Homewrecker Cheating Short Stories & Novels

After an extreme dust storm swallowed half the mall, I was searching for my missing daughter when I received a call from Evelyn Mercer five years in the future. [Ryan, you have to do exactly what I say. I'm the only one who can save my little girl.] Without hesitating, I led the rescue team to the collapsed section she named. Sure enough, I heard a weak child's voice. I shouted in relief, "Thank God for you, Evelyn! I found her!" Evelyn laughed softly. [That's right. I came back to fix a regret.] But when the rescue crew lifted the concrete slab, the child they pulled out was not my daughter. It was the daughter of Evelyn's childhood sweetheart, Marcus Hale. I froze. Evelyn, however, sounded relieved. [Five years ago, Marcus lost his daughter and nearly broke. After that, he only had me. That night, we ended up together.] [I'm sorry, Ryan. I came back to fix Marcus's regret.] [Our daughter is buried on the other side of the mall. Hurry. Go save her.] When I rushed back, Evelyn's future voice was smug. [Well? Was she there?] I looked at my daughter's body, already cold and breathless. Then I clenched my fist and hung up.

After my son was abducted, my husband took me to an adoption center to bring home a baby boy born the same year as the child we'd lost. I poured every ounce of love I had into raising him. He had a sensitive stomach, so I pushed through my chronic back pain to cook him special meals every single day. When he spiked a fever in the middle of the night, I carried him twenty miles through the rain to the nearest hospital. When he couldn't focus in school, I was constantly at his classroom door, flattering his teachers and bringing them gifts, just to get them to pay a little extra attention to him. Fifteen years of grinding sacrifice, and it all came down to one moment at his college acceptance party. "I couldn't have gotten into Harvard without my mother's love and hard work," he said into the microphone. He raised his glass, eyes drifting toward where I was sitting. The cameras flashed as I started to rise from my seat, matching his silent lip movements. And then I heard a name I didn't expect. "She is Rachel Lynch." I froze. That was my best friend's name.

After my prenatal appointment, the doctor at the private hospital stopped me. "Mrs. Marchetti, your husband specifically asked me to make sure you didn't leave alone after your appointment. "He said it isn't safe for you to go home alone in this snow. He'll be here to pick you up soon." The staff around us laughed and told me what a wonderful husband I had. Seven months pregnant, I rested a hand on my belly and felt a rush of warmth. But even after dark, when the last of the staff had gone home, my husband, Chris Marchetti, still hadn't shown up. Outside the window, the wind screamed and the snow came down hard. I couldn't help it. I called him. Once... twice... The line was busy both times. Then a notification popped up on my screen. Ivy Bellini, Don Angelo Bellini's daughter, had posted on Instagram. "Look at this haul! Shout-out to Chris for spending the whole day shopping with me. Heading home now." The photos showed more gift boxes than one trunk could hold, and Chris in profile, focused on the road. The chill of the phone against my fingers seemed to spread to my heart. It wasn't the first time. Before our wedding, Chris had promised to come to my dress fitting, but he'd helped Ivy pick a gown instead. On my birthday, he promised me dinner but went to watch fireworks with Ivy. On our anniversary, he promised to take me back to the estate but took Ivy to an auction instead. For three years, every promise he broke, he broke for Ivy. A message from Chris popped up. "Sorry, baby. A last-minute meeting came up. Can you grab a cab home?" "Don't be upset. It's bad for your health." I smiled bitterly and typed back. "Okay." I was never going to be upset with him again.

After seven years with Luca Lorenzetti, I was finally in a wedding dress. We were at a private photography studio in Sicily that served only members of the Lorenzetti family. My best friend, Avery Conti, who'd introduced me to Luca years earlier, was trying on her bridesmaid dress nearby. The moment Avery stepped out in her custom silver gown, Luca's eyes lit up in a way I'd never seen before. Luca asked Avery to join us for a few shots. "Think of it as a keepsake from before the wedding." I stood in the middle in my wedding gown. Avery fussed with her skirt off to the side and laughed softly. "Maybe not. Standing next to Chloe in this, I'd look like an ugly duckling." Without a word, Luca walked over, pushed me aside, and gave Avery the spot right in the center. When the shutter clicked, the two of them stood shoulder to shoulder like a couple made for each other. As we looked through the photos, Luca pointed to one of the three of us. He wanted it enlarged, framed, and used as the welcome poster for our wedding. I frowned. "Avery's in the middle of our wedding poster? That doesn't seem right." Luca gave me a disapproving look. "Chloe, why are you being so difficult? If Avery hadn't introduced us, you'd never even have met me. "So what if we use one group photo? You're still the one standing at the altar with me in the end, aren't you?" I looked at myself in the photo. Even in the most expensive dress there, I looked like an outsider who'd wandered into the frame by mistake. Some places aren't yours, even when you're standing in them. If that's how it is, I don't want to be his bride anymore.

At a family gathering, my fiancée gently wiped her recently returned childhood friend’s mouth with a tissue right in front of me. “Sorry about that. Clairy had always been this thoughtful.” I nodded, then turned to her younger sister. I draped my jacket over her shoulders and fed her the shrimp I had just peeled. “If she was so thoughtful, I could not fall short on courtesy either.”

The day I confirmed I was three months pregnant, I went to Oliver's office to drop off some files. I was finally going to tell him the good news. The Pack was in the grip of a record heat wave, and with the temperature climbing toward 122 degrees, I reached over to switch on the AC. His secretary stopped me before I could. "Luna, I'm on my period, and our Pack wolves already carry the Cold Curse. It isn't hot enough to need the AC." But I was afraid the heat would hurt the tiny life growing inside me. I shot her a glance, said nothing, and turned it on anyway. Late that night, Oliver came home from a business dinner and led with an accusation the second he walked in. "Sophia already gets cramps and nausea on her period, and you blasted cold air at her for forty-one minutes and thirty-eight seconds. You put her in the ICU with stomach spasms." "Oliver, air conditioning doesn't hurt anyone, and I've had periods too. Never mind that. There's something important I need to tell you. I'm preg—" Oliver pulled the corner of his mouth into a smile, drew me into his arms, and cut off the words before I could finish. "I lost my head. You're right." He kissed my forehead the way he always did, murmuring softly until I fell asleep. But when I woke, I was inside a transparent glass freezer room. Every face around me belonged to someone important in the Pack. Outside the glass, Oliver stood with a hand on Sophia's soft waist, watching me with a smile. "You like the cold air? Then today you can have all you want." My heart sank. I pulled out my phone and photographed the people around me. Then I made a call. "Dad. None of these people need to live to see tomorrow's sun."

Whitney Sands was in a coma for three years because of an accident, and when she woke up from the coma, everyone said she had changed. She used to cling to Henry Jordan wherever he was, but now, she would only see him once every few days. When Henry ended up in the hospital because he was sick, all Whitney did was instruct the domestic help to make some food to be delivered to him. Whitney did not question him whenever he came home late, and when she heard rumors of him having another woman, she acted indifferent about it as well. This continued until one night, Whitney was watching male models dancing at a bar, and her best friend, Summer Thompson, showed her a photo of a grand hall. Henry was holding a woman's hand in the photo and carrying a baby while standing at the doors to greet guests. The electronic banner at the top of his head read, 'Congratulations on your newborn baby boy! Wishing your family a lifetime of happiness.' Summer asked curiously, "I didn't believe it when they said you didn't care about Henry anymore. Do you really feel nothing seeing him having a baby with another woman?" Whitney raised an eyebrow and pushed several bills down a male model's pants before standing up from the couch. "Who says I don't care about Henry anymore? He just had a baby, and as his wife, I should pay them a visit."

My CEO mom has always believed that Dad and I are manipulative freeloaders trying to bleed her dry. Any expense over 50 dollars requires her approval. The day Dad is hit by a car, I ask her for 2,000 dollars to pay for his surgery. Instead, she calls me just to snap at me. "Did Nathan Sinclair put you up to this? Have you two really sunk so low just to squeeze money out of me?" With no other choice, I request that my scholarship be advanced. But when I try to pay the hospital, the money is gone. Mom calls again. "Who did you steal from? I never transferred any money. How could there be a deposit in your account? "I worked hard for my money—not so the two of you can leech off me! From now on, your allowance is cut in half!" The surgery never happens. Dad dies right in front of me. When I return home with his ashes, I see Ethan Carter's post of the 100-million-dollar mansion Mom bought for him and his son, with the caption, "Her love has belonged to me ever since we were young—and it still does." I leave a like. Then I comment, "You can have her future too."

Four years ago, I took three bullets for my husband, Marcus DeLuca, heir to New York's most powerful mafia family. It cost me three years in a rival family's flooded cell. They interrogated me, drugged me with hallucinogens, and starved me, trying to make me reveal the DeLuca family's accounts, warehouses, and shipping routes. Three years later, I finally escaped. At the DeLuca Foundation's charity gala, everyone was talking about Rachel Bellini. The same woman I'd slapped in public years ago after she drunkenly draped herself over my husband's shoulder. "God only knows how much Marcus has spent on Rachel over the years. Now she's even got a Golden Globe nomination." "After Sarah disappeared, she moved into the DeLuca estate." "That's not all she got. She gave Marcus two kids." "But Sarah is Marcus's wife. The DeLuca family threw the biggest wedding this city had ever seen." "Oh, come on. She was abused for three years. She can't have kids anymore. Look at her." For more than 1,000 days and nights in that flooded cell, I'd believed he was tearing the city apart to find me. It turned out he'd had other things to do. Pathetic. In the middle of the ballroom, Marcus and Rachel gazed into each other's eyes. Someone shouted, "Make it official, Marcus!" Just then, the spotlight swept across me. Everyone turned to look at me, waiting for me to slap her a second time. I just raised my champagne glass and smiled. "Don't stop on my account." Then I turned and walked out of the ballroom before they could see my red, swollen eyes. I called Lily. "Last time, you said your jewelry studio in Sydney still needs a partner. I've thought it over. I'm in."

Harold Cletcher was allergic to hair. For the three years we were married, I kept my head shaved for his sake. Then I saw him plucking his widowed sister-in-law's gray hair lovingly. I kept quiet, but when he invited her over for dinner the next day, I grabbed three live chickens from the kitchen and hurled them at his face. "Come on, defeather them. You know you love it. If you get an allergic reaction, I'll take you to the hospital. If you don't, we're done." Harold frowned. Before he could say anything, Wendy Shaw pulled him behind her, her eyes reddening. "He's going to be the chairperson, and you want him to defeather the chickens? You'll destroy his reputation!" My lips curled. "If you're that worried about him, how about you join in?" Wendy's expression darkened. She bit her lip and bolted. The moment Harold went after her, I laughed bitterly. I had lost the three-year bet I made with my father.

On my second day of employment at the city hall, I took over my colleague’s tasks. A young man came requesting for a new copy of his marriage certificate. It was far from his first visit. My colleague, Bernard Anderson, laughed. “This is the 99th time he’s here to get a copy of his marriage certificate again! We have all of his information ready, so the process wouldn’t take long.” I was stunned. “99th time?” Bernard laughed. “That’s right. He married a rich older woman. They always fought, and they would tear up their marriage certificate whenever they fought. “He’s so immature. Only an older lady would be able to tolerate him. I heard his wife is from the wealthiest family of our city, the Jameson family.” Immediately, I frowned. “The Jameson family has always kept a very low profile. Is his wife a fraud?” Bernard immediately stopped me from talking. “Don’t say that, she’s the rightful successor of the Jameson family, Mae Jameson.” I was stunned. My phone slipped from my hand and fell onto the desk. It was a photo of Mae and I on my lockscreen. Before me, the young man’s face fell. He snatched my phone. “Who are you? Why do you have a photo with my wife?”

After five years of marriage, my wife hates that I'm broke and abandons our daughter and me to go abroad with her first love. Later, our old single-story home explodes in value to around 1,000 dollars per square foot, pushing its worth well past two million dollars. Meanwhile, my patents are pulling in money as well. One day, I'm sitting in my living room, casually sipping coffee. Unexpectedly, my ex-wife returns with her first love after spending ten years washing dishes overseas. However, they both seem to think I'm utterly broke.

Adrian Vance and I had been secretly married for ten years, and I had always been his perfect wife. He was the president of a hospital. But lately he'd fallen in love with playing broke. I asked him to pick up blackberries; he came home with bananas and a sad little story about money. I needed a ride to my own surgery; he drove me there rattling along in a beat-up van, because the van fit the part. And when our daughter was dying and the one person who could save her was him, he looked a stranger in the eye and swore he was nobody, just an assistant, certainly not the hospital's president. That was the moment it finally landed. He hadn't drifted into an affair on a whim. He had chosen, with his whole heart, to walk away from his wife and his child. Fine. I'd take our daughter and clear the way for his great love.

I was in the living room, handling some work, and casually asked the smart assistant to play some music. "Alexa, play some jazz." "Sure. By the way, just a reminder—four days from now, at ten in the morning, you're scheduled to accompany Sienna to her prenatal checkup." My hand froze midair. My name is Victoria. And I'm not pregnant. Jonathan was walking out of the bathroom, towel-drying his hair. He saw the look on my face and pulled me into his arms. "What's wrong, sweetheart?" I casually darkened my phone screen and smiled. "Nothing. Just a little tired." Jonathan kissed my forehead, his eyes tender and full of love. "Go get some sleep. Don't miss your birthday party tomorrow—you're the star of the night. I can't wait to spend it with you." I leaned into his chest, my lips curling into a cold little smile. My dear husband, you'd better not have done anything to betray me. Otherwise, you're about to find out exactly what it costs to betray the daughter of a mafia family.

My fiancee, Natalie Crenshaw, has always had a phenomenal memory. She never forgets a thing. Yet, when I propose, she forgets to hold out her hand for the diamond ring. When we go to get our marriage certificate, she forgets to bring her identification papers. And on our wedding day, she forgets she's supposed to be there altogether. Why? Because she's busy saving her childhood sweetheart's wedding next door—by stepping in as the bride herself. Seeing all this, Mom suffers a heart attack. I beg Natalie to go to the hospital and explain things, but she simply links her arm with Erik Cuoco's mother, sweetly calling her "Mom", and claims that I'm nothing more than a pursuer who doesn't know when to give up. Later, I handle Mom's funeral alone. And right after, I apply for an overseas assignment. When I return home to pack my things, Natalie just happens to come back from her honeymoon with Erik. She looks perfectly content, and a smile plays in her eyes. "Robert, how's your mom doing? Let's pick a good date to reschedule the wedding. It'll make her happy." What she doesn't know is that the moment my Mom died, any chance of a future between us died with her.

Our expedition team ventured into a desert wilderness to investigate rare mineral resources when we were suddenly struck by extreme heat that reached 158 °F. I nearly passed out from dehydration and quickly reached into my backpack for the electrolyte water I had prepared in advance. Just as I was about to drink it, I realized the bottle was half-filled with urine. When I turned around, I saw Ben Murphy, my wife’s childhood friend, gulping down my electrolyte water. As I was about to confront him, Amy Garner, my wife, grabbed my sleeve and said, “Don’t be mad. I gave Ben your electrolyte water. He’s almost dehydrated. You can make do with this for now.” My vision started to blur. Clutching the half-empty bottle of urine, I asked through gritted teeth, “I’m dehydrated. Instead of letting me rehydrate properly, you want me to drink this? Are you trying to kill me?” Amy was upset. “Don’t be ridiculous! Ben doesn’t work out daily like you do. He can’t handle this heat. Wasn’t it right to give him the electrolyte water? Besides, urine can hydrate you, too! Don’t be picky at a time like this.” Seeing how unreasonable she was being, I sent a distress signal with my location just before losing consciousness. [Severely dehydrated, near death. Expedition mission suspended. Request immediate rescue. Also reporting a robber in the team. Notify the police immediately.]

On the day we were supposed to get our marriage license, the groom's name was swapped out. The woman my boyfriend was now promised to—the pampered mafia princess nestled in his arms—looked at me with a triumphant smile. "Isn't it perfect?" she sneered. "A fraud of a bride for a fake heir. What a match." I ignored her and turned to the man I loved. This was the man who endured three days of brutal punishment just for the right to marry me, when the Rossi family first acknowledged him as their true heir. Now, he just nodded along with her. "Don't be so dramatic. It's a joke. You're not actually mad, are you? It's just a piece of paper. Once Sienna's had her fun, you two get a divorce, and then it'll be our turn. I promise." I smiled. Then I turned and walked straight to the so-called "fake" heir. "The marriage license is filed, honey," I said. "Let's go plan our real wedding."

In five years of bonding to Alpha Damon Blackwood, I'd suffered three miscarriages. I lived with the grief of losing my babies and the guilt of failing to give him an heir. But Damon never once pressured me. He'd even stood up to his own mother, former Luna Helena, when she blamed me. Everyone said I was the luckiest Luna in the northern territories, cherished beyond measure by my Alpha. Just when I'd given up hope, I got pregnant again. I couldn't wait to tell Damon. I knew he'd pull me into his arms and call our baby a blessing from the Moon Goddess. But to my shock, I walked out of the hospital and spotted Damon with a little boy. “Daddy, can we go see the northern lights for my birthday in three days?” That was when I realized Damon hadn't given up on having an heir for my sake. He already had children with another woman. The entire pack knew about his children. Everyone except me. His Luna. So I faked my death in a plane crash, took a new identity, and disappeared into the far north. When Damon finally found me, he begged me to come home, his eyes red with tears. But the Alpha King pulled me into his arms and looked Damon straight in the eye. “Alpha Blackwood, she doesn't need your apologies anymore.”

The Alliance's Awakening Trials were finally over. The proctors from the Capital called me a fighting prodigy. I shattered the all-time pack record. That alone scored me an exceptional admission offer to the Royal Elite Academy. I ran home, screaming with excitement. "I can finally go to the Royal Elite Academy! I can go to the Capital to see Rowan and Julian!" Dead silence answered me. Four stuffed wolves sat on my creaky bed. I sewed them myself. Dad, Mom, my brother Rowan, and my childhood crush and fated Mate, Julian. Their button eyes stared at me coldly. They kept me silent company, just like they had for countless suffocating nights. I looked down. A year ago, my twin sister Willow got terribly sick. Everyone said it was my fault. My awakened power was too aggressive. My dominant aura crushed her weak inner wolf. So, I was banished. Sent to this drafty, broken shack on the edge of the territory. The first night here, a rogue wolf howled and almost broke my door down. I curled up under the bed, hiding my scent. I was too terrified to even whimper. I desperately reached out through the pack mind-link to my parents, my brother, and Julian. Over and over again. I called their phones. No one answered. At dawn, Mom finally texted back. "Stop calling. Hearing your name makes Willow's wolf sick." I made these four stuffed wolves. One for each of them. They slept with me on freezing nights when the fire died out. They listened to my progress in every trial. They listened to me swallow my unheard heartbreak. But right now, hot tears rolled down my face, and I didn't hug them. After being abandoned for so long, I was finally ready to cut ties. No looking back.

"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.]