know. I stared at the calendar. Seven days until our wedding anniversary. I made a call and booked two surgeries. One to dig out the GPS chip. The other to give me a brand-new face. Killian, since you betrayed me... In seven days, I'll give you one last anniversary gift. And then I'll disappear forever.

Five years into my marriage to Camille York, her boy toy leans against her during our family Christmas dinner and smirks at me. "Sorry about last night, Mr. Fuller. Cami kept me up way too late." Everyone assumes I'll lose it, that I'll lunge at him and ruin the entire evening. But Camille just glances lazily at the love score hovering above my head, utterly sure of herself. "He won't do a thing. He's crazy about me." What she doesn't know is that the number she sees is frozen at its highest point.

A hurricane leaves me trapped in an underground parking garage. As the floodwaters pour in and almost rise past my windshield, I finally manage to get ahold of my fiance, William Quentin, the captain of a local rescue team. But Sierra Langley, his childhood sweetheart, is the one who answers the call. "Will is fixing a leak on my balcony, Jennifer. Can you stop being so possessive?" Before I can say anything, Sierra hangs up. Once my car is fully submerged, I grit my teeth and smash the window. Then, I fight my way out of the vehicle and swim to safety. After making it to safety, I pull out my phone. There's only 1% battery left, but I find a message from William. "She lives on a high floor and is terrified of thunder. Whatever it is, it can wait until the hurricane passes." I wipe the blood and rainwater off of my forehead before I remove my engagement ring and toss it into the muddy water. Then, I calmly send him a one-word reply. "Okay."

Because the company had a strict no-dating policy, my boyfriend and I kept our relationship a secret for ten years. During those ten years, I stayed by his side through his lowest moments, took care of his parents, and even carried his child. Our tenth anniversary happened to fall on the same day as the company’s team-building event. The man had always hated public attention. Out of nowhere, he suddenly announced that he wanted to propose to the woman he loved. In an instant, everyone looked at me with surprise and envy. They all assumed I was the one. I was so touched that tears filled my eyes, when he held out a ring and got down on one knee before my best friend.

Her husband, Graham Prescott, had a dream. In it, he betrayed Evelyn Fitzgerald for a young woman who worked at a private club, then hurt Evelyn again and again for her sake. For no clear reason, Evelyn's heart ached when she heard the story. The feeling passed almost immediately. Once she recovered, she teased him with a smile. "And then what happened?" "Then?" Graham pulled Evelyn into his arms and bit her ear in mock frustration. "Then you tricked me into signing divorce papers without realizing it. By the time I discovered the truth, you had vanished!" Graham insisted it was only a nightmare that could never come true, yet he began examining every document that passed through his hands, especially anything Evelyn gave him. He stopped visiting the club where he had always met his friends and kept his distance from every woman who worked there. He would wake in the middle of the night and could not fall asleep again until he saw Evelyn resting safely beside him. His separation anxiety became so severe that he needed therapy for a time. Evelyn found the whole thing both touching and absurd, but to reassure him, she became even more openly affectionate and dependent. Eventually, they both forgot the dream. Until Mara Holloway, a student Graham had sponsored, appeared.