Hypocrisy Marriage Short Stories & Novels

“Honey, let’s make a baby together so that you won’t leave me.” I resisted, but my husband ignored it and forced himself onto me. After that, I did it with him 520 times, each time a nightmare for me. Even when he was on business trips, he had to monitor my every move via video, terrified that I would run away. However, one day, I received an invitation to an art exhibition. The intimate gestures between my husband and me had been turned into works of art, filling the entire gallery. My husband held a young female intern by the waist, his gaze sweeping over me with indifference. “Two years ago, you insisted on going against Tiara over an art collectible and suppressed her during the auction, spending lavishly just to humiliate her.” “Now there are 520 art pieces here, an exhibition showcasing your disgrace. If you don’t want them falling into someone else’s hands, you’ll need to bid on them one by one.”

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.

Three years after my husband, George Martins, cheated and begged to come home, I cheated too. He rushed home to find me lying on our marital bed. My skin was covered in fresh love bite marks and dark bruises. "George, no wonder you cheated on me so many times. "I get it now. It feels amazing." George's eyes snapped wide. His gaze turned bloodshot. He grabbed my throat and slammed me into the mattress. "Clara, do you really hate me this much? "I came home! I became the perfect husband! What more do you want from me?" He wasn't lying. For three years, he did everything to make me feel safe. He handed over his phone every night. He video-called me every five minutes whenever he left the house. He knew his infidelity made my skin crawl. Every time he wanted intimacy, he scrubbed his body three times and disinfected himself five times. My fingertips trembled. I stared straight into his eyes. "Your body came back, but what about your mind? "Every time you get drunk, you scream Maya's name! Every dress you buy me is a white gown she would wear! “You bring home her favorite roses on our anniversary! Even the anniversary ring you bought me was fitted to her finger! "You cut physical ties with her, but you're forcing me to turn into her!" George's hand shook against my neck. He forced a twisted smirk. "Clara, you have no right to lecture me now. I cheated, sure. But are you any better?" "We’re both trash. We deserve each other." His shameless words turned my three years of silent agony into a complete joke. Exhaustion settled heavy in my chest. I didn't want this marriage anymore.

After I got a second chance at life, I stopped bringing lunch to my wife, who had become the factory manager. She would leave for meetings through the south gate, so I would sneak around through the north. In my previous life, I knew she only married me with an ulterior motive, but I still fell for her. I thought I could warm her heart over time. However, Shirley Scott was always just polite to me, nothing more. When I tried to get close, she would hand me a book and say, "Read more so people won't look down on you." Once, with a bit of liquid courage, I hugged her. Yet, she just stood there, stiff as a board, and said, "It's what married folks do." Years later, as I was dying, I read her memoir and learned about how she felt trapped in our marriage, like being stuck in the mud. She hoped she would never have to be with me again in another life. That hurt more than anything. However, then, I woke up and discovered that I was back to when there were whispers about her and the factory's technician. This time, I did not make a scene. I just asked for a divorce.

I grew up alongside the Don of the Vitale family. I took a bullet for him and lost the son I was carrying. I helped move the family’s operations from Sicily to Milan and built the Vitale name into one no one dared look down on. The day Matteo took over as Don, he kissed me in front of everyone and declared that I would be his one and only Donna for the rest of his life. For six years, there had never been another woman by his side. Everyone said Matteo loved me more than anything. Every summer, he returned to Sicily for a family gathering. I asked to go with him three times, and each time something happened that kept me in Milan. This year, on the eve of his birthday, I secretly flew to Sicily alone. I wanted to surprise him. In the familiar courtyard of the old estate, Matteo was sitting beneath an orange tree with a little boy in his arms. The boy called him “Papà.” A woman in a long dress walked toward them carrying a freshly baked tart. “You come back every year for your birthday just to be with us. Aren’t you afraid she’ll find out?” Matteo smiled at her. “No. The family needs her.” “She’s the Donna of the Vitale family. She knows she has to put the family first. You’re the one waiting for me at home.” Standing outside the courtyard gate, I suddenly understood. Matteo had left me to run the family. He had given her a home with him. And I no longer wanted to put his family first. So I booked a one-way ticket to Albania for seven days later.

At the final meeting before the company's IPO, my wife, who was supposed to give the presentation, was absent. I called her multiple times, but she never answered. Because of her absence, the company lost the bid and became the laughingstock of the industry. Right at that moment, her male best friend uploaded a new post. "It's just a cold. Look at how worried she is." I clicked on it. There was my wife, whom I hadn't seen in days, crouched beside him, fawning over him as she gave him his medicine. I was utterly disappointed. In that moment, the five years we had spent together vanished completely.

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."

My husband, Jasper Anderson, never showed up for any of our daughter's activities and events. He said that there were thousands of employees relying on him for a living, so he had no time for what he called children's games. Still, he made an exception for Sadie performing Swan Lake for the first time. "I'll be seated in the front row." He promised her sincerely. The show had already been going on for ten minutes, yet his seat remained empty. I tried to call him many times in the lobby. My mother-in-law, Beatrice Anderson, said, "Jasper went to the airport to pick up a client. His phone ran out of battery. Stop calling and pestering him." Jasper's younger brother, Kai Anderson, said, "Jasper's car broke down on the highway. I'm on my way there to help him." Jasper's assistant, Vincent John, went as far as sending me a photo of the meeting room. "Mr. Anderson had to stay back at work due to a stakeholder. He'll head over immediately once the meeting's over." Sadie held my hand through the curtain and whispered, "Mommy, don't be angry. Daddy must be very busy at work." Everyone was trying to prove to me that his absence was not his fault. However, they did not know that I was standing outside the multipurpose hall, watching Jasper inside. He was hugging another woman's son as they stood in the middle of the award podium. That woman, Dakota Reid, smoothed Jasper's collar before she stood on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. The emcee laughed and asked the young boy, Xander Reid, whom he wanted to thank the most today. Xander hugged Jasper and said with his boyish voice, "Thank you, Daddy!" I suddenly felt that he no longer deserved a place here. Not just in the theater, but in our lives too.

My CEO wife, Cassandra Solis, has high hopes for me. In fact, she has drafted an elite training program for me. I have to work over 20 hours a day, finish every meal within 3 minutes, and spend no more than a minute in the restroom. "Honey, elites must achieve what normal people can't. Only when you become a true elite can I entrust the company to you." I can feel the major responsibility weighing down on my shoulders. Every day, I devote everything I have to work. Five years later, I've successfully taken the company public. I've also completed Cassandra's hardcore training program. But at the end-of-the-year gala, Cassandra hands over the position of the Executive Vice President—the same one that she's promised to me—to her newly-recruited assistant. Upon noticing my displeasure, Cassandra explains to me smilingly while holding a bouquet of flowers, "Oh, silly you! Having a completely useless boss is the final trial I've set up for you! Once you've completed this trial, I can finally hand the company to you!" But lines of text suddenly flash across my vision. "Oh, poor Harvey! He still has no idea that Cassandra has been training him just so he can earn more money in order to clear off Xavier's debt! Not only that, but she also steals the position Harvey has been longing for and gives it to Xavier! Cassandra really has crossed a line this time!" "You're being too dramatic. Cassandra is just paying Xavier back for his benevolence. She feels guilty for what she's done to Harvey, you know. Once she's done paying back her debt to Xavier, she'll pay attention to Harvey once again and live happily ever after with him." I'm stunned by what I see. Is this the actual purpose behind the elite training program? I'm about to pull out the terminal cancer diagnosis report, but I quickly stuff it back into my pocket. It's a shame that I'm about to die. I suppose that I can't live long enough to see that day.

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, Chandler Goodwin, claims that he doesn't understand what the phrases "silent treatment" or "giving the cold shoulder" mean. Yet, in the three years we have been married, he has never once spoken to me sweetly. The first time we have a falling out, I remain proud and dignified. We end up ignoring each other for seven days straight. The seventh time we have a cold standoff, I start to panic a little. However, despite trying all sorts of methods, he doesn't back down. The 11th time it happens, I have already learned to work through my emotions myself. Chandler doesn't even need to say anything before I take the initiative to apologize first. I simply think that he's just a naturally indifferent person, that nobody can warm his stone-cold heart. Then, on the third year of our marriage, I accidentally ruin his dress shirt while ironing it. Chandler doesn't say a word, but that very night, he packs his things and moves into a hotel. On the third day of being blocked, I head to his company with a handwritten apology. While passing by his office, I spot him leaning over to shoot his angry assistant a doting smile. "I'm sorry for raising my voice at you just now and upsetting you. It's been 57 minutes since you started ignoring me. Please stop giving me the cold shoulder, alright?" I freeze on the spot, the apology letter in my hand practically burning my fingers. As it turns out, it's not that he doesn't know what the silent treatment means—it's just that I've never been the person he wants to coax.

The day Ethan Pierce’s stepsister, who suffered from depression, threatened suicide for the ninety-ninth time, he abandoned me at the altar for the ninety-ninth time. "As a psychiatrist, I have a responsibility to my patient." And just like that, the system declared that I had failed my mission. My punishment was severe depression. Every last trace of my will to live was taken from me. From that day on, all I wanted was to die as quickly as possible so I could return to my original world. By the time Ethan finally realized that I truly wanted to die, he was desperate. He used everything he had learned in his entire career to try to cure me. To awaken even the slightest bit of love I had once felt for him. To force me to stay in this world. But I didn’t want him anymore. I hadn’t for a long time.

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.

Ever since I had an abortion after being raped, I've been struggling with severe depression. Five years ago, on my wedding night with Zane Gordon, his ex-girlfriend Vanessa Bailey—who hates me with a passion—abducts me, and I vanish for three whole months. When Zane and his men finally find me in a remote mountain village, I'm locked in a cellar, my belly swollen, my eyes hollow and lifeless. Zane loses his mind right then and there. After rescuing me, he stops at nothing to take revenge on everyone who hurt me. The Bailey family is destroyed overnight, and Vanessa is sent to prison to pay for her crimes for the rest of her life. For the past five years, every time I have an episode and start hurting myself, Zane drops to his knees, holds me in his arms, and begs for forgiveness over and over again. Despite being a staunch atheist, Zane goes to the chapel on the 15th of every month and spends three days there in penance. Then comes the day I find out I'm pregnant again. Determined to move forward, I throw away everything I've used to harm myself and head to the chapel to find Zane, taking my positive pregnancy test with me. I think a new life is finally about to begin. Instead, through a half-open door, I see two figures tangled together. "Zane, you've kept me locked up here for five years and punished me every month under the guise of doing penance. Do you really hate me that much?" She smirks and asks, "Who satisfies you more? Me or that cripple, Liana? Hmm?" Vanessa's ragged, breathless moans send a shock through me, leaving my whole body numb. In that instant, it hits me that the new life I've been imagining is nothing but a cruel joke.

When the fire trapped me, my Alpha mate, Graeme Blackwood, was throwing a birthday party for my little sister, Ayana. I was locked in the basement, trembling so violently my bones clattered against each other. When the flames first caught, I called him. Begged him. His voice was ice. "Evelyn, stop the act. It's Ayana's birthday. I'm not letting you out just so you can ruin it. Let her have her night. Once she's happy, I'll let you out." I tried to explain. With the last shred of strength I had, I called him again. He hung up on me. So I just watched. Watched the flames swallow everything.

My husband and I have been legally married for five years. This is the tenth time he's canceled our wedding ceremony. This time? His student, Laura, is competing in her first international violin competition—and he 'needs' to be there. I still remember the last cancellation: an awards ceremony he had to attend with her. The time before that? She fell ill, and he stayed at her hospital bedside. The other times? I've lost count of the excuses, but it doesn't matter. The reason is always Laura. Her needs always outweighed my wedding. My marriage. My life. Fine. If he wanted to stand by Laura so badly, he could stay there forever. This hollow, five-year farce of a marriage? It's over.

I lived for racing, but my wife, Whitney Cross, supposedly got so motion sick that even a fast elevator ride could make her throw up. Whenever I suggested a drive along the winding mountain roads, she went pale and refused, claiming she was born with a balance disorder. Then a TikTok trend went viral, with guys posting videos of their girlfriends struggling with things that wouldn't faze most people. I joined in and posted a clip of Whitney dry heaving after a ride on a carousel. The comments quickly filled with sympathy. [She's so delicate! You'd better treat her like a princess.] But then a couple of comments caught my eye. [Hold on, isn't that Whitney Cross? The Queen of Suicide Mountain? She once broke two ribs while riding as Craig Fisher's navigator and still refused to get out of the car.] [Those two were practically inseparable in the underground racing scene. The moment Craig retired, Whitney vanished from the scene, too.] I stared at the screen as everything finally clicked. Whitney didn't get carsick. She just couldn't stand being in the passenger seat with anyone but Craig.

I begged my husband for weeks before he finally agreed to come with me to my prenatal appointment. The whole time, he just stood there with his hands buried in his pockets, watching me coldly as I handled everything on my own—paying the bills, checking in at the front desk, running around like crazy until I was completely overwhelmed. The second I walked into the exam room, he vanished into thin air. And to top it off, he took off in my car, leaving me to take the bus home by myself. As soon as I got on the bus, my phone buzzed. He'd sent me a screenshot of a receipt: [Companionship fee: 50 dollars] [Round-trip gas: 7 dollars] [Total: 57 dollars] There was also a voice message attached. "Our marriage is strictly fifty-fifty. What does your pregnancy checkup have to do with me? Why should I give up my day off to go to the hospital with you?" Listening to that icy message, I suddenly remembered the way he once got down on his knees in front of me, begging me to help pay for his education. I was so angry, I just started laughing. Fine then. If this was a fifty-fifty marriage, it was time to settle the score!

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.

My son, Nick Hammerback's grades suddenly skyrocket after he spends the summer supposedly getting tutored at his classmate's house. Wanting to thank the family, I bring his classmate's mother a gift at the first parent-teacher meeting of the school year. Instead, she looks completely confused. "Tutoring? That never happened. Our whole family spent the summer in Rosta." My smile freezes. When I get home, I demand to know where Nick has really been going all summer. Instead of answering, he gets irritated and storms off. "Why does it matter? You're the one who's always telling me to study harder. Now I'm getting good grades, and you're still not happy?" Then I notice an essay he's left on the table. The assignment is titled "The Person I Want to Thank Most." His title makes my heart soften. It reads, "My Mom." But the warmth lasts only a second. According to the essay, his mom spends the entire summer helping him study. She loves wearing white dresses, while I never wear white because I'm always doing housework. Just before school starts, the three of them even take a family vacation together. The dates match the exact days my husband, David Hammerback, claims he's away on a business trip. I stare at Nick's perfect-score essay and finally understand. David is lying to me, and now my son has learned to lie too. They haven't just built a second family behind my back. Nick has already fallen in love with his new "mom". That evening, after dinner, Nick announces that he's heading out for another "tutoring session". David immediately offers to drive him, claiming he needs to stop by the office anyway. This time, I simply smile and let them go. If they love their other family so much, they can keep it. Starting tonight, neither of them needs to come home.