Hypocrisy Marriage Short Stories & Novels

Sean Chase had once lost everything after being scammed by his ex-girlfriend. Even after he rebuilt his life, the trauma stayed with him. On the very first day we started dating, he told me he wanted us to split every expense fifty-fifty. "It's the only way I can believe you're with me for me, not my money." I was with him because I loved him, so I agreed. And for the next five years, that was exactly how our relationship functioned. We split the bill for Valentine's Day dinners. We split the cost of a $2.50 pack of birth control pills. We even split our $900 monthly rent. Then, one week before our wedding, my dad got into a car accident and was hospitalized. Almost at the same time, two bills came in. The hospital wanted $17,000 for my dad's surgery, and Sean wanted $1,700 for my half of the wedding dress. I checked my bank account and saw I had less than $14,000. With no way to cover everything, I asked Sean if he could front me the money. Half an hour passed before he finally replied. "Can't keep up the act any longer now that we're about to get married?" Then another message appeared. "Liana Zane, this is worse than what my ex did. At least she was upfront about wanting my money." I tried to explain, but before I could get a message out, he sent another. "How convenient. We're about to get married, and your dad just happens to get into a car accident. Maybe we're bad luck for each other." Maybe he was right. So I returned the wedding dress and walked out of his life.

Married in secret for five years, Yvonne Singer always thought I was just a washed-up nobody from a fallen family. What she didn't know was that I was the sole successor to Guzman Group, the world's largest venture capital firm. She tricked me into attending a cocktail party for the sake of her male best friend, Francis Yorke, and forced me to toast my sworn rival. Furious, I shattered the wineglass in my hand and snapped, "Yvonne, don't push me! Believe it or not, with a single word from me, your company can disappear from the stock market by tomorrow!" Panic flickered in her eyes. The next second, she threw herself into my arms. "Honey, I just needed your help. I didn't mean to hurt you." She then personally fed me a hangover pill and gently escorted me to a private room. When I woke up, I was hanging upside down from a drop tower. Francis slammed the switch. I was sent flying dozens of feet into the air, then plummeting straight down into the water. As my consciousness began to waver, I forced myself to make an emergency call. "Mr. Chance, contact global media outlets. Before nightfall, I want headlines showing them begging on the streets!"

On the morning of our pre-wedding health exam, a health alert popped up on my smartwatch. It was synced to my fiancé, John William. [2:17 AM. Elevated Heart Rate. Location: Clara Gabriel's Apartment.] Beneath it was an activity log. [Vigorous Exercise. 42 minutes.] My fingers went numb. John had insisted on sharing our health data so I would know if he was working too late or suffering a migraine. I never realized that data would track his pulse spiking in another woman’s bed. Looking back, the signs were everywhere. The night Clara had a fever, his heart rate surged until 3:00 AM. The night Clara had insomnia, his heart rate stayed steady in her apartment until dawn. On Clara’s birthday, his watch logged an all-nighter with three distinct heart rate peaks. Whenever I asked, John would just laugh it off. "You're getting jealous over algorithm updates now? You need a hobby." Clara would give a guiltless smile. "He’s just worried about me living alone." I didn't realize worry was meant to be so hands-on. At the clinic, Dr. Gates handed me the registry forms. "Fill in the groom's information so we can set up the joint file." I looked at the blank space next to Spouse and smiled. "Never mind." His heart wasn't mine to monitor anymore.

When we got married, Luke Anderson swore that we would never end up in a divorce. Hence, when I learned that he had cheated on me, I only asked him two questions. “Are you going to break up with her, or is one of us going to die? “Which one of us will die?” Luke stared at the dagger in my hand. Then, he dropped onto his knees and chose me over his lover. After that, in order to ease my mind, no matter how busy he was, he would update me on everything he was doing. He would also return home every single night. My mother watched his behavior and nudged me. “It’s good that he’s learned from his mistakes. I think you should have a baby soon, then both of you could focus on raising your child.” My father agreed with a smile. “After all, he’s a man. Once he has a child, he’ll stop fooling around.” I did not share the same thought, but coincidentally, I got pregnant at the same time. In order to make me keep our baby, Luke transferred 90% of his company shares to me. He made a lot of preparations. Throughout my pregnancy, he did not let me suffer at all. However, just as I was happily looking forward to our family life, Luke brought two children forward to me after I gave birth. One of them was much older than the other. He insisted that they were twins. As he faced my questions, he was not frantic. He snorted and retorted, “Elly, why can’t you just act dumb for once? Do you think I’ll be as nice as I was three years ago?” I was shocked. A hint of glee flashed across his eyes. “Three years ago, you asked me to either break-up or die, and you threatened to kill either one of us. “So, I’ll ask you this now. Do you want your newborn daughter to lose her dad, or do you want her to lose her mom instead?” The memory shot through me like a bullet. It turned out that Luke had not changed his behavior three years ago out of remorse. He was just waiting for the exact moment when I had no choice but to give in to him.

When my husband and I drop by his childhood home for Christmas dinner, my mother-in-law, Melissa Potter, is the only one busying away in the kitchen. Everyone else is on their phones. I've just taken a seat when Melissa begins to lecture me. "What, are you just going to sit your ass down and wait for food to come? Don't you know when to lend a helping hand? Am I supposed to exhaust myself for your sake?" From time to time, she keeps rattling the pots and pans loudly. "I can't believe those with healthy bodies want a 70-year-old like me to serve them! Does anyone here have any conscience?" Feeling a little uneasy, I gave my husband a tiny nudge. "Why don't you help Mom out?" After Melissa hears my suggestion, she gets even more pissed off. Thinking that this is my first Christmas with my in-laws, I don't really want to cause a scene here, so I get up to my feet and help her out. But the moment I enter the kitchen, Melissa delegates all the tasks to me. I endure my fury as much as I can while finishing the Christmas dinner preparations. When I'm about to head back to the dining table and dig in, Melissa suddenly speaks up. "Hold up. We got scores to settle before dinner."

On Valentine’s Day, my girlfriend Florence Higgins was rushed to the hospital after accidentally eating undercooked wild mushrooms. Half-conscious on the hospital bed, she murmured, “Michael… I owed you too much. If my family’s company hadn’t been on the brink of collapse, you wouldn’t have left, and I wouldn’t have ended up with Noah.” I am Noah Owens. As for Michael Connor, he was the love of her life. The one she cherished most during her youth. What she seemed to forget was that when her family’s company was about to collapse, Michael had been the first to walk away. During those seven years, I was the one who helped revive her company, the one who stayed by her side. I believed she might eventually have a change of heart, but I never expected her to abort our child for the sake of her first love. At that moment, I finally understood that you can’t force warmth where there is none.

Every anniversary, Mark had some twisted surprise for me. Our tenth? He strutted into the ballroom holding hands with an escort wearing straight up lingerie. "Jenna, she's cold. Hand over your dress." Then, like that wasn't sick enough: "And the lingerie. She likes your vibe." I clutched my collar, trying to keep it together. He didn't care—just yanked it open. "Cut the act. Your dad sold you to me, remember? That slutty look you used to give me—I still see it." Everyone stared, waiting for me to break. So I did the one thing I could. "I want a divorce." Again. Mark just laughed and chucked a stack of photos on the table—me, covered in marks, curled in bed, a total mess. "You say that every year. And every year, you're back in my bed. Think your mom keeps that hospital spot if these get out?"

On New Year's Eve, I returned home. At the welcome party, my boyfriend, Grayson Caldwell, suddenly appeared, holding a bouquet of red roses and a diamond ring, dropping to one knee. "Although this proposal comes a full three years late, our love will never be late," he said. "Alexa, marry me!" Friends cheered from the sidelines, all expecting me to nod through tears and say yes. But they had forgotten that three years ago, on New Year's Eve, he had promised to propose. That night, I dressed to the nines and waited until dawn—but he never showed up. Instead, there was only a cold phone call. "Tanya is sick. I'm busy taking care of her. You'll have to wait a little longer for the proposal." And so, on New Year's Day, I left the country alone, bound by a family-arranged marriage. I had already married someone else three years ago.

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."

On the day I caught my fiancé, Henry Smith, in our bed with my adopted sister, Stacy Ellis, I slipped into severe depression and took 30 sleeping pills. After I was saved, my parents, Harold and Karen Ellis, told me calmly that Stacy had been diagnosed with a terminal illness and only had three months to live. It was up to me if I wanted to forgive them. Henry teared up as he begged me, "It doesn't matter if you're willing to forgive. I'll keep my promise to give you a wedding in a month." When I saw how much he regretted what he did, I gave in to him. That ended when I came across a private conversation on my brother's phone. His name was Toby Ellis, and he was a doctor. Stacy had sent him a voice note, and she could be heard laughing daintily. "You're so smart, forging that medical report to trick that crazy woman, Toby." My hands were trembling when I confronted my family with the conversation. However, Toby remained silent and smoked his cigarette while my parents looked tired as they blamed me instead. "You're too emotionally fragile. We wouldn't have gone so far as to lie to you if we hadn't been afraid that you'd try to kill yourself again." Henry's eyes were filled with hate as he shielded Stacy behind him. "Can't you just be a little more accepting? Are you really determined to see your family all apart?" I watched the man I loved and my family make demands for me to give in to Stacy. I swallowed hard, tasting blood. In the end, I smiled calmly. They were willing to go as far as to claim that Stacy was suffering from a terminal illness just to protect her. All the while, they were unaware that my severe depression was real. It was also true that somatization was causing many of my organs to fail. I no longer wanted this family, especially when I would not be surviving past this winter.

Everyone told me how lucky I was. I was nothing special, yet somehow, I'd married Julian Ashford, the campus heartthrob who went on to become a once-in-a-generation surgical talent. My best friend, Nora Hayes, had always been the prettiest girl in school. Julian and I had been married for seven years, and everyone thought he adored me. At our wedding, he had even announced in front of all our guests that he would grant Nora one wish. It bothered me a little, but Julian simply cupped my face and looked at me with such sincerity that all my doubts disappeared. "Lena, I love you so much that everyone you care about matters to me too. Besides, Nora's a single mom raising a kid on her own. It's not easy for her." I cried that day, convinced I'd married the best man in the world. Seven years later, at 28 weeks pregnant, I was on my way to another prenatal appointment when I finally saw the truth for myself. "You're such a good boy, Charlie. You know, you were the wish Mommy asked Daddy for. Even when your little sister arrives, Mommy and Daddy will still love you just as much." Julian ruffled Charlie's hair affectionately, his other arm wrapped protectively around Nora. My fingers tightened around my phone until they hurt. I felt as if all the blood in my body had suddenly turned cold. On the screen was a message Julian had sent me only ten minutes earlier. "Hey babe, got called into emergency surgery. I'll definitely come with you next time." Next time. It was always next time. I was already seven months pregnant, and he hadn't attended a single appointment with me, even though his department was only one wing away. I stared at the three of them, looking every bit like a perfect little family. Julian, there won't be a next time.

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.

I've just given Eugene Howard a lavish monetary wedding gift at his wedding when I see him passing me an instant cup noodle with a look of disdain. "You can just eat it at the entrance. You can just broaden your horizons from this spot. Why don't you take a look at yourself in the mirror, Nicholas? Do you really think you have the right to sit at the same table as the bigwigs in the wedding venue?" I suppress my rage for the sake of my fiance, Esther Howard. After all, Eugene is her younger brother. "I'm a wedding guest, so why can't I enter the venue?" Today is the day Esther will be announcing our upcoming marriage. If I get blocked outside the venue, who's going to be there with her when she makes the announcement? But Eugene scoffs at me in return. "You're worth nothing! Just because Esther flashes you a smile after seeing how good-looking you are doesn't mean you have the right to marry her! "Soon, my family will be receiving a ten-billion-dollar investment from the Warner family of Cantonia! That means we'll become the richest family in Geronton! "Plus, my future brother-in-law, Ray Atkinson, is an illegitimate son of the Warner family! A pretty boy escort like you can never compare to him!" Ray Atkinson? Wait, does Eugene seriously think that this nobody, whom I've never heard of in my life, is capable of calling the shots when it comes to my family's investment? I call Esther's number on the spot. "I heard that you want to call off our marriage and marry a bastard child hailing from the Warner family? Well then, I suppose I can retract my ten-billion-dollar wedding gift now."

"Forget it. I'll marry her!" As soon as he utters these words, Cole Gray feels a weight lift off his shoulders. His parents, Samuel Gray and Eleanor Bennett's, delightful voices ring in his ears. "I'm glad you've finally come to your senses, Cole. Your fiancée may be in a vegetative state, but she's beautiful. Sure, she's been in a coma for years, but what if she comes to? She's set to inherit her family business…" There probably isn't another couple in the world who would persuade their own son to marry a woman in a vegetative state while believing he's getting the better end of the deal. Cole lets out a self-deprecating chuckle. "Don't worry. Since I've decided to marry her, I won't go back on my word, nor will I let your beloved adopted son marry her in my place." "What on earth are you on about? You're our flesh and blood. It's just that we can't bear to part with Joseph. "Besides, you know Sienna and Claire both like him. It wouldn't be right to make him marry a woman in a vegetative state. The Lamberts are already preparing for the wedding. "Pack your belongings, Cole. In half a month, the Lamberts will send someone to take you to Northcap." After fobbing him off, Samuel and Eleanor end the call.

Peter Crowley finds out that it's been three days since I last lodged a purchase request from him. Thinking that I've finally learned how to become a good wife, he decides to text me as a form of reward. "I've already restored your adoptive mother's treatment privileges. You should be more docile from now on. Don't keep lying just to ask for more money from me. "I know that it's tough, being from the bottom rung of the society and all, but I'm not a gullible idiot, you know." What Peter doesn't know is that I've already finished drafting a divorce agreement by the time I receive his text. Before leaving the manor, the only thing I can take with me is the white T-shirt and the jeans I wore when I first married into this family. No one will ever believe that I, the glamorous and radiant Mrs. Crowley, don't have enough decent clothes to take up an entire closet. Every cent meant for any private expenses needs to go through a corporate approval system. All of the fancy clothes and jewelry are locked up in a safe, too. If I ever need money, I'll have to submit a request to Peter's secretary, Cara Harden. This is all because Peter looks down on my background. He thinks that I'll somehow develop a bad habit of spending money excessively just because I've married rich. But three days ago, my adoptive mother was in critical condition. I quickly put in a request for 200 thousand dollars for her surgical bills, only for Cara to drag out the approval system's procession. In the end, my adoptive mother died in the hospital. Peter has no idea that the only reason why I can tolerate his behavior for so many years is for the sake of the medical resources that can cure my adoptive mother. Now that my adoptive mother is dead, there's no need for me to continue staying in this marriage.

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.

During summer break, I returned home unannounced, hoping to surprise my family. But the moment I stepped through the door, my elder brother, Ronan, called the police. "Hello. I'd like to report a burglary at my house." Only when the police officer handcuffed me did I snap out of my trance and scream, "Dad, Mom, Julian, don't you recognize me? I'm Alba!" My parents shook their heads in unison. "We don't know her." Even Julian Murphy, the man I had dated for five years, averted his gaze. "I guess she's a stalker who thinks I'm her boyfriend." I spent fifteen days drowning in despair. Finally, my best friend, Samantha Lynch, showed up and bailed me out. I couldn't help but complain bitterly about the absurdity of the situation. "Sammy, how could Ronan do this to me? If it was a prank, it wasn't funny…" But Samantha offered no comfort. Instead, she took me to a five-star hotel. Before I could ask why we were there, I looked out the window—and froze. Outside in the courtyard, Julian and my twin sister were kissing passionately among the rose bushes. My parents stood nearby, smiling proudly as they raised their glasses to the guests. Samantha sighed. "There's one thing I need to tell you. Julian has always been in love with Bianca. It was their engagement ceremony the other day. However, your unannounced return triggered her, and she almost committed suicide. Your untimely return almost ruined the wedding. You already had Julian to yourself for five years. Why don't you let him go now and give them the happiness they deserve?" As confetti poured down like rain, two trails of hot tears marked my cheeks. Everyone I knew had worked together to protect Bianca, as though she were made of glass. But they treated me like an outsider. And from beginning to end, I had been the only one left in the dark.

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.]

During a summer road trip, a sudden car crash occurred on the highway. My boyfriend and my sister lunged forward without hesitation, sheltering me behind their bodies. My body emerged uninjured, but shattered glass pierced through my eyes, leaving me permanently blind. Overwhelmed with guilt, they cared for my every need, vowing to serve as my eyes for the rest of their lives. Though I lost my sight, I still felt deeply blessed. As our wedding day drew near, I was unexpectedly bound with a vision restoration system. "Host's vision has been restored. If no one detects your recovery within three days, your eyesight will be restored. If anyone finds out, you will die instantly." Overjoyed, I accepted the terms. But right after I finished trying on my wedding gown, as my boyfriend was driving me home and stopped at a red light, he suddenly leaned back. My sister leaned forward naturally from the back seat, and the two of them locked lips.

It's been three years since I got married, and life's just been getting better and better. My company is flourishing, and my wife is a successful career woman. However, I have a friend from my college days who has already sabotaged a few families among our friend group. He can't bear to see others doing better than him. One day, during a gathering with friends, he slung his arm over my shoulder and said earnestly, "Alan, look at you. After you got married, you lost all freedom. You now live like a simp. Can you still call yourself a man? I've booked a private room somewhere fun tonight, and no one's allowed to leave! Let's have a blast and party all night!" I swallowed my discomfort and went along with them, only to find out what he meant by "having a blast" was hiring some professional ladies. And he even dragged me along to try my luck at gambling.