Best Friend Romance Short Stories & Cheating Novels

Maisie Stone has known Ethan Ford for 15 years. She's gone from being a young woman to a married one. She's also gone from being Ethan's true love to an old flame. He cheats on her repeatedly, and she forgives him every time. After a suicide attempt, Maisie finally sees the light. This rotten world is just a competition to see who can be more shameless than others. In an open relationship, both parties live their own lives. Since he's messing around with her sister, she can mess around with his friends and brothers.

On the fifth anniversary of my marriage to Vicente Buckley, he violated my trust by sleeping with my best friend Kinsley Gilmore, on our bed. Through the camera, my son Jamie Buckley's childish voice sounded. "Kinsley, I'll keep watch at the door. I won't let my mom come in!" As if rewarding him, Kinsley pecked Vicente and suggested, "Your son is great. Don't you think about having another child with Patricia?" Vicente responded by covering her face with a pillow, saying, "The scar on her belly disgusts me."

I accidentally stumbled upon numerous explicit videos on my husband's computer while tidying up his desk. The videos showed him in bed with my unmarried best friend. The relationship between my husband and me had been platonic ever since I gave birth 40 years ago. His reason was that he was no longer capable of physical intimacy. Now, it felt like my entire life had been a sham, despite all my efforts for my family.

After a wild, drunken class reunion, I woke up next to a male model. I had no clue what I was doing since it was my first time in this kind of situation. I called my best friend for help on what to do, and while the male model was still out cold, I left my wallet and bolted. When I got home, my best friend dragged me over to show me a picture of her new boyfriend. My jaw dropped. The guy in the photo was the spitting image of the man I had just left.

Before my engagement, a fire broke out in my dressing room. The explosion sent shards of glass deep into my body. My best friend, Monica Addams, shielded me as we escaped the flames.  At the hospital, she stayed by my side as I clung to life.  She called my fiancé, James Miller. However, his response was dismissive. “Veronica isn’t feeling well, and I’m accompanying her to get an IV drip. If it’s no big deal, just drop it.” Furious, Monica unleashed a string of curses and called her own boyfriend, Lucas Smith, asking him to help find a specialist.  He brushed her off, too. “Stop overreacting. Veronica’s sick, so I’m getting her some medicine.” When I narrowly escaped death and met Monica’s gaze, I said in a low voice, “I want to call off the engagement.” Without hesitation, she responded, “If you end yours, I’ll end mine.” That was when both men panicked. 

On the day I won the national esports championship, my girlfriend of eight years told me she wanted to go on stage and personally present me with flowers. Standing on the podium, my heart was racing. I reached into my pocket to pull out the ring I'd hidden there, ready to propose to her in front of the entire nation. But what happened next shocked me. She giggled and, instead of handing me the bouquet, she gave it to her male best friend. Under the bright lights, they became the center of attention. The crowd cheered, and their congratulatory messages flooded the trending topics. Even his fans tagged me in posts, mocking, [I told you not to get in the way of our couple, now look at you.] I simply posted on Twitter, [Respect and blessings. Please be locked together forever.]

I worked as a waitress in a small-town diner, but I put my husband Tom through Harvard Law School. But after he graduated, when I was eight months pregnant, he divorced with me and married my best friend, Sarah. On their wedding day, I didn't cry or make a scene. Instead, I went to work as their housekeeper. Tom thought my love made me easy to control. Sarah treated me like dirt, thinking I was born to serve. I never complained – I just prepared a surprise for them. But when their daughter was admitted to Harvard, they opened the surprise and went crazy.

My best friend passed away from postpartum hemorrhage. Ethan said he didn't want his child to grow up without a mother. To repay my best friend for saving my life years ago, I became the child's mother. I gave up my career and ambitions, willingly becoming a full-time housewife. For seven years, I cared for both father and son as if it were my life's mission. Yet, he always remained distant, his tenderness surfacing only in the quiet intensity of late nights. Afterward, he would hand me a few birth control pills. On New Year's Eve, my throat felt strange. I swallowed the pills, only to immediately vomit them all out. Ethan was furious and accused me of harboring ulterior motives. As punishment, he locked me outside on the open balcony in the rain. Our son came running with an umbrella in hand. But he walked past me without a glance and handed it to the housekeeper who was heading out. In that moment, I made up my mind—I would leave.

My best friend's brother and I have been dating for half a year, and she has no clue. My best friend drags me out on Christmas for a singles' night out. Unexpectedly, we see her brother, Chris Lambert, holding hands and kissing a girl under the fireworks. "Damn, Chris finally got the school belle!" She looks thrilled and pulls me forward to say hi. Chris awkwardly rubs his nose and introduces me to his girlfriend, "This is my sister, and the one beside her is… sort of like my sister too." I smile silently. We have held hands and kissed, yet now, I am just sort of like his sister.

The day before our wedding, Luke Murray got wasted. On the ride home, he looked right at me and slurred, "Cassie, don't bring the kid to the ceremony. Arya can't know I'm the dad." I hit the brakes. Hard. He smacked into the seatback, halfway sobering up. When he finally realized it was me, he just... froze. Then he said real slow, "Guess you heard. Wedding's off—for now. Cassie doesn't want marriage, but the kid's mine, so I gotta step up. She's your bestie, right? You probably feel bad she's doing this alone. So once he's in school, I'll come back and marry you." I let out a sharp, bitter laugh. "...That's fine. I don't mind." He didn't say a word when we got home—just grabbed his suitcase and left. I wiped the last tear off my face, sat on the bed, and just stared at nothing. Then my phone lit up. My childhood friend's voice cracked on the other end. "Arya, don't marry him. Please." I didn't say anything for a sec. "Okay."

I came across a trending post asking people to share the person they had failed. One of the comments caught my attention. 'It has to be my best friend. In my defense, her husband is exactly my type. From head to toe, he suits my taste perfectly. I fell for him at first sight when she introduced us. 'During the graduation party, I got them drunk and slept with him. Damn, she's a lucky b*tch to have him. Later, I told her I went abroad, but actually, I was preparing to give birth to my baby in another city. 'He always comes to visit us. We are a happy family of three. Technically, I'm not a homewrecker. We already have a real marriage certificate. All we're missing is the wedding. 'I think fighting for true love is something to be admired. A word of encouragement: don't let the spouse of the person you love be the reason you give up.' Attached below the comment was a photo of a man's and woman's fingers intertwined. I recognized the man immediately. It was my husband, Luke Minton. I knew from the small scar on his wrist.

Someone texted me halfway through the wedding. The message read, "I had sex with your husband. Doesn't matter if you don't believe it." The message hit me like a hammer, and I stood petrified. Then, the texter sent another message, "Second pocket on the inside of his coat. There's a used condom there from last night. Strawberry. We were setting up the room, and one thing led to another. "We did it everywhere. Balcony, kitchen, and even in your car. He's not allergic to women. He'd gladly sleep with someone before marriage. He lied to you." Everything began to spin. I walked ahead, but my movements felt stiff. I felt as if someone was yanking me forward. I approached the aloof, abstinent man I called my husband. The same man who had to think twice before holding my hand. Sure enough, I found a pink condom in his pocket. Gasps and shouts rippled across the hall, while flashes of camera blazed and blinded the scene. I spun on my heel. That was when I saw my best friend Zoe holding up her phone beneath the stage, a gentle smile hanging on her lips. Something bitter and sad filled my heart. It took me standing here, utterly humiliated, to realize that the very thing I spent my whole life fighting for was nothing but a joke.

Jake Carter called and asked to meet. We settled on the small hometown diner we used to hit up. He couldn't look me in the eye the entire time, and we didn't exchange a word during the meal. It wasn't until we were about to leave that he finally pulled a property deed from his bag. "This is for you," he said. "I accept my defeat. Consider it compensation for your emotional distress. Your name is already on it." I didn't bother with polite refusals. I took the deed, mumbled a quick thanks, and got up to leave. Jake scrambled to his feet, calling out from behind me with the one question he'd been burning to ask all along. "If you loved me back then, why did you let Brenda get to me first?" I turned around, looking him in the eye for the first time all day. "Are you really going to pretend you never knew how I felt? You were just playing dumb the whole time." "I-I'm sorry," he stammered. "Can we still get dinner together tomorrow?" "Forget it. I don't need your apology," I said blandly. "You were a victim in this mess, too. As for dinner, don't bother. I'm resigning from the company tomorrow, and it's best if we don't see each other again." The iron wire ring I once treasured as proof of love had turned out to be a cage. Stepping out of the diner, I threw the rusted ring straight into the trash. From now on, I would live for myself.

Two years after the death of my husband, John Foster, I get a video call from him—except it's him from five years in the future. "John! You're still alive! Tell me where you are. I'm coming now to bring you home!" Crying tears of joy, I scramble to pick up the car keys I dropped, only to hear him say, "Actually, I faked my death to be with your friend…" As my mind goes blank, he continues to tell me everything as if none of it is a big deal. "I attended my funeral. The whole time you were crying beside my casket, I was in the back room with Adaline, getting it on with her. You thought her eyes were red because she was crying in grief. "Oh, my mother and our son know that I faked my death, too. Every year, they've found all kinds of excuses to come spend time with us instead…" My blood turns cold. My hand shakes as I clutch the phone. Meanwhile, John exhales, looking like he has taken a load off his chest. "I've already told you the truth about everything now, Cecilia, so it's up to you whether you want to continue living like a widow."

I'm the clingy type when in love. I’d want to hold hands when we met, get updates when we were apart, and have a goodnight kiss before bed. Shane, though, was the exact opposite of me, possessing an extremely strong sense of boundaries. He said holding hands made one sweat, and it was gross, so he never once held my hand. To him, kissing was unhygienic. That's why he'd turn his body away every single time I asked for a kiss. He said my constant stream of daily updates was pointless and that I should not waste his time. Facing my disappointment, he would only look calmly at me. "I come home on time and hand over all of my paycheck. Isn't that the absolute best proof of love?" Therefore, I spent five years convincing myself that he was simply close-minded and unromantic. It wasn't until I was lining up for my prenatal checkup and scrolled past a post: [What does physical attraction feel like?] The highly upvoted answer read: [It is an instinctual response of the body. Just like you get thirsty when you lack water, or want to eat fruit when you lack vitamins..." [When she speaks to me, I stare at her lips and actually feel thirsty. I don't like sharing, but when speaking with her, I wish a single day possessed twenty-five hours.] Beneath it was a top comment: [Then what you mean is, your feeling toward me is physical attraction. [Not only do you spout so much nonsense every day and keep me up all night, but you secretly wanted to kiss me that day!] Below were two chat screenshots completely crowded with text. They chatted about stray dogs on the roadside, clouds on the horizon, terrible-tasting coffee... Looking at the heartwarming sharing, I felt very envious. Until I discovered the avatars in the chat logs. One was Shane, the other was my best friend. I contacted my OB-GYN’s office. I hesitated for a moment before opening my mouth to ask, "Excuse me, I'd like to schedule an abortion."

I was slow by nature, always a beat behind in matters of love. It was Julian who loved me, who took me exactly as I was, who married me against everyone's objections. I thought I was the luckiest woman alive. Until the fifth year of our marriage, when I stumbled onto the secret between Julian and my sister. They'd been carrying on behind my back for a long time. They'd even had the gall to make a baby together. He ruffled my hair, gentle as ever, his voice soft and doting. "I've fallen for your sister. The same way I once fell for you." "You could be generous about it. Accept her. Accept us." Every drop of blood in me seemed to freeze, and the tears wouldn't stop. I didn't scream. I didn't fall apart. I just shut the door and walked away. But Julian was the one who lost his mind. Six months later, when I still assumed the two of them were long since married with a baby, he was the one crying, begging me not to leave, like a dog begging for scraps.

After finishing my meal, I went to the cashier counter to settle the bill as usual. It took me longer than usual because the signal was poor. By the time I settled the bill, I could not find Corbin, my boyfriend, or Mabel, my best friend, anywhere inside or outside the restaurant. I called over a dozen times before they finally answered. “You were taking too long, so we just went ahead. “We’re at the Perler bead craft store on the second floor. Hurry up and get over here. The mall was packed and even more crowded than usual for the holiday. The elevator came twice, and both times it was full. So, I gave up and took the escalator instead. By the time I got to the store, every seat at the craft table was already taken. Corbin and Mabel were sitting together, talking about starting at Northbridge University this September and planning out the next ten years of their lives, from graduate school all the way to their doctorates. It was this grand plan for their future, and I had no place in it. They had already made plans to enroll in prestigious universities as early as May. I, however, failed my PSATs and was still considering repeating a year to catch up. Seeing me standing frozen at the door, Corbin said in a helpless tone, “You’re always so slow. Just wait outside for now.” I watched their backs, and a sudden exhaustion washed over me. “Corbin, I’m done chasing you.”

For the ninth time, my best friend was left at the altar. And for the ninth time, my fiance was dragged in to play the part of her pretend groom. I was holding two cups of coffee. Before I could knock on the dressing room's door, I heard my best friend purring at someone. "You're the best, Anton. You knew this was an act, but you played along anyway." My breath caught. Through the half-open door, I stole a glance inside. My fiance, who had always been cold and unreadable, was looking at my best friend as if she were the most precious thing in his world. "Getting left at the altar must've traumatized you. If I don't help you get over it, Emilia's going to be worried even if she marries me." My best friend tugged lightly at the hem of his shirt. "But this is going to affect your relationship with her." "Not like it's the first time. She's still with me. We're still a couple." My fiance took out a diamond ring and held it against my best friend's finger. "We've been together for ten years. She has no other choice, anyway." The summer heat was scorching, yet part of me felt frozen solid. Slowly, I took my phone out and dialed a certain number. "Hey, I'd like to show you what I look like in that wedding gown."

On June nineteenth—the day my boyfriend and I had planned to get our marriage license—he vanished without a word. It wasn't until that night that I stumbled across a post on his social media. He'd forgotten to block me from seeing it. "From twenty to twenty-eight, our youth: signed, sealed, delivered." The photo attached showed two marriage certificates. In the wedding picture beside it, a girl I didn't recognize leaned into his shoulder, beaming. Furious, I opened the comments to demand an explanation, and found my best friend's message waiting there instead. [Congratulations to the old flames who finally found their way back to each other!] My chest went tight. My hands shook as I called her. After a long silence, she finally told me the truth. "Yeah. They've been together for eight years. Everyone already knew. We didn't hide it to hurt you. We were just scared you'd make a scene. "Alice and Chase were always the better match. It wasn't easy for them to get to where they are today. Why make things hard on another woman? Just be the bigger person." The tears that fell were cold as ice, but where they landed, they burned straight through me. Twelve years together, and for eight of them, Chase Peterson had loved someone else. Everyone had known. They'd just all agreed to keep it from me.

I had stayed up all night to get the merchandise. It was then callously discarded by my boyfriend. On that stormy day, I knelt beside a dumpster and searched through bags of trash. Yarden Scott stopped in his tracks. “What are you looking for?” “My merch.” I did not look up. “I reminded you three times. It was in the left drawer of the sideboard.” His shirt was soaked from the rain. He subconsciously said, “Yvonne’s car broke down. I went to pick her up. I forgot.” He forgot. Last week, he threw away the commemorative ticket stubs I had stayed up all night organizing because he thought they were scraps of paper. The month before, he threw away the brooch my grandmother left me because he thought it was an old button. Every single time, he brushed it off with the same excuse. I gave a mocking smile. “You always remember everything when it comes to Yvonne, don’t you?” Yarden carefully wiped the hair tie Yvonne Jordan had left behind and answered as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “She’s your best friend. That means I have to treat her very well. “If I keep her happy, our relationship will last. Isn’t it all for your sake?” I watched his practiced movements and felt completely drained. I could not say another word. I had reminded him countless times before not to touch the drawers in my study. He ignored me and threw away my collection of rare stamps. I told him again and again that I was allergic to mangoes. At a group dinner, he still ordered a mango shake for me. But when Yvonne casually mentioned that she had trouble sleeping, he started sending her music to help her sleep every single day. If Yvonne wanted to eat at her favorite restaurant, he would pull every string he could to get a reservation. To him, everything about me was a burden. Everything about Yvonne was worth his time. If that were the case, then I should not bother him any longer.