Cerita Pendek & Novel Mistress Fake Death

When I went for my prenatal checkup, I filled in my mafia husband Enrico Salvatore's information in the spouse column. However, the doctor told me, "The system shows no record of you ever being married. You're unmarried." I froze, unable to believe it. "How is that possible? We got married five years ago. Please check again." The doctor pulled up the system records again, and only one line appeared on the screen: [Marriage Registration: None.] At first, I thought the hospital had made a mistake. Then, I overheard Enrico talking to one of his men. "Isabella's the only one in my heart. I'll give her everything else she wants. But Luisa gave me a daughter. For the sake of the family's bloodline, I have to register our marriage and give her that status. Isabella can never find out about the registration." At that moment, I finally understood. The small wedding five years ago was nothing but a cover. We never registered. There was no legal marriage. Even the child I was carrying had no legal standing. It was all an elaborate lie he had crafted. Since none of this ever truly belonged to me, I would just leave.

My lawyer husband, Chester Stratton, and our five-year-old son were kidnapped. By the time I arrived, the bomb had already detonated, and they were reduced to ashes before my eyes. My older sister, a prosecutor, had tried to help me track down the culprit, yet even she was captured and tortured to death. Everyone said my ruthless methods had earned me too many enemies, that they had suffered because of me. They said I should have been the one to die. Even the Criminal Investigation Division stripped me of my position. For three years, I secretly hunted for the mastermind. Until one day, my investigation led me to a restaurant. There, I saw my husband, my son, and my sister—the three people who had supposedly died three years ago. They were all sitting together, celebrating a little girl's birthday. Friends and relatives surrounded them, smiling as though nothing had ever happened. Fury surged through me, and I was about to storm over and demand answers when my best friend grabbed me from behind, refusing to let go. "Audrey, I know you can't accept this, but they're husband and wife now. If you make a scene, how are you any different from a homewrecker? Phoebe got pregnant with Chester's child three years ago. Everyone knew how ruthless you could be. Faking their deaths was the only way they could escape you." Beside her, my mother fixed me with a warning look. "It's good that you found out. For the past three years, Phoebe and Chester have been forced to move from place to place with their two children. It broke my heart to watch them live like that. Now, their family of four is finally happy. If you just walk away, everyone will forgive you." The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. I looked at the people before me and laughed until tears streamed down my face. So Chester and my sister had never died. While I had spent the past three years drowning in grief, they had been living peaceful, happy lives. And everyone had known the truth. Everyone had conspired to keep it from me.

Damian was the fearsome don of a mafia family, but I was his sole weakness. In order to marry me, a poor girl from the slums, he was punished by his family sixteen times, and the scars on his back remained terrifying, even to this date. To make me happy, he killed one of the best arms dealers in the world just to get the blue crystal I had mentioned offhandedly once. He built a manor named “One and Only” for me and swore that I was his one and only true love. I had thought that our happiness would last forever, until the day I saw him cradling a pair of twins in another manor. The twins’ mother was my mortal enemy. She had once had someone break my ribs and stuff dirt into my mouth. Hence, on the day of our wedding anniversary, I prepared a grand gift for him: a private jet that exploded and plummeted into the ocean, along with a charred wedding ring. In my world, betrayal never led to forgiveness, only abandonment.

I had been engaged to Atlas Payne, a powerful CEO, for five years. This was the 21st time he had canceled our wedding ceremony. The first time, his secretary, Jasmine Scott, sprained her ankle. He left me by the roadside and rushed to the hospital. The second time, Jasmine cried and made a scene on the eve of our wedding, so he left me alone on the red carpet. The Payne family was powerful, while I was merely the daughter of a housekeeper. Therefore, everyone advised me to just deal with his mood swings. Every time Atlas left me behind, he would solemnly apologize and promise me that the next wedding attempt would definitely go smoothly. I kept believing him. Even though I was not the family's legitimate mistress, I still handled all the family affairs for him. I waited and waited, but the wedding ceremony never came. All I received was news that Jasmine was pregnant. This time, I had no reason to convince myself to stay. "I will never let you leave my side. If you ever disappear, I’ll make sure to use my family's influence to find you." The sweet words he once said to me were now a cage that trapped me. On Christmas Day, I prepared to leave him for good. I started a fire at home. Even the most powerful family would not be able to find someone who was supposedly dead. Years later, I unexpectedly came across Atlas kneeling at my ‘grave’. He was always so stern, but now, he was crying and begging me to come home and see him again.

Albert Shearer, who was cold to intimacy, satisfies his physical needs while looking at photos of his female mentee, Ellie Jett. I immediately suspect that he's developed feelings for her. Later, Ellie's act of showing off in the operating room leaves my mother, Bernice Lourd, paralyzed. I give Albert two choices—send her to prison or divorce me. Albert spends the entire night on the balcony with the cold wind blowing against him. The next day, he submits evidence of Ellie's grievous medical misconduct. From then on, he becomes known throughout the medical community as a whipped husband, and our marriage returns to the way it was before. That is, until I discover I'm pregnant. Wanting to surprise Albert, I secretly attend the awards ceremony at his hospital. But the moment I step inside, I see a young woman standing onstage, holding a trophy as she delivers her acceptance speech. A chill spreads through my entire body. It's Ellie, the very woman who should be behind bars.

Cleo Carrington used to be Northvale's brightest spark—wild, fearless, impossible to pin down. And then she married Damian Joubert. The most controlled, rigid heir in their world. Damian ran like a machine. Perfect standards. Zero slack. And he expected the same from his wife. Cleo loved noise—clubs, music, bodies moving. He had every venue in the city blacklist her. She loved freedom—the blazing Afriyan sun, the northern lights in Icelorn. She raced cars. She jumped out of planes. He took her passport. Shut it all down.

By the third year of Waylon Ratliff's affair, I had completely lost my mind. I leaked private photos of his assistant, Jenna Gilmore, all over the internet. Then, I poured gasoline over myself and threatened to drag everyone down with me. Jenna was so terrified that she fled the city that very night. I thought I'd won. Well, I couldn't have been more wrong. To cover my legal fees and compensation claims, my brother sold his house. When that still wasn't enough, he turned to loan sharks. Eventually, the debt became too much for him to bear, and he jumped from the roof of a high-rise. The last thing he left behind was a voice recording. His voice was hoarse and exhausted. "Sydney, please stop. There's nothing left. Mom and Dad have already lost everything. They've aged overnight. I can't do this anymore..." My mom clutched his belongings to her chest and cried until she passed out. Meanwhile, my dad seized my throat with his trembling, slim hands, yelling until his voice broke. "How many more people do you need to ruin before you're satisfied?" Tears slipped silently down my cheeks, and that was when I finally came to my senses. After that, I stopped obsessively investigating every woman who got close to Waylon. I stopped demanding an explanation every time I found a lipstick stain on his collar. One night, I even caught him staring at an old photo of Jenna. The longing in his eyes was obvious, but instead of making a scene, I told him to bring her back. Then, Jenna's birthday came around. As she blew out the candles, she made a wish. She wanted to be Mrs. Ratliff for real, even if it was only once. So I printed out the divorce papers, signed every page, and placed them in front of her. Waylon snatched them away before she could touch them and ripped them in half. Then, he seized my chin and forced me to look at him, his gaze piercing. "What happened to you, Sydney? You used to swear you'd rather die than divorce me. So where did all that stubbornness go?"

I stand before the grave of my late wife, Casey Hill, having repaid her debts for five years. When I return home, I realize that our dog, Pudding, has gone missing. It is the only memory Casey has left me. I search everywhere frantically, eventually finding it hovering between life and death in an alley. Standing at the side is a girl. She points at Pudding and laughs gleefully to her friends. "Are you guys seeing this? This little guy is tough. We've played with it for so long, and it's still breathing!" I shove her aside and pick it up, my eyes bloodshot. The blood on Pudding's fur makes my heart ache so much I can hardly breathe. The girl utters a yelp as she falls to the ground. Furious and embarrassed, she picks herself up and kicks me hard in the head. "You bastard! How dare you push me for this filthy little beast! Do you know who my mom is?" With my head spinning from the blow, I suddenly hear a woman's voice. "Jenna, what's wrong? Who bullied you?" I snap my head up. There it is, the face I have wished to see in my dreams for the past five years.

After my wife died, I stayed on as a chauffeur for a female CEO just to keep myself and our daughter fed. Five years later, an anonymous message reached my phone: [Tonight. Eight o'clock. The little garden. There's a surprise waiting for you.] I didn't know what to make of it, but curiosity won out, and I went anyway. The moment eight o'clock struck, I looked through the window and watched the CEO peel a mask of human-like skin off her own face. Underneath it was, unmistakably, the face of my dead wife. Beside her, Marcus Kane shot me a scornful look before pulling her into his arms. "Sweetheart, you're too good to me," he said. "Giving up your husband and daughter, hiding your identity, just to help me build this business empire." He let out a theatrical sigh. "Then again, maybe you should go back to him. Cooper has had it rough. I could probably manage taking care of little Tobias on my own..." She melted against him. "Don't be silly. If I left, what would people think of you, raising a child alone? Back when Francesca died in that accident, my heart broke for the two of you—a widower and his little boy with no mother. So I made the mask that very night, and let the world believe I was the one who'd died." "Cooper is strong. He can handle a little hardship. I'll pay off what I owe him and our daughter in the next life." I stood frozen, tears sliding down my cracked, calloused hands, stinging where they fell. With nothing left to lose, I gave my reply to an anonymous number: [Alright. Let's work together.]

On the day I donated my kidney, I never thought my wife, Rebecca Tanner, would cut open her own heart and confess her regrets. After all, she had staged her own death in a bombing, all so she and Mason Sanders could test my loyalty. All she left me was two billion in gambling debt and a contract selling me into slavery. The creditor said they would leave her body in the grave and spare it from being fed to the hyenas. But to do that, I had to sign a contract with my blood and become their pet from then on. After that, I was locked in an iron cage beneath an underground fighting ring. By day, they chained me up and forced me to lick the blood from the winners' shoes. At night, they injected me with drugs and threw me into the fighting ring, turning me into a living toy for the wealthy to bet on. One broken rib doubled the stakes. One lost tooth added another ten thousand dollars. When I heard that my parents had been stripped and thrown into the mouth of a volcano alive, I broke completely. Covered in blood, I snapped the iron chain and rushed to the volcano. Instead, I found my "dead" wife gently lighting Mason's cigarette. Mason puffed out a ring of smoke and sneered. "We still have ten seconds left on the bet, Rebecca. You've lost."

It had been ten years, and Ethan—my mate—and I still didn’t have a pup. One day, he suggested we adopt one from the Werewolf Orphan Charity Agency. “My mate,” he said gently, “pregnancy is too hard for you. You’d have to go through so many checkups and herbs. Your wolf shouldn’t have to suffer like that.” When others heard this, they all said Ethan loved me deeply—that he couldn’t bear to see me in pain. But I saw the truth with my own eyes. He took an infant pup from another she-wolf. “Luckily, Mia isn’t pregnant,” he said. “That way, the excuse of adopting an infant works—and the pup can have a legitimate status in my clan.” I knew that she-wolf well. The same one Ethan used to call a “stupid omega.” Swallowing the bitterness in my heart, I called my mentor at the Werewolf Research Academy. “I want to devote myself to herb research,” I said calmly. Three days from now, during the pup’s first New Moon blessing, I’ll fake my death in a fire. No one will be able to stop me.

My Mating Ceremony with my fated mate, Alpha Ronan, was supposed to be the biggest event of the year. Broadcast live. Worldwide. Every wolf would witness the union of the Black Moon Pack's Alpha and Luna. But right before my ceremony, I was staring at a video on my phone. Tears streamed down my face. "Harder, Ronan. It'll be so hard to see you after your ceremony." A she-wolf, pinned beneath Ronan as he slammed into her. He growled, going harder and sinking his teeth into her neck. "Don't you worry, you little minx. I've already got a potion to dull the bond. I can sneak away to fuck you, even on our mating night." I saved the video. Shut my phone. I contacted an agency that specialized in faked werewolf deaths. "Seven days from now. At my Mating Ceremony. I need you to stage an attack. I want to fall from a cliff into the sea, in front of everyone."

Today was the seventh anniversary of the plane crash that took my twin sister, Chloe. My husband, Julian, checked the watch on his wrist and urged me on. “I’ve only blocked off ten minutes for this visit. Hurry up and lay the flowers.” He was a pathological stickler for time, meticulously managing every minute and second of his life. Shopping was sixty minutes, intimacy was fifteen minutes, and dinner was ten minutes… As he walked back to the car to grab an umbrella, his phone slipped from his hand, hit the ground, and lit up with a cloud calendar notification. It was his hidden master schedule for family. I stole a glance at it, and my blood instantly ran cold. The entry for me read, “Spend two hours.” And the very next entry ten minutes later read, “Cemetery visit ends. Head to the Southside residence immediately to pick up Chloe and our son for his toddler’s gym class.” I stared at my sister’s photo on the tombstone, finding it all ironic. So the past seven years, spent racing against the clock, were nothing more than an extreme time-management strategy Julian had devised for her while she was pretending to be dead. Julian walked back over under the umbrella. He picked up his phone and frowned. “Riley, your ten minutes are up. Stop dawdling.” Wiping the rainwater from the tombstone, I let out a liberated smile and said, “I'm not dawdling. It just struck me that Chloe must be having a wonderful time in hell. With the Devil and his demons keeping her company, I’m sure she’d never want to leave.”

When I woke up from a three-year coma following a car accident, everyone around me started treating me like I was made of glass. Terrified that something might happen to me again, they micromanaged every hour of my day, making sure I was never left alone. My brother took the morning shift, accompanying me on walks and workouts as I slowly rebuilt my strength. In the afternoon, my best friend kept me company, taking me shopping or to the movies so I would have something to do. In the evening, my parents would take me out for big, hearty meals, insisting that I needed to eat well to get my strength back. Then my boyfriend would come pick me up and take me home. Nestled in his arms before falling asleep one night, I gave a soft chuckle. "You guys don't have to walk on eggshells around me. I'm a grown woman. I'm not going to let anything happen to me again." Donovan O'Brien shook his head, his expression grave. "Violet, you mean the world to all of us. None of us could survive going through that agony a second time." My heart swelled with warmth and happiness, almost to the point of suffocation. That feeling lasted until I accidentally stumbled across a group chat on my best friend's phone, one that included everyone except me. The group was called "Protect Donovan's True Love", and the latest message was from my best friend. Thea Leblanc: [Violet and I just sat down in the theater. You're clear to bring Cheryl home now.] I scrolled upward and found a message from my brother. Neil Sanford: [I'm walking Violet in the park by her building. Donovan, don't bring Cheryl over here for breakfast today.] Further up were messages from my parents: [Violet just finished dinner. Drop Cheryl off and come pick her up.] I tapped on the profile picture for the woman they were talking about. The moment I saw her face, I froze. An icy chill ran straight down my spine. The very woman who had put me in a coma for three years was now with my husband. And the people I had believed loved and protected me had been covering for them the entire time.

After I donated my kidney to my movie star girlfriend, she finally agreed to marry me. On our wedding day, Vanessa Laurent left only a video of herself jumping off a cliff, then disappeared. I led a desperate search and rescue at the mountain base for three days straight. Even when a falling boulder crushed my leg, I kept going. When I finally dragged myself to the scene with my last shred of strength, I found Vanessa tangled up with Mason Miller, her late sister's husband. Her usually cold expression was flushed, her thighs red and swollen. When our eyes met, she did not even flinch. "Today is my sister's death anniversary. Mason was going to kill himself to follow her, so I had no choice but to sleep with him. From now on, I'll fulfill my duties to both of you." Mason looked down at me with contempt. "You don't mind if I consummate with Vanessa first, do you? You can wait for your turn." Everyone expected me to explode, but I just smiled. "Of course." I was done with Vanessa. I would never be with her again.

Just days before our wedding, I was told that my fiancé, Matteo Ferrara, had died in a car crash. The car had been completely destroyed. The only thing his men recovered was a bloodstained diamond tiara. His father, the Don, pressed a pistol to my forehead and growled, “If Matteo hadn't been rushing to give you the tiara he designed himself, he would still be alive!” His adopted older sister, Isabella Ferrara, was at the Don's feet, playing a video of Matteo's last words as he sank into the sea. “Don! Matteo's last wish was for Layla to live! Please don't kill her. Let him rest in peace.” So I was locked in the Ferrara family's punishment room and made to kneel for 72 straight hours. They didn't let me out until the fourth night. But Matteo's funeral was already over. I never even got to see him one last time. Numb with grief, I slipped into my wedding dress, swallowed poison, and made my way to the dock where Matteo had supposedly died. I'd just climbed over the railing when applause and whistles erupted behind me. Isabella rushed over, practically jumping for joy. “I won, Matteo!” The crowd parted. Matteo stepped out of an armored car with a cashmere wrap. He ruffled Isabella's hair and gave a resigned sigh. “A bet's a bet. You wanted a dress just like Layla's, right? I'll have one made for you when we get back.” Only then did he look at me. He draped the wrap over my shoulders. “It's freezing out here, and you're soaked. You'll catch a cold.” Then he smiled. “Isabella was worried you only wanted to become the next Donna, that you didn't actually love me. So she came up with this little test. “Well, congratulations. You passed. Now let's go get married.” I stared at him, struggling to process what I'd just heard. None of it had been real. The fatal crash and the video of his last words as he sank into the sea were all part of Isabella's elaborate prank. Matteo had staked my life on their bet. A metallic taste filled my mouth. I struggled to steady my trembling body against the pain, then shook my head. “Call off the wedding. “I don't want to marry you anymore.”

"Ms. Jones, the service to fake your death that you requested has been arranged. Here's the agreement. Please sign here." Isabella Jones glanced at the contract that the person placed before her. Client: Isabella Jones Cause of death: Falling from a mountain, eaten by wild animals. Unable to retrieve the remains of the body Time of death: One week from now One week from now would mark the fifth anniversary of her marriage to Samuel Grant. It was also the day she had planned to fake her death and leave him. Since that was the date it all began, it might as well be when it ended.

My childhood sweetheart who promised to marry me the moment I graduated proposed to Camille Willow, my sister, during my graduation ceremony. At that moment, Dennis Malcolm, the most eligible and admired bachelor in Blington City's elite circle, stepped forward and confessed his love for me immediately after my childhood sweetheart's proposal was accepted. For five years after our marriage, Dennis showered me with devotion, treating me with such tenderness that it felt as though I were the center of his world. But everything shattered the day I overheard a conversation between him and his close friend. "Dennis, now that Camille's on top, are you really going to keep pretending with Tracy?" "It doesn't matter. I'll never have Camille. Besides, as long as I'm here, she'll never disrupt Camille's happiness," he answered. The paper notes he held dear, each one carefully preserved, revealed a harsh truth. Each one carried her name, accompanied by heartfelt wishes: "May Camille be released from her burdens. May she find peace within herself." "May Camille achieve all she dreams of, and may her heart love freely." "Camille, we were never meant to be together in this life. I can only hope that in another, we will walk side by side." … Five years of devotion shattered in a single moment of clarity. I crafted a false identity and planned an elaborate drowning to vanish without a trace. From this day forward, in this life and all others, we shall never cross paths again.

My fiancé was the CEO of a powerful financial conglomerate, and to the outside world, he adored me beyond measure. A week before our wedding, I found out I was pregnant with triplets. I had planned to tell him the joyful news in person. But instead, I witnessed him in bed with other women. Not with just one. It felt like a knife had carved into my soul, cutting so deep I lost all hope, all trust. My tears begged for release, but I held my head high, forcing myself to stay strong. For him, I had given up everything—my pride, my family, my career. Yet he chose to share our love with others. All those vows to love me and only me for a lifetime had been lies. Our so-called future, our wedding—it was all a cruel joke. He was no longer the man I once loved. He had become tainted. I would not endure his betrayal. He no longer deserved to be the father of my children. So I made my decision—to disappear, to fake my death and start over, to give myself and my babies a chance at a free, unburdened life. But I never imagined he'd become obsessed and start searching the world for women who resembled me, all while declaring I was the only one he ever loved. Too little, too late. His affection now is worth nothing. This time, I'm not looking back.

After my family went bankrupt, my husband, Felix Skye, paid the price. The debt collectors drowned him in the river. To pay off the debt, I took a job at an underground casino as a human punching bag. Every punch I took earned me five dollars. Then one night, I was sent to deliver drinks to a private room. Through the crack in the door, I saw Felix, my husband who was supposed to be dead, sitting at the head of the table and slowly savoring a glass of fine red wine. "It's been more than three years since I last saw Avery. I wonder how she's doing." My supposedly bankrupt mother, Ivy Schotz, sat there dripping in gold and jewels. She sighed. "She'll just hide away and grieve for a few years. Once she's over it, she can remarry. "No matter what," Mom went on, "as long as she believes you're dead, you and Riley can finally live in peace." Riley Mackenzie was the daughter my mother had with her first love. Every face in that room was familiar, including my best friend and the very "enemies" who had supposedly killed Felix. It had all been an act from start to finish. The only thing real was the three years of hell I'd lived through. Holding twenty bottles of beer, I smiled and shook my head. Once I scraped together enough money for my coffin, they would all be free.