Contos e Romances sobre Plot Twists com Marriage

My younger sister, Noelle Lynch's 18th birthday wish is to personally give me the wedding bouquet at my wedding. That's why throughout the five years of Noelle getting tormented by polio, the sentence that I utter to my fiance, Jeremy Morgan, the most is, "Wait a little longer." I want to wait till Noelle is fully recovered and can give me the wedding bouquet. Only when that time comes will the wedding be held. At first, Jeremy keeps arguing with me over this matter. "You're marrying me, not Noelle! Is it that important for her to attend our wedding? My mom really wants us to have a child! If we're not getting married by this year, then we might as well break up!" Things between us have soured since that day. When Noelle finally recovers from polio at the end of the year and wins the pageant as Miss Global Winner, I specifically give myself a long vacation. Then, I secretly contact the wedding planning company in hopes of moving the wedding date forward. But the staff member asks me in shock, "Didn't Mr. Morgan hold his wedding last month?" She even digs out the backup video from the wedding on her computer. In the video, Jeremy can be seen wearing a white suit. With red-rimmed eyes, he slides a ring onto the bride's finger. Shockingly enough, this bride is Noelle, the very same person who keeps claiming that I'm her salvation. I feel as though I've plunged into an icy abyss. Subconsciously, I log into Noelle's social media account. The first thing I see is a barrage of messages from Jeremy. "Honey, I already told her that I'd go on a business trip for a month. We'll meet up at the airport right on time. "By the way, remember to bring the black lace stockings that I've given you. I'm already looking forward to seeing you wearing them…" I clutch my phone tightly at the sight of the messages. Then, I hail a cab and rush to the airport immediately.

The battery on my front door smart lock died, so I called a locksmith to come over. While he was working on the lock, he made small talk. "Dude, this lock comes with six spare keys. Did you lock all of them inside the apartment?" I froze. I've lived in this apartment for three years. My wife and I each have one spare key. The other three were always kept in the hallway drawer. That makes five total. So where's the sixth key?

The battery in my artificial heart is about to run out, yet no matter where I look, I can't find the spare battery. When I turn around, I realize that my wife, Tracy Maddox, has installed it in a streaming camera. She is using it to livestream a fundraiser for her sick first love, Gavin Spade, who has a cold. "Come on, everyone. Send more gifts! Gavin feels terrible because of his cold. Once we raise enough money, I'll take him to get the most expensive imported cold injection available!" I am so enraged that my vision darkens for a moment, like I'm about to pass out. I shout, "Tracy, you know exactly what happens if my heart loses power. Are you going to just watch as I die?" Covering the microphone, Tracy turns to me and shouts back, "Gavin has a fever of 102.2 degrees Fahrenheit! Your heart is just out of power. Can't you just wait a little while? Once the livestream is over and we've raised enough money for his injection, I'll give the battery back to you!" Using the last of my strength, I activate the emergency communication system inside my artificial heart and contact the R&D center. "The artificial heart is about to stop permanently. Activating the black box... Uploading evidence of murder in real time..."

On my 30th birthday, my husband, Miles Harrington, was out of town on a business trip. To make it up to me, he had a cake delivered. What arrived at my door was a Superman cake that looked like it belonged at a three-year-old's birthday party. I was about to call him when my phone rang. "Honey, you're not gonna believe this. That bakery messed up my order and sent you the wrong cake." I didn't think much of it. Instead, I posted the story on my social media account as a funny little birthday mishap. Comments started pouring in almost immediately. [Was it really the bakery's mistake, or does your husband have a kid somewhere?] I laughed it off. Miles and I had been together since college. We dated, got married, and built a life together. Other than not having children, we were the kind of couple people envied. But as the post gained traction and the comments kept coming, I decided maybe it was time to delete it. Before I could, I got a direct message from the bakery. [Hi there. I wanted to clarify, the delivery driver didn't mix up the orders. Mr. Harrington bought two cakes. He accidentally swapped the delivery addresses.]

On the day I decide to divorce Evan Beckett, I still make lunch and deliver it to him in person. After he takes a sip out of the soup, he widens his eyes in surprise. "The soup's pretty decent! I'll have it again tomorrow!" I nod in response. "Sure thing. I'll teach the housekeeper how to cook it later." That's when Evan lifts his head to look at me. "You got something going on tomorrow?" "Let's get a divorce, Evan." I sound very calm; so calm that everyone, including Evan, thinks that I'm throwing another tantrum. But what they don't know is that I'll be traveling to the ends of the earth with a research team, where we'll be based in for eternity, in 12 hours.

When the property manager calls me, I'm in the middle of picking out the curtains for my new home while sitting behind my desk. "Ms. Grant, the moving truck hired by your partner is stuck in the underground garage of the apartment. Do you need help dealing with this incident?" My hand, which is clutching the mouse, freezes at that moment. I haven't even received my keys to my new place. How can I possibly be moving my things there now? "But Matthew showed up with the permission slip that you signed and claimed the keys. Right now, he's carrying the bed into the master suite. "He told me that you've given him permission to let your relative, Ms. Rosalie Sullivan, and her child move into the apartment." Rosalie Sullivan. That name makes my head buzz loudly. I have practically worked myself to the bone for ten years to secure the internal allocation that got me this subsidized apartment in the city center. In fact, I've only received the notification that I'll be receiving this apartment yesterday. To think that Matthew Lowe actually has the audacity to receive the keys behind my back and give the apartment to someone else! As for Rosalie, she's the poor widow left behind by Matthew's best friend. She and her child are also the very same people whom I've personally supported out of my pocket and looked after for three years. I clutch my phone tightly at that moment.

My son had a high fever that would not break, so I called my wife. She said I was using our son to make her jealous. Then she turned around and took her first love's son to the hospital over a scraped finger. I looked at my son's pale face and asked, "Do you want a different mom?" My son nodded. Twice. "Mom doesn't like me, so I don't want to like her anymore." Later, I really did give him a different mom, but my wife refused to accept it.

After I get detained in the police station, my husband, Gavin Pratt, specifically comes over to bail me out. But I grip a policeman's arm without letting go. "I'm the one who did it! Hurry up and arrest me!" In my previous life, I was surrounded by the family members of a car crash victim. A bar owner and a saleswoman who sold cosmetics were there as well. They claimed that I had gone into a drunken frenzy and stole perfume from the store. On top of that, I even ran a red light and hit someone with my car. I kept explaining the truth to everyone, yet no one believed me. Instead, they all had me surrounded and beat me up till I died. When I wake up again, I've returned to the day I'm detained inside the police station.

My wife, Yasmin Lowe, falls in love with my pet snake. Every night, she claims she is too tired and refuses to let me touch her. In reality, she secretly climbs into the terrarium and spends intimate moments with the snake. After she leaves on a two-day business trip, the snake's temperament changes drastically and it nearly bites my father to death. Furious about this, he has the snake euthanized. What no one expects is that while the snake dies by euthanasia, my entire family dies at Yasmin's hands. "You killed the love of my life. All of you will go to hell with him!" When I open my eyes again, I am back on my wedding night. Beside me, Yasmin quietly lifts the blanket. I smile. Euthanasia? That would be letting them off far too easily.

My girlfriend, Kiara Sommer, gets one of her legs crippled in order to save me. Her adopted younger brother, Cain Fullton, suffers from heart failure after shielding us from harm. Since then, his heart becomes extremely weak, and he has to rely on the expensive imported medication just to survive. In order to gather enough money for their surgical bills, I take on a body-casting job in the black market. Not only are my limbs encased in scalding hot silicon, but I also have to endure it whenever a few female perverts cop a feel of me. I can't even move an inch when I'm doing my job. After all, I'll have to compensate for the damages if I ruin the mold. I can only grit my teeth and endure the agony, only to get slapped a few times in the face afterward. "You already have the guts to take on a job like this, and yet you're frightened of getting groped?" As I withstand the humiliation and the burning pain, I return to the hospital with the money in hopes of buying more medicine for Cain. When I walk past a VIP lounge, I hear familiar laughter erupting from within. "Kia, this is the 998th test, right? Once Shane passes 999 tests, are you really going to marry him?" Kiara frowns slightly at the question, though she soon replies coolly, "Yeah. The tests stem from my family's rules, and you're ordered to serve as the supervisor. But still, don't go overboard, yeah? Shane is the only one meant to be my husband." So, Kiara lies to me and torments me to this point just so she can marry me? As I stare at my broken and bruised reflection in the mirror, I feel my lips curling into a smile all of a sudden. With trembling hands, I dig out the old phone that I haven't used for the past two years. My eyes slowly redden as well. Then, I draft a text message. "I regret everything now, Winona. Please take me home."

The delivery-app price war ended up being the smoking gun that proved my husband was cheating. A man who drank nothing but premium craft coffee somehow had a Dunkin’ iced coffee bag sitting in his car. After catching me staring at it, he explained, “The new receptionist at work gave it to me. She said there was some promotion going on and the drinks were ridiculously cheap, so she bought too many and offered me one. I only accepted it because I didn’t want to be rude.” I looked at him with amusement. “Is she pretty?” Hearing the sarcasm in my voice, Carter Freeman snapped. It was out of character. “If you’re going to keep acting jealous for no reason, get out of my car!” It seemed that so much time had passed that he had forgotten that the “Freeman” behind Freeman Group was not Carter Freeman, but me.

My CEO wife has a habit of rewarding top-performing employees with a private dinner. After seven years of being secretly married to her, I finally pushed myself to the limit—working around the clock for an entire month, nearly coughing up blood—just to land the number-one spot and finally earn that public dinner date with my own wife. But Alexia gave the spot to an intern instead. "Caleb just joined the team. He needs some motivation and encouragement. As my husband, you need to be understanding. Next time, if you close over ten million in sales, I'll definitely give you the spot—and I'll even throw in a diamond wedding ring worth a million." For the sake of the company and our marriage, I let it slide. Then I closed a ten-million-dollar deal and showed up at the restaurant we'd agreed on. She never came. No calls, no texts. I was about to head back to the office to find her when I saw Caleb's post on social media: a candlelit dinner with my wife, and on his ring finger—the very ring she'd promised me. His caption read: [Family keeps asking when I'm getting married? Don't worry—my girlfriend, the CEO, showed up with a ring to save the day.] Coworkers flooded the comments with excitement. I calmly left a comment of my own. My wife, who had been MIA for six hours, immediately called me in a panic. "Don't get the wrong idea! It was just a dare—he lost a game, that's all. You're still my husband. I just loaned him the ring for a minute. Once the game's over, I'll get it right back to you." But I don't want the ring or her anymore. "Don't bother. Let's get a divorce."

My wife has a severe sex addiction. But in the seven years we've been married, she never lets me touch her. To suppress her urges, she spends all day submerged in ice-cold water, and her arms are covered in needle marks. Several times, I try to initiate intimacy out of concern for her, but her reaction is terrifying. She even threatens to kill herself. "I told you, I only want a Platonic relationship in this lifetime. Can you stop being so selfish? If you insist on making me do that, I'd rather die!" she exclaims. She maintains this unusual obsession for seven years. Even after ending up in the hospital multiple times from suppressing her desires, she refuses to cross that line. Then, on our wedding anniversary, a man comes in for a pre-check of his phalloplasty enlargement for the ninth time. After the anesthesia takes effect, he begins rambling incoherently. "Honey, I love you so much." Looking at the surgical scars, I shake my head, thinking this guy is really willing to go to extreme lengths for his wife. Then, I hear his final murmur. "Tasha, aren't I so much better compared to your useless husband?" My hand jerks, and I nearly drop the scalpel. It is because my wife's name is Tasha Snyder.

My wife, Ruth Quarmby, had a twenty-year-old male apprentice named Craig Smith. He secretly turned off a diver’s scuba tank underwater. This caused an accident. He then posted three posts on his social media feed. The first post said, [I played a little prank underwater by shutting off my instructor’s mother-in-law’s scuba tank. Now, she’s in a coma and heading into surgery. But hey, I’m innocent!] The second post said, [Toast one: from a broke mountain kid to a certified diver. All by myself! Toast two: I confessed my love to someone I shouldn’t have, but I didn’t cross that line. Toast three: here’s to every lonely night I suffered through.] The third post said, [Best instructor ever. Without her, who else would cover for my pranks?] I told my wife to pay for the surgery to save the person quickly. But in front of the operating room door, she told me solemnly to give up on the surgery. “Your mother is old and fragile. Saving her is a waste of resources. Even if she makes it out alive, she’ll be bedridden. She’ll wish she were dead. Just let her go.” She quickly signed the Refusal of Treatment form. Then, she threw the signed form in my face. I kept quiet. The person lying in the operating room was her own mother.

My CEO husband told me he had a last-minute job to handle. He said that because of it, he couldn't accompany me to retrieve the body. Then I went online and saw a photo my husband's secretary had posted as a birthday status update. [Thanks for the red velvet cake, Mr. Mitchell! Happy birthday to me!] I smiled and left a comment. [Happy birthday.] That single comment sparked a frenzy among my colleagues. They immediately began placing bets on how big of a scene I would make. Then he called. "Lucy is just celebrating her birthday, Brianna! Why do you have to ruin it by showing up in the comments?! Don't you know how sensitive she is? How is she supposed to feel comfortable at work now?! "She's only been here for two years. She doesn't even have any friends! What's wrong with me looking out for an employee and keeping her company on her birthday? A lucky girl who grew up in a wealthy family like you wouldn't understand! "If you want to talk about this, fine. Wait until I get back. But delete that comment right now! We can always wait another few days before retrieving his body. Where is your father going to go anyway? He's already dead!" I clenched my fist and replied, "That won't be necessary." By the time he returned, we would already be legally divorced.

When I returned from a five-year overseas assignment, I walked out of the airport expecting Dan Hill to finally keep his promise and propose to me. Instead, he stood there with a distant expression. “Stella, I’m sorry.” Before I could even process the apology, he continued, “I was the one who arranged your transfer order. I deliberately had you reassigned to that remote project out in the desert because I needed space for Hayley and myself. She was pregnant back then, and I didn’t have any other choice.” A long silence followed, and I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood. Five years of scorching heat, endless dust storms, and sixteen-hour workdays in a place that felt forgotten by the rest of the world… I finally learned it had all been a carefully constructed prison of his making. “You’re overbearing and confrontational. I was afraid you’d go after her. I’m telling you the truth now not because I expect forgiveness, but because I hope you’ll stay calm and not make this uglier than it needs to be.” His voice carried an air of weary resignation. I took a step back to avoid him as he reached out toward me. I was smiling through my tears. “Dan, this could’ve been a clean break, but you’ve ruined that.”

I was a princess ennobled by my father, the late king. Marrying the general of the northern frontier, Griffin Quenell was already a great show of royal favor. On my wedding day, just as my royal carriage arrived at the Quenell family’s courtyard, a woman dressed in grey wool knelt before the castle gate. She held a swaddled infant in her arms. Griffin, as the groom of the day, dressed in his wedding tunic, blocked my path with a troubled expression. “Your Grace, Joan is someone I met in the borderlands. She bore me a son and now has no place to go. Please let her move in with me on this special occasion. You’ll be my first wife, and she’ll be my second wife. It’s all for the sake of the Quenell bloodline.” The guests at the gate erupted into commotion. His grandmother, Wilma Quenell, spoke firmly. “Your Grace, you were born into royalty. You certainly do not lack a title. However, Griffin is the only son the Quenell family has had in three generations. This child bears the Quenell name. We surely can’t make him an illegitimate child.” The border soldiers knelt and said in unison, “Your Grace, have mercy!” I looked down at the child in the swaddle, then at Griffin’s pleading gaze. I smiled, removed my coronet from my head, and placed it on the wedding table. Then, I turned and boarded my carriage. “General Quenell, I will not stop you from wanting an heir, but my late father’s decree said I am to be married, not given away as a gift. If your family cannot abide by his words, then I shall take the decree back with me.”

The day I was acknowledged as the real Sinclair heiress, Moon Sinclair, the fake heiress, stood before me with tears in her eyes and said she wanted to give the engagement back to me. I placed a hand over my stomach. I had only recently found out that I was pregnant. I said softly, “I don’t need it. I already have feelings for someone.” As soon as the words left my mouth, several lines of text suddenly appeared before my eyes. [This is hilarious. The so-called villain is turning down the engagement so confidently right now. Just wait until she sees the male lead. She’ll regret it immediately.] [But the male lead will still choose the heroine, the fake heiress. The villain will use her pregnancy to cling to him and refuse to let go.] [The heroine will eventually be driven to slash her wrists. Everyone in the family will despise the villain, and the male lead will hate her too. In the end, she and her baby will both die during childbirth.] I lowered my gaze. The whole thing felt absurd. How could I become obsessed with a man I had never even met? At that moment, I heard footsteps behind me. Moon wiped away her tears and hurried over. “Cameron, this is my sister. This engagement should have been hers from the beginning.” I turned around and met a pair of familiar eyes. He was the man who had supported me for the past five years. He was also the father of the baby in my womb.

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.

Just before the new school term started, my daughter's parent group chat, which had been quiet for ages, suddenly announced that the first parent-teacher meeting of the semester would be held that night. The rule was: both parents had to attend. A long string of "Got it" followed. I was about to reply when I noticed someone had beaten me to it. A guy with a family photo as his profile picture sent a voice message. "I'm Emma Sullivan's dad. We'll be there!" I froze. I clicked into the member list and checked repeatedly. My daughter's name was Emma Sullivan. He said he was Emma's dad. Then who the hell was I? I immediately called my wife. Before I could say a word, I heard her cheerful voice. "Honey, my best friend just asked me to dinner tonight. I'm bringing our daughter. Just make something at home yourself, and get some sleep early." My heart skipped a beat. Her best friend's husband was my good friend. He had just posted a family vacation photo from the Maldives on his social media. There was no way she was meeting her for dinner that night. I paused for a second, then smiled and said, "Sounds good." I hung up, called a car, and headed straight to my daughter's school. Let's find out exactly who my daughter's other father was.