Male POV Cheating 단편 소설 & 소설

My wife of three secretly married years, Izzy Presley, threw a welcome-home dinner for her childhood friend who'd just returned to the country. A sharp-eyed coworker noticed the wedding ring on her finger and teased her about it. "Izzy, does this mean there's a wedding on the way?" Izzy didn't deny it. Instead, she traded a smile with Sebastian Wood, the friend she'd grown up with, and made her answer loud enough for the whole room to hear. "Yes. Sebastian and I are getting engaged." She handed out cash gift cards to everyone in the room as she said it, me included. Someone who'd had a little too much to drink called out. "I've watched Stevie and Izzy come and go together for three years straight. Honestly, I thought you two were the real couple." I kept my head down and tightened my grip around the stem of my glass. On my phone, the chat thread with Izzy was still open. That 200-dollar cash gift, the exact same amount she'd given every other guest in the room, burned behind my eyes. Then her voice drifted over, light as air. "My assistant Stevie is good at his job. Work is work, and feelings are feelings. Let's not confuse the two." The teasing only got louder after that. Through the whole party, everyone celebrated for her. No one knew that Izzy and I had already been married for three years. This marriage was like a deal struck in the dark, the kind that could never see daylight. Because I loved her, I'd gritted my teeth and held on for three years. But now, I was ready to let go.

Every time I slept with Jennifer Brooks, I noticed that she had changed the sheets. After we finished one night, I finally asked her about it. Jennifer traced her fingers across my chest and gave me a gentle smile. "Obviously, it's because your good friend sweats so much. Every time, right before you and I do it, he gets jealous and insists on going first. I never knew a man could sweat that much during sex until I met him." My mind went blank. I stared at her in disbelief. "What did you just say?" She met my gaze, her lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Connor, your father was tortured to death in bed by the women your mother hired, not by me. So every time you lie there like a dead fish, you completely kill the mood. "That's your trauma. I shouldn't have to pay for it. Understand? You should be thanking Hunter. He's the one holding this relationship together." The words had barely left her mouth when the door flew open. Hunter Clayton stormed in, his eyes red, and slapped Jennifer across the face. "You've gone too far! Apologize to Connor!" I looked at the two of them, but all I could taste was bitterness. So this whole time, Jennifer had seen me as nothing more than a burden who ruined the mood. This bed had never been big enough for three people. I wouldn't force myself into it again.

To pay for my grandmother's medical treatment, I became the boyfriend of Camille Harrington, the heiress of a wealthy family. On our 10th anniversary, she sent me the address of a wedding venue and told me she was going to marry me. Overjoyed, I dressed for the occasion and went to the venue, convinced she'd finally fallen in love with me. But instead of coming to me, Camille rushed straight into the arms of her first love. Christopher Vaughn covered his forehead and let out a bitter laugh. "Camille, I lost. Just as you said, the servant you bought with money really is obedient." The guests had spent the entire day putting on a show at my expense. Now, they burst into laughter and mocked me for being such a fool. Camille, however, was delighted that I'd helped her win the game. She immediately promised to add another 200,000 dollars to my grandmother's medical expenses. What she didn't know was that my grandmother had already died, and with her death, my relationship with Camille had come to an end. But when I turned around and walked away, giving Camille and Christopher exactly what they wanted, Camille lost her mind and began searching for me all over the world.

When my 520th flight touches down, I find my girlfriend—someone who has never once picked me up from the airport—waiting for me there in the terminal. Lindsay Shire is holding a bouquet of air-freighted roses and a velvet box with a diamond ring sparkling inside. The moment she drops to one knee, a collective, stunned gasp ripples through the crowd. We've been together for ten years, and this is the first time she's ever indicated that she wants to marry me. Pretending to keep my composure, I slip the ring onto my finger. My voice trembles as I say, "Lindsay, we—" But she suddenly laughs and glances to the side, one eyebrow arched smugly. "I told you he'd say yes. I won the bet. Hand over the painting." I freeze as a wave of cruel laughter erupts behind me. A whole crowd of wealthy socialites and trust-fund babies saunters over, led by none other than Trent Morasca—Lindsay's former fiance. He's laughing so hard that he's nearly in tears. "I was wondering why you kept him around for so long," Trent jeers. "If I had a lapdog this obedient, I wouldn't have the heart to kick him to the curb, either." Then he turns to me. "I heard you grew a backbone this time after your fight and actually moved out of Amber Estate. But the minute Lindsay crooks her finger, you come running back?" One of the rich heirs thrusts his camera into my face. "Guys, look at him! He actually fell for it! He's so moved he's actually got tears in his eyes!" "Lindsay, I think he's going to latch onto you now and demand you take responsibility!" he adds, before breaking into loud laughter. Lindsay shoots them a sideways glance, and the crowd instantly falls silent. For once, she actually bothers to explain. "It's Grandpa's 80th birthday, and I couldn't find a suitable gift in time. "Trent just won the 'Misty Peaks' painting at an auction last week, and you know how much Grandpa loves stuff like that. So, we made a bet. "As long as you accept my proposal, the painting would be mine."

Gillian Chadwick, my fiancee, has always put her adoptive brother, Jude Chadwick, first. When a new romantic trend catches on, he gets the first gift, not me. When she buys her very first car, she gives him the first test drive. Even when a fire breaks out in our house in the middle of the night, she rushes into Jude's room first and drags him downstairs. She doesn't call to wake me until she has made sure he's safe. After getting burned in that fire, I finally lose my temper and demand Gillian choose between Jude and me. She looks at me in confusion. "Thomas, Jude is the only family I have in this world. Why are you competing with him? How about this? I promise to treat you both completely equally from now on, okay?" After a long hesitation, I finally agree. But later, Gillian gives the wedding ring she has custom-made to Jude, and she even lets him be the first to see her wedding dress. On the day we go to get our marriage certificate, Jude tags along. "Thomas, Gillian has never been married before. Let me try it out for you first," he said shamelessly.

My fiancee, Joanie Halter, and I live in the same city, less than five miles apart. And yet, we barely see each other more than twice a month. Whenever I ask when she's free, she always gives me the same answer. "I've just been really busy with work lately." Then, by chance, I come across her travel records. Out of the 52 weekends in the past year, she has bought plane tickets for 48 of them. The destination is always the same country, where her junior from school, Forrest Jacobsen, lives. She always leaves first thing Saturday morning and comes back Sunday night, rain or shine, sometimes even more punctual than she is about going to work. Our most recent date was yesterday, at the convenience store downstairs from her office. She hurriedly finishes her hot dog, checks her watch three times, then says, "I have a meeting." I smile, not exposing her lie. This will be her 49th trip. I neither call nor text her. Instead, I simply sign the lease transfer papers, then buy a one-way ticket to another city. She spends thousands of miles every week playing situationship with another guy. All I want is to move to a different city and stop waiting for someone who will never spend a single weekend with me.

Three days before my wedding to Natasha Bishop, my best friend Devon Hart shows up in tears, saying he's fallen in love with someone he shouldn't have. That night, I stay out drinking with him until we're both wasted, then I call Natasha to come pick me up. Wanting to mess with her, I slump face-down on the table and pretend to be passed out. Half an hour later, familiar footsteps stop right beside me. Natasha leans down and pinches my cheek, the way she always does when I'm drunk. "Graham?" I hold back a laugh and stay quiet, burying my face deeper into my arms, grinning to myself. Any second now, she'll sigh, help me up, and get me a glass of water, just like she always does. But her hand stops. Before I can even react, she turns and walks over to Devon. "How'd you let yourself get this drunk?" Devon grabs her hand, barely conscious. "Natasha…" She doesn't pull away. Instead, she leans down and murmurs, "I'm here." I lie there with my face still pressed to the table, suddenly stone-cold sober. And in that moment, I'm pretty sure I know exactly who Devon was talking about.

My wife, Sienna Fairchild, has one ironclad rule. Every Monday, she has dinner with her brother-in-law. During that time, she turns off her phone and blocks every message. Nothing, no matter how urgent, takes priority over their little family gathering. Then one day, our daughter falls down the stairs at preschool and breaks her arm. I call Sienna over a dozen times, but not a single one goes through. With no other option, I call her brother-in-law instead. "Abby got hurt at school. Can you have Sienna come to the hospital?" The other end goes quiet. Just when I think the call has been dropped, Sienna's voice comes through. "My whole day belongs to them. Don't bother me unless it's actually important." The line goes dead. I stand frozen, staring at my daughter crying on the hospital bed. She looks up at me with red, tear-filled eyes. "Daddy, does Mommy not want me anymore?" I choke back the lump in my throat as exhaustion washes over me. Maybe it's time to find my daughter a new mother.

In order to keep Sam Anderson from being fired, my lawyer wife, Blair Reid, drugged me before the hearing and handed my important case over to him. Blair then handed one of my major cases over to Sam. “The effect of the poison will only last for a day. Once the case is over, I’ll make it up to you.” I watched as Blair pulled an all-nighter to draft an outline for Sam and promote him. She also brought him around to network with other lawyers. After some time passed, Blair said she felt sorry for me. She told me she would immediately promote me to a partner at the law firm. However, she went crazy after realizing I did not get my voice back.

The day of my wedding, my girlfriend, Sherry Jennings, asked me to wait another three weeks for her. It seemed that she had used half her cells to clone her first love so that the dead man would have no regrets in life. The clone only had three weeks to live. During the first week, she beat her fear of heights to go on a Ferris wheel with him, holding him close at the top. During the second week, she used up all her savings to take him to see the aurora and immortalize their love. In the last week, their story touched people around the world, and with countless reporters watching, they kissed until the clone’s heart stopped beating. After that, she came back happily and told me that she wanted to have our long-awaited wedding. Unfortunately, what she came back to was the news of my death.

When I was choking on my food, Jillian Oakley was on the dance floor with an escort. My face had turned red as I desperately begged her to help me, but she only thought of me as an eyesore and chose to run off with him. It wasn't until I was on the verge of dying that a server noticed me and managed to save my life. Yet, the first thing Jillian did when she came back was slap the server across the face. Then, she pointed at me and snapped, "I was gone for only a moment, and you were already flirting with another woman? Since you don't care about getting married, we'll just keep postponing the wedding." I would rack my brains trying to explain myself in every possible way whenever she leveled that threat at me in the past. However, I suddenly found myself just so, so done with it all.

In Willow Creek, there is an unspoken rule about wedding processions: never retrace your route. But on the day we are supposed to get married, my fiancee, Emma Carter, orders our entire wedding procession to turn around and drive more than 12 miles back the way we've come—just to catch up with another wedding convoy. I am about to get out and demand an explanation when I overhear Emma talking to one of her bridesmaids, Lena Williams. "You drove more than 60 miles just to make it to Ryan's wedding," Lena says. "That's some serious dedication." Then she glances nervously in my direction. "And now you're making us turn around? Aren't you worried Nathan's going to be pissed?" Emma continues directing the drivers to turn the procession around. "Don't worry. He's waited ten years for me. No matter how angry he gets, he'll never actually call off the wedding. "If my family hadn't pressured me so much, I wouldn't have agreed to marry him this easily. "Ryan's biggest wish has always been to marry me, and that's not going to happen now. So turning back to see him off for part of the journey is the least I can do. It's a small way of making up for all those years he spent chasing after me." When the matching wedding bands slip from my hand and disappear beneath the seat, I let out a bitter laugh. So much for finally getting our happy ending after all those years of hardship. Apparently, that is only wishful thinking on my part. I pull out my phone, open my messaging app, and send a woman my location. "Are you still planning to marry me? I'm waiting for you here. Come. Now."

As the coaster climbed toward the top, I opened my eyes and reached over for my girlfriend's hand. What I saw was her fingers laced through my best friend's. Her thumb moved slowly across the back of his hand. A signal. Steady. I've got you. "Avery, I'm scared," I said quietly. She didn't answer me. She only held on to him tighter. Avery has a hearing impairment. Her left ear doesn't pick things up clearly. But every time the three of us went anywhere, she kept him on her right, tilting her head up to catch him, answering every single thing he said. I stood on her left, and it was like standing on the other side of a galaxy. The coaster started down again, and I closed my eyes, and my heart dropped with it. Avery, if somebody else is living at the very center of your heart, then so be it. It's time I took my own heart back and went looking for stars of my own.

After my wife, April Carter, gives birth to my child, I'm forced to quit my job and become a full-time stay-at-home dad. Before long, I spiral into severe depression. Countless times, I press a knife to my wrist, only for her to desperately throw her arms around me as I break down in hysterics. "Don't do this! Think about the baby and me! We're right here with you!" My brother, Lucas Getz, and my best buddy, Thomas Balfour, each grab a knife and press it against their own wrists. "If you want to die, we'll die with you," they declare. "Are two lives enough for you?" After that day, I fully commit to my treatment, determined not to let anyone else get hurt because of me. But just when I think I'm finally about to see the light, Lucas drags me to a wedding. Standing on the stage as newlyweds are none other than April and Thomas. My mind goes blank with a deafening buzz, and my blood runs cold. Lucas gazes up at the couple on stage with envy. "This wedding should have happened five years ago. But your depression has kept the two of them trapped in guilt." Then he turns toward me. "Do you understand now? The truth is, you're the one keeping us trapped in misery. It's time to let go."

My fiancée is beautiful and has a steady job. She's into drones, and she joined a group chat. I hinted to her, carefully, that the people in that group weren't right, and that if anything went wrong she'd be on the hook too. Then I joined the group myself on a burner account, and saw the way Alyssa carried herself in there. Several men who were obviously close with her kept posting flirty stickers. Alyssa's voice messages came back all bashful. “Stop it! You're all married men, and you're picking on me like this!” “Next flight, let's all go camping together.” Their plan was five men and one woman, two days and one night. And a drone taking photographs at twenty-six thousand feet. You'd have to have something wrong with your head to do that.

My girlfriend, Loretta Summers, is an introvert and quiet by nature. Even our daily conversations are limited to things like, "Have you eaten?" or "Are you asleep?" Then, at a New Year's class reunion, I see her chatting animatedly with a guy, Ivan Lane. That is when I realize— it is time for us to break up.

I didn't come from money, so everyone around my rich girlfriend decided I had to be a gold digger. Nobody more than Tristan Reed, her male best friend. He told them he'd been kept by rich women himself, so he understood men like me better than anyone. To prove I wasn't that kind of man, I never accepted a single expensive gift from Vivian Ford during the three years I spent with her. Tristan had an explanation for that too. "He says no out loud, but he's waiting for her to offer something better on her own. It's called playing hard-to-get." Then came Vivian's birthday. I'd saved six months of my salary and bought her a necklace. I was almost at the door of the private room when I heard Tristan laughing. "See? I told you he'd buy something expensive. "That's the oldest trick a gold digger has. Pretend you're not after the money, then trade a little of it for a lot." Vivian sat beside him filing her nails. She didn't contradict him. Someone egged him on. "Vivian, your boyfriend's not just a gold digger, he's a professional." Then somebody spotted me and made a hushing gesture. "Quiet, he's here." Tristan just scoffed. "Some men ought to be honest like me. That's what rich women actually want. Am I wrong?" Vivian was quiet for a long moment. Then she looked up at me. "After all this time pretending in front of me, were you really just waiting for one big payout?" I stood in the doorway, and the necklace in my hand suddenly felt too heavy to hold. I didn't answer. I just turned around and left. A heart that's doubted every single time is one I'm taking back for good.

As I was rummaging through the trash for leftovers, my wife, who had died three years ago, suddenly showed up. She stepped out of the Voyce and looked down at me from above. “Honey, you really did pass my test.” I was holding some moldy stale bread. I stared at her in bewilderment. It turned out that three years ago, at a class reunion, the school heartthrob she had once dated had suggested it. “I wanted to see if your love is real.”

The day my daughter was fighting for her life, my wife, Shirley Hartley, was busy helping her childhood friend Oliver Burke get married. I called seventeen times. On my eighteenth try, she finally picked up. "Shirley, Nyssa's getting worse. The doctor says she needs life support now. They want twenty grand upfront. Where's the money?" Her voice turned ice-cold. "I used it. Oliver's wedding is coming up, and that stuff costs money. I'm not letting his fiancée's family look down on him. "Nyssa just has asthma, right? She coughs a little and suddenly they want twenty grand? Sounds like a scam." Nyssa lay in the hospital bed, her tiny face ghost-pale. Her eyes slowly opened. "Daddy, I want Mommy." I turned away, biting my lip hard so she wouldn't see me cry. "Mommy'll be here soon." But over the phone, Shirley snapped, "Oliver still hasn't picked out his wedding suit. I don't have time for you freaking out over this." Then she hung up. By the time I scraped together the twenty grand, forty minutes were gone. Half an hour later, the doctor came out of the ER. He pulled off his mask and shook his head. "If we'd started treatment thirty minutes earlier, she might've had a chance." Then my phone buzzed. A transaction alert. Shirley had taken the money that could've saved Nyssa and bought Oliver a $220,000 Maybach. I looked at Nyssa's blue-tinged face and called my lawyer. "Draw up the divorce papers. "And pull the records for every expense Shirley ever covered for Oliver. "I want every cent of our money back."

Sandra's ex-boyfriend had cancer, yet he still found the energy to keep pestering her. So I anonymously sent him a sum of money to make him leave her alone. But when Sandra found what I'd done, she threw the bank card in my face and shouted, "Why would you humiliate a dying man with money? He's already pitiful enough!" I looked at her calmly. "You're my wife. You shouldn't be worrying about another man."