Plot Twists Short Stories & Hypocrisy Cheating Novels

On the day I finally paid off the mortgage on our marital home, my boyfriend, Jesse Culver, keeps ignored my calls even though we were supposed to go register our marriage today. Instead, I received a message from my ex-husband, Dave Grossman. "What does it feel like to be betrayed for the second time?" I was stunned when a video pops up. Inside a private room, Jesse was taking wedding photos with another woman, happily leaning against her. My dad, Chris Lillard, who had wished me a smooth marriage registration that very morning, was smiling adoringly at them. My friends and classmates were cheering them on, too. "Kiss! Kiss!" The bride-to-be in the video was my former best friend, Nicki Jones. When I was eight months pregnant, she slept with Dave. After I miscarried, I divorced him immediately and cut all contact with her. Dave kept messaging me. "Looks like your best friend really is irresistible." "Jesse called me a bastard back then and wanted to beat me to death. But now, he's deceived you for her too." Being betrayed for the second time hurts so badly that I can barely breathe. Five years ago, it pushed me into depression. Jesse was the one who pulled me out of it. However, five years later, he joined forces with my family and friends to betrayed me for the same woman. The next second, Dave sent me an address. He texts, "Want to go take a look? It's up to you."

Maynard Hansen planned a luxury birthday cruise for Darlene Thompson, but the cruise ship capsized when a violent storm swept in without warning. Without hesitation, Maynard gave the last seat on the lifeboat to Darlene. As I struggled in the water, my son, Waldo Hansen—whom I carried for nine months and gave birth to—cried out, "Don't let Mom up! She'll push Ms. Thompson off." Clutching nothing but a broken plank, I somehow made it to shore. By the time I collapsed on the sand, I was frozen, exhausted, and done. I had never felt so alone. Shortly after, I found myself clutching a diagnosis of severe depression in my hand. I was ready to bring this wretched life to a quiet end. But when my husband and son realized I truly didn't want to live anymore, they collapsed into tears. They wrapped their arms around me as they sobbed, "Please don't leave us. We really can't live without you."

At the company team dinner, my boyfriend, Jax Vance, went out of his way to grab two drinks. He handed one to Chloe Ward, my best friend sitting across from us. He set the other one down in front of me. My friend smiled and bowed her head. "You're so thoughtful, Jax. You always remember my stomach can't handle ice." I looked down at the mango slush. I pushed the cup away without a word. "What's wrong?" Jax asked casually. "I'm deathly allergic to mangoes," I said. "Did you forget again?" He paused for a second. Then he let out a careless laugh. "It's not a big deal," he said. "Just scoop the fruit out." He remembered every detail about her. She didn't eat cilantro. She hated onions. She only drank her tea with thirty percent sugar and no ice. But he forgot that my throat would close up if I touched a mango. To him, that was just something I could "scoop out." I finally saw the truth. When someone didn't care, even life-or-death moments would mean nothing to them. On the ride home, I sat alone in the backseat. I watched the two of them in the front. They looked so good together. Suddenly, a strange wave of relief washed over me. A relationship where my life didn't even matter? I didn't want it anymore.

After I help my boyfriend register his company and successfully land his first deal, he finally decides to make our relationship public. But his junior from college, who's always had this weird hostility toward me for no reason, beats me to it by sliding into the seat next to him. She leans against my boyfriend's chest, her voice smug and satisfied. "Didn't you say you'd wait until the company officially launched? So why the rush now?" My boyfriend says nothing. Instead, he hands her a share certificate and announces to the entire room that she's the company's largest shareholder. The room explodes. Everyone starts whistling and cheering them on. The junior takes the opportunity to kick me while I'm down, throwing insults my way. My boyfriend doesn't just fail to stop her. He actually joins in with his own snide remarks. "Sure, you helped me set up the company and brought in our first client, but she's the one who can actually take us somewhere." I don't get angry. I graciously acknowledge the junior's new position. I want to see how far they would get without me, their biggest asset and most valuable connection.

Lucas Harlow and I have been together for seven years, and we plan to get married next year. When I accompany him to his hometown to meet his parents, we happen to arrive just in time for his cousin Spencer Harlow's wedding. Following a local tradition, the older relatives cheerfully urge Lucas to sleep in the newlyweds' bed the night before the ceremony for good luck. Lucas' mother, Beatrice Collins, takes my hand and explains with a smile, "Katherine, I hope this doesn't make you uncomfortable. It's an old custom around here. "Before the wedding, a man who's still a virgin blesses the couple's bed by sleeping in it. It's supposed to bring the newlyweds good luck and a happy marriage." I lower my head in embarrassment, for Lucas and I are saving ourselves for our wedding night. No matter how difficult the wait has been for him over the past seven years, he's always respected that boundary and insisted on doing right by me. When I finally look up, my cheeks still burning, I see that Lucas has gone pale. Flustered and visibly uncomfortable, he frantically waves everyone off and adamantly refuses to go anywhere near the bed. "I can't do it. You're going to have to find someone else…" As I watch my boyfriend avoid everyone's gaze, my heart drops.

To get rid of our pup and date with his assistant on Valentine's Day, my mate Marcus forced our injured pup to go rock climbing and poisoned him. When I rushed my dying pup to the hospital, I unexpectedly saw my mate accompanying his assistant for a prenatal checkup. Our terrified pup lay convulsing from the poison, but Marcus didn’t even care about him. "He's just an Omega. If he was a proper wolf, he'd heal instantly!" I clutched the $100 million Moonlight Blessing herb in my pocket. I accidentally found it in the forest this morning. I was planning to tell him the good news today. But now? It was time to break this five-year mate bond.

On the day the country's most notorious serial killer, Henry Luther, is scheduled for execution, I personally escort him to the death chamber. Just before his sentence is carried out, he suddenly looks at me with pity. "The truth is, I only killed 17 people. I deserve to die, but you can't blame me for what happened to your medical examiner husband." The moment he mentions Victor Ashford, all my hatred comes rushing back. Three years ago, Victor served as the city's chief medical examiner. While protecting a crucial piece of evidence, he was stabbed dozens of times by Henry. I rushed back from another city overnight, only to find Victor's body mutilated beyond recognition. Overcome with grief, I began hemorrhaging and lost our baby when I was three months pregnant. For the next three years, I repeatedly risk my life hunting down Henry, determined to capture him myself and avenge Victor. Following an address Henry left behind, I track down a modest house. The moment I step into the yard, however, I freeze. Victor is standing there with his arms around his younger colleague, Colette Jennings, kissing her tenderly. Nearby, a two-or-three-year-old child sits on a swing. My mind goes blank. Just as I start toward them, someone grabs me from behind. It's my mentor, George Ryland. "Victor's happy now. For your own sake, let him go." I shove him aside and fire three shots into an empty patch of ground, my expression completely blank. "Victor Ashford, you're under arrest for suspected of bigamy. Come with me."

My husband's brother dies before my husband and I marry. My mother-in-law has never liked me, and my husband is a mommy's boy. He listens to her when she forces him to remain in mourning for his brother—within the next three years, we can only register our marriage but not have a wedding. To help his widowed sister-in-law past these difficult times, my husband runs over to her place every few days, leaving me alone at home. Anyone who isn't in the know would think I'm the widow! My scheming sister-in-law even tells her child to address my husband as their father instead of uncle. I sneer. "How shameless of you to want your brother-in-law to care for two families at once. Thank goodness the child in my womb doesn't have such a disgusting father."

My parents’ adoptive daughter took three kids hiking with her, and they ended up dead. They wanted me to take the blame for her. My father forced me to kneel before the families of the victims and crushed my calf with his hiking pole. “These were the legs she used to take your kids hiking. I’ll make sure she never gets to hike again.” My mother legally disowned me. “Jenny will be breaking hiking records one day. I won’t let anyone bring up her shameful sister when that happens! She’s sacrificed so much for you all these years, and it’s time you paid her back.” My boyfriend promised me, “Jenny has nothing. She would not survive if she had to endure all this, but at least you have me. I’ll be here for you no matter what happens. They’re just angry, but they won’t send you to jail. You can come home once everything settles down.” To defend the reputation of my adoptive sister, he and my parents worked together to falsify evidence and send me to jail. “It’s to protect you,” they promised, “so the families don’t take revenge on you.” They did not know I had already given up on them.

I suffer from severe depression, while Jayden Sherwell's best friend, Mindy Quest, is always quick to call people out for being dramatic. When my condition flares up, Mindy poisons the emotional support dog that has been by my side for five years. When I learn about Teddy's death, I break down and try to kill myself. Mindy locks me alone in the bedroom. "Suicide is just stupid. She's trying to kill herself over a dog? Just leave her alone to think things through," Mindy says. I pound on the door. My hands tremble as I grip a knife and hover it over my wrist. I keep telling myself over and over that I can't kill myself. I crawl to the drawer and search for my antidepressants, but it's empty. Mindy's smug laughter rings out from outside the door. "I just flushed them down the toilet. Just hang in there. Taking medication for years has made you stupid. "Now you try to kill yourself over every little thing." My physical symptoms become severe. I lie on the floor, struggling to breathe as I fight to call out to Jayden for help. Unable to bear watching me suffer, Jayden opens the door, but the moment he touches me, he takes two steps back. "Mindy is right. You aren't depressed. You're just being dramatic," he says. "You can't expect us to cater to you forever. Just hang in there. You'll be better soon." I collapse over Teddy's cold body, and whatever warmth remains in my heart disappears. At that moment, I feel as if I completely lose the will to go on living.

My boyfriend, Javon Hickman, and my best friend, Abbie Cote, get into a car accident on their way to see me, leaving Javon with amnesia. After looking at the couple's suite and our honeymoon itinerary, Javon decides Abbie is the woman he is proposing to. "The second I lay eyes on Abbie, I know she's the one," he insists. Our friends try to set him straight. "Dude, Abilene's your girlfriend! You said you'd marry her when she got pregnant! You seriously don't remember?" Javon turns to scan me, his gaze full of contempt. "My taste isn't that bad. Why would I ever date her? You guys are pulling my leg, right?" Heartbroken by his coldness, I sprint out of the hospital room, only to hear our friends showering him with praise from inside. "Javon, brilliant move! You get to score with your dream woman and drop the dead weight all in one shot. Genius!" Javon lets out a snicker. "If you idiots hadn't gotten the wrong contact three years ago, I wouldn't have been forced to stick with her in the first place. Besides, Abilene's pregnant. She won't walk away. Once I've had my fun, I'll just win her back." My heart sinks at those words. His memory loss is a total act. And he actually thinks he can just come crawling back whenever he's done playing around. Gently touching my belly, I book an abortion right then and there. I'm done waiting.

At the Sweethearts' Light Festival, I head to Truelove Bridge to film vlog footage for my wedding next month. But through the camera's viewfinder, I spot my younger sister, Mona Jensen. Standing right beside her is my fiance, Weston Shaw—who is supposed to be working overtime at the office tonight. As Mona browses a vendor's stall, the strap of her bag slips off her shoulder. Weston catches it almost on instinct and casually slings it over his own shoulder. The glittery, sequined bag, covered in plush charms, looks absurdly out of place against his tailored dark gray suit. Maybe it's just a coincidence. Yet, the bag remains on his shoulder. People stream past them down the crowded street, but he makes no move to hand it back. When Mona finishes picking something out and reaches for the bag, he turns aside, keeping it out of her reach. He says something, and they both laugh. I remember our first date after we make things official. I ask him to hold my bag, which has a plush doll dangling from it. He holds it by the very edge of the strap with one hand. The instant I hang up and turn around, he shoves it right back into my hands. "That thing hanging off your bag doesn't go with my clothes," he says flatly as the tips of his ears turn bright red. I notice a few passersby shooting looks our way and even teasing him about it. Once I realize he really doesn't like it, I never ask him to carry my bag again. Back in the viewfinder, the two of them haven't moved, but everything has blurred into streaks. A voice comes over the bridge speakers. "May all lovers end up together." I stop the recording, my fingertips turning ice-cold and numb. I'm not going to be part of this ending.

The day my husband, Lucas Maxwell, helps his childhood sweetheart—Cecilia Brown, who has cancer—lose her virginity, I leave behind a divorce agreement and walk away. Before I leave, I drop a comment beneath a photo of them on his social media. Their fingers are tightly interlocked in the photo. "Let's get divorced. I wish you both a lifetime of happiness." A minute later, he calls me. "How did I end up marrying someone as selfish as you, Fiona Sinclair? Do you really have the heart to let her die without leaving anything behind?" I sneer, "You're no longer my husband. How is that my problem?" That's when he panics.

Ten minutes before the wedding ceremony is about to begin, I receive a disturbing photo on my phone. In it, a man with deeply sunken eyes is crawling on the ground like a dog. He is so skinny that he's nothing more than skin and bones. Meanwhile, my bride, Waverly Suther, is looming over the man on the floor as she gazes down at him with a disdainful sneer. Just as I'm about to block the number of the person who sent me this disturbing prank photo, that person sends me another two messages. "Run away from the wedding! Right now! Don't marry Waverly Suther, no matter what!" "That man on the floor is you ten years from now!"

My twin sister, Vivian Hall and I were inseparable. Then she died. Three months later, I married her husband, Lawrence Peterson. For five years, he only touched me once a year, on our birthday. He made me wear her silk nightgowns. He made me put on her signature red lipstick. He forced me to mimic every detail, from the exact way she brushed back her hair to the soft sound of her voice in the dark. "Lift the corners of your lips," he whispered against my skin, his breath burning hot, his words ice cold. "Vivian never smiled so cheaply." He pulled me closer, burying his face in my neck. "Do you know why I only touch you tonight?" he breathed. "Because tonight is the only night I can pretend you are her." In the heat of the moment, his mouth pressed hard against mine. His eyes were wide and dark, overflowing with a tenderness that seemed drowning. For one fleeting second, I let myself believe he was kissing me. That he loved me. Then he whispered her name. Five years of playing a ghost is enough. This pathetic excuse for a marriage ends now. I picked up my phone and typed a message to an unknown number. [I accept your bet.]

I've just received a text from my CEO wife, Cara Lavigne. Apparently, she's gone on another last-minute business trip again, so she can't accompany me to the funeral home. But soon, I see Cara's silhouette being captured in a photo, where she celebrates her assistant, Warren Stone's birthday with him in a work-related post he has just uploaded. The caption reads, "Thank you for the amazing cake, boss! I feel so happy to be able to celebrate my birthday!" I just smile calmly before leaving a like and a comment. "Happy birthday." My colleagues, on the other hand, start betting pools like mad to see what kind of tricks I'm going to pull this time in order to kick up a ruckus. Cara calls me immediately just to scold me. "Warren is just celebrating his birthday, so what's with the comment? He's a very sensitive person, you know! How is he going to survive in this company now that you've passive-aggressively humiliated him in that public post? "It's been barely two years since Warren joined this company, not to mention he doesn't have any friends! What's wrong with me celebrating his birthday with him, huh? People like you, who are born with silver spoons in their mouths, will never understand Warren's plight! "I want you to delete your comment right now! We'll talk more about this once I'm home! Your dad is already dead anyway, so you can just wait for a few more days before claiming his body!" I can only clench my fists tightly as I listen to Cara's heartless and nonchalant words. "No need for that." Once she is back, the divorce procedures will be done.

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 husband was away on a business trip, I received a notification for a hotel charge. As I watched the video on my phone of him kissing his secretary on their way to the room, I dialed his number. “Honey, you need to come home right away. Mom was in a serious car accident,” I said. Before I could finish, Xavier Smith cut me off. “It’s just a car accident. We’ll deal with it if she dies.” He hung up without a hint of concern and went back to his cozy time with his secretary in their hotel room. He was completely unaware that the woman in critical condition at the hospital wasn’t my mom. It was his.

On my wedding day with Jack Miller, he ran off with his first love As if to taunt me, he would send a photo of himself with her from every new destination they visited. I was getting a manicure and enjoying imported French pastries with my afternoon tea when I received their ninety-ninth photo. But after three years of absence, Jack suddenly returned. He pointed at my wedding photo with someone else and shouted, “How dare you fool around with another man while I was gone!" I couldn't help but laugh. "What other man? I've been married to my husband for three years now." "Jack, you didn't actually think I was waiting for you all this time, did you?"

To the Moretti family, I'm nothing more than the Don's trophy wife of five years. Five years into our marriage, I found a used condom in his study. We were trying for a baby, so we never kept condoms in the house. I was still staring at it when Alessandro Moretti walked up behind me. "Olivia, Daisy is back in the country. We slept together last night." Daisy Ward was his first love. On her first night back, Alessandro had brought her straight into our home. He picked up the condom and tossed it back into the trash. "I promised Daisy I'd marry her in three days." I turned to him in shock. "So you want a divorce?" He answered without hesitation, "Olivia, I'm not leaving you. I just want to make up for the one regret I've carried all these years." Before he could mention divorce, I beat him to it. "I understand. I'll move out tomorrow. We should start the divorce process too." Alessandro froze. He clearly hadn't expected me to take it so calmly. "Don't worry. I won't shortchange you after the divorce. You'll get fifty million dollars and all my shares in the Sicily Group." I smiled and nodded. That night, I sent a message to my hacker friend, Nina. "Once the assets clear, get me a new identity." Alessandro, I gave you five years of my life, but I was never the woman you chose first.