Contos e Romances com Male POV e Cheating

During the break, I went on a trip to Palmera with my fiancee, Serena Saunders. However, she booked not one, but two queen-bed rooms. She arranged for her male subordinate, Nathaniel Xavier, to stay in her room so she could take care of him more easily, while she stuck me in the other room with his dog, Jack. Standing in the hotel lobby, I canceled both of their return flight tickets before informing her that the wedding was called off. Serena looked incredulous as she asked, “Are you seriously throwing a fit over a room assignment? You know Nat is scared of the dark.” “Oh, is that so? Is that why you’re wearing matching pajamas with him and sharing a bed?” I retorted sarcastically. Nathaniel hugged his dog and teared up. “Rena, it’s my fault. My health issues are always such a burden. Charlie has every right to be upset. I’ll just go to sleep in the hallway.” Serena looked at him with sympathy and held his arm, saying, “Sleep in the hallway? No way! He’s the one who should leave. “Charlie, I paid for this whole trip. You don’t get to act entitled. What right do you have to be so picky? “If you don’t want to stay, pack your things and go back to your broke little hometown. Honestly, the only reason I even brought a country bumpkin like you along was to make Nat happy.” She knew this trip was supposed to be our pre-honeymoon trip. She also knew I would put up with just about anything to keep the peace. I had planned to hold on until the wedding day. But seeing their fingers tightly laced together made me nauseous. I truly did not want to marry her anymore.

I was an Ageless. Many years ago, because of nothing more than a single loaf of bread, I became indebted to Sheila Johnson in a way I could never escape. The only way to find my way home was to grant 100 of her wishes. Her very first wish was for me to become her lover. To repay that debt, I stayed by her side without ever asking for a name or a promise. I taught her what it meant to love, and I shared countless long nights with her until our lives became inseparable. For the next three years, every wish she made was astonishingly simple. She only wanted to see me smile a little more. Then, during the annual Winter Festival, she released hundreds of glowing lights into the night sky. They drifted ever higher, shimmering across the heavens like a river of fallen stars. As she watched the breathtaking display, she whispered her 96th wish. "May we never part from each other." Yet only a few days later, she ordered every trace of my existence at Johnson Manor erased before casting me out of the estate. As I stood alone in the middle of a raging snowstorm, I heard her casually speaking to her friends as though I had never mattered at all. "Whatever you do, don't let Keith find out that I once confessed my feelings to another man. "You all know Keith has always been the one I loved. If he hadn't been sent to the neighboring kingdom as a hostage when we were still children, I never would have needed someone else to take his place. "Now that the king of the neighboring kingdom is dead, I've already arranged for Keith to fake his death and return safely. This time, I'm going to marry him. I won't let myself have any regrets."

When my wife, Stephany Jones, cries into her pillow again in the middle of the night, I pretend to be sound asleep. Six months ago, the man she has never been able to forget, Chase Barker, gets divorced and returns from overseas. From that moment on, her eyes and her emotions are once again consumed by the love she can never quite let go of. She is a good wife and a good mother. Every asset we own is under my name, and she insists on handing over her entire paycheck for me to manage. All this time, she suppresses her feelings for Chase and never crosses the line that would betray our marriage. But this fragile restraint is shattered the day she secretly sells one of her kidneys behind my back to buy Chase a property. I hand over a divorce agreement, as well as half of our marital assets, to her and say, "There's no need to sell organs just to finance your true love. Half of our assets should be enough to cover your dating expenses."

Kyson Ellis, the young man sponsored by my wife, Lara Sterling, earned a near-perfect SAT score and was accepted into one of the country's most prestigious universities. As a reward, Lara granted him "Adult Privilege." At a business dinner, Lara had him sit in my seat while our clients toasted him. Smiling, she introduced him to our partners. "He just turned eighteen, so I'm letting him experience the adult world a little early. Turns out he's even more mature and gracious than Nolan Taylor, my husband." She even handed him access to our joint bank account, claiming it was to "teach him how adults manage money." When I merely glanced through the transaction history, she instinctively stepped in front of him and shot me a cold look. "He only bought ten Rolex watches. Kyson is learning how adults handle money. What's wrong with that? You weren't even this responsible with money back then." After a long day at the office, I came home to find Kyson wearing my silk pajamas, sprawled across the bed in our master bedroom, scrolling through his phone. Lara sat beside him, feeding him blueberries. She looked up at me and said matter-of-factly, "The guest room doesn't get enough light. It'll strain his eyes if he uses his phone in there. You can sleep in the guest room tonight. You're an adult. Don't pick on a kid." I stared into her eyes without saying a word. So this was how it worked. Whenever it suited her, Kyson was old enough to enjoy "Adult Privilege." And the moment it didn't, he was a child again.

In the seventh year of being a caretaker for my comatose wife, Gwen Anderson, I got a well-paid job request. [Accompany my wife for her pregnancy check. I’m paying ten thousand dollars for a half-day task.] When I arrived at the hospital, I saw Gwen, who was supposedly in a coma, smiling as she talked on the phone. “It’s just a check-up. It’s not my first time being pregnant anyway. Why do you have to hire someone to accompany me? “That’s right. I bought the mansion located in the south of the city. It’s only a few hundred million dollars. Just treat it as your birthday gift for this year! “Why are you bringing Zac up? If he didn’t fake his illness on the day you came back to the country, we wouldn’t have wasted a month! “I pretended to be in a coma for seven years so he would pay off my debt. That is the punishment he deserves.” I was stunned. To pay off the debt, I sold my assets, my company, and even my family heirloom. Just as I was about to step forward, Gwen said cruelly, “Alright, I’ll listen to you. I’m tired of pretending for so many years anyway.” The next second, my phone buzzed. It was a text. [Zac, I’ve woken up.]

It was my and my wife Camille’s ninth wedding anniversary. I had rushed home with a fertility specialist in tow, hoping to surprise her. However, when I pushed the front door open, the house was already full of laughter. I walked in, heart pounding, to find Camille holding a little boy by the hand. Her voice was soft and warm. "Today is Miles's first day of school celebration. I want nothing but the best for my baby." Camille heard me come in and turned around. She walked toward me, snatched a pot of hot soup off the table, and flung it straight at me. "How many times do I have to tell you? I'm married! I have a family! Stop trying to get me to have your kids, you freak!" I fought through the pain in my arm and grabbed her, desperate for an explanation. She wrenched free and slapped me hard across the face, then grabbed everything within reach and hurled it all at me. "If you don't get out of here, I'm calling the cops, you psycho!" Then she winked at me, took the boy by the hand, and walked over to the elderly couple nearby. "Mom, Dad, don't worry about him. He's nobody." I stood there, watching the happy family in front of me. I looked down and forced the ring off my finger, the one I had worn for nine years, and tossed the blood-streaked band at Camille. "Camille, deception always comes at a cost."

When I was being falsely accused of harassment, Sage was right there at a concert with Simon, a guy in the year below her. I begged her to testify for me, but Simon lost his mind and broke down. Feeling sorry for him, she shoved me aside and sneered, “Where did you filthy lunatic come from? I don’t even know you.” Left with no way to prove my innocence, I was beaten up by the crowd, twitching on the ground until I finally passed out. When I woke up, I threw away the matching couple's ring I had with Sage and dialed my mother's number. “Mom, about the arranged marriage with the Benedict family, I agree to it.”

At the top of a high-altitude stunt platform at Highspan Adventure Park, Vanessa Blythe suddenly unclipped the primary safety line behind me. Before I could react, she shoved me from the edge. I crashed onto the emergency airbag below, and pain tore through my entire body. When the staff hauled me back up, her childhood friend Mason Lowell was holding up his phone, laughing until he could barely breathe. The screen replayed my humiliating fall again and again. "Vanessa, did you see his face?" The moment he laughed, Vanessa finally relaxed. Mason was autistic, but for some reason, watching me suffer always delighted him. So during the ten years Vanessa and I were together, scenes like this happened countless times. When I lost my job, Vanessa hung a banner and celebrated with him. When I was hospitalized after a crash, she stood outside my room with him and laughed. Every year on his birthday, she made me dress as a clown to entertain him. She knew that undoing a safety line at that height could kill me. But if it made Mason happy, Vanessa never hesitated to put me in danger. Blood from my split forehead blurred my vision. As I wiped it away, I suddenly wanted to walk away from the ten years I'd spent refusing to give up.

While taking photos at a scenic spot, I move around three or four times to find the best angle. I point the camera at my girlfriend, Ruby Sutton, and loudly repeat three times, "Look here!" But she seems not to hear me, staring at something in the distance instead. Then, my friend, Joel Ziegler, clumsily takes out his phone and calls out to her. "Look at the camera!" Ruby quickly poses and gives the camera a loving smile. A young couple sees the photo on Joel's phone and starts teasing them. "Wow, your girlfriend must really love you. You can see it in her eyes in the photo!" Joel's ears turn bright red, and Ruby clears her throat awkwardly. I look down at my camera and see that I only captured a third of her face. It looks like a photo taken by paparazzi. Since we were kids, they'd habitually ignored me, assuming I had no opinions of my own. When we were teenagers, they'd always excitedly choose where to go, taking it for granted that I would come along. Now that we're grown up, the two of them decide to study medicine, expecting me to agree and enrolling me in a medical program. Later, they become the "ER's top duo" at the hospital. Yet no matter how hard I work, I can only become a nurse. When I look up, the two of them are already walking side by side toward the next spot to take photos. They probably assume I will follow. Instead, I turn around and walk in the opposite direction. All this time, I have always been the one trailing behind them. But there comes a day when I no longer want to keep up.

After work, I bought three movie tickets, but it wasn't until two minutes before the movie started that my girlfriend and my childhood friend arrived. My girlfriend, Sally Clarkson, transferred me the money for it as usual, saying, "That's for Alex's ticket." I paused, feeling a little repulsed as I stared at the transfer notification on my phone screen. Sally would pay for Alex Zims' medical bills when he got sick and pick up the tab when I bought him food. Before I could ask her why she was always paying everything for Alex, Alex handed me a cup of coffee while handily whipping out his payment app QR code. "That's ten bucks, Jim." I was stumped and turned to Sally, but she was staring at her phone like she didn't hear a thing. And seeing that I was silent, Alex quietly withdrew his hand, and that was when Sally looked up at me again. Frowning, she snapped, "Just pay for it! Are you really going to go cheap on ten bucks?!" My brain zoned out for a second, but I soon laughed. In the end, it wasn't as if she didn't hear us—she just didn't care about me.

I'd just come off a night shift when the college kid Laura Marano had cheated with planted himself in front of me and begged. "Kyle, please. Let Laura have my baby. She said you're the only one she'll listen to. "I'm not asking for anything else. I never once told her to leave you. "This is my first child. You're a doctor. Doctors are supposed to have a healer's heart. Please, just give our baby a chance to live." While he pleaded, Laura rushed over, breathless. "The affair was on me," she said, guilt written across her face. "So whether this baby stays or goes, that call is yours to make." It was the same scene I'd lived through once before, back when I still believed in loving one person for a lifetime. I hadn't been able to stomach it back then: the girlfriend I'd loved for five years, cheating on me. I'd cut things off clean and never looked back. That decision was what opened my eyes to how the world really worked. The other man who'd stolen my place ended up living like a king, drowning in money. Meanwhile, I'd worked myself half to death in the operating room and still couldn't scrape together enough to treat my mother's illness. I'd come to agree with a bitter little saying: love, in the end, always turns out the same. So this time around, I told Laura something different. "Get rid of the baby. The wedding's still on."

I have a habit. Whenever I eat, watch a movie, or ride the bus, I will always save an empty seat next to me. I believe that Cindy Newman will one day show up in my city and surprise me. But we've been in a long-distance relationship for three years, and not once has she ever visited me. In the end, I have no choice but to handle all the wedding preparations on my own. I try on countless suits to find the one. I look everywhere for the perfect venue. The exhaustion ultimately catches up to me. With trembling fingers, I text Cindy, "I'm running a 102-degree fever. No meds at home." It takes her 30 minutes to reply to me, "So? What do you want me to do? Learn how to fly and deliver you meds? I'm busy going over a proposal. Just order it online and have it delivered to your place." My high fever is so intense that I can barely lift a finger. Amid the haziness, I pass out. When I wake up, I see my best friend, Eugene Grant, by my side. He sighs and feeds me warm water and a tablet. "She's just taking advantage of the fact you're too kind to say anything. If I were you, I would've blown up already." Two weeks later, Eugene also comes down with a high fever. I've planned to rush over and take care of him, but I see his latest post online. The photo shows only a woman's hand holding a spoon. The caption reads, "The weather is getting colder, and I've unfortunately come down with a cold. Thank goodness for a superwoman who travels over 500 miles to deliver me soup." I know what I'm seeing. It's Cindy's hand. On Cindy's wrist is the bracelet I've spent six months saving up to buy for her. At long last, it dawns on me that the empty seat remains empty not because she can't make it, but because she simply doesn't want to. In that case, I'll stop saving a seat for a person who will never come.

I have a poor sense of direction. I can go to the same place ten times and still not know how to get there. So, Aimee Thornton spends an entire week putting all the streets around school into a hand-drawn map for me. There are no directions on the map, only places named "The Convenience Store With the Yellow Dog at the Door" and "The Old Man Who Sells Terrible Tacos". She ruffles my hair and muses, "How is this one going to survive without me?" But everything changes when our friend, Dean Sullivan, comes home from abroad. During our trip, Aimee tells me to get out of the car and check if we've skidded. My feet have just touched the ground when the car speeds off. She texts me the next second. "There's a rest area about three miles ahead. Dean and I will wait for you there. Dean has a point. You'll never get over your poor sense of direction if I don't give you a push." I end up trekking through the torrential downpour for an hour, desperate and panicking. Aimee suddenly sends me a hand-drawn map with an arrow, and she's added a cute smiley face beside it. "Follow the map, and you'll be there in 20 minutes." Alas, I walk until my calves ache, only for the road to narrow and cut off in a dead end. I call Aimee, but Dean's lighthearted laughter greets me instead. "Hey, man, congratulations on taking the wrong way! "I made a bet with Aimee that you wouldn't notice the arrow she'd drawn on the map was deliberately pointing in the opposite direction. As it turns out, I know you better than she does. "And that means I'm the only one she gets to hang out with for the rest of the trip, since having you tag along will be too much trouble." I hear Aimee's indulgent laugh going off beside him. "A bet's a bet. Whatever you say goes, Dean." The price of codependency is too much for me—so much so that I'll be lost if Aimee decides to up and leave me. I wipe my tears dry. I want to find my way alone this time.

In my third year overseas as a war correspondent, I get seriously injured during a grenade explosion and lose all my memories. I develop severe PTSD and spend two years in a psychiatric hospital. Two months ago, I finally remember who I am. On the day of my return, my best friend, Beckett Jobling, and my wife, Gina Spencer, come to the airport to pick me up. They cry even harder than I do. Gina's eyes are red, but her voice is still as gentle as ever. "I've tidied up our new home. You move in first. I'll come keep you company after work tonight." However, I go back to the villa where we used to live. The moment I push open the door, I see a wedding portrait hanging on the wall. The groom isn't me but my best friend, Beckett. The sound of the key turning in the lock comes from outside. Gina, who is supposedly busy at work, walks in hand in hand with Beckett. In her arms, she's holding a little child. In a sweet, childish voice, the child calls her, "Mommy." I stand frozen. I am so stunned that I even forget to breathe. I've only been away for two years. How can their child already be three years old?

On April Fools’ Day, I texted my wife and told her I was terminally ill. I told her that I had no more than a month left to live. I thought that if I made her cry, I would make it up to her with a villa. But as soon as I reached the front door, I heard her complaining inside. “Terminally ill? He’s already dying. Don’t tell me he’s going to waste money on treatment. “That money will be ours sooner or later. Why should he spend it on himself? “No. When he gets home, I’ll tell him I’m pregnant. “He loves me so much. He’ll definitely give up treatment for the baby and me.” Before I could process her words, I heard my best friend’s voice right after. “It’s no wonder you always say he’s up to no good. Every time you finish with him, you come to me so I can satisfy you. “I thought you were just greedy. It turns out he’s really that pathetic! “What do you think will happen if he finds out you’re carrying my baby? Do you think he’ll die even sooner?” Only then did I realize that my wife and my best friend had been having an affair for a long time. I laughed bitterly. Then, I turned around and called my assistant. “Don’t transfer the deed to the Bayhaven villa yet. Draft a divorce agreement instead.” She cheated on me and still thought she could take my money! She could keep dreaming.

I had been begging my wife for weeks, and she finally agreed to come to the movie theater with our son and me to catch the latest blockbuster. My plan was to wait until the credits rolled, then hit her with the big news: I’d just been promoted to general manager of the entire multiplex. Then, right in the middle of the movie, my phone buzzed with a wave of notifications from the work group chat. [Holy crap! Hall 3 is wild right now, 4K quality!] [Are people for real right now? Doing it in a movie theater like they’re glued together?] [Seriously though, ping janitorial ASAP. That row is gonna need a deep clean.] My mind went blank. Hall 3? That was the exact theater we were sitting in. Curiosity got the better of me, and I tapped on the video file. The second the screen lit up, my whole body froze. The couple in the video was sitting right in our row. It was my wife, sitting just past our son, locked together with the guy next to her. I spun my head toward her. Her cheeks were flushed, her breathing heavy. "What the hell are you doing?!" I snapped.

Mackenzie Lister, my germaphobe wife, refuses to let any man besides me touch her. She stays a full arm's length away even when posing for photos with investors. It stays that way until the day of my birthday, when Colin Sumner, her assistant, suddenly posts a photo on his social media. In the photo, Mackenzie lets Colin hold her around the waist from behind. "I finally got to meet the role model I grew up looking up to! I have to keep pushing forward and chase my dreams!" I leave a comment on the post. "You two are an item now?" Mackenzie calls me. "He has always looked up to me, that's all. Why do you always have to twist things around? You'd better not make a fool of yourself and delete that comment this instant!" Additionally, my colleagues also blame me for meddling too much in other people's business. Colin immediately posts an update. "I've learned my first lesson from my role model—don't waste your time arguing with petty people." I look at my social media feed, which is getting spammed with comments, and place a single phone call. The next day, every investment in Mackenzie's company is withdrawn.

It was the fourth anniversary of our relationship. Heather Hilmann took her friend Liam Sherr and me went to have barbecue together. The waiter recognized them and smiled, asking, "Still the usuals?" Heather nodded. It was a table by the window for two, and Liam sat on the inside. The ribeye had slightly charred edges, and the dipping sauce had no onions. She gave the first piece and the last piece to Liam. I sat near the aisle, and there was not even a dipping‑sauce dish in front of me. When they paid the bill, the waiter checked the membership records and reminded them with a smile, "Ms. Hilmann and Mr. Sherr, tonight was your 100th visit. You can take your customized grill pan home." A line of words was engraved on the back of the grill pan: [Heather and Liam, Together Forever.] The date was three years ago. I then remembered that Heather had been at the hospital celebrating my birthday that day. It turned out that the two hours she had been away were not for a company meeting. Liam touched the engraving and asked her with a smile, "After you and Ian Jeffrey get married, will we still have our monthly get‑together?"

After seven years together, Joan Quinton and I finally walked into the studio for our pre-wedding photos. Derek Blake—my old college roommate and the guy who'd introduced us—tagged along. The second he put on his custom best-man suit, Joan's eyes lit up. She immediately wanted a few pictures with him. I was standing in the middle in my wedding suit when Derek rubbed his nose and laughed. "Dude, I look like a bodyguard." Joan instantly pulled me aside and gave him the center spot. The camera flashed. The two of them looked way too natural together. Like they were the ones getting married. While we picked out photos, Joan tapped the shot of all three of us. "Let's blow this one up for the reception." I looked at her. "Why would another guy be front and center in a photo at our wedding?" She shoved the mouse away. "You're a grown man. Why are you being so petty? If Derek hadn't introduced us, would we even be together?" "It's just a photo. I'm still marrying you, aren't I?" I stared at myself on the screen. Even in my best suit, I looked like I didn't belong. Just because you're standing somewhere doesn't mean it's your place. And just like that, I was done fighting to be front and center.

The day I get my acceptance letter to Kellerton University, I scroll through the class group chat and find a photo of my younger brother, Corey Hollis, kissing my girlfriend, Piper Ashton. Piper brushes it off like it's nothing. "It was a graduation party. We were playing spin the bottle, and I lost, so... we kissed." This isn't the first time. A year earlier, I caught my first girlfriend, Naomi Drake, making out with Corey. I couldn't stop picturing their mouths all over each other, so I bombed the exam. Back then, Piper didn't hesitate. She ripped up her own acceptance letter to a top-tier school and told me, "Logan, I've liked you since we were kids. Don't worry. I'll retake the year with you." She stayed with me through the darkest summer of my life. I genuinely believed she was different from Naomi, so I never imagined she'd betray me for the same person. I stare at her lips. My stomach turns, and the ache behind it hits so hard I can barely breathe. Then, she twists the knife deeper. "Oh right, Logan, I forgot to tell you. I can't go to Kellerton with you anymore. My parents say the job market out there isn't great, so I switched my application at the last minute. "I'm going to Branton University instead." Corey already has his acceptance to Branton Arts Academy too. My head buzzes. She's the one who wants to go to Kellerton. That's why I gave up my spot in a top-two school to follow her. Then, she just changes her mind and only bothers telling me now. I clench my teeth and force the word out. "Why?" She looks irritated. "Didn't I just say? The job market near Kellerton isn't great." I laugh bitterly. What I really want to ask is why does everyone always choose Corey over me?