Plot Twists Short Stories & Mistress Marriage Novels

When I came home after a three-day business trip, my daughter ran straight into my arms with a bright smile. "Mommy, I've been really good while you were gone. Look how clean I kept the house." Too clean. The trash can was full of empty soup cans and bread wrappers. I pulled up the footage from the living room security camera. The first night, Sadie sat alone on the couch watching TV until she fell asleep, then slipped off the couch and landed on the floor. No one was there to help her. She got back up on her own, grabbed a pillow, and curled up on the floor to sleep. The next morning, she stood on a little step stool, trying to reach the kettle in the kitchen. The kettle was too heavy for her. Hot water spilled across the table and burned her hand. She jerked it back, then ran to the bathroom and held it under cold water. She didn't cry once. On the third day, she came down with a fever. On the footage, she sat holding a thermometer and looked straight into the camera. "I think Mommy can see me. I'm a little warm, but I'm okay. You don't have to worry." Then she found the fever medicine herself, broke a tablet in half, and swallowed it. Three days. Three whole days. Gavin Halstead hadn't come home once. I checked his social media and found a post from three days earlier, tagged at a seaside resort. Celeste Rowan had written, "Thank you, Mr. Halstead, for taking Millie to see the ocean. She had so much fun." I saved the security footage to a flash drive. Then I crouched down, pulled Sadie into my arms, and buried my face against her shoulder. "Sweetheart, you don't have to be alone anymore. "From now on, wherever Mommy goes, you're coming with me. Just you and me. We don't need Daddy anymore."

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.”

My wife doesn't love me. She doesn't love our child either. On the day our son is born, she doesn't even look at him. She just drops him into my arms. Later, her first love returns. For the first time, the cold, distant woman drinks herself drunk at home. She laughs as she holds our son in her arms, and he wraps his arms around her neck in surprise. "Daddy, what's wrong with Ms. Sutton?" he whispers afterward. I kneel and hold him close. My eyes are red as I explain, "Someone Ms. Sutton loves has come back. We shouldn't bother her anymore. It's time for us to move out."

On my way home from work, I realized a man I didn't know was following me. I called my husband, Cassian Bellamy, for help, hoping he could come pick me up. Instead, he sent me a few cold voice messages. "Can you stop acting like you're being followed all the time? We live in a society governed by laws. Where's this creep you're talking about?" "Also, if someone really is following you, what do you think he's going to do? You're a married woman. I'm busy right now, so take a cab home yourself." I hid in the corner of a 24-hour convenience store, trembling from head to toe. It wasn't until a torrential downpour began that the creepy figure finally left. I ran home in the dark, soaked to the skin and covered in mud. The moment I got home, a post from Cassian's childhood friend, Celine Marlowe, popped up on my phone. "This is why having a childhood friend matters. I couldn't get a ride home in the rain, so he drove across half the city just to pick me up from work." The photo showed Cassian's familiar Land Rover, with a warm cup of coffee in the passenger seat. Celine's pinned location was a full 18 miles from our home. And Cassian's car would have passed right by the street where I'd called him for help. In that moment, all the strength seemed to leave my body. Maybe I didn't need this miserable marriage after all.

My first day back home and my husband's secretary was already flexing her muscles, trying to grab my antique right out of my hands. Before I could get a word out, she smacked me across the face. Twice. She sneered at me with a look that could freeze fire. "This piece caught my eye, and I'm being nice to you. Better apologize and thank me, pronto!" I moved to confront her, but before I knew it, her bodyguard had me pinned to the ground. She looked down at me like I was nothing. "Trying to challenge me? I'm Mrs. Collins of the Collins family here in Riverton City. You're nothing! One word from my husband and you're out of here!" Passersby started chiming in: "Aren't you going to bow down and beg? She's the apple of Mr. Collins' eye." "Play your cards right, and maybe you'll still be scrubbing toilets in Riverton City." I was ready to set things straight when her title hit me like a ton of bricks. The Collins family of Riverton City? When did Eric get another wife? I dialed Eric's number and laughed calmly. "Eric, since when did you secretly marry someone behind my back?"

My girlfriend, Madison Carter, claims that men's hearts will rot when they start gaining wealth. Out of love toward her, I give her all of my money. But on my birthday, my severe illness has relapsed due to me not bearing to spend money on medication. So, I can only borrow money from Madison, who's also a CEO. But she begins berating me without asking me the reason why. "You really are an ingrate! I've been sustaining you for so long, and yet you never pledge your loyalty toward me! All you care about is money!" Naturally, Madison refuses to lend me even a single cent. But the next day, she doesn't hesitate to give her first love, Lucas Whitfield, a few million dollars just so he can start a business of his own. I feel my blood turn into ice as I stare at the woman I've loved for ten years. Only now do I realize that she has never loved me before.

On my wedding day, my husband's female bestie showed up holding a torn bridesmaid dress and accused me of assaulting her in front of all our guests. I had no way to defend myself, so I turned to my husband for help. Instead, he looked at me with fake disappointment and publicly labeled me a lesbian. Then, to get his hands on my family's assets, he had me committed to a psychiatric hospital, where I was tortured and humiliated. I barely managed to escape, only to die in a car accident they'd carefully planned. It wasn't until my final moments that I found out the truth—the torn bridesmaid dress wasn't evidence of my crime. It was proof of their affair in the stairwell moments before the ceremony. When I opened my eyes again, I was back in my dressing room, minutes before the wedding. This time, I'm going to make sure those two pay for everything.

At the company's annual event, an oddly shaped necklace tumbled out of my wife's purse. It was engraved with her friend's initials, L.L. To protect his privacy, Camille Sinclair announced our secret seven-year marriage right there in front of everyone. She pulled me up on stage and gave the cameras a shy little smile. "Those letters are my husband's initials, Liam Locke. It's got nothing to do with anyone else." After the show ended, I let go of her hand and quietly begged, "I did what you wanted. Now can I get my mom's medication for this month?" That was when her best friend, Logan Lane, showed up carrying a box stuffed full of erectile dysfunction pills. He made sure the whole room heard him as he said, "Hey, bro, before you worry about your mother's illness, maybe worry about getting it up first. Camille's always complaining to me that you can't get the job done. She can't keep using toys to get by, can she?" The spotlight swung onto me, and thousands of people burst out laughing. By the next afternoon, I was the laughingstock of the entire industry. I was known as the husband who couldn't perform. Camille savored the sight of me falling apart. "Honey, you should learn some gratitude. Why don't you thank Logan?" I walked out under everyone's mocking stares. When I got back to the hospital, I found my dying mother hanging from the ceiling fan. Clutched in her hand was a suicide note, stained with blood. [Don't waste money treating me anymore. Don't beg her for anything ever again. Don't let her make you suffer another day.]

I had a unique profession. I was a breakup specialist. I did not need to go to court or write any contracts for that. That was a lawyer’s job. Everyone kept saying that love was priceless, but a couple who professed their love to each other for an entire night could be paying me tons to break their relationship up the following day. I was shaking my head upon those matters when I received a message from my husband, Matthew Grant, asking me to pick our wedding anniversary’s destination. A few seconds after that, a beautiful woman walked into my office. She appeared timid and had to take a lot of time to summon the courage to speak. “I’d like to hire your services for my boyfriend. He has decided to divorce his wife.” I made no comment as I picked up the documents she had handed me, only to see Matthew’s name on the paper. I froze, while the woman sitting in front of me ducked her head and continued, “My boyfriend says that his wife is a good person and that he doesn’t want to hurt her.” I smiled as I stared at the picture; it clearly was Matthew, but I had the strange feeling of seeing a foreign person too. My heart throbbed, and I could only lament. This was my third year as a breakup specialist, and I was actually hired to break up my own relationship.

We agreed we were going to spend Christmas together as a family of three. I briefly stepped out to grab my daughter’s Christmas gift, but quickly realized that I had forgotten my keys. However, when I came back, I was locked outside the villa. I rang the doorbell countless times, but no one came to let me in. Through the glass window, I saw my daughter happily smiling in the arms of my wife’s childhood friend who had returned from overseas. “Uncle Jones, you smell so nice. Not like my dad. He’s always sweaty and smells so gross. I don’t even want to spend Christmas with him!” My wife, Lily Quinn, looked at them indulgently and agreed. “Your dad hasn’t seen much of the world. He really doesn’t know how to celebrate holidays properly.” I froze in place as my fingers turned cold. Yara turned and saw me outside the window. Her face was filled with disgust. “What are you staring at? Why are you standing outside like some monster? You almost scared me to death! You’re not like Uncle Jones at all. He’s so elegant and well-mannered!” However, ten years ago, I was a top sales director at a well-known multinational company. Back then, I had the chance to be transferred to New York. Yet Lily unexpectedly got pregnant and suffered severe reactions. She was at constant risk of miscarriage. I voluntarily gave up that opportunity to take care of her and our daughter. Now, that sacrifice had somehow become undeniable proof of my uselessness. I took a deep breath and threw the Christmas gift I had bought for my daughter into the trash. Then I messaged someone saved in my contacts as “Apprentice”: [Is that overseas position you mentioned a few days ago still available?] The reply came almost instantly: [Of course! Mr. Lane, as long as you’re willing to come back, you’ll always have a place waiting for you!]

Everyone in our circle called my wife, Tracy Weaver, an ice-cold nun. She was also a severe germaphobe. Ours was a business marriage. In three years, she never once let me touch her. She was a devout ascetic who claimed her senses were pure and that she had severed all ties to the earthly world. I didn't mind. I had married her for the power of the Weaver family. Then, one day, I discovered a secret photo album on her phone. There was only one person in it: a boy spray-painting graffiti on a wall, his fingers smeared with paint, grinning from ear to ear. Beneath the photo was a caption she had posted from a secret account: [My earthly world. My karmic debt.] At a family gathering, I smiled and asked her when she'd started going for that type. Her expression froze for a split second before it smoothed back to normal. She handed me a document. "Sign the divorce agreement. The Conlin City project and ten percent of the Weaver Group's shares will be transferred to you."

Years after our divorce, I ran into my ex-husband outside the school. We each held our own child by the hand and passed each other like strangers. As I turned to leave, he caught my hand. His voice was tinged with regret. “That little girl is just as pretty as you were at her age.” I froze for a moment. So, he remembered. We had grown up together as childhood sweethearts and married young. We had seen every version of each other and shared every part of growing up. I had once loved him more than anything and believed we would spend the rest of our lives together. But in that moment, I simply drew my hand back, calmly. “I’m sorry. You must have confused me with someone else.” I had no desire to revisit the past. That chapter had been painful enough to live through once. I would not open it again.

When we hiked deep in the mountains that day, my husband’s first love, Cindy Pepper, and I were both bitten by venomous snakes. Only one of us could be saved. There was only one dose of the antidote in the first-aid kit. Whoever received it would have a chance of surviving. At that critical moment, my husband, Gary Sapien, who was the head of the emergency department, injected the antidote into Cindy Pepper without hesitation. He also gave her the only stretcher and the satellite phone. “Cindy has a heart condition. She won’t make it down the mountain. You work out all the time, and you’re in good shape. I’m sorry, but you’ll have to wait a little longer.” A torrential downpour cut off the mountain. No one rescued me until the following afternoon. By then, the venom had already spread throughout my body. My right leg was necrotic, my kidneys had failed, and I had no choice but to undergo an amputation high above the knee. Gary signed the surgical consent form on my behalf. His expression was still detached. “It’s only a leg. You can still live a normal life with a prosthetic. “You’re already my wife. You don’t need both legs to make a living. Cindy, on the other hand, is a dance teacher. She can’t afford to lose her legs.” I swallowed the metallic taste of blood in my throat and let out a cold laugh. So, it looked like my life and my legs were worth less to him than Cindy’s dream of dancing. That night, I called a number I had not contacted in five years. “Tommy, I’m sorry. I lost. “Come take me home and withdraw all of our investments from Sapien Hospital. “Also, please get the divorce agreement ready for me.”

After three years in a long-distance relationship, I went straight to the courthouse as soon as my flight landed, ready to marry Willow Payne. Instead, she showed up holding a newborn baby. Without a trace of guilt, she placed the baby in my arms. "This is Rachel, my daughter with Preston. You can raise her from now on." My mind went blank. Standing beside her, my childhood friend, Preston Webb, burst out laughing. "Willow and I got drunk one night, and one thing led to another. We ended up sleeping together. Your time working out of town is finally over, and now you get to come home and be a dad. Hell of a surprise, right?" I stared at them. "Do you seriously think this is funny?" Preston only grinned wider. "Willow and I made a bet about whether you'd cry when you found out she had my baby. I said you wouldn't. So I won. Willow promised to travel the world with me until I get bored and feel like coming back." Willow gave him an amused look, then turned to me like she was doing me a favor. "My daughter is your daughter, too. Take good care of her. When I get back, I'll marry you." She took Preston's hand and walked away with him. I looked down at the baby in my arms. Her skin and the whites of her eyes were so yellow that even I knew something was wrong. I called after them, but neither one looked back. Three years later, Willow showed up at my workplace. "Michael, I'm here to keep my promise. Let's get married. "But Preston and I have a daughter together. We thought it would be better for her if her parents were legally married, so Preston and I got married. "I can't legally marry you anymore, but I can still give you the wedding." She pulled out a wedding band and reached for my hand, trying to slip it onto my finger. I knocked her hand away and stepped back. "I already have a wedding ring. My wife gave it to me."

It is the third year of the apocalypse. All water sources have been thoroughly polluted, making even a single bottle of clean water extremely rare. Every base has to send out search teams to find new water sources for all. My husband, Jasper Curran, is a geologist, and so, he is able to locate water sources that are still pure and unpolluted. However, when someone holds a knife to my throat for the last bottle of water—thinking that he will do anything to stop them—he hands the only bottle of clean water to Avery Grayson, the person who claimed she was my parents' real daughter instead of me. "Ave is thirsty. She's been suffering since she was little and she even had her parents taken by you, Arianne Grayson," Jasper says. "Just let her have the water." Jasper's expression is too calm and collected, as if my life is not on the line because of him. "They're just trying to scare you. You've enjoyed so many years of being spoiled with a luxurious lifestyle anyway. So what if you get bullied a little?" The people then kick me to the ground in a fit of rage as I watch Jasper huddle Avery into his arms and disappear into the desert. I get beaten up so hard that my chapped lips crack and start bleeding once again. I look at the menacing faces around me and quickly exclaim, "Wait, wait! I can help you find clean water too!"

On our fifth wedding anniversary, Justin Gould stands me up again. I stare at his curt text saying he has to work late. Just as I'm about to reply, I accidentally enter an outdoor livestream. The camera shifts, and Justin suddenly comes into view. I frantically rewind the livestream, replaying the footage again and again to make sure I'm not mistaken. It's not just because Justin has lied to me. The child in his arms has the same distinctive birthmark on his neck as my son, Tommy Gould, the baby I was told had died after being born prematurely. My heart pounds as I rush to the location shown on the livestream. But when I get there, I hear the child call the woman beside him "Mom". She is Justin's foster sister, Lyra Gould. Justin wraps his arm around her, his voice full of affection. "If you could have children, I never would've married Zoey. You wanted a child, so I had one with her just for you. I told that fool our son had died, and she actually believed me. Lyra, you're the only one I love." I stand frozen, my heart turning cold. Only then do I realize that all these years, I was just a vessel for them to have a child.

My mother-in-law was somehow allergic to me. As long as I was in the house, her skin would break out in rashes, and she would struggle to breathe. The hospital could not find any specific allergen. They said it might be something to do with my scent. To give his mother some relief, my husband Keith asked me to stay in a hotel every weekend. I quietly packed away everything that was mine. I even stopped wearing my favorite perfume just so I could stay home for one extra day. However, her condition only grew worse. The days I was allowed to be home dropped from five days a week to three, and eventually to just one. I never complained. I only hoped she would get better soon. One day, I left work early to pick up a document from home. I heard laughter from inside the house. "Mom, your trick really works! Every time you cough, my brother kicks that woman out." It was Keith's god-sister Caroline, who had studied abroad. My mother-in-law laughed smugly. "Caroline, you're the best. You can cook, and you give great massages. You're nothing like that useless block of wood who's always in the way. "Keith, hurry up and marry Caroline already. Get rid of that woman!" Keith's voice was full of indulgence. "Mom, don't say things like that. Caroline, look at the perfume I bought you. You've worked hard lately." All strength left my body as I stood frozen at the door.

At three in the morning, I stare at the unknown transaction record on my phone screen, my fingertips turning cold. The record is for a payment of 2980 dollars, made for an executive suite at the Wisteria. The time of payment was 8:00 pm last night. My husband, Tristan Griffin, is a detective. He was on the night shift last night. I clutch my phone, my knuckles turning white as I text Tristan, "I just saw your credit card bill for a hotel stay last night. What's up with that?" His reply is instant. "Our team had to work overtime at the last minute, so they put us up at the hotel. I forgot to tell you about it." I scan the text and sputter. The Wisteria is located in the western region of the city, which is on the other end from where his squad is stationed. I don't press him for more details and click on the bank app on my phone. Having found the vendor's address through the payment record, I sent it to my best friend, Rowena Sheffield, who works as a private detective. She replies instantly with an "OK" emoji and follows up with, "Give me a second. I'll find out everything you want in a jiffy!"

Everyone knew that the crown prince, Mathias Cavendish, was a handsome man with a calm and composed demeanor. He was a dream suitor for every woman of marriageable age in the city. However, no one knew how wild he was with Seraphina Montclair when his body pressed against hers every night and he thrust hard into her in all sorts of positions in bed. On the 1,001st night he met her through the secret passage, Seraphina lay weakly in the messy sheets, feeling sore all over. Mathias looked down at her after being fully satisfied, and she finally worked up the courage to say, "Your Highness will be marrying my older sister at the end of the month…" Her fingers clenched the corner of the covers as she said almost inaudibly, "Would you be willing to give me a place by your side on the same day?" Mathias was wearing his clothes when he suddenly paused. "No." He turned to look at her, his cold yet handsome face lit up under the flickering candlelight. "I promised Cordelia that she would be the only woman by my side. Your presence shall never be known to her." Seraphina turned pale instantly. "What would that make me?"

I won eight million overnight. The first thing I did was rush to the hospital to pay for my son's surgery and treatment. That was when my phone rang. Ian, a coworker from the company, called, "Something urgent came up! You need to get back here right this instant!" My wife, Mara, took the bank card from my hand, and said with an gentle and understanding voice, "You can give me the PIN. I'll take care of our son's hospital bills. Go. Work is important. Don't worry about us." In my previous life, I didn't hesitate one bit. I trusted her completely and hurried back to the office. My son never made it into surgery. Instead, the police came for me. It turned out that Mara and Ian had conspired together to frame me, pinning the crime of embezzling company funds on me. The very money Ian had stolen. With no money for treatment, my son died in the hospital. My parents, shattered by grief, suffered fatal heart attacks one after the other. And I, rotting in prison, ended my life in despair. After my death, my soul drifted to the holiday villas of Moldeves, where Mara was on vacation. I heard her laughing as she spoke to Ian, "That idiot won a fortune and wasted it on that useless sick kid. He dragged me into a miserable life." Laughing even harder, she added, "Now, their whole family is dead, and we get to enjoy wealth for the rest of our lives. Consider it compensation from that idiot! Haha!" Then, I opened my eyes. I was back in the hospital corridor, at the exact moment my wife reached out and took the bank card from me. This time, I still told her the PIN.