Historias cortas de Tragic Love y novelas con Independence ambientadas en Cheating

When my grandma is on her deathbed, she tells me hoarsely that her only wish is to see me get married. I keep crying to the point that I can barely utter a word. That's when my entire family turns to look at my boyfriend, Robert Fuller. Robert lets out a small sigh before wiping my tears off my face gently. Then, he leads me out of the ward. But as soon as the door is closed behind us, his expression goes cold. "Clary, we've been together for seven years. You know I hate getting forced into doing things by others the most. "Love is something that occurs by nature. It shouldn't be forced to happen just because others have opinions on how it should go." He strokes my hair comfortingly. "Let's not rush our marriage, hmm? Why don't we breach this topic again once things in my company go steady after it gets listed. What do you think? "Anyway, I have a meeting to attend at night. You should deal with your family for the time being. I'll bring you a gift when I visit you tonight." Before I can respond to Robert, he turns on his heel and leaves with his secretary, Mikayla Glenn. The moment they enter the elevator, I witness Mikayla standing on her tiptoes so that she can arrange Robert's tie for him skillfully. Robert never turns her away. After wiping my tears away, I return to the ward and take Grandma's hand with a smile. "Don't worry, Grandma. I'll get married in three days. Before I get married, I want you to do my hair for me."

Half a month ago, I found out my husband, Vincent, was cheating on me. I accidentally discovered an encrypted burner phone hidden in a secret compartment of his armored SUV. Inside were dozens of explicit photos and countless graphic, flirtatious texts. The other person was his hot chief secretary, Chloe. The fairy tale was shattered by reality. I looked at the positive pregnancy test in my hand and calmly threw it into the trash can. I put the phone back exactly as I found it. That very day, I had my lawyer draft the divorce papers and signed my name, stroke by stroke. I opened my phone and replied to an email:[Professor, I officially accept the invitation to the Zurich Institute.] This time, I won't look back.

The results of the arts entrance exam have been released. All seven colleges that my best friend, Nicole Porter, applied to have rejected her. If she wants to get into college, she'll have to work hard on her general admission exams. So, I seek out my boyfriend, Preston Nolin, who's the top of our year, and ask him to tutor Nicole. However, Preston, who has always been mild-tempered, seems extremely reluctant to do so. "Fi, you've helped Nicole out far too many times over the past few years. When she couldn't pay her school fees, you were the one who paid them for her using the prize money you won from the competitions. "When Nicole's sexist parents caused a ruckus at school, you were the one who called the police on them. But because of that, her family got their revenge on you and almost left you blind in your left eye. "Now, Nicole can't even get into any of the seven colleges she applied to. Since she's not book-smart, she should just drop out of high school and find a job. This outcome is the best for everyone involved." Preston and I have been in a relationship for three years. Yet, this is my first time getting mad at him. "Nikki is my best friend as well as the most important person in my life! You're not allowed to badmouth her like this! Since you don't want to help her at all, then we might as well break up!" In order to avoid breaking up with me, Preston has no choice but to comply. Later on, Nicole's grades keep improving by leaps and bounds. I've also worked hard in my studies, resulting in me getting pretty decent grades in my College Entrance Examination. In fact, I've hit the threshold where I can attend one of the most prestigious colleges in the state with Preston. But when there's barely a minute left before the deadline is up, Nicole changes my dream college to the top college in the country, one that I'm definitely not qualified for. As for Preston, he just watches Nicole tamper with my application without showing any intention of stopping her.

It was my son's engagement party. However, my husband stopped me from giving my soon-to-be daughter-in-law her gift. "His mother will do the honors. This is not your place." I thought he was joking until he put his arm around his childhood sweetheart and sat down together around the main table. "I know Bianca mishandled your baby, but she had postpartum depression, and it was an accident. "She gave you Jason to make up for her mistake. It's time for them to be a family again. She has atoned for her sins." My nails dug into my palms hard enough to draw blood. Just when I was on the brink of losing it, my son raised a toast to her. "Someone has stolen your place for 30 years, Mom, but you'll never have to suffer again." Right now, my husband and son were like strangers I'd never met instead of my family. A bitter smile curled my lips. We'd spent more than three decades together. Time had left its mark on my graying hair, yet I was treated as nothing more than an outsider in a place I was supposed to call home. Perhaps this home was too small to fit all of us. Since that was the case, someone had to bow out and that someone… was me.

I just set up my husband's best friend, Abigail, with a guy. Then he looked at me and said, “You’re nasty.” I froze, unable to process the words. From the backseat, my son, Liam, doubled down. “Mom, Dad and Aunt Abigail have been together for two years. He gave you so many hints. How did you not notice?” I turned pale. My hands were still peeling the snacks I’d bought for them. “Why...?” Danny’s eyes met mine in the rearview mirror. He looked completely bored. “I didn't want to say anything. But now that you set Abigail up with someone else. Do you have any idea how hard she cried today?” He paused. “Divorce or separation. Pick one.”

When the earthquake occurs, Kenneth Scott's childhood sweetheart, Gigi Lynch, and I are trapped under the debris at the same time. When I see the rescue equipment that Kenneth has tossed into the debris, I decide to give up on saving myself. So, I let Gigi have the opportunity to get rescued. In my previous lifetime, I successfully got rescued by Kenenth. But Gigi ended up getting crushed to death by the crumbling debris. Needless to say, she died a terrible death. After Gigi died, Kenneth hugged me and cried throughout the night. I thought he was crying tears of relief. That was, until he drugged me and had me delivered to the surgical table. When I woke up, I realized that my face had gone under the knife, making me look exactly like Gigi. I scratched at my face like a lunatic, only for Kenneth to grasp my wrists firmly. "Gigi traded her life to save yours! It's your duty to live this life for her from now on!" But later on, Kenneth was never satisfied with me. He kept criticizing me, saying that my gaze wasn't right, and my voice wasn't the same as Gigi's. All in all, I could never become her. After that, I got pregnant. Kenneth responded by bringing me miscarriage-inducing medication. I sank to my knees and begged Kenneth to spare the baby. In fact, I kept groveling to him till my forehead started bleeding. But Kenneth merely replied icily, "Impostors like you don't have the right to give birth to my child." Then, he gripped me by my chin and forced the bowl of boiling medicine down my throat. I felt as though my throat was being scalded. At the same time, blood kept oozing from my lower region. When my vision went blurry, Kenneth pushed me into a newly-dug pit. "Gigi is too lonely in the afterlife. Why don't you keep her company?" Mounds of dirt kept falling onto me. While I fought for air, I heard Kenneth's cruel laughter drifting from the surface. When I open my eyes again, I've returned to the moment I'm about to get rescued.

Since it's already the end of the year, I'm slacking off at my job. That's when I come across a forum post on the Internet. "My husband has gone on a business trip on his own. This is the photo he sent me when he updated me on his situation. Everyone, can you please take a look at the photo and tell me if there are any problems with it?" The Internet users are quick to go into their Sherlock Holmes mode. Still, they aren't able to spot any problems with the photo. But a comment is quick to catch my attention. "Am I the only one who thinks that this post is a clickbait? Could it be that a disloyal jerk who's cheating on his wife wants to proclaim his devotion toward her but is scared that he might get caught? Maybe that's why this photo is uploaded here instead so that everyone can help him find out what's wrong with this photo!" As soon as the comment is posted, the original poster deletes the post instantly. This makes me frown. At the same time, my husband, Gavin Prescott, sends me a photo on WhatsApp. "Honey, here's my daily update! Your darling husband is still devoted to you as always!" As I stare at the photo, which is exactly the same one that was posted on the Internet, I feel my heart sinking. This is definitely not a coincidence!

Two years after the death of my husband, John Foster, I get a video call from him—except it's him from five years in the future. "John! You're still alive! Tell me where you are. I'm coming now to bring you home!" Crying tears of joy, I scramble to pick up the car keys I dropped, only to hear him say, "Actually, I faked my death to be with your friend…" As my mind goes blank, he continues to tell me everything as if none of it is a big deal. "I attended my funeral. The whole time you were crying beside my casket, I was in the back room with Adaline, getting it on with her. You thought her eyes were red because she was crying in grief. "Oh, my mother and our son know that I faked my death, too. Every year, they've found all kinds of excuses to come spend time with us instead…" My blood turns cold. My hand shakes as I clutch the phone. Meanwhile, John exhales, looking like he has taken a load off his chest. "I've already told you the truth about everything now, Cecilia, so it's up to you whether you want to continue living like a widow."

In the fifth year of my marriage with Lionel Kruger, I suddenly develop an ability to see everyone's ranking system. To my mom, I'm ranked first. To my best friend, I'm ranked second after her daughter. Even the owner of the breakfast cart in the neighborhood views me as his sixth favorite person in his life. Delighted, I rush off to see Lionel's ranking system. His mom ranks first, whereas Natalie Cooper is ranked second. That's me! I'm ranked second! That piece of news makes me smile throughout the day. That is, until I see an unfamiliar name taking up the sixth spot—Lindsay Sloan. I tell myself that it's fine. I'm ranked second, while she's ranked sixth. But the next few days, I witness Lindsey's name climbing slowly up the ranks to the point she's almost reaching my rank. That evening, Lionel comes home and hugs me as usual. "I missed you." As I stare at the ranking system above his head, I notice that Lindsay, who's now ranked third, is slowly climbing upward as he speaks. "Lionel, who's Lindsey Sloan?" At that moment, Lionel freezes up while hugging me.

At the World Rally Championship Final, my fiancee, Brielle Fuller, deliberately gave me the wrong turn call. Because of her, I lost the championship. Right there on the spot, she called off our engagement and ran straight into the arms of my rival, Chase Monroe. Just when I thought I'd lost everything, my childhood friend, Naomi Sutton, proposed to me. "It's okay. To me, you'll always be number one." Seven years later, I rebuilt my career and fought my way back to the top. Just as I was preparing to break Chase's championship record, a brake failure sent my car plunging off a mountainside. While drifting in and out of consciousness at the hospital, I overheard a conversation outside my room. "You're ruthless. You actually did something like this. Weren't you afraid he might die?" "If he dies, so be it. The only person I've ever loved is Chase. I only regret that you married him before I could. Otherwise I wouldn't have had to put myself through that all these years." I stared wide-eyed into the darkness. The love I thought was so deep was nothing more than wishful thinking. If they cared so much about Chase, then maybe I should disappear.

The day before my period, I found a note on my fiancé's phone. [Her period starts tomorrow. I already packed pads and painkillers in her bag.] I smiled. It was such a small thing, but it felt thoughtful. The next day, a dull ache twisted in my lower stomach. Pale and uncomfortable, I dug through my crossbody bag. Nothing. Dark red blood stained my pants. Students pointed behind me and whispered with awkward laughs. I figured he'd just forgotten at the last minute. Then the new intern teacher posted on social media. [Just started working, and my supervising teacher is literally the sweetest! He even got me pads and painkillers. This period has been pain-free!] The photo showed a pack of pads, an ibuprofen tablet, and a mug of ginger tea. The painkillers were mine—the ones I'd kept stocked at home for years because of my cramps. The pads were the only brand my skin could tolerate. I turned off my phone and stared at the engagement ring on my finger for a long time. Then I stood up and headed to the principal's office to apply for the overseas teacher exchange program. Seven years. He still couldn't remember my cycle. And now, he never would have to.

To give my wife a sense of security, I stepped back once the company was on track and took over things at home. In ten years, Adeline Hemsley had never brought me to a single company gala. When the tenth anniversary celebration was announced at a five-star hotel, I finally asked if I could come with her. She was slipping into a pair of heels, not even looking in my direction. "You're my husband. If you show up, people won't feel comfortable." Before leaving, she leaned down and gave me a quick kiss. "Be good. Once this busy stretch is over, we'll take Cole to Silver Coast." The door clicked shut. I stood there for a long moment, staring at the Legos and picture books scattered across the floor. A familiar heaviness settled in my chest. Our three-year-old came running over, holding up a black phone. "Dad! Mom forgot her phone!" I hesitated. This wasn't the one she normally used. The moment my fingers brushed the screen, a message preview popped up. [Babe, I picked out a suit for the gala. It's only 6,000. You’ll get it for me, right?]

On the very day I underwent a vasectomy, Susan bought the designer tuxedo I had been eyeing for months. However, her next words struck me like a bolt of lightning. “Tomorrow is my baby’s sip-and-see. I need you looking your best.” The IV needle snapped right out of the back of my hand. With bloodshot eyes, I begged her to stop playing around. However, her face remained dead serious. “Choosing to be childfree back then was just a compromise because we were struggling. But now, I’m sitting on a multi-million dollar estate. I need an heir to inherit my fortune. My child will be your child, too. From now on, you will be the baby’s godfather.” In that exact moment, my vision blurred. “So, you pushed me to get a vasectomy just to secure the positions of your lover and your illegitimate child?" I spat out. Susan frowned, annoyed. “Myles, watch your mouth. I am giving you the status of my official husband, and I'm giving Owen the child. It’s a fair trade. Staying with me means you get to be a father without any of the pain. If you leave me, who else would ever want a sterilized man like you? Think about it wisely.” The pain hit me all at once as the anesthesia wore off. Yet, I couldn’t help but remember that once upon a time, she had carried a child of ours that she refused to accept.

My wife, Sophie Souza, cheats on me when she gets drunk. That's when she gets pregnant with her assistant, Dylan Hart's baby. By the time I come across Sophie's pregnancy report, she's already three months into her pregnancy. I tell her outright that I will choose to forgive her as long as she aborts the baby. But Sophie asks me coldly, "Which one will you choose? Me or your dignity?" I remain silent for a very long time afterward. In the end, I leave a divorce agreement behind and completely vanish from Sophie's world. But that's when she claims that she regrets making me choose.

It was the fifth year of my secret marriage to the CEO. At the company's annual gala, her male assistant got down on one knee and proposed to her in front of everyone. The way she looked at him was filled with nothing but affection. Caught up in the crowd's cheers and chants, she said yes. After the gala, I signed the divorce papers and handed them to her. Her assistant put on a sheepish, apologetic face and said, "I'm so sorry—I just wanted to know what it felt like to propose. Please don't be upset, Mr. Gabehart." She rushed to comfort him, then barely glanced at me and said, "You'd better think this through. At your age, honestly—who else would want you if you leave me?"

I made a deal with the Devil. My soul, in exchange for seven days on earth after I died. The eleventh hour after my death happened to fall on our third wedding anniversary. The moment I walked through the door, he had just come home from another woman's place. He had an anniversary gift waiting for me. A set of sapphires. But the card tucked beside them bore another woman's name. I spotted a pale lavender hair tie in his hand. Once, I would have fought him over a hair tie like that, all the way from the front hall to the study. This time, I said nothing. It was him who froze instead, staring at me like I was a stranger. "You didn't used to be like this. I almost miss the way you used to fall apart over everything." He was right. The old me would have thrown a fit over something as small as him forgetting to cut my steak. But ever since the miscarriage, my heart had been dying by slow degrees. When I found out I was pregnant, I was overjoyed. I wanted him to be the first to know. But I couldn't reach him, no matter how many times I called. I lost the baby. I hemorrhaged. That very afternoon, while I lay on the operating table, a photo of him and that woman hit the entertainment headlines. He never even knew I had carried a child. Now there was only one last thing I wanted from him. To drive me up to the northern coast, and bury me with his own hands. But when he realized I had truly vanished from this world, he came undone.

After my wife’s attempt to start a business failed, we lost everything. So I started working three jobs just to lighten her burden. When I was up on the thirtieth floor of a high-rise cleaning windows, there was a family celebrating a birthday inside. I looked inside enviously but unsuspectingly found my wife pushing out a cake made out of money to the older woman whose birthday was being celebrated. Through the window, I heard some conversation going on inside. “This is such a hard place to reserve, but Miss Pascal rented the whole floor out for her mother-in-law’s birthday!” “The tips she’s giving out tonight must be worth millions!” Suspended in midair, I nearly forgot how to breathe. What no one knew was that Miss Pascal’s real mother-in-law had just died in the hospital not long ago.

It started with a sudden downpour. I turned around to buy an umbrella. By the time I got back, Winston Sterling had already draped his overcoat across Sera Thorne’s shoulders. He pulled me under the umbrella, his tone gentle, as if soothing a spoiled child. "Sera can't handle the cold. Just let her have it this once, Nat. Be a good girl. Don't make a fuss." I looked down at my own shoulder, which was already completely soaked through. I didn't say a word. We had been building our startup for five years. Everyone always said Winston and Sera were the dual heart and soul of Sterling Tech. One wrote the code, while the other pitched the product. Meanwhile, I was the one managing the budgets, chasing down clients, advancing money for our office rent, and pulling all-nighters to grind out business proposals. Yet, all I ever got from him was a single, offhand sentence. "Nat, you're always the reasonable one." But I finally understood. It was always the reasonable one who got pushed out into the rain, time and time again. When the car door opened, Winston practiced an all-too-familiar routine, adjusting the passenger seat cushion for Sera. That was a lumbar support cushion I had bought for myself after injuring my waist. I threw the newly purchased umbrella straight into the trash can. Then, I pulled up my phone and clicked send on the equity exit agreement I had prepared long ago. Three minutes later, his reply came back as a brief, three-word text. "Don't be silly." What he didn't know was that at that exact same moment, I had also opened another email.

For ten years, I stand by Robert Lopez's side, watching him rise from the trenches of obscurity to the blinding heights of superstardom. But on the night he clinches the Best Actor award, he drops to one knee and proposes to a starlet he's known for less than ten days. Those eyes that are so full of love and devotion, no matter who they're looking at, turn cold and threatening for the first time. "Danielle, I've slept with her, so I need to take responsibility. You're willing to stay by my side without a title or a promise, but she can't. She needs a sense of security." A bitter laugh escapes me. That's when I finally understand that love has nothing to do with time. But hear this, Robert. Just because I've waited for you for ten years doesn't mean I deserve to be treated like trash or that you're the only man for me.

As I get ready to delete our TikTok account that has over a million followers, the comments section explodes as everyone desperately tries to talk me out of it. "Winnie, don't go! I'm still waiting to see your travel documentary with your boyfriend!" I laugh but still press the button to confirm the deletion. My boyfriend, Zachary Sutton, is a video editor. We've previously agreed to use TikTok to record every city we ever go to. For the past three years, he has always been featured in my shots. Yet, every time he finishes editing the videos, I'm never in any of the shots. Then, last week, when I'm helping him export a video file, I notice a folder named "Rowena Sanders" hidden deep within his hard drive. Upon opening it, I see that there's a video with another woman in it. She is standing by the ocean. The sun is haloing her figure and painting her hair a warm, golden brown. The video was edited to be in slow motion, capturing her as she turns to the camera, all while our love song plays in the background. Every single frame has been meticulously edited. In contrast, after I check through all our finished videos, I realize that I've only ever appeared once, and even in that, I was blurred out. I looked like just another part of the background. He even added a caption that read, "Where did this random nobody come from?" As it turns out, it isn't that he's not good at editing videos; it's that I've never been worthy enough to appear in his shots. While I'm packing up my things, he sends me a message, anxiously asking why the account is gone. I didn't reply. Since he refuses to keep me in the picture, I'll just walk out of the frame myself.