CEO Romance の短編小説 & Cheating 小説

What a small world. As Elaine Johnson was checking in at the hotel front desk, she happened to bump into Jasper Carter's young mistress —a girl who looked like an innocent college student. She was dressed in a simple white cotton dress, pure and demure, with a shy, sweet smile. "Hello, here's your room key. You'll be staying in the executive suite on the top floor," the receptionist said. "Thank you, miss," the girl replied softly, taking the key. Just then, her phone rang. Elaine overheard her speaking bashfully to the person on the other end: "Mr. Carter, I... I'm already here. When will you be coming?" Her tone was soft, a little nervous, filled with affectionate anticipation. A moment later, Elaine heard her add, "Mhm, I'll wait for you. No rush. Please drive carefully, Mr. Carter." The girl's voice was so sweet and tender, it could have melted anyone's heart. Elaine could not help thinking that her husband had good taste — the girl was young and beautiful, gentle and thoughtful, the kind of woman any man would find hard to resist.

It's my third wedding anniversary with Eanes Lambert. However, he and his childhood sweetheart put on a public display of affection on their social media. "My heart beats for you and you only." I like the post and share it, but the original post is immediately deleted. Later, Eanes calls me to tell me off. "I was just comforting her because she was in a bad mood. Do you have to be so petty? What else can you do other than get jealous of others?" The next second, I receive a photo of him and his childhood sweetheart kissing passionately. She's the one who's sent it to me. In the past, I would've stormed over there to kick up a fuss. Now, however, I merely choose to leave Eanes. I'll let him have what he wants.

On the one-year anniversary of the company's public listing, my wife, Susan Lynn, publicly announced that she was gifting a supercar worth millions of dollars to her childhood friend, Charles Baker. Charles, with his arm around her shoulder, raised his glass and said, "Thank you, Susan. Here's a toast to our friendship!" I let out a derisive laugh and walked away. Susan, feeling upset, chased after me, shouting, "Angus, what's your problem? What's wrong with me giving the top salesperson a supercar? You're just a useless waste of space, and you still dare to throw a tantrum!"

I am a law student, and I save Andon Garner from a terrible car accident. The Garners see me as his lifesaver, so they tell me to marry him. Ten years into our marriage, my heart condition flares up. However, my husband, Andon, pours out the medicine that can save my life. He scoffs as he watches me struggle in pain and says coldly, "Elise Fulton, go and keep Sasha company." When I wake up again, it is the day of the car accident once more. Andon lies in a puddle of blood, and near him, his first love, Sasha Wilson, cries hysterically.

On the third year of her marriage to Tristan Ford, Nicole Snow caught him in their bed with another woman on her birthday. Watching the man she had loved for ten years, and seeing him maintain his tender facade before others, Nicole's heart was completely shattered. She remembered the vow Tristan once made to her with deep affection: "Nicky, I want to spend my whole life with you. Unless death separates us, I’ll search the ends of the earth to find you. Nothing will ever keep us apart." Fine, then she would die, so he could never find her.

At a press conference, business tycoon Charles Lewis and heiress Julia announced their relationship. As reporters frantically clicked their cameras to capture the breaking news, Julia's assistant suddenly collapsed. Bright red blood spread beneath her, forming a pool of blood. With a calm expression, Charles turned to the stunned reporters and explained, "She's pregnant but insists on working. Maybe she just wants attention." I lost my child and my uterus after that incident. At the same time, I became the target of online outrage. I was the assistant, and Charles was my legal husband.

Sandra Kinsey's dance studio was where she buried her passion. It was also our secret place. No one else was allowed in. No one but me. Until one day, her assistant barged in, using a love for Latin dance as an excuse, and danced with her intimately. Sandra didn't push him away. That was the moment I knew—you can't make someone stay when their heart has already left. I stripped her of her authority, took over the company myself, and gave Sandra all the freedom she could ever ask for. But later, eyes red and voice trembling, she looked at me and demanded to know why. I sat on the couch and glanced at her with indifference. "Freedom," I said, "always comes at a price. Doesn't it?"

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.

"I've decided to join your pharmaceutical research institute and continue with my medical research, Mr. Clark." Melvin Clark chuckles. "Your husband loves you so deeply. Will he agree to let you go abroad for medical research?" "This is my decision to make. It has nothing to do with him." "Alright, then. When will you arrive?" "In a week." "Okay. I'll be waiting." "There's one more thing. Do you need a tester for the memory-erasing potion you developed?" Melvin's voice turns grim. "Are you saying…" "Send me a bottle. I'll test it."

Even after being married for three years, my husband treats me like a stranger. When I throw up blood from pregnancy complications, he's in the prayer room chanting for his foster sister, Yvie Springton. He accuses me of being dramatic. If Yvie so much as gets a headache, he drops everything and flies overseas to be by her side. When his parents are in critical condition after a car crash, I beg him to go see them one last time. But what does he do? He claims I'm cursing Yvie. When I go into early labor and cling to life after giving birth to our son, he posts a photo of his international boarding pass on social media. At his parents' funeral, he returns to the country with Yvie and demands I leave the marriage with nothing. The day our divorce finalizes, he holds a wedding ceremony with her. I bury his parents alone. Then, at an exclusive auction, dead set on winning the famous painting for Yvie, he offered a staggering price. Even his accounts are frozen. That's when he finally realizes he's been disowned by the Springton family. His eyes are bloodshot, and he's furious as he demands answers. I simply gesture for my lawyer to step forward. He says, "Mr. Springton, take a look at this will."

My childhood sweetheart tanked his startup and racked up millions in debt. He begged for my help, so I dropped out of college and sold liquor to keep him afloat. Ten years later, he proposed to me. I thought we'd made it through the worst until I saw his chatting records with his buddies. [Lorelei is pushing 30. Too old and too used up for you.] [Who knows if she earned that debt money by slinging drinks or something else?] [Besides, what about your kid with your secretary?]

"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 fiancée is a DINK. She lies to me about going abroad for a year to further her education—she's actually left to have a child with her childhood sweetheart. He shares a photo of her after she's given birth. It's captioned, "This is the world's best childhood sweetheart. My family's line shall continue!" I'm furious when I see their mutual friends leaving comments urging them to get married. I comment, "May you be together forever and end up with no descendants." My fiancée immediately calls me and snaps, "What the hell are you doing? I'm just fulfilling a promise I made to him during our childhood!" I hang up and call off the engagement. There's no point in continuing with this relationship!

The company had just taken off when a project my wife, Lenora Peterson, was in charge of ran into trouble. To ease her mind during her pregnancy, I went overseas in her stead, spending ten perilous years abroad before finally returning home, barely alive. Instead of the joyful reunion I had imagined, she greeted me with cold detachment and thinly veiled disgust. "Why are you back?" Lenora asked. "Today is Nathan’s housewarming party," she added. "Let’s head there first—we’ll talk later." We rode in silence the entire way. When we arrived, a ten-year-old girl came dashing over and clung to Lenora affectionately. “Mommy, why did you take so long? Daddy’s been waiting for you forever!” Daddy? My eyes burned with rage—until I saw my old friend Nathan Grant stepping out to greet us with a smile. "Lily, come to Daddy. Mommy’s tired—don’t bother her now." When I met Lenora’s eyes, the guilt I saw there told me everything I needed to know. I turned away and texted my assistant, Morgan Williamson, to begin acquiring the company that, by right, had always belonged to me. He soon reported back. "Mr. Brooke, the acquisition process will be completed in three days."

It's considered public knowledge that the CEO of Nextronics, Spencer Ford, is totally and utterly smitten with his wife, Nikita Young. Case in point: the very first digital voice assistant that Nextronics launched was called Nikki. Nextronic's newest launch, a smartphone that would revolutionize the tech industry, was to be named the Niko Ultra. Spencer seemed born to be a perfect husband—loving, devoted, and affectionate towards her. That was until she caught him in bed with his assistant. Nikita snapped out of the haze and realized a startling truth—promises could be broken, no matter how sincere the person who made them appeared. "I want to terminate this pregnancy. I don't want to bring this child into the world." "Give me ten days, and I will leave him."

During the five years that Sophie Lord was married, she had been continuously doing IVFs and was finally able to become pregnant with Luke Shaw’s child. That same day, she saw Luke at the hospital with his secretary, Helen Jones. He was accompanying her for a pregnancy test. Sophie was devastated and asked Luke to choose between her and the child in Helen’s womb. “Let’s not make a fuss, Sophie. I’ll explain everything to you when I get back. You need to calm down first. I’m keeping this child no matter what.” He carefully supported Helen as they left, but what he didn’t see was the blood trickling down Sophie’s legs. Later on, when Sophie disappeared from Luke’s life, the latter brought down completely.

"Ms. Harris, you're already six months pregnant. The baby is fully formed... Are you sure you want to go through with the abortion? The hospital strongly advises against it." The doctor said hesitatingly. Phoebe Harris instinctively placed a hand over her swollen belly. Six months. The child had grown inside her, from something no bigger than a grain of rice to the size it was now. They say a mother and her child share an unspoken bond, and she could feel it too. If she weren't utterly broken inside, what mother would ever have the heart to give up her baby who was about to enter the world? After a silence that seemed to stretch on forever, Phoebe took a deep breath. Then, with a resolve that left no room for doubt, she said, "I'm sure."

On the company's designated monthly day off, Gigi Lott, Donald Hoover's secretary, posted an Instagram story. The caption read, "So what if you're the boss of me when we're at work during the day? At night, I'm the one on top!" In the photo, she was lying atop a water bed covered in rose petals, and the usually stern Donald was kneeling down to massage her feet for her. From his pocket hung a brand new golden necklace. Just that morning, I bought several gold bars and gave them to Donald while beseeching him to make our relationship public. He happily took the locket from me, but when I tried to take a photo of us with our phone, he smacked my phone out of my hands, smashing it into pieces. With a look of pure derision, he declared, "Why don't you take a good look at yourself in the mirror first? You really are a motherless wretch who wasn't raised right. Look at the lengths you'd go to just to ruin me!" Throughout the last five years, I had meekly gone along with his demand that we keep our relationship a secret, claiming it was because office romances were forbidden. But now, I was abruptly hit with the realization of how laughable it all was. The next day, I sent my father a message. "I admit defeat. I'm willing to come home and inherit the family business."

Five years into my marriage to Ethan Morgan, I thought I was the luckiest woman alive. He'd bought a private island in my name. He'd asked me to quit my career to rest. He called me his queen. What he didn't know was that I never stopped designing — under a different name, a secret identity no one knew about. Not even him. Then his secretary left a review on my designer account, raving about the dress her "billionaire boyfriend" had gifted her. The island in the photo was mine. The man beside her was my husband. [He says his wife doesn't satisfy his real needs.] [Only if he didn't need an heir from her, she'd already be gone.] I was pregnant with that heir. And he would never know. I made one call: "I need a new identity. And a divorce agreement."

In the two weeks leading up to our fifth wedding anniversary banquet, my wife's secretary, Ronald Piper, sent me photos of the two of them in bed every single day. I pretend not to know. On the day of the banquet, my wife, Jessica Tuttle, books out an entire hotel and gives a heartfelt speech, saying that I am the person she is most grateful for in this lifetime. Everyone applauds through tears. Over the years, Jessica, the aloof and capable CEO, has flown a thousand miles overnight just to come home and cook me broth when my stomach hurts. And when she is sentenced to imprisonment, I willingly serve two years behind bars in her place without hesitation. To outsiders, we are a perfect couple who are deeply in love with each other. While cutting the cake, I notice the pendant on Ronald's wrist. I had to call in every favor I had to get that pendant for Jessica. Back then, she says to me, "As long as the pendant stays on, our love remains. If it's ever removed, our relationship is over." I look at Jessica, who sighs with a helpless and indulgent expression. "Felix, Ron has been having nightmares lately. He's been down with a fever, too. I lent it to him for a few days to ward off bad luck. Don't argue with a kid over something so small, okay?" She then pats Ronald's shoulder reassuringly and urges, "You should thank Felix. He's always been understanding. It's just a trinket. He wouldn't be reluctant to part with it." Ronald looks at me timidly and says, "Thank you for letting me have it. With it protecting me, I can finally sleep peacefully every night while holding it in my arms. When I get better, I'll give it back to you." My best childhood friend is furious upon hearing this. "How can you turn a blind eye to all this?" he hisses. Of course I can.