Plot Twists Short Stories & Male POV Marriage Novels

Before Khloe Lewis, my mother died; she clutched my hand and made me promise to give her diary to Foster Lewis, my father, without ever sneaking a peek at it. The moment he finished reading it, my father's expression changed. He slapped me hard across the face, and from then on, he beat me at the slightest provocation. A year later, my father remarried. Rachelle Lewis, my stepmother, was gentle and kind, always standing up for me and protecting me. Then my father let out a cold laugh and took her to read my mother's diary. When she finished, disgust twisted her face. She grabbed a cane and beat me until I suffered broken bones. After I came of age, I met Princess Coraline while hunting. We fell in love and began making plans to get engaged. On the eve of our engagement, I begged her again and again not to read that diary. The princess readily agreed. However, my father still insisted that she read my mother's diary before deciding whether to marry me. The moment she finished reading it, the princess called off our engagement and ordered me thrown into the most terrifying prison in the empire. I couldn't understand what was written in that diary that could make everyone hate me with such vicious intensity. My father knew perfectly well that anyone who read it would turn against me. So why did he insist on showing it to everyone?

My wife, three months pregnant, falls into the lake while I'm fishing nearby. As I watch her struggle in the water, I shout anxiously, "Stop thrashing around! You're scaring all the fish away!" My fishing buddy stares at me in disbelief and demands to know why I'm still worried about fishing instead of saving my wife. I calmly rebait my hook and cast it back into the lake. "She'll be fine in the water for a little while, but if that big fish gets away, it's gone for good. Besides, what if I jump in and drown too? Better leave the rescuing to the professionals." Just then, sirens sound in the distance. The rescue team finally arrives, and everyone around us breathes a sigh of relief. But one of the rescuers freezes when he sees me. "Gary? What are you doing here?" Then, he realizes the woman in the lake is my wife. "That's Claire? She went through seven rounds of IVF to get pregnant! Why aren't you saving her? You're the best swimmer on the team!" The tourists around us erupt in outrage. Meanwhile, Claire's struggles grow weaker and weaker until only one hand remains above the surface. At last, my expression changes. I shoot to my feet. Everyone quickly moves aside, assuming I'm finally going to save her. Instead, I pull hard on my fishing rod. A huge fish bursts out of the water. I immediately break into a grin.

My wife, Clara Ellis, had just died. By law, I inherited her entire data archive. Among the files, I discovered an AI version of her that she had created so her surviving family could remember her after she was gone. My daughter asked, "What's the happiest moment of your entire life?" The Clara on the screen laughed. "Why, marrying your father, of course." Her friends asked if she had ever had any regrets. "Clara" shook her head. Then another question appeared, one the real Clara had prepared for herself. "If you could restart your life at 22, would you still choose to marry Darren?" For a full minute, Clara AI said nothing. Finally, she shook her head. "No. I'd rush to the airport and convince Logan to stay." Logan Pearce had left the country when Clara was 22. She never tried to stop him because, at that exact time, I was in a car accident that took both my parents' lives. At the most devastating moment of my life, she gave up on the man she loved and chose to stay by my side for the next twenty years. Everyone had always called it an act of love. Now I knew it had been an act of pity. The next time I opened my eyes, I discovered that I had somehow returned to the third day after the accident. Clara sat beside my hospital bed. Her phone showed that Logan's flight would be boarding soon. In my previous life, I had stopped her from going. It was the first time I had ever swallowed my pride and begged someone to stay with me. That night, I had spent hours trying to convince her not to leave. This time, I ordered an Uber for her. "Logan's flight leaves in 40 minutes. You can still make it, Clara."

I've just received a text from my CEO wife, Cara Lavigne. Apparently, she's gone on another last-minute business trip again, so she can't accompany me to the funeral home. But soon, I see Cara's silhouette being captured in a photo, where she celebrates her assistant, Warren Stone's birthday with him in a work-related post he has just uploaded. The caption reads, "Thank you for the amazing cake, boss! I feel so happy to be able to celebrate my birthday!" I just smile calmly before leaving a like and a comment. "Happy birthday." My colleagues, on the other hand, start betting pools like mad to see what kind of tricks I'm going to pull this time in order to kick up a ruckus. Cara calls me immediately just to scold me. "Warren is just celebrating his birthday, so what's with the comment? He's a very sensitive person, you know! How is he going to survive in this company now that you've passive-aggressively humiliated him in that public post? "It's been barely two years since Warren joined this company, not to mention he doesn't have any friends! What's wrong with me celebrating his birthday with him, huh? People like you, who are born with silver spoons in their mouths, will never understand Warren's plight! "I want you to delete your comment right now! We'll talk more about this once I'm home! Your dad is already dead anyway, so you can just wait for a few more days before claiming his body!" I can only clench my fists tightly as I listen to Cara's heartless and nonchalant words. "No need for that." Once she is back, the divorce procedures will be done.

On our fifth wedding anniversary, my wife, Nina Sable, drops a bombshell on me. She secretly aborts the child we have tried for three years to conceive, just so she can give her childhood friend, Mike Reed, a son to carry on his family line. When I confront her about it, she calls me out for being petty and heartless. "Mike is the only son in his family. He refuses to marry anyone else because of me. What's wrong with me giving him a child?" My dad, Matt Smith, suffers a heart attack from the shock and dies. My mom, Caroline Dunn, can't take the blow and loses her mind. She falls from the balcony, leaving her in a coma. Desperate to get pregnant as soon as possible, Nina fools around with Mike even on the day of Dad's funeral. And she posts about it on social media. "You stayed faithful to me, so I'll carry on your family line. We may not be meant to be in this life, but let's meet again in the next." I smirk and leave a comment underneath. "How are you not meant to be? I'll make sure you two get what you want right now."

My CEO wife, Emily Stewart, loved using her money to humiliate her ex-boyfriend, Ivan Perkins. On the day her company was listed, Emily made a rare public move by openly announcing our relationship and even getting Ivan to toast me. She even rewarded me with 10% of the company's shares. Ivan could not stand to be humiliated. He said unhappily before leaving, "Why must you do this to me, Emily? You know I want you, not your fame and fortune." When Emily went after him and brought him back, she gave Ivan my company shares and my position at work, saying she could not go back on her promise. When I asked her for a mere $5 to get some painkillers, she would suspect me of being a gold-digger who only wanted her money. Thus, I did not make a fuss and gave Ivan everything I had. Emily was happy about it. "I knew you were different. You never wanted me for my money. “Don't worry! Once I have my fun with him, I'll give you a grand wedding." She had no idea that I was tired of watching her play games with Ivan, and I no longer wanted to be a part of it.

I was a guide dog. On the day my owner got engaged, his fiancée gave him an AI pet translator collar. Once I put it on, I barked toward the kitchen, and the collar immediately translated: "The short-rib soup is too hot. I want to wait until it cools down before eating." My blind owner touched the scalding dog bowl and was deeply moved by his fiancée’s thoughtfulness. From then on, the collar became the bridge between my owner and me. Until one day, my owner was home alone. Thick smoke drifted from outside the mansion, and I barked desperately. However, the collar translated my barking as: "This blind man is so annoying. How could he ever be worthy of marrying mummy? I want to tear his throat out." My owner panicked, stumbled backward, and fell down the stairs, dying on the spot. His fiancée returned and beat me to death, claiming that I was a vicious dog that had attacked its owner. She not only inherited my owner’s enormous fortune but also married his best friend soon afterward. When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the day my owner’s fiancée tried to put the collar around my neck. This time, I sank my teeth straight into her thigh.

I woke up in the middle of the night to find my wife crying and begging me to let her see that young man one last time. "I’ll come right back after seeing him one last time. Please, I’m begging you." In our seven years of marriage, this was only the second time she’d spoken to me in such a pleading, ingratiating tone. The last time was when I caught the kid running out of her office, his clothes in disarray. Afraid I’d make a scene, she grabbed my hand and pleaded, "Honey, I promise I’ll cut him off. Please don’t divorce me. I’ll die without you." So, I gave her another chance. Just as she promised, she devoted herself to our family, becoming the perfect wife everyone admired. Until today. I turned on the bedside lamp, looked into her eyes, and told her seriously, "Go. Don’t leave yourself with any regrets." I had no regrets left. I hoped the same for you.

After Helena Ashbourne cheated on me with her male assistant again, my mind came apart. At the lowest point of it, I picked up the fruit knife on the table and meant to end things myself. "Why are you hurting yourself again? Doesn't she like you anymore?" I looked up, and sixteen-year-old Helena was walking toward me with pain all over her face. She spoke gently. "Tell me who she is. I'll make her pay for you." I looked into the bright eyes of the girl in front of me. I didn't say anything. Quietly, I pointed at her face. Later, Helena put me in a psychiatric hospital herself. In the gaps between doses of sedative, the girl sat down beside my bed again. She stared out at the woman with a face so much like her own, and the light in her eyes went out inch by inch. Then she forced the words out, and every one of them came with blood. "I don't care who she is. I'm going to kill her." Sixteen-year-old Helena never lied to me. She meant every word.

On my third wedding anniversary, I head home early, only to catch Simone Jamison in bed with another man for the tenth time. However, instead of losing my temper, I calmly close the door for them. Sometime later, Simone throws the divorce papers at me. "Apart from giving me a daughter, you've done nothing for my family and me. What's the point of keeping you around? Mark wants to start a family with me, so sign the papers." I take in her indifferent expression and respond impassively, "Sure, but I want custody of our daughter. I don't need any money." I do everything in my power to take our daughter, Ally Jamison, with me, walking away without a cent of the Jamison family's money. Everyone says I've lost my mind. They can't believe I didn't try to get a piece of the Jamison fortune. Even Simone questions me derisively, "You're just a fertility specialist. How are you going to afford to give her the best things in life?" Unbeknownst to everyone, Simone suffers from a major reproductive disorder—she has reduced egg viability. Apart from me, who happens to be blessed with a unique genetic trait in my sperm, no other man can get her pregnant. Ally will forever be the only heir to the Jamison family's wealth.

I made fifty thousand a month, yet there I was at the hospital pharmacy counter, red-faced, because my card got declined. I quickly texted my wife. "Hurry up and transfer three hundred to me. I can't cover my preion, and I'm standing here at the register!" … A moment later, she replied with a link to a form. "Don't forget to submit an allowance advance request, honey!" In that instant, I suddenly realized that this was it for us. Then, I put the receipt down, walked out of the hospital, and drove straight to the law firm. "I want a divorce."

At our wedding, my wife finally appeared. But instead of a wedding dress, she arrived dressed entirely in mourning clothes, a black mourning veil covering her face. The entire venue erupted in shock. Some guests openly reveled in my humiliation, while others sneered and mocked me. I suppressed a level of anger I had never felt before and confronted her. "What's this supposed to mean? Do you really have to humiliate me on the most important day of our lives?" Instead of showing any remorse, she screamed back, "It's only been seven days since Grant died! I grew up with him. Am I not allowed to mourn him still? If you don't want to go through with this wedding, then don't! No one's forcing you!" I stared at her in silence. Then I slowly removed my wedding ring. Without another word, I tossed it onto the floor. Fine. Let this be their funeral wedding.

I had been on a business trip overseas for less than six months when I suddenly received a call from the hospital. "Mr. Jones, your wife is having a difficult labor. Should we proceed with a C-section or try to continue with a natural delivery?" The words hit me like a bolt of lightning. I stood there, frozen. When I left, my wife had not shown any sign of pregnancy. How could she be giving birth less than six months later? I quickly dialed her number. The moment the call connected, I heard her cries of pain. "Honey, what's wrong?" From the other end of the line, I could hear a nurse urging her to push harder. However, my wife forced her voice to sound calm. "Sweetheart, I just slipped and fell a moment ago. It's nothing serious. You should keep focusing on your business trip. Don't worry about me." As I listened, the faint sound of a baby crying filtered through the phone. My grip tightened so hard around the phone that it nearly cracked. "Is that so? Then, get some rest," I said calmly. After hanging up, I immediately called my father, the richest man in the country. "Dad, Rebecca's cheating on me. She's in the delivery room right now, having another man's child. Stop all investments in the Harris family immediately. I want her thrown out with nothing to her name."

On New Year's Eve, the smell of a roast in the oven drifted through the house. My grandmother walked over to me, with an old photograph in her hand, the edges worn soft with age. "Is Zack almost home?" My throat tightened. It had been three years. She could never remember that my younger brother was long gone. I was the one who picked up his ashes. At that moment, my phone rang. The moment I saw the name on the screen, the blood in my veins seemed to freeze. I stepped out onto the balcony before answering, keeping my voice low. "What is it?" The voice on the other end of the line trembled. "It's been three years. Are you still angry? I've been waiting for you to come home. Our son has, too. We're downstairs." Downstairs? I walked over and looked down to see a tall figure and a small one standing together. Through my phone, my son's voice came with a catch in his throat, saying, "Daddy…" My thoughts snapped back into place. I said flatly, "We've been divorced for a long time. He said he didn't want to stay with me." Then, I hung up without another word.

When I woke up that morning and happened to glance at the mirror, a scream tore from my throat before I could stop it. Because on the face I had always taken such pride in, there was now a jagged, horrifying scar. As terror gripped me, a cool, detached female voice cut through the air beside me. "What are you shrieking about so early in the morning? Scared by your own ugly face?" I looked up in shock and realized the voice belonged to my girlfriend, Alicia. Only—she wasn't the same girl from yesterday. Gone was the youthful innocence I remembered. In its place, every movement, every glance radiated the allure of a mature woman. The words slipped out before I could hold them back. "Babe… you're gorgeous…" But Alicia's brows knit together, her gaze colder than ice. "Kurt, drop the act!" Act? I was at a loss. Why would she accuse me of pretending? "Don't call me the way you used to five years ago. It's disgusting." Five years ago? But… I'm still twenty-three… am I not?

After my wife, Simone Inman, gets into a car accident, I examine her as her doctor and discover that she has a malignant brain tumor. Afraid that she will be devastated, I plan to tell her later. So, I hide the medical report in my bag. But when she happens to see it, she mistakenly thinks it is my diagnosis instead. One day, when I arrive at her office, I overhear her talking to her best friend, Mindy Fox. She says, "My husband has no talent, no looks, only money. And now, he even has a tumor in his brain… If Shawn hadn't gone abroad back then, I would never have married him. I'm so unlucky! But good thing I never agreed to have children with him. Once he dies, all his money will be mine." Later on, she claims she has amnesia after the car accident and cannot remember who I am. She even treats her male secretary, Shawn Erskine, as her husband and blatantly brings him into our home. I smile scathingly and say, "Let's get a divorce, Simone."

Out of sheer boredom, I randomly clicked into a livestream titled "Taming an Innocent Housewife." In the stream, a woman in a silk chemise was lazily puttering around the kitchen. When the camera finally showed her face, I was completely stunned—it was me. Not only that, but on the public chat, the top donor was spamming gifts like crazy. [Make her drink that spiked milk.] Soon after, a man groveled in response: [Thanks for the gift, bro. She'll drink it right now. I promise you a hell of a show tonight.] I'd recognize that voice anywhere—it was my husband, Jake, who was supposedly on a business trip overseas. My own husband had turned our home into a hidden-camera setup, treating me like his personal reality show star. And now, he was trying to feed me illegal drugs just to rake in donations. Most people would've broken down or called the cops. But I'm what you'd call the ultimate pro at playing nice—everyone in our circle knows I'm the queen of manipulation. I picked up that glass of milk, looked straight into the camera, and gave a fragile, tantalizing smile. "Since my husband's not home, drinking this milk all alone feels so lonely... I wish some strong, capable guy would come take care of me." The chat exploded. Donations went through the roof. Later that night, Jake burst through the front door, ready to "discipline" me—but froze in his tracks. There I was, sitting in lingerie on the lap of the top donor, grinning at my husband. "Honey, you're back! I helped you hit your goals tonight!"

The day Ruth Frost and I meet each other's parents for the first time, my mother, Gladys Carey, ends up in the hospital after suffering a severe allergic reaction. I rush to the hotel's front desk and demand, "I told you repeatedly that there couldn't be any seafood in the food! How could this happen?" After checking the reservations, the staff member looks at me cautiously. "Mr. Goodman, Ms. Frost booked two tables with us today. For one table, she requested less onion, extra garlic, no cilantro, and mild spice. There were no dietary restrictions listed for the other table. We never received any instructions to leave out seafood sauce." I freeze as I look at the food order record the staff member hands me. The special instructions are written out in meticulous detail. "Mr. Knapp doesn't eat onions. Mrs. Knapp likes garlic. Marvin doesn't eat cilantro. Please make the dishes mildly spicy." Marvin Knapp is Ruth's childhood friend. She carefully notes every detail of the table she reserves for his family, as though she's terrified of getting even the smallest thing wrong. But for Mom's table, the special instructions section is completely blank. Before today's meeting, I message Ruth at least ten times, reminding her that Mom has a seafood allergy so severe it could kill her. Every single time, she replies, "I know. Don't worry." But she doesn't remember at all. Ruth forgets something that could cost Mom her life, yet she remembers every last detail of the Knapp family's food preferences. Thinking about the light glowing above the ER doors, I suddenly realize that the woman I've loved all these years has never really cared about me at all.

The day my entire family attended my girlfriend's wedding to my stepbrother, I laid in the bathtub and contemplated ending my life there and then. Just as the cold blade touched my wrist, my phone suddenly began ringing nonstop. It was a scheduled call my late mother had left for me. "Happy birthday, Casper!" After a moment of silence, I climbed out of the bathtub, got dressed, and secretly left the country. In the five years I was gone, I changed my name and phone number to cut off all ties with my home country. Everyone thought I was dead. They believed I had died on the day my girlfriend married my stepbrother. For five whole years, fresh red roses had been laid at my grave every single day. Five years later, I returned home to visit my mother's grave. At the floral boutique outside the cemetery, I happened to run into my ex-girlfriend, who had come to buy red roses. After a moment of shock and awkwardness, we finally greeted each other. "It's been a long time." I smiled at her politely. She stared at me without looking away. The red roses in her hand pricked her fingers until they bled. Just as we were about to part, she suddenly asked, "Why didn't you come looking for me in the past five years?" I smiled but didn't answer. After all, we weren't a couple anymore. She had married my father's illegitimate son, and I had a three-year-old child of my own. There was no going back.

When I brought my girlfriend, Ivy Rossum, home to meet my family, my cousin, Kevin Lonsdale, snuck into her room, took off his clothes, and got into her bed. When we found him, he clutched the sheets and said in a shaking voice, “Paul, I didn’t do this on purpose. I thought I was going to my room.” It was the same excuse he had used before. Eight years ago, when I brought my first girlfriend home, he had done the exact same thing and used the same excuse. I finally called him out on it. “Everyone occasionally ends up at the wrong door, but how did you get in with the wrong keycard?” Kevin’s face went white, his tears suddenly halting. Dad defended him and scolded me. “Kevin has always been absent-minded, you know this! Look at him now. He’s had a shock. How could you humiliate him when he’s already in such a state?” I felt suffocated. I held strong and did my best not to tremble. I looked at the woman I had loved and kept secret from my family for six years and asked, “Ivy, how would you like to deal with this?”