Bittersweet Romance Short Stories & Cheating Novels

The cocktail hour had just ended when I picked up a video call in the bridal suite. It was Ethan, three years from now. By then, time‑travel tech had matured enough to let him contact me three years into the past. After enough specific details, I finally believed it. The man on the screen really was Ethan, three years older. I rubbed my aching ankle and pouted at him through the screen. "Ethan, smiling at all these guests is exhausting. But the second I remember I actually married you today, I'm happy all over again." "We're still happy three years from now, right?" He was leaning back against a headboard, and he didn't answer. His face was flat and unreadable. Then I heard it: a woman's voice from his end, low and breathy, asking to be kissed. I froze for a second, then covered my mouth and laughed. "Is that future me? In broad daylight? Get a room." Ethan turned the camera into the bed. My maid of honor was lying there, naked, sprawled across his chest. Her body was covered in hickeys. He looked straight at me as I started to break, and his voice didn't shift at all. "As soon as the reception ended, I told you I had a client meeting. I went to her room instead." "Jo, now you know what's coming. The guests haven't gone home yet. If you want a divorce tonight, you can have one. Up to you."

From dating to marriage, seven years together, Kevin Fletcher bailed on fifty-two trips with me. Every single time, he had an excuse. A project deadline. A last-minute business trip. An elderly relative who suddenly wasn't doing well. And every single time, he promised he'd make it up to me. I believed him. Fifty-two times. Until last month, when I found a travel planner tucked away in his study. Inside were fifty-two plane tickets to the same city. And fifty-two photos of him and his so-called childhood friend, Fiona Snow. Written on the first photo: [She said she wanted to see the ocean, so I cleared my schedule and took her.] On the thirty-third: [She got drunk and said her biggest regret was never starting a family with me.] The fifty-second photo was dated the same day he blew off our fifth wedding anniversary trip. On the back, he'd written: [She's pregnant. I'm going to be a dad!] I wiped my tears away, opened my laptop, and drafted the divorce papers. Then I booked a ticket to Antarctica. This time, I was going to see the view alone.

The day before our wedding, my husband gives me a sapphire ring. I place a hand on my slightly bulging belly. As I lie on the operating table, I call him and tell him I want to call the wedding off. Shortly after, his secretary calls me tearfully. "I was the one who was impudent enough to select the ring, ma'am. Please don't blame Mr. Nolan for this. It's all my fault." Archer Nolan holds her in his arms and coaxes her gently for a long time. He only says one thing to me. "You're already carrying my child. Can you really bear to leave me?"

When my wife, Sandra Lane, finally returns from her business trip, I pin her against the wall, my lust overwhelming my rationality. Halfway through our session, Sandra's phone starts ringing all of a sudden. She quickly pushes me off her body before grabbing her phone. "Sandie, I'm feeling a little uncomfortable. Can you check out what's wrong with me?" A racy video is soon sent to Sandra's private chat. Angered, I question Sandra, "Has William gone nuts? Why did he send you these videos? Is he going to keep badgering you just because he can't find himself a wife?" Sandra responds by slapping me instantly. "What the hell are you talking about, Steven? What's with that gutter mind of yours? I've just rescued William from another city! His parents are already dead, so I'm the only one left in his life! Naturally, I'm obligated to take good care of him! "You disgust me to no end, Steven! Hurry up and apologize to me right now, or else we're getting a divorce!" Sandra and I have been married for six years. During these years, she has used divorce as a threat against me multiple times. But when I'm with Sandra, I've already confessed 1001 times to her. Upon noticing my silence, Sandra just smiles smugly, thinking that there's no way I will ever leave her. But this time, she's wrong.

Before heading off to war, Sebastian Crawford made a solemn blood vow on his honor—just to keep me from worrying while he was gone. He promised to come back and marry me with a grand ceremony, the whole nine yards. Eight years later, Sebastian returned as a general, draped in glory. But by his side was a woman—dressed like a man, her very pregnant belly sticking out like a sore thumb. I took a deep breath, calmly slipped off my engagement ring, and called the whole thing off. Sebastian scowled, clearly annoyed. "Lena bled with me on the battlefield. I've always seen her as a brother in arms. She's pregnant because she helped me take care of a physical need. It was simple and practical. No strings attached." I let out a bitter laugh. Then I sent a messenger pigeon. "Fine. Then I'll find someone to help me out too."

On the highway, when the vehicles of drivers on the same stretch of road went out of control and rushed towards us, Wynn Lloyd protected me by holding me close beneath him. As a result, he ended up in the emergency room, battered.In the hospital ward, a friend praised, "Your husband is really good to you. When the car came crashing, he protected you with his life, not caring about his own."I remained silent.Indeed, he was good, but it didn't stop him from liking someone else.Wynn and I had known each other since childhood, for over a decade, and everyone said he loved me to death.But who would have thought that such a person had a mistress on the side?He pampered her in every possible way, indulging her to the extreme.

Ethan Carter is an international captain for Delta Air Lines. I'd been engaged to him for five years. In those five years,the only time I ever asked him to indulge me was when I sent him a photo of my mother's flight journal. That journal recorded the route she'd flown on her last trip: Boston to Paris. Her health was already failing by then. I wanted Ethan to mark that route for me, and paste it on the last page of the memorial album. He just replied, "I've got a transatlantic flight tomorrow. Flight safety isn't for humoring people." Last week Ethan came home on leave, and while I was sorting his luggage, I found a waterproof document pouch tucked in a lining. Inside was a full set of simulator debrief materials. A name was written on the cover: Claire Bennett. A young first officer at Delta, the rookie Ethan had personally mentored these past two years as she pushed for her international route certification. I opened to the first page. From takeoff roll to stall recovery to approach deviation, every page carried Ethan's handwritten notes. Red circles, blue underlines, black annotations, the handwriting crisp, just like the man himself. A private recommendation letter was tucked into the pouch. He wrote that Claire had "steady judgment, an exceptional capacity to learn, and the potential to join a transatlantic flight crew." Every word was restrained, and every word was precise. The most recent file had been modified last Valentine's Day. That day I'd booked a restaurant. Ethan said he was prepping for a flight and couldn't have dinner with me. I didn't cry. I didn't ask. I picked up my phone and booked a one-way ticket to Seattle. Seattle's air medical transport program was hiring a lead physician. I used to think the future between Ethan and me was something I had to wait for: wait for him to fly less, wait for him to be less busy, wait for him to finally have a spare moment to glance at my journal. I didn't want to wait anymore.

"Are you sure you want to change the bride's name to Jasmine Shaw, Quinn?" Quinn Sullivan's voice was resolute. "Yes, I'm sure. Do as I say." She sat in silence for a long time after hanging up. She recalled what she saw after her engagement party. Her fiancé had his arms wrapped around another woman in a swaying car. He whispered sweet nothings into her ear, looking like he couldn't bear to leave. Quinn didn't understand. She and Nicholas York had gone through so much to get to marriage. How could he cheat on her? Well, it didn't matter. She was willing to give him her blessings since he was in love with another woman. He could marry someone else, then. She would give him the wedding of his dreams.

On the night of my wedding, my best friend's younger brother wiped the sweat from his forehead and asked me, “It’s a little big. Can you handle it?” I stared at his perfectly defined abs, my mind going completely blank. “What?” He repeated, “Can you handle it?” My voice jumped an octave from my panic. “Aren't we supposed to take things slow? Isn’t this way too fast?” That night, the sound-activated lights in the house flickered on and off until dawn. Meanwhile, my ex-husband was squatting downstairs. His eyes were swollen red from crying, but I did not even spare him a thought. Back then, when I agreed to let him proceed with a fake wedding with his childhood sweetheart, Miles Carter thought our cold war was over. When he explained things to me, he said, “Vivian and I will only be married on paper. The ceremony is just to satisfy my mom. I swear, when this is over, we’ll live as a real couple.” I remained silent. I just stared at the countdown on my phone, counting the days until I could finally leave. He did not know that the moment he tricked me into signing the divorce papers, our marriage had already ceased to exist.

My fiancé proposes to my stepsister Thalia Yates in front of everyone at our engagement party. Furious, I pack my stuff and leave home. That's when Jude Pearson, heir to an international medical group, entered my life. He's a surgeon rumored to have zero interest in women. Yet he pursued me passionately for six months. Eventually, I accepted his proposal. For seven years after our wedding, he's been gentle and considerate, always putting my needs first. Then, I overhear his phone conversation with his mother, Helena Roberts. "Jude, it's been seven years, but you still have no kids. It's time for a divorce." "Since I couldn't marry Thalia, it doesn't matter who I married instead. I'll keep playing this role forever. As long as I'm around, she'll never be able to intrude upon Thalia's happiness." That's when the truth hits me—Jude has given up the family business to become a surgeon just to treat Thalia's heart condition. Our years of marriage are actually his way of protecting Thalia from afar. If that's the case, then I'll disappear from their world and let my absence be their happy ending.

Our place was hit by an earthquake. I was crushed by a slab of stone, but my wife, leader of the rescue squad, abandoned me in favor of her true love. She said, "You're a soldier. You can live with a little injury. Felix can't. He's always been weak, and he needs me." I was saved, eventually, and I wanted to leave my wife. I agreed to the chip research that would station me in one of the National Science Foundation's bases deep in the mountains. My leader was elated about my agreeing to this research. He grasped my hand tightly. "Marvelous. With you in our team, Jonathan, this research won't fail! But… you'll be gone for six whole years. Are you sure your partner's fine with it?" I nodded. "She will be. I'm serving the nation here. She'll understand." The leader patted my shoulder. "Good to know. The clock is ticking, so you'll only have one month to say your goodbyes. That enough for you?" I smiled. "More than enough."

"Jump. You love me to death, don't you? Didn't you say you'd do anything for me?" Ethan Hart wanted me to throw myself off the observation deck of the tallest tower downtown, live, in front of the millions of people watching the broadcast. I stood on the wrong side of the railing. Below me, traffic streamed through the streets and neon flickered in the distance. His friends clapped and cheered. Vivian Lane laughed softly and curled herself against his arm. Ethan's grin turned vicious. "Come on, don't waste everyone's time. Jump, and I'll marry you." He'd made me a promise once. Finish a hundred of his demands, and he would marry me. When his company was circling bankruptcy, he told me to hand over everything I owned, and I did. Then he moved Vivian into my house in the suburbs and left me to sleep in a motel. The night he was tangled up with Vivian at a private party, he sent me over with something for his hangover, and made a point of telling me to bring a box of condoms, the right size. I stood at the door holding the soup I'd made, and heard him laugh. "She's my ATM. I use her, then I throw her out." No matter how far it went, I'd done all ninety-nine. This was the last one: jump. He thought I'd hesitate, thought I'd cry and beg him to pick something else. I didn't. I let go and fell. The wind roared in my ears, and the whole lit-up city slid past me. I heard him shout, heard the crowd scream, and underneath all of it, the one voice I'd waited too long to hear. [Congratulations, host. Emotional conquest progress: one hundred percent. Reward delivered. Your mother's terminal illness is fully cured.]

After six years with Joel, Lyra landed in the hospital—sick and drained. The day she got discharged, she caught something in the hallway she wasn't supposed to hear. "Joel Fenwick, are you out of your mind? You gave Lyra's bone marrow to Renee without telling her? You knew her health was trash and lied about it being a stomach issue just to make her do it?" Renee. Joel's childhood flame. The girl he never got over. Lyra didn't cry. Didn't freak out. She just picked up the phone, called her parents overseas, and said yes to an arranged marriage with the Windsors.

Sebastian Sterling was the CEO of the Sterling Group, ranked third among the world's wealthiest business leaders. We had a five-year-long relationship, three years of which we lived together. He told me he loved me so much that he was willing to sacrifice himself for me, yet he never gave me the title of Mrs. Sterling. During those three years of living together, he betrayed me three times, pushing me into hell with his own hands. The first time, he secretly obtained a marriage certificate with his close friend's widow. However, he knelt before me, crying and begging me to believe that it was just for protection. The second time, under the spotlight of media cameras and thousands of watching eyes, he held her hand and announced that she was his wife and the lady of the Sterling family. Backstage, he gripped my hand and swore in a low voice that he would marry me once everything ended. The third time, he spent a passionate night with her and got her pregnant. I discovered the truth when I saw them at the hospital, attending a prenatal appointment together. Loving him was death by a thousand cuts. I forgave him again and again, yet he betrayed me every time. One day, I finally walked away. In my pocket was my positive pregnancy test—I was carrying the child he had always wanted. Only then did Sebastian collapse to his knees in regret, crying out my name with a broken voice. However, he had lost not just me, but the heir he never knew existed too!

Zachary Lawson brought his pregnant secretary to my bridal store for a fitting. They had chosen a white gown. His friends were in the VIP lounge, betting on how long I'd last before I'd lose it. I lasted until the very end, where his secretary had tried out the final gown. I was still there, taking her measurement down to the precise decimal. "I can't believe your wife took your mistress' measurements. Her patience is impressive!" Zachary had sunk into the couch's soft caress, flicking his cigarette. "She's a barren woman who lives on my money. She'll have to get used to the part. I don't need a stepmother to manhandle my son." I pulled the tailor's tape back and showed them the bill. "The measurements are perfect. Two million. That's the deposit." Zachary tossed an asset split agreement over to me. "Sign this. Wendy's mood swings are horrible during pregnancy. She's not staying put unless she gets to be my wife. I'll need you to get a divorce and not take a single cent. Once the baby's here, I'll take you back into the fold." I signed the papers without even a moment's pause. Then, I tore the check into tiny little pieces.

Freya Stein was reborn to the day when she had to choose a fiancé. In her past life, she had chosen the high and mighty scion of the Haretts, but Magnus Harett turned out to be a cold and unapproachable man. On the day of their wedding, he lost his mind and ended up driving the car off the cliff while they were heading to the venue. She ended up becoming disabled because of it, while he became paralyzed. Despite all that, she pushed herself to the limit and took care of him for the rest of his life. As she was drawing her last breath, he regarded her icily and refused to save her. “A nasty woman like her has no right to live. It’s time she goes to hell for what she has done to Ifrit.” It was only then that she found out that Magnus had resented her all along because of what happened to the housemaid's daughter who committed suicide in their room. Now that Freya had been given a second chance, she decided she would choose another man to fulfill his wish. However, Magnus turned rabid on the day of her wedding. He showed up and wanted to stop her from marrying another man.

The day Mason Jablon came with me to try on wedding dresses, his assistant, Gigi, wrecked the custom gown I'd waited three months for. Mason stepped in front of her, way too calm. "The dress has a ton of tiny details. Of course Gigi had trouble holding it. Cut her some slack." I just stared at him. "Mason, I've been waiting three years for this wedding. Do you have any idea how long I waited for that dress?" His face tightened. "So we'll get another one made. It's not like that's the only dress on the planet. Once the new one's ready, I'll give you the wedding of your dreams. Promise." I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. I just nodded. The dress didn't have to be this one. And the groom didn't have to be Mason.

When I got up from Ted Wiley's bed, he lazily handed me my underwear. "I'm changing the door code, so don't come by unless it's urgent." I froze, blurting out, "Why?" He grinned. "She said yes to being my girlfriend yesterday. I can't have her spotting you here—she'd flip. It took me forever to win her over."

As the upcoming tour approached, the dance troupe suddenly revoked my position as the lead dancer. Anxious to get an explanation in person, I lost my footing due to my distracted state and tumbled down the stairs. While enduring the sharp pain and preparing to call for emergency services, a notification popped up on my phone screen: “Redwood Dance Troupe: Welcome our new lead dancer, Averil Wells, and our generous sponsor, Julian Ford." The accompanying photo featured two smiling faces—my husband of seven years, whom I had secretly married, and his pampered mistress. Julian had his arm wrapped around Averil's waist as he placed a gentle kiss on her cheek. Meanwhile, Averil clung to Julian's neck, her face radiating shyness and delight.

My boyfriend of nine years suddenly changed his WhatsApp name to "Peanut Love." When I asked why, he wouldn't say. Then his secretary, going by the name "Peanut," sent me their intimate photos. I understood everything. I calmly saved the photos and opened my mom's chat. I sent a single message: [Mom, I've decided to come home for the arranged marriage.] Mom immediately video-called me. "Sweetheart, we'll set the wedding for the end of this month." Fifteen days. That's all that's left between Jason and me.