Hypocrisy Marriage Short Stories & Novels

The day before we were supposed to get married, I found out my fiancé, Bradley Bigham, was cheating on me with my best friend, Carla Fralin. So I shoved him into a tub of disinfectant and scrubbed him down three times. Then I posted Carla's intimate photos online, and they spread like wildfire. What I never expected was that my mother, Roxie Boyce, would get so worked up that she ended up completely paralyzed, pushing our already struggling family to the brink of financial ruin. Just as I was ready to drag them all down with me, Bradley's archrival, Connor Magder, saved me. "You're going to ruin your own life over a scumbag and a tramp? Don't be afraid. I'll be by your side from now on." I thought I'd finally been saved. In our third year of marriage, I was holding a pregnancy test, ready to surprise him. That was when I happened to see him on a video call with my ex-fiancé. Connor's eyes were full of complicated emotions. "I'll definitely be at your wedding. As long as Carla is happy with you, these years I've spent with Ariana will have been worth it." I froze where I stood, the blood in my veins running cold. When Connor looked up and saw me, his eyes filled with wariness. He assumed I'd raise hell like I had three years ago, until things spiraled completely out of control. Instead, I stepped in front of the computer's camera and said calmly, "Congratulations on your upcoming wedding. I wish you a lifetime of happiness together."

Three months into the planning of our wedding, Jacob River, my fiancé, suddenly started trending on Twitter. But it was not because he had finally given me the grand wedding he had long promised. Instead, it was because a certain romantic novel was published. It depicted the three years Jacob spent dating Rain Stone, his first love during high school. Not only was Jacob’s real name used, explicit imagery was also used to talk about how they had passionately made out on the roof, how they had touched each other in an empty classroom, and how they explored each other’s bodies in the sports equipment room. There were also tons of high-definition photos attached. In his uniform, Jacob had a doting expression and youthful liveliness I had never seen before. My blood ran cold, and I grabbed my phone to go to him for an explanation. He just gave it a nonchalant look and said, “It’s just a memoir about things in the past. Why are you fussing over nothing? I’ll have my assistant contact the publishers to remove it from the shelves.” The trending hashtag was soon removed, and the book was banned from stores. But one night, I woke up from thirst. There was no one beside me, but I could see light through the crack of the study. For some reason, I went closer and peered through the crack, and something there made my blood run cold. Jacob had always been restrained when it came to physical intimacy, but he was touching himself while looking at the photo of the sports equipment room in the book.

Eden Castle and Cedric Rivers had been together for eleven years. Just when she thought they would grow old together, Cedric went and cheated on her. He had been cheating on her for three years with a girl who looked just like her, only the girl was much younger than Eden. Eden assumed this was as bad as it could get, then it got worse. Her son Mateo gave her a letter announcing that he was severing ties with her. He blamed Eden for ruining what was supposed to be a happy family. Eden was crushed as she signed the divorce agreement. However, she decided she never wanted anything to do with the pair of father and son again.

My boyfriend, Cedric Lambert, and I have been in a long-distance relationship for three years. I video call him every night. The first time I notice a pink scarf that doesn't belong in his room, I take a screenshot and confront him. But before he can answer, his older sister, Cecilia Lambert, messages me. "Naomi, that's my scarf. I must've accidentally left it at his place the last time I visited." The second time, I spot two used condom wrappers in the corner of the screen. One of his friends immediately sends me a screenshot of a hotel booking. "Naomi, this one's on me," Kian Callahan explains. "I was just messing around with Ced and didn't think about how it would look. I'm sorry." These incidents keep happening for the third and fourth time. But every time something suspicious appears in the background of his video calls, someone conveniently steps forward to claim it. Then comes Cedric's birthday. Without telling anyone, I take an eight-hour train to his city, hoping to surprise him. Instead, I find the area outside his apartment building decorated for a wedding. A large sign beside the entrance reads, "Congratulations, Cedric Lambert & Addison Ross!" Beside the entrance is a large wedding portrait of Cedric with a woman I've never seen before, his arms wrapped around her as they kiss. I bite down hard on my lip until I taste blood. With trembling fingers, I type a message into our group chat. "I just received a wedding invitation from a woman named Addison Ross. Does anyone know her?" The group falls completely silent. After a long moment, my best friend, Scarlett Crosby, finally breaks the silence. "Addison's a friend of mine. She must've sent it to the wrong address by mistake," she explains. "Just keep the invitation, Naomi. I'll explain everything later." Hot tears splatter against the glass of my screen as my chest tightens. So it turns out Cedric isn't the only one who's been betraying me these past three years.

On the day I become an actual heir of a wealthy family, the fake heir, Andrew Scott, tells me that he wishes to return the marriage contract to me, his eyes red and puffy. Thinking about my girlfriend, Elyssa Grant, who has just gotten pregnant, I reply softly, "It's fine. I already have someone I love." As soon as my words fall, I see comments floating in front of my eyes all of a sudden. "What a joke! The villain might be swift in rejecting the marriage contract right now, but once he sees the female lead, he'll definitely regret his decision!" "But the female lead still chooses to be with the male lead at the end of the day. That's when the villain starts pestering her." "In the end, the male lead is forced to slit his wrist, leading to the villain getting hated by the entire Scott family. He'll die a tragic death after that." I lower my gaze, finding it absurd. Why would I pester a woman I've never seen before in my life? At that moment, I hear footsteps echoing from behind me. As Andrew wipes his tears away, he approaches the newcomer hastily. "El, this is my older brother, Eddie Scott. This marriage contract is originally his." I turn around to meet a pair of familiar eyes. It's Elyssa, my girlfriend of five years who has supported me and is currently pregnant with my baby.

During the long National Day holidays, I planned a Golden Highlands trip for the whole family. I even booked tickets for a luxurious train ride so we could enjoy the scenery. But on departure day, my husband and son vanished. I called my husband. I could hear an airport boarding announcement in the background. My voice trembled. "Where are you?" He panicked and mumbled that the company had an emergency before hanging up. I tried calling again, but the line was busy. The next day, he posted an update on his social media. In the photo, he stood beneath the snowy peaks of Wintercrown with one arm around his old love while the other held our son. The caption read: [If we had been a little braver back then...] A friend commented: [Where is your wife?] I stared at his reply: [She's sick and resting at home.] Three expired train tickets sat on the table as my eyes welled up with tears. A decade of marriage. A pack of lies. It was time to bring it all to a close.

Today was my younger son, Luke's, eighteenth birthday. My ex-husband, Major General Arthur Ashford, let himself into my house without knocking. He headed straight for the liquor cabinet like he still owned the place. He poured himself a glass of whiskey and looked at me with open contempt. "Allison, how have you enjoyed the last eight years? Stuck here in Briarwood because of a family court order. "All because I broke a couple of glasses and put my hands on you a few times, you just had to file for divorce." "And what did that get you? The judge stopped you from taking the kids out of the city and made sure I got regular visitation." He swirled the whiskey in his glass, spilling a little onto the carpet. It was the same cocky look he wore the night he came home drunk and beat me with his belt. "You really thought you could get away from me? As long as I say no, you'll spend the rest of your life under my control. "After Luke cuts his cake, I am filing for emergency guardianship. You will never take my son away from me." I looked at his smug face, gripping the edge of my sleeve, and said nothing. Then he lifted his glass, ready to start barking orders at everyone. My daughter, Kate, rose from her chair and set a thick stack of papers onto the table in front of him. "General Ashford, you should read these. "As of midnight, Luke is legally an adult. Every travel restriction the family court placed on Mom is gone. "And this is the filing receipt for the name change petition for the two of us, which I filed with the Supreme Court." Arthur gave the papers a dismissive glance. Then his smile disappeared. Printed across the top in bold letters were the words: Petitions of Kate Ashford and Luke Ashford to Change Their Surname to Pierce.

On the day Julius Robles's arch-nemesis, Yvette Silva, is released from prison, I—five months pregnant—am dragged into an alley by a group of street thugs. By the time he finds me, I'm beaten black and blue. I've miscarried, and my uterus has been so severely damaged that it has to be surgically removed. Consumed by rage, Julius severs Yvette's tendons in her limbs, dragging her before me to kneel and beg for my forgiveness. From then on, the underworld kingpin of Marisport washes his hands of the life of crime and devotes himself to doing good. He gets a vasectomy of his own accord and adopts a boy and a girl from the orphanage. "I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to you, Bee." Everything comes crashing down when a stranger shows up at my doorstep. "Bianca Montes, just because you can't conceive doesn't mean you have the right to steal my sister's children!" Before I have time to process his words, he forces me into a car and speeds straight to Kestrel. When we arrive, my adopted children, Elijah Robles and Emma Robles, are clinging to Yvette and calling her "Mom". Yvette giggles as she nestles into Julius' arms. "What do you think Bianca would do if she found out the children are ours? Maybe I should just tell her you think she's filthy. That's the reason you can't get enough of me in my bed." His eyes are bloodshot as he grips her chin. "Keep your mouth shut, and I'll stay with you for another two weeks." The very next second, he lowers his head and kisses Yvette, and what follows is a night of passion. My phone chimes softly. Julius has sent me a message on WhatsApp. "The company's major project has been delayed for another half a month. There's no one to look after the kids at Kestrel, so I had the nanny take them home first." I feel as though I've been plunged into an icy abyss, tears streaming down my face. All his attempts to make things right are nothing but a cruel joke all along. After wiping away my tears, I book a one-way flight out of the country.

The admissions office calls and says my daughter's admission fee has been paid, asking when I'll come to handle enrollment. I'm completely stunned. My daughter, Natalie Steward, is top of her class. She's already guaranteed a spot in the city's best high school, Dream High School, with no admission fee required. Upon questioning my husband, Arnold Lewiston, he claims the admissions office must've made a mistake. He says, "I just wanted to surprise you, so I pulled some strings with the principal to get her into the accelerated track. You should talk to the teachers and make sure we get the best homeroom teacher so I can look good." As soon as I end the call, I slam the accelerator and head straight to the admissions office. On my way there, I call Lynn Warrens, my best friend who works in the State Department of Education. "Help me check under whose name Arnold paid the admission fee for his illegitimate child. I'm going to withdraw them from the school!" I say.

Damian Pierce said we should be a minimalist couple. There was no need for gifts, holidays, and grand gestures. “True love doesn’t need material proof.” My best friend, Sienna Moore, even backed him up. “Exactly. Your husband really gets it. Unlike my ex, who did nothing but shower me with designer bags.” I nodded. We lived that minimalist life for four years. In all that time, I never received a single bouquet of flowers, and not once did he surprise me. On my birthday, he posted a photo of us on his social media with the caption: [Minimalist living. The best gift is simply being together.] The post got over 200 likes. I left a little heart in the comments. Then I came across Sienna’s private account. She had limited-edition handbags, custom-made jewelry, and a room filled with roses. [Someone once said true love doesn’t need material proof, but he insists on proving it to me.] The location was at the presidential suite of a five-star hotel. The date was my birthday. I scrolled through her posts from the past four years. Every single one had been posted on a day that was supposed to belong to Damian and me. Every gift she received had Damian’s taste written all over it. I exited her feed and removed the heart from his post. Just as casually, I ended our relationship.

I went to the bank to report a lost debit card. The teller casually asked, "Sir, there's a recurring patent royalty payment under your name. Would you like to link it to your new card?" Stunned, I froze. "What patent royalties?" The screen revealed that one of the accounts showed a quarterly deposit of $300 thousand in patent royalties. My mind went blank for a full three seconds. Then I remembered that, five years ago, my wife, Danica Pearson, had handed me a stack of documents, saying it was part of the company registration process. She said I "only understood technology, not business", effectively turning me into a figurehead consultant. I took a deep breath and told the teller, "Link it to the new card. From now on, transfer every payment directly to my personal account." That night, while Danica was overseas on a business trip, she booked the earliest flight home. At 2 a.m., she pounded on my bedroom door.

For Founders' Day, Julian Whitmore said he was finally taking me home to meet his family. I spent three months preparing. Then I waited an hour outside his front door. By the time I made it inside, his mother was already holding the hand of a girl in a fitted red dress. "This is Camille," she announced to the room, beaming. "Julian's fiancée. The wedding's set for Thanksgiving." I looked at Julian. He kept his head down. He didn't deny it. All through dinner, he and Camille Sinclair accepted toast after toast of congratulations, while the butler led me in through the side door and sat me at a table in the corner — without so much as a place setting. Three rounds of drinks in, he texted me: [Wait for me. I'll fix this.] I sent back three words: [Congratulations to you.]

In the hall where we held my daughter's wake, I reached for my phone to call my parents. That was when I saw it. My stepsister had posted a video of herself giving birth on social media. In the video, a man cradled the newborn in his arms and wept over her. It was my husband, the man who had supposedly died in a car accident five years ago. The comments below overflowed with likes and congratulations from our relatives. My mother had left three comments of her own: [You worked so hard, my precious girl. Your family of three is finally together again.] My entire body went cold. I called her and demanded an explanation. She dodged every question before finally saying with a resigned sigh, "We helped him fake his death in that car accident years ago. He and Rachel had already been together for a long time. "We only lied to you because we didn't want you to suffer. Your sister just gave birth. It's time you let this go. Don't ruin their happiness." I hung up. Still dressed in mourning black, with the cold seeping into my bones, I called my closest friend, Angeline Brook, a lawyer I had known for ten years. Through my tears, I begged her to help me sue my husband for marriage fraud. Angeline sighed, almost as if she were relieved. "So you finally know. The truth is, I forged your marriage papers all those years ago. You were never legally married. Just consider it a good deed and let them have this." The phone slipped from my hand and shattered against the floor. Everyone had known. They had all kept the truth from me and watched me suffer. At my lowest point, I had nearly died. Still, not one of them had told me the truth. I reached out and touched my daughter's memorial photo. The glass felt cold beneath my fingertips. A violent cough seized me, and blood-flecked foam rose in my throat. I forced it back down and let out a bitter laugh. "Fine. I won't intrude." My bone cancer had already spread throughout my body anyway. I had only days left to live.

After my boyfriend, Mitchell Cooper, finds out that I've spent 300 thousand dollars on a mug, he demands that I buy his mother a single-level apartment that's worth eight million dollars in the heart of the city. Naturally, I turn his ridiculous demand down in a roundabout way. But this sets him off instead. "Don't be so stingy! My mom will become your mom in the future! What's wrong with showering her with gifts in advance?" Afterward, he records all our expenses that have taken place during our relationship on presentation slides and tells me that we have to split them up. "If you think splitting up our expenses is a troublesome thing to do, then you might as well imburse all of them. You're the rich one, after all. "I've already discussed everything with my family. We'll only give you one dollar as a form of wedding gift. It means 'the only one,' which sounds amazing, right?" Upon noticing my lack of response, Mitchell issues the ultimatum right away. "If you refuse to accept these conditions, then we can call off the wedding. You've already dated me for so many years. I'd like to see if anyone wants a second-hand woman like you." I stare at the long list of expenses that need to be split. I even catch sight of the two-dollar Uber fees that were charged when Mitchell came to look for me in the past. With a smile on my face, I reply, "Okay, then. I don't want a single cent from you in terms of wedding gifts. I'll buy your mom that apartment right now."

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.

After I landed a five-million-dollar contract and saved the company from financial collapse, my CEO wife wrapped me in an excited embrace and said she wanted to have a baby with me. She took out her phone and showed me a virtual baby on an app she had just signed up for. "Look, honey," she said. "Isn't it adorable? You can even change how it looks. Do you like it? Once things settle down at the company, we can have a real one." That night, I came across a post by her male secretary on social media. It was a photo of a positive pregnancy test, with my wife's figure visible in the background. I did not comment. I just liked the post. When my wife noticed, she panicked and called me immediately. "Honey, it's not what you think. Please listen to me! I wanted to surprise you. The baby is yours! "Can you clear things up on social media for everyone? I promise I'll give you a child of your own soon." She insisted the baby was mine, yet she seemed to have forgotten that we had not shared a bed in six months. "End the pregnancy," I said. "We're finished."

Penelope Rivera's little boy toy, Theodore Schneider, is throwing another tantrum. She slides the divorce papers across the table toward me. "Just sign them for show. It's to keep Teddy happy." I clench the cuff of my suit and nod in silence. I sign my name in one swift stroke. As I'm walking out, I hear one of her girlfriends teasing, "Samuel's way too easygoing. Does he actually do everything you say?" Penelope takes a graceful sip of red wine and smirks. "Wanna bet?" They bet that I will quietly go through with the divorce at the courthouse, even if my eyes are red with tears. Listening their laughter, I rub my thumb over my phone screen and reply to the message I've just received. "Will you marry me?" it says. "I will."

My son, Yale Foster, had what they called school-pickup anxiety. Every afternoon before dismissal, he needed to know I was home waiting for him. So when he called from his smartwatch yet again to tell me not to come get him, Yates Foster looked genuinely troubled. "Winnie, don't come to the school. "If Yale sees you at the gate, he will start panicking that you're going to leave him. Once he starts crying, no one can calm him down." I stood there with my car keys in my hand, unsure what I was supposed to do. Yates sighed. "Mom's already gone to pick him up. Just stay home and wait for him." That was how three years passed with me almost never picking up my own son from school. Helen Foster handled pickup in my place and went with him on the school's family field trips. Whenever I wanted to go myself, someone always had a reason why I shouldn't. "The entrance gets so crowded. You'll only make him more anxious." "His teacher says Yale's finally getting used to the routine. We shouldn't keep changing who picks him up." "Winnie, you already work so hard. Leave little things like pickup to us." I believed them. Until today, when I happened to see a group chat on Helen's phone. Buried in the group's photo album was a password-protected folder: [Yale's Growing Up] I opened it and found everything I'd missed: school performances, parent-teacher conferences, family field days, graduation photos. Three hundred twenty-seven pictures. In every one of them, Yates, Yara Xavier, and Yale stood together. I wasn't in a single shot. In one photo, Yara even had a name tag pinned to her chest that read: [Yale Foster's Mom] The last file was a video. Yale was holding up an award when he asked, "Dad, why isn't Mom here yet?" Yates smiled and corrected him. "Mommy Yara is already here, isn't she?" Everyone behind the camera burst out laughing. And just like that, I understood. For the past three years, while they kept finding reasons to shut me out, they'd been letting another woman take my place throughout Yale's entire childhood.

I've been married to Federico Moretti for four years, and the entire time, we've lived in a run-down basement. He works three jobs, all to save up money to buy me a house filled with morning sunlight and make it our home. So when the doctor gives me my diagnosis, all I can think about is how I'm about to become a burden to him. When I get home, Federico is crouched in front of a leaking pipe, wrapping tape around it. He looks up and spots the hospital envelope in my hand, his expression darkening. "Sera, how many times have I told you? Those white coats are all crooks. Look at Alfredo's mom. She had a whole bunch of tests done and spent all that money, only to get better after drinking some mulled wine." I glance down at the diagnosis report and suddenly smile. "What if I really am dying?" He frowns. "Don't talk like that. We still owe each other a real wedding. And if you're really sick, I'll make sure you get treated, even if I have to sell my own organs." That night, I swallow all my painkillers at once, determined not to be a burden to him anymore. When I open my eyes again, I'm floating in midair, watching Federico sit on a leather couch inside a private manor. Julia Rossi leans against one of the pillars in the living room, a glass of wine in hand and smiling. "Mr. Moretti, it must have been rough on you, living in that pigeonhole day after day, pretending to be poor for her." Federico takes off his cheap digital watch and tosses it into the fireplace. "You know I love her. But the Black Crown values loyalty above all else, and in my position as Underboss, everyone around me has an angle. Without a setup like this, how could I ever be sure she loves me for who I am and not for my power and money?" Only now do I understand. All those years of scraping by are nothing but a test he carefully staged. However, it has cost me my life.

To stop my boyfriend from marrying me, his mother hired a group of thugs to kidnap me. They dragged me into the woods and tortured me for an entire day and night, leaving barely a patch of uninjured skin on my body. Eden York lost his mind after finding me. He went after every single person involved and ruined them without hesitation, even personally sending his own mother to prison. He never once cared about what had happened to me. If anything, he became even more determined to marry me, willing to turn his back on his entire family to make it happen. But the moment I woke up in the hospital again, a cold mechanical voice suddenly echoed in my head. [Host, your target’s affection level has reached 100%. Final marriage mission unlocked.] [Complete the mission to receive a sixty-million-dollar reward. You may also choose whether to leave this world.] [Warning: If the mission fails, you will be permanently erased from this world.] I was still trying to process the words when Eden’s voice suddenly rang out in my mind. [Perfect. After everything I did with my mother to set this up, I finally maxed out her affection points.] [Once the final mission is complete, I’ll dump her immediately and be with Tiffany instead.] Beside me, Eden instantly noticed how pale I had gone and reached out to touch my face. “Summer, what’s wrong? Are you feeling sick?” I slowly shook my head. “No. I’m just really looking forward to the wedding in seven days.”