Cerita Pendek & Novel Hypocrisy Cheating

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.

We were having a gathering before graduation. My girlfriend and best friend were getting congratulated by the whole class. They had gained guaranteed spots into the campus' top course's postgraduate program. I was sitting in a corner, staring at the Hertford University offer that would ensure I went straight to my doctorate. I hesitated on making a decision for three days just for my girlfriend. Howard Herbson, my best friend, turned to me. He had a look of pity and condescension in his eyes as he said, "How about your job hunt? Don't worry. Not getting into the postgrad program isn't the end of the world. The lab's requirements are ridiculous. "It's going to be near impossible for you to progress there even if you work yourself to the bone." Beatrice Shaw, my girlfriend, handed Howard a glass of water. Then, she chimed in matter-of-factly, "Yeah. Research just isn't for everyone. You should get a nine-to-five. When Howard and I are swamped with us, you can help us out and do our errands." They exchanged a smile and kept me out of their so-called intellectual circle. These two thought they were better than everyone else just because they got a spot in this campus' postgrad program. How droll. So, I went back to that offer and accepted it. These people were so vastly beneath me that it was really about time for me to stop playing their games at their level, especially when I was obviously not welcome.

The night before my mom, Josie Swift, remarries another man, she suddenly barges into my room. "Colin, I'm getting married tomorrow. I don't need you to be my ring bearer anymore." The makeup artist is carefully applying concealer to my left cheek, so I don't catch what she says at first. Mom frowns, her voice laced with frustration and disdain. "Don't bother. The scar on your face won't just disappear like that. The more you try to cover it, the more hideous it looks! "The guests attending my wedding tomorrow are important business associates of Gavin's. Are you trying to embarrass me on purpose? You know how hard it is for me to marry him with you tagging along. They are already gossiping about me behind my back. It's so humiliating." The makeup artist pauses, then awkwardly steps outside. I stare expressionlessly at my reflection in the mirror, saying nothing. My stepfather, Gavin Dunn, stands outside, his head bowed as he adjusts his son Chris Dunn's bow tie. He shows absolutely no reaction to what Mom has just said. Mom sighs and slips into her usual self-pitying tone. "You've been a good boy ever since you were little. You should know how hard it is for me. I need to look dignified and presentable. Tomorrow, Chris will be my ring bearer, and the three of us will take a family photo on stage. You stay backstage and don't cause trouble for me, okay?"

My best friend, Ricky Watson, yanked the oxygen tube from my nose as he grinned down at me maliciously. "I guess there's no point pretending anymore. Remember those leaked files that cost you the promotion? I'm the one who planted them in that storage box under your bed." Then, he slipped an arm around my wife, Andrea Gates, looking even more pleased with himself. "And that son you've spent the last 10 years raising?" His grin widened. "He's mine." Andrea slowly turned the gold bracelet around her wrist and looked at me with open contempt. "I would've taken the kid and left you for Ricky years ago if you hadn't been so subservient to my needs and given me all your paycheck every month." Her gaze swept over me. "A loser like you isn't even fit to shine his shoes." I stared at the two of them as rage burned through me. Alas, I couldn't even force out a curse due to the lack of oxygen. Years earlier, I had been in line for a promotion to Chief Engineer. However, that was also when someone accused me of leaking confidential company documents. That single accusation destroyed my life. It went on my record, cost me my promotion, and ended my engineering career almost overnight. Still, I did whatever it took to support my wife and the son I believed was mine for the next 10 years. During the day, I would haul rebar and equipment across construction sites. When night fell, I would stay up taking freelance drafting and design jobs just to earn a little more to support my little family. I worked myself to the bone. I wasn't even 40 when my heart finally gave out. Meanwhile, Ricky stepped straight into the position that should have been mine. He used the project proposal I had created to climb up the corporate ladder year after year until he became one of the most respected engineering directors in the industry. I thought that was how my life would end, miserable and wrathful. However, that was when I opened my eyes again. I was back on the night before my Chief Engineer promotion interview.

The day I have only 220 dollars left in my savings, I buy a 200-dollar ticket to a piano recital. When my friend finds out, she asks if I have gone crazy. I reply without a hint of emotion, "I just want to see what kind of woman is worth taking all our savings and spending it on a concert grand piano for. "That money was supposed to save our daughter. Summer was counting on it for her surgery." The recital lasts two full hours, and everyone praises the beautiful music. But all I can think about is the woman onstage and my husband, Zander Stafford, sitting right in front of her. He's dressed in a sharp suit and looks so refined that I barely recognize him. At the end of every song, Zander is always the first to applaud. There is a fervor in his eyes I have never seen before. It isn't until the recital ends that I finally receive a message from him after two months of silence, along with a bank transfer. "I'm sorry, Sabina. Things are tight at the construction site right now, so I'm using some of the money from that account," he writes. "My boss says he'll pay me back as soon as the money comes in. "Didn't you say Summer is sick and in the hospital? Take these 5,000 dollars for now." I look up at the two people embracing in the center of the stage. I return the money and reply, "It's not necessary." I no longer need it. I will never need his money again. Summer is already dead, and nothing matters anymore.

I have a secret. When I was a child, I became very sick. When I finally woke up, I realized I could see the true colors hidden in people's hearts. Candy pink meant tenderness. Magenta meant desire. Pale gold meant longing for something you could never have. Slate blue meant lies. Dark brown meant hurt and resentment. At our engagement party, when my fiancé, Luca Vitali, kissed me, I saw the room fill with soft candy pink. But a second later, a wave of vivid magenta rushed in and swallowed the pink completely. I looked up in shock. His arms were around me, but his eyes were fixed on someone at the far end of the banquet hall. It was his childhood sweetheart, Charlotte. I thought it was just my imagination, until he pulled Charlotte into a dressing room. He kissed the side of Charlotte's neck. "After the wedding, I'll send Nicole overseas. You know I'm only marrying her because I promised my father. Please, Charlotte. You're the only one I want to be with." After five years of loving him, I finally realized I had been nothing more than a stepping stone to him. I turned around, canceled the wedding, and vanished into the rainy night. From that moment on, I would be someone they could never hope to reach.

The day we take our graduation pictures, I come across a photographer's post. In the caption, he writes, "I've been a photographer for ten years, and this is the first time I've ever done a wedding shoot on the same day as the bride's and groom's graduation! "They're both gorgeous, and they're incredibly patient. The groom doesn't even touch his phone. He just keeps gazing at the bride with so much love. "I spend all day shooting, and my camera's memory card is completely full. But getting to photograph a couple this perfect makes it all worth it!" I think about how my boyfriend, Zack Warner, is absent from our graduation photo session that morning, leaving us without a single picture together in our caps and gowns. Still disappointed about that, I open the photos, feeling envious. The moment I see the bride's and groom's faces, my breathing quickens. The groom is Zack, my boyfriend of four years. He always says we'll get married once he finds a stable job. The bride is my best friend, Wendy Carter, the campus belle. Just two hours ago, Wendy comforts me over WhatsApp, saying there are plenty of men in the world. If I'm upset with Zack, I can always find someone else. But now, she's holding Zack's hand, their fingers intertwined. She's the bride-to-be about to begin her happy new life.

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.]

It was the eighth year of my marriage. As I was driving my daughter to school, I took a call on speaker. "Is this Mr. Andrew Benedict? Your wife, Ms. Clara Miller, left her diamond ring in our executive suite." My hands froze on the wheel. Andrew was my husband. Clara was my best friend. I rushed to my brother's office, desperate to prove it was a mistake. He didn't even look up from his desk. He wasn't surprised at all. "Summer, drop it," my brother, Aaron Walter, said calmly. "They have a child together now. Just pretend you don't know. "He lied to you to spare your feelings," he added. "We all kept quiet for your own good." I felt my blood cold as it ran through my veins. "He's right, Summer," a soft voice chimed in from the couch. "Don't blame Clara. You're both mothers. You need to understand her side." It was Olivia Walter, my sister-in-law. The three of us used to call ourselves inseparable. Now she was asking me to pity the mistress and the bastard. In family, friendship, and love, I was the only outsider.

After our son suffered severe burns in a fire, I gave up everything to care for him and my wife, who was on the verge of a breakdown. However, all she ever told me was to get out. Then, one night, I woke to the sharp smell of gasoline. My wife stood at the foot of the bed, with a lighter clenched in her hand. “Now we’ll be even.”

On the day my family went bankrupt, my older sister fled the country overnight to escape her wedding. When I returned home after selling off every luxury item I owned, my alcoholic father drugged me and sent me to the bed of Tristan Chevalier, a man with intermittent explosive disorder. Once the effects of the drug wore off, he realized something was wrong. His eyes bloodshot with rage, he wrecked Chevalier Manor. He was even willing to sever ties with his family just to go abroad and explain everything to my sister. In the end, however, Tristan's grandmother, Donna, threatened to take her own life, forcing him to marry me and register our marriage. Whenever Donna pressured him to have a child with me, he would deliberately wait until his intermittent explosive disorder was acting up before taking me with brutal force. Afterward, even when I lay on the bed covered in blood, he would not spare me a second glance. "Sylvia Jefferson, consider this my reward to you this time. If you can't get pregnant, you'd better be prepared to spend the rest of your life as a widow!" After that, I tried everything I could think of to seduce him, but he refused to touch me, not even with a finger. Instead, he tormented me even more cruelly. In public, I was the once-down-and-out heiress who had married into a wealthy family, living the life of a pampered society wife. Behind closed doors, however, he gave me only twenty dollars a day to keep myself fed. Then, one night, I took advantage of his drunken state and climbed into his bed, hoping to sleep with him. But he called the police on me and accused me of sexual coercion, turning me into the laughingstock of our entire social circle. Eventually, I stopped longing for a child. I even personally brought my sister back to him and handed him the divorce papers. Yet this time, Tristan refused to let me go.

The sixth time photos of him cheating surfaced, Leander Prescott snatched the knife from my hand and brought it down hard. Stroke by stroke, he carved the name "Seraphina Vale" into his thigh. "Happy now? Can you leave Celeste alone?" I stood frozen, staring at him as if I suddenly didn't recognize the man in front of me. For ten years, we had tortured each other over Leander's infidelity. Every time he crossed the line, I carved my name into his flesh. Wrist-cutting, kidnapping, even hanging Celeste Waverly from a helicopter to threaten her—every scar on his body had a bloody story behind it. He had never been this calm. … Seeing the confusion in my eyes, a flicker of tenderness passed through his hate-filled gaze. "Celeste is pregnant. As long as you promise you won't confront her again, you can carve as many marks into me as you want. "This is the ninety-ninth mark. Ninety-nine is a good number. Let's make things work between us from now on." My throat suddenly felt dry. "Make things work? Do you really mean that?" He looked at me with a mixture of pain and mockery. "Sincere?" "My body already belongs to you. Stop coveting what belongs to Celeste." Watching him close his eyes in numb resignation, I suddenly understood. Ninety-nine wasn't his way of saying he wanted to spend the rest of his life with me. It meant he had finally resigned himself to his fate. He was willing to sacrifice his entire life so that another woman and her bastard could live out the rest of theirs in peace. A bone-deep sorrow flooded my heart, chilling me to the core. A lifetime was too long. And suddenly, I no longer wanted to sacrifice mine for him.

It was the seventh year we spent living separately after the marriage. I came to see Blake Shaw, and once again, my key broke and was stuck in the keyhole. I quickly called Blake. He said, "You probably got the wrong key again. Stay in a hotel. I'll come back and open the door." I looked at the sticker on the key and froze. The key was right. He changed the locks. Before I could think further, my father called, and he laughed heartily. "Of course he's out! He came over first thing in the morning, and he brought gifts! Then, my best friend's call came in. She was drunk from the sounds of it. "He's drinking with Zack. Your man's growing to be a good drinker." Then, my brother's call came. "He's a busy guy. Finally found the spare time to help me out with my investments." My mind was reeling. They had no idea I just asked the guard if this house's owner was home, and they said he was. I stopped asking questions. Instead, I called a locksmith. A strange curiosity took hold of me. I wanted to find out what secret my friends and family were keeping from me.

My boyfriend proposed to me when we graduated from high school, but I made a deal with him instead of giving him an immediate answer. "We'll get married when we've collected 500 train tickets." In the first year, Marcus could hardly wait to come see me every day. Before long, our collection had grown to 280 tickets. He even laughed and said that he'd be able to take me home as his wife before graduation at the rate he was going. In the second year, we met each other halfway. Soon, the number of tickets climbed to 400. But in our third year, Marcus told me that his advisor had taken on a new project and that a junior who had just joined the research team needed him to show her the ropes. He became swamped, so I ended up visiting him most of the time. Meanwhile, he only came to see me occasionally. By the end of the year, we had barely managed to collect 460 tickets. In our fourth year, he said he was too busy with internship interviews, leaving me no choice but to pull several all-nighters to finish my assignments so that I could spend a weekend going to see him. We finally collected 499 train tickets just before graduation. I secretly put on a white wedding dress, slipped on the ring he'd given me when he proposed, and boarded a train. I wanted to surprise Marcus. I wanted to tell him that we had finally reached 500 tickets. I wanted to tell him that I was ready to marry him. But when I arrived at the foot of his dormitory building, my heart full of anticipation… I saw Marcus holding another girl tightly, surrounded by a large heart of flickering candles. He lowered his head and kissed her on the lips amid the cheers and teasing from the crowd.

Everyone says that the Crown Prince of the Kingdom of Landor, Prince Colin Livingston, loves me to the core. But on the day of court presentation, he bypasses me and presents the princess consort's diamond ring to my elder sister, Monique Payne, instead. However, I'm not the least bit upset. I even smile and congratulate Colin, saying, "I wish you and my sister a lifetime of happiness, Your Royal Highness." In my past life, I caught Colin rolling in the sheets with Monique when I was six months pregnant. I flew into a rage and accidentally killed her with a sword. Colin hated me for the rest of my life after that. When he finally ascended the throne, he posthumously crowned Monique as his Queen and even registered the many children I risked my life bearing for him under her name instead. I was heartbroken, requesting a royal decree to depose me as his wife. However, he tore up the royal edict and imprisoned me inside the palace instead. "You are my wife. And you will never escape me in this lifetime!" Ultimately, while I was still locked up in my room, our enemies ambushed and attacked the palace, setting fire to the place. And despite being struck down by numerous arrows, Colin still used every last ounce of his strength to protect me and save me from harm. Just before his death, he wiped away my tears with bloody hands and whispered into my ear, "Don't cry for me, Merry. I was the one who let you down in this lifetime. "But if there ever is a next life, I hope that you will let me be with Monique instead." I agreed in a trembling voice. But when I open my eyes again, I realize that I have gone back in time to the day the Crown Prince chooses the princess consort. So, I help him fulfill his wish this time.

My lawyer husband, Chester Stratton, and our five-year-old son were kidnapped. By the time I arrived, the bomb had already detonated, and they were reduced to ashes before my eyes. My older sister, a prosecutor, had tried to help me track down the culprit, yet even she was captured and tortured to death. Everyone said my ruthless methods had earned me too many enemies, that they had suffered because of me. They said I should have been the one to die. Even the Criminal Investigation Division stripped me of my position. For three years, I secretly hunted for the mastermind. Until one day, my investigation led me to a restaurant. There, I saw my husband, my son, and my sister—the three people who had supposedly died three years ago. They were all sitting together, celebrating a little girl's birthday. Friends and relatives surrounded them, smiling as though nothing had ever happened. Fury surged through me, and I was about to storm over and demand answers when my best friend grabbed me from behind, refusing to let go. "Audrey, I know you can't accept this, but they're husband and wife now. If you make a scene, how are you any different from a homewrecker? Phoebe got pregnant with Chester's child three years ago. Everyone knew how ruthless you could be. Faking their deaths was the only way they could escape you." Beside her, my mother fixed me with a warning look. "It's good that you found out. For the past three years, Phoebe and Chester have been forced to move from place to place with their two children. It broke my heart to watch them live like that. Now, their family of four is finally happy. If you just walk away, everyone will forgive you." The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. I looked at the people before me and laughed until tears streamed down my face. So Chester and my sister had never died. While I had spent the past three years drowning in grief, they had been living peaceful, happy lives. And everyone had known the truth. Everyone had conspired to keep it from me.

When I am diagnosed with congenital heart disease, I am forced to leave the dance company and give up the career I have spent my entire life working toward. My best friend, Vivian Carter, steps into my place, promising to fulfill my dream in my stead. My boyfriend, Ethan Bennett, proposes to me on the spot. He swears that no matter what happens to me—or what becomes of me—he will never leave my side. Over the next five years, I devote myself to helping Vivian rise through the ranks until she becomes the company's principal dancer. With my support, Ethan's career flourishes as well. And through it all, they never stop telling me they are searching for a way to cure me. This year, while both of them are busy preparing for an upcoming competition, I go to my follow-up appointment alone. But when I receive the results, I am stunned. There is nothing wrong with my heart. Overwhelmed with joy, I clutch the medical report to my chest and rush home, eager to share the news with them. Then, before I can step inside, I hear voices coming from within. Vivian speaks first. "Evelyn's follow-up appointment is coming up. Are you sure nothing will go wrong?" Ethan's voice is calm and unconcerned. "I already took care of it. Her test results will still show that she has heart disease." He pauses before adding, "Besides, she hasn't danced in five years. Even if she somehow finds out, what can she possibly do?" Vivian lets out a quiet laugh. "You're right." I freeze outside the door. The blood drains from my face as their words sink in. So this is the truth. My best friend and the man who promised to love me forever have been lying to me all along. Every promise. Every act of devotion. Every sacrifice I thought they had made for me. It has all been a lie.

My boyfriend Zane Shaw's ex, Mia Zimmer, has another sleepwalking episode and shows up at our door in the middle of the night. Zane doesn't even hesitate. As if he's done this countless times before, he leads her straight into our master bedroom, settles her into our bed, and gently coaxes her back to sleep. I stand in the doorway, watching the tenderness in his expression. "Zane, what's the excuse this time?" He doesn't even turn around. After a brief silence, he answers impatiently, "You'll get used to it." So this time, there isn't even an excuse. I'm simply expected to get used to another woman showing up at our home in the middle of the night and to my boyfriend's ex sleeping in our bed. Mia was diagnosed with a sleepwalking disorder three months ago. Ever since then, she somehow ends up outside our door every single night, calling Zane's name in her sleep. The first time, Zane lets her in. "Winnie, it's pouring outside. It's not safe for her to be alone. She'll sleep on the couch. I'll send her home first thing in the morning." The second time, he takes her to the guest room. "The couch is not comfortable, and no one's using the guest room anyway. It's just for one night." First the couch, then the guest room, and now she's sleeping in our bedroom. I turn around and return to the guest room without saying another word. In the middle of the night, I get up for some water. That's when I hear voices coming from the master bedroom. "Mia, you don't actually have a sleepwalking disorder, do you?" Mia sniffles. "I'm sorry, Zane. I didn't want to lie to you. But I really can't sleep when you're not there." A long silence follows. Then Zane finally speaks. "Don't let Winnie find out." I stand outside the door, frozen. I don't know how long I stay there. Eventually, I take out my phone and type a message. "I'm accepting the overseas transfer." If Zane wants to keep playing along with Mia's lies, that's his choice. But I'm done playing with them.

In our most loving year, Hugh Thorne and I make a pact that neither of us will ever ask for a divorce—because whoever does will end his or her own life. I immediately grab a pair of scissors and stab him in the neck when he first tells me that he wants to give Beatrice Lane, my heartbroken best friend, a home. He repeatedly brings up divorce over the next two years, while I repeatedly refuse to let him go. Then, after his 99th attempt to get a divorce fails, Hugh jumps into the river. Everyone claims I am a madwoman and a jinx who killed her husband. Mom and Dad cut ties with me and take in Beatrice as their goddaughter. I am completely on my own after that. I work three jobs a day to make ends meet and raise Nicholas White, the child Hugh and I share. It is the third year after Hugh's death, and I receive a call from a former classmate of mine. "Are you coming to the class reunion this weekend, Mia? Hugh will be there too." In that instant, my mind goes completely blank. I can barely hold the phone because my hand is shaking so hard. It turns out that Hugh is still alive! My former classmate excitedly explains over the phone, "We're doing something different this time! Everyone has to bring something that will surprise the others, and whoever loses has to pay for the meal!" I have to bring something that will surprise everyone, huh? I hang up the phone and instantly arrange for someone to draft a divorce agreement for me.

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!"