قصص وروايات قصيرة من فئة Romance وتضم Bias وتدور في Cheating

Throughout my five-year marriage with Irene Anderson, I never celebrated my birthday. That was because my birthday also was the death anniversary of her childhood friend’s mother, so she had to accompany Zac Reid, her childhood friend, to the cemetery to visit her. Not only that, but she also did not allow me to celebrate my birthday. She did not even allow me to smile. “Please be more considerate towards Zac. He’s very vulnerable on his mother’s death anniversary. Once he feels better, we’ll celebrate your birthday.” Every time my friends asked me carefully if they could celebrate my birthday, I could only force a smile and say, “Forget about it. Let’s do it next time.” It happened year after year, but she never fulfilled her promise. One year, Irene dressed in all black again and prepared herself to attend the memorial. Coincidentally, she saw the birthday cake that my family had specially ordered for me. She instantly grew angry and smashed the cake onto the floor. “You can eat cake at any time; why did you have to choose today? Are you that greedy?” I left the mess behind in the house and secretly followed behind her. In the cemetery, I saw her claiming herself as Zac’s wife and his mother’s daughter-in-law, and I felt exhausted. I walked over and took off my wedding ring. “Irene, let’s get a divorce.”

In the fifth year of my marriage to Cynthia Bolton, she suddenly transfers a sum of money into my bank account. The note on the transfer reads, "Tuition for our son." I am completely stunned for a moment. No matter how hard I think about it, I couldn't figure out how exactly we could have a son. After Cynthia divorces her ex-husband, she marries me. She tells me that she's afraid of pain and of having children. On our wedding day, the very first condition she sets is that we remain child-free. And because I love her, I agree readily. To put her mind completely at ease, I even undergo a vasectomy. Staring at the transfer notification, I slowly turn around and ask her in a trembling voice. "What's the meaning of this?" Cynthia freezes for a moment. When she notices the bank account number she has sent the money to, a flash of annoyance crosses her eyes. Silence hangs in the air for a long time. Then, she lets out a long sigh and explains indifferently, as if she is talking about something that is absolutely ordinary. "Not long after I divorced Bradley Wilson, I found out I was pregnant."

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.”

When my wife's first love was injured in a car accident and urgently needed a kidney transplant, she gave me an ultimatum. If I refused to donate my kidney, she said she would take our daughter and die alongside him the very next day. Crying, she begged. "Can you stop being so selfish? It's only one kidney. "It's not like you'll die! Are you really going to force me and your daughter to our deaths?" With a bitter smile, I agreed. What she didn't know was that our daughter had already died in the very same car accident that injured her beloved first love. And I was suffering from end-stage kidney failure. Once I went through with the surgery, I wouldn't be far behind from death either. Since she was willing to sacrifice everything for the man she loved, then I would give her exactly what she wanted. I would make her the person responsible for both my death and our daughter's so she would have to live with that regret for the rest of her life.

At midnight, Marvin Cooper throws a confession form at my face. The sharp edge of the paper cuts the corner of my eye, and bright red blood begins to seep out. He barks, "Alyssa hit someone with her car. You have a similar build to her. Go to the police station and take the blame." His tone leaves no room for argument, as if he is casually asking me to make him a late-night snack. His first love, Alyssa Evans, hides behind him and tugs pitifully at his sleeve. "But Marvin, if Ms. Huston goes to jail, who's going to make the nourishing soup for you?" Marvin lets out a disdainful snort and looks at me with contempt. "She's just a piece of trash from an orphanage. She should be honored to take the blame for you. Without me, she wouldn't even be able to feed herself. Other than obeying me, what choice does she have?" I wipe the blood from the corner of my eye and look at the man for whom I have spent three years as an unpaid housekeeper and a living blood bank. To treat his stomach condition, I burn my hands countless times cooking for him. I become so anemic that I easily collapse because I've been donating my blood to Alyssa. Marvin is certain that I love him with all my heart, and that I can only cling to him for the rest of my life. I don't cry. I simply take off the cheap apron I'm wearing and say, "You don't need to throw me out. I'll leave on my own." Taking out my phone, I dial a number I have blocked for three years. "I've had my fun. Send a helicopter to pick me up tomorrow. It's time for me to go home and take over the family business."

Before my death, I repeatedly remind my son, Clark Sinclair, what to do after I pass away. I stress that my heart must be donated to my husband, Craig Sinclair. He has suffered from dilated cardiomyopathy for 30 years. This is the last thing I can do for him. Clark shakes me off impatiently and snaps, "Enough. Stop pretending to be kind. Dad was never sick." I think I must have misheard him. "What?" He lets out a cold laugh and continues, "If you hadn't refused to divorce him all these years, why would he have needed to fake an illness just to be with Vern in secret?" My whole body trembles as I demand proof. Clark hands me a marriage certificate. On it are the names Craig and Verna Bloom, my widowed sister-in-law. The two lean against each other intimately, smiling sweetly at the camera. In an instant, rage and grief overwhelm me. The family I spend half my life building turns out to be nothing more than a complete lie. Clark continues expressionlessly, "Actually, Vern is my real mother. Your child was drowned in a bathtub long ago. Back then, Dad and Vern couldn't resist each other. She went into premature labor and nearly bled to death. She gave birth to me on the same day you gave birth. "Dad was so frightened that he developed heart palpitations. He was afraid you'd never stop causing trouble if you found out, so he pretended to be sick for 30 years." Curled up on the floor, I cough up a mouthful of blood. "Why tell me now?" Clark looks at me with eyes full of nothing but hatred. "You stole Vern's place for 30 years. And now, even on your deathbed, you want my dad to owe you a favor. Why should he?" An inexplicably bitter taste fills my mouth. In the end, I die consumed by regret. When I open my eyes again, I find myself in the delivery room next to Verna's. A wave of excruciating pain surges through my lower body.

After I discovered Chelsea Stone’s infidelity, I ended the relationship without giving her a chance. I packed my luggage bit by bit. She watched me, then suddenly said, “Jensen Scott, do you know what was the most boring thing about you?” I paused and turned around. She blew out a puff of smoke and smiled in a flirtatious way. “You were so boring. You did not even know how to sweet‑talk in bed. It was so uninteresting.” I walked away with my things, and I held back my tears. Three years later, I ran into her in the hospital corridor. She wore a white coat, and the medical record book in her hand almost slipped when I bumped into her. Our eyes met. She looked me over, and her tone turned playful. “Oh, is this not my blockhead ex‑boyfriend?” I smiled and did not reply. As I left the hospital, she stepped in front of me and lowered her voice. “Three years have passed. Have you learned how to sweet‑talk in bed?” I raised my hand and showed her my wife’s ultrasound report. “I have, but not to you.”

While shopping at the mall, a child suddenly slams into my five-month pregnant belly. Blood immediately pools on the floor. With trembling hands, I call my boyfriend, Garrett Holloway, and beg him to come get me as quickly as possible. But even after I am rushed into surgery and finally pulled back from the brink, he never shows up. But through the glass, I see him helping another woman into the hospital for a prenatal checkup. "She only stumbled a little, and her husband got so worried. He brought her to the hospital right away. Some people are just luckier than others. Not everyone gets a man who cares for them so attentively." Listening to the nurses whisper among themselves, I tighten my grip on the miscarriage report in my hand. Then, I send a message to my family. I write, "Mom, I'll go with your arrangement. I'm not marrying Garrett anymore."

In the three years we've been married, Colin Luther never touches me once. Living in the room next door is Rebecca Jennings, his adopted younger sister with no blood relation to him. She supposedly suffers from severe androphobia. Whenever she sees any man other than Colin, she trembles uncontrollably. Whenever she has nightmares in the middle of the night, Colin immediately leaves me and rushes to her room. So, the master bedroom is given to her. I sleep on a folding bed in the study, and Colin sleeps on the floor outside her door to stand guard. Every week, my mother-in-law, Alicia Brooks, comes by with the soup she made herself. The first thing she does is go into Rebecca's room. Only after that does she spare me a glance. She says, "Nat, remember to hand-wash Becca's underwear. Her skin is sensitive, so it can't go in the washing machine." My father-in-law, Isaac Luther, is even worse. At our last family gathering, he slaps his thigh in front of their relatives and says, "If Becca weren't sick, I'd want her to be my daughter-in-law!" I simply smile while serving the dishes and say nothing. For three years, I endure everything in silence. But yesterday, I find two items hidden beneath Rebecca's pillow. There is the silk camisole that went missing six months ago and a pack of birth control pills with only two tablets left. Androphobia? Well, today is our third wedding anniversary. It's time for a proper celebration.

When we try to get our marriage registered for the 18th time, Derek Hubbard has forgotten to bring his ID again. The thing is, I reminded him to bring his ID three times last night. He told me, "Got it. This time, I'm definitely marrying you. There won't be a problem throughout the registration." But as soon as we arrive at the city hall, Derek searches through his pockets. In the end, he calls Lessie Davenport with a frown. "Lessie, did I leave my ID with you?" As I sit in the waiting area, I suddenly let out a soft chuckle. Half an hour later, Lessie arrives at the city hall. She hands the ID over to Derek with red-rimmed eyes. "My stomach hurts a lot, Derek…" Derek's expression changes drastically. He quickly supports her and steers her toward the exit. "Wait for me here, Celine. I'll be back soon." I nod in response while watching Derek walk away from me, just like how he did for the past 17 times. When Derek's silhouette disappears, I dig out my phone and send a text message to someone else. "Are you here yet?" Three minutes later, a man walks into the city hall. He hands both of our IDs through the hole in the counter. "Hi, we're here to register our marriage."

On the day of Claire Brooks, my wife's funeral, a grieving stranger arrived carrying white lilies. After placing them beside her portrait, he walked straight toward me. "I've envied you for thirty years," he said. Confused, I frowned as his eyes lingered on her photograph. "For thirty years, she gave me everything—her love, her time, her money. She never held anything back." He paused before looking at me with quiet resentment. "The only thing she forbade was letting you know I existed." My heart skipped a beat. "What are you talking about?" He let out a bitter chuckle. "It means that while you were married to her for thirty years, she was with me for thirty years too." Then he walked away, leaving me frozen beside her coffin. I stared after him, struggling for breath. Thirty years of betrayal and lies. The shock sent my blood pressure surging, and I collapsed in the middle of the funeral hall. When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the day Claire and I were supposed to be married. "Nathan Brooks, will you spend the rest of your life with me?" After a long silence, I took the ring from her hand and, without a moment's hesitation, threw it down the drain.

Mindy Graham left me at the altar to meet her ex-boyfriend, who left her five years ago when she was almost disabled. The wedding guests were shocked when they saw me clenching the corner of her wedding dress, trying my best to keep up appearances. "Can you not leave now?" Mindy hesitated but chose to slowly pry off my fingers while shaking her head. "I'm sorry. I have to go. I need to find out why he left me so heartlessly back then." She left without turning back amidst the shocked gasps from the crowd. My mother, who had a heart condition, trembled with rage, and I watched in shock as she passed out and fell to the ground. "Mom!" I was breaking down but forced myself to get it together and take her to the hospital. I fell to the floor outside the surgery room, and that was when two messages popped up on my phone. The first message was from Johnny Packer: [I told you that Mindy would never choose you if I came back. You've lost again.] Mindy sent the second message: [Give me 30 days. We'll be broken up during this time, but I promise I'll love you and only you after this is over.] There was a dead look in my eyes as I laughed bitterly with self-deprecation. This time, I refused to let myself lose.

After an argument with my wife, Joan Newman, I momentarily stepped out of the car to pick up a package. When I returned, our son, Jimmy Newman, was gone. From that moment, I searched for him like a madman. Each waking hour was consumed by guilt. My mother-in-law blamed me. My mother cried herself to sleep. Joan jabbed a finger at my head and screamed, “Why are you still alive? If you don’t find our son, I’m divorcing you!” From that day forward, for four long years, I gave up my career and my life. I traveled across the country almost a hundred times searching for my son, only to be met with disappointment every single time. My body became covered in scars from self-harm. I fell into severe depression. By the hundredth trip, I could no longer summon the will to face another defeat. I swallowed an entire bottle of sleeping pills. As death closed in, I heard Joan talking to her childhood friend, Randy Kilk. “Joan, you’ve tormented him long enough. When are you going to tell Steven that the boy was never missing? I can’t wait to see the look on his face.” Joan laughed and casually said, “There’s no hurry. He forced me to abort our child, so now, he is suffering the consequences. When he finally understands his sins, I may consider telling him.” So, the inhuman torment I had endured for four years had been nothing more than her punishment. As a final tear rolled down my cheek, my soul left my body. Joan, you got exactly what you wanted.

Everyone knew Amber Sherry was hopelessly in love with me. She would even risk her life for me. I got into a severe car accident to save her. My health never fully recovered. Because I had a rare blood type, she was terrified that something else might happen to me. She found someone with the same blood type and kept him on standby. He would donate blood to me whenever I needed it. I was also hopelessly in love with her. After she gave birth to Aria, I did not care what people thought. We gave her Amber’s last name—Aria Sherry. I did not want her to go through another pregnancy, so I got a vasectomy. Every socialite in our circle was jealous of what we had. On the day of Aria’s baby dedication, I went back on a whim to the house I had bought when Amber and I got married. However, the security guard stopped me at the gate. “This villa is Ms. Sherry’s private property. No outsiders are allowed.” I smiled and said, “I am her husband.” To my surprise, the guard gave me a look of disdain and said, “Mr. Jones is Ms. Sherry’s husband. Who might you be? You should’ve checked before trying to impersonate your way in.” I stood frozen. Cyrus Jones was my living blood donor.

After a car accident left me with amnesia, a woman claiming to be my girlfriend proposed to me in the most heartfelt way. Everyone around me said I'd been waiting for this moment for seven whole years and urged me to just say yes. In my past life, I nodded along without thinking twice. Her childhood best friend, who turned out to be the long-lost biological son of my parents, ended up going with them to Neller City—and completely leapfrogged into a whole new social class. As for me, I followed Estelle Camden back to her hometown and became just some ordinary guy from the countryside. Cooking, doing laundry, taking care of her bedridden father—I did it all, for thirty years straight. But Estelle left to find work in the city just a year after we got married, and she'd only come back once every few years. The money she sent was barely enough to keep a beggar going. It wasn't until I lay wasted away on my deathbed, barely clinging to life, that I finally saw the truth in her cold, calculating eyes. She let out a sigh of relief and confessed, "The couple who came looking for their child back then—they were your real parents. They're worth hundreds of millions. But you? You're so ordinary—what right did you have to that kind of life? So I gave the DNA test to Derek instead. "Derek is handsome and clever. He deserves the good life way more than you do." When she saw the rage burning in my eyes, she just gave a careless little smile. "You know, sometimes I actually felt guilty looking at you. But now, you're finally about to die—so I guess that's one less thing weighing on my conscience." Right after she said that, I coughed up a mouthful of blood and died, seething with regret. When I opened my eyes again, I was back in that hospital bed—and Estelle was asking me to marry her.

After giving birth, Belinay Scotch suddenly stopped pretending and began openly sleeping with other men in our bedroom. When I caught her in the act, she showed no signs of remorse. Instead, she mocked me without a care in the world. “The baby’s already here. What can you possibly still use to threaten me now?” Our friends all turned to look at me, afraid that I would throw a fit like I used to. However, this time, I did not yell or make a scene. I simply picked up my daughter and walked out of the room with a calm expression. From that day on, I became the perfect husband she had always dreamed of. When paparazzi came knocking, I paid them off for her. When she had conflicts with her lovers, I helped her resolve them. Then, my daughter’s christening came around. Other men brazenly showed up to force me to leave. Belinay finally could not help but laugh. She joined in with the others to mock me. “How is my ‘good husband’ going to pretend to be gracious this time?” I did not get angry. Instead, I simply turned around and handed the baby to her. “Consider this child my repayment for saving my life back then.”

After spending a passionate night with Emma Kemp, she lights a cigarette lazily in bed. "You really should brush up your intimate skills. You can barely hold a candle to Scott in this aspect." I feel as though my blood has turned to ice in my veins. Scott Barlow is the son of my mom's side piece. Emma continues, "When you called me to check on what I was doing, Scott was right next to me. The moment he heard your voice, he got so worked up that he kept clinging to me very tightly." Then, she turns to look at me, her lips already curling into a mean smirk. "Honestly speaking, I finally understand why your mom had cheated on your dad back then." Emma is waiting for me to kick up yet another ruckus hysterically, just as I did the first few times I found out about her affair. But I opt not to say anything. Instead, I just pick up my clothes that are strewn across the floor and put them on. Emma is stunned at first, but she soon scoffs and dials a number before putting it on loudspeaker mode. "You're wrong. I told you that Vince has learned his lesson this time." Scott's disdainful voice soon drifts out of the loudspeaker. "Fine, you win. You get to decide which position we're using in bed next time." But what Emma doesn't know is that I've never learned my lesson. On the contrary, I don't want her anymore.

On our wedding night, my wife, who almost never drank, got wasted because she was supposedly too happy. Just when I didn't know what to do, my best friend sent me a long message explaining how to take care of her. I blushed, but I still followed his instructions and soothed her the way he described. Natalie, who had been making a scene, miraculously quieted down. But just as I was about to call my friend and thank him, Natalie suddenly hugged me from behind. Heartbroken, she whispered, "Ashton Hawke, you're the one I wanted to marry." As she said it, the tattoo near her heart slipped into view: a hawk with its wings spread wide. My mind went blank. Ashton Hawke was my best friend of twenty years. Natalie hadn't gotten drunk because she was happy. She had gotten drunk because she hadn't married the man she truly wanted.

After my wife Janine Cartwood's 99th argument with her lover, she came to me and complained, "Can't you go down on your knees and apologize to him? He wouldn't have gotten mad at me if you hadn't shown up in front of him with our son." Janine smiled and spoke about this as if it were a joke, but I knew she was serious. I had rejected her once before, but she retaliated by getting rid of my dog and refusing to pay for my mother's medical fees. I took it all in my stride and tolerated her antics because I wanted to give our son a complete home. This continued until yesterday, when she purposely fed our son, Jesse Langdon, medicine that caused him to go into shock in my arms. I lost all hope for her when that happened. Janine thought I was unwilling when she saw me keeping silent. She was about to berate me when I handed her our divorce papers and said softly, "He must have gotten sick of seeing me kneel. Let's just coax him by getting a divorce. I bet that will cheer him up even more." She raised her eyebrows in surprise, and I could see the glee in her eyes. "You're getting better at this. You're even taking the initiative to find ways to make me happy." I did not reply and only smiled understandingly. It was because I was not trying to make her happy. I just did not want her anymore.