قصص وروايات قصيرة من فئة Romance وعن Tragic Love وتدور في Cheating

My boyfriend, Zayne Jefferson, is particularly gifted in certain ways. Every time we're intimate, he insists on trying something new. More than once, he gently coaxes me, saying, "Once you graduate, we'll get married." And I believe him. I throw myself into my studies, pushing hard to finish my credits early. At the same time, I secretly watch all kinds of videos at night and read up on techniques. I want to keep his body satisfied. One night, I stay up too late studying and miss curfew. I run to the bar to find him, where I overhear him chatting with his friends. "Zayne, is your girlfriend really that wild in bed?" one guy asks. "Of course. He trained her himself!" another guy says. "What about Yasmin?" Zayne exhales a stream of smoke, his eyes soft. "She's different. She's pure." In that moment, I begin to hate him. Back on campus, I make a call to my professor. "That secret program you mentioned… I want in." From this day on, my life belongs only to my career.

I am an infamous pilot in Gradenburg whom everyone calls a jinx. In the past six years of my career, every time I had to fly a plane, it either started raining heavily or became terribly foggy. Eventually, passengers started avoiding my flights when booking their tickets, and the airline company pulled me off its flagship route. Nonetheless, I refuse to believe that I'm that cursed. It isn't until the 99th time that my flight is delayed that I overhear some people talking in the break room. "Mrs. Zayner can't fly again today?" Another person lets out a mocking laugh. "She seriously still thinks that she just has rotten luck. Little does she know, all the extreme weather she's experienced is actually interference by Mr. Zayner as he pleases his mistress. "She wants rain? He'll call for a rainstorm. She wants to see dark clouds? He'll do it for her. His mistress' happiness is certainly more important than whether his wife can actually fly!" Amid the scornful laughter that rings out, I clutch the 99th disciplinary notice I've received for flight delays so far, feeling my entire body go cold. Just last night, Samuel Zayner was tending to the injury on my wrist I got when a passenger threw their luggage at me. In a low voice, he comforted me, saying, "The weather isn't something anyone can control. Don't blame yourself for it." However, right now, I check through my flight records from the past six years. Every single delay coincides with a social media post from the same woman. "I suddenly feel like admiring a rainstorm." "The summer sun is just too glaring. How I wish black clouds would darken the skies over Gradenburg." Without fail, Samuel has liked every post. As it turns out, the bad weather that has kept me trapped for the past few years is nothing more than a little flirting game played between him and another woman. I stare at the flight assignment roster for three days later and let out a soft laugh. Then, I submit a route transfer request. From now on, whether it's rainy or sunny in Gradenburg has nothing to do with me anymore.

In the seventh year of our marriage, Jenna Birch is finally accepted by the powerful Birch family as their long-lost, illegitimate daughter. But inheriting the family fortune comes with one condition—she must carry a child for her late sister's widower, Zach Corey, to continue both family bloodlines. Jenna swears she will never forget the humiliation Zach once inflicted on her. She insists she'll only stay by his side long enough to make him suffer before casting him out of the Birch family for good. Instead, she drifts farther away from us. She comes home later each night, and Annie and I are no longer a priority. Then, six months later, she announces her marriage to Zach without ever telling us. Looking at the wedding photos, Annie asks innocently, "Why is Mommy lying in Mr. Corey's arms?" I wrap my arms around my little girl, my heart breaking for the child who has no idea what's happening. "Because she has a new family now. It's time for us to leave."

My ex-husband has remarried. Before the wedding, his new wife sends me an invitation. I can't understand this. Why would she invite her husband's ex-wife to her wedding? Half a year later, my ex-husband and his new wife make it onto the trending topics. #HaveMilesGallagher'sStandardsDroppedAfterHisDivorce? #MilesGallagherMustBeFilledWithRegret

Mason Chapman has lost his memories. He has forgotten everything about me. His memories are stuck in the year he was most in love with his ex-wife, Tiffany Auburn. No matter how much the people around him try to talk sense into him, he remains convinced I'm the other woman who has come between him and Tiffany. The doctor says there's a chance he might recover his memories, so I cling to that hope and refuse to let go. Within three years, we divorce and remarry many times. We become the biggest joke in the city's social circles. People even start placing bets on when I'll finally give up and when Mason will regain his memories. Then, news of our eighth divorce makes the trending searches again. Reporters storm into the law firm I work at with cameras on their shoulders. They shove microphones in my face, their questions dripping with provocation. "Ms. Gardner, as a divorce lawyer, what do you have to say about getting divorced eight times yourself?" Someone smashes the firm's sign. My personal award banner is trampled underfoot. Before I can even respond, my boss fires me for ruining the profession's reputation. "Take my advice, Isabel. Have some dignity, and stop chasing after Mr. Chapman." I clench my trembling hands and suddenly feel depleted. They're right. Maybe this time, I should just give up.

The night before my wedding, my best friend flew back from overseas to attend my bachelor party. We were just having a few drinks when his stomach started acting up, so I quickly reached into his bag for his medication. Instead of pills, I found a naughty remote control. I grinned mischievously and waved a hand toward him. “Didn’t know you were getting this wild overseas, man.” He smiled awkwardly and told me to just hand him the medicine and not to touch anything else. Alas, his reaction made me even more curious. So I purposely pressed on one of the buttons. The next second, my fiancee, who was sitting right next to us, shuddered.

My best friend and I grow up together, and we each have our childhood friends. When we're old enough, we marry our childhood friends. One is a doctor, and one is a firefighter. We even fall pregnant one after the other. During our pregnancies, we go out for a stroll. Suddenly, I'm rammed over, and I fall into the river. My best friend miscarries after trying to save me, and my child dies in my belly, too. I call my husband. However, he roars, "Cass is in danger; I have to save her first! Stop bothering me!" My best friend is also reprimanded by her husband. After giving birth to the dead fetuses, we both decide to get divorced. However, the two men weep and beg us not to leave.

I'm in the middle of my pediatric shift when an emergency call comes in. A three-year-old boy arrives, hemorrhaging and unconscious from a car crash, but there is no matching blood type in the bank. Then, it hits me that my husband, Ethan Stone, has the same blood type, so I ask him to donate blood right away. When he arrives and stands frozen to the spot, I can no longer hold back my rage. "What are you waiting for? Saving his life is the priority here!" That's when the boy's mother sprints over and screams, "No! Close family can't donate! He's the boy's father!"

Jonas Kimball was the nation's youngest neurosurgery prodigy, a surgeon whose hands could perform the most delicate brainstem operations. Then his wife's savior shoved him, and those hands were ruined for good. Meanwhile, his wife, Leona Chalmers, was busy helping her savior, Bastian Northcott, ground a plane and commandeer medical resources. When it came to her husband's injury, she only shrugged. "He'll understand." Jonas suddenly went quiet. He stopped confronting her. When he was framed for pushing someone and the police asked him to contact his family, he calmly wrote down the name of his three-year-old son, Remy. Behind her back, he began applying for a visa, reaching out to the National Neuroscience Laboratory, and drafting divorce papers. That was before a bowl of scalding soup hit his face, before the car sent his son's small body flying, and before he held that cold little hand and heard Remy's final words. "Daddy, having you is enough." From Norhaven City to Genvère, from a shattered marriage to the stage of the International Medicine Prize, Jonas spent the rest of his life proving that even without her, he could still thrive.

"Mr. Dawson, about that farmhouse construction project in Hattensburg… I've decided that I'm willing to go there." Gary Dawson, on the other end of the line, sounds fairly surprised. "I've been asking you to go there for ages, yet you refused every time because you said you wanted to be with your boyfriend, Timothy. Why the sudden change of mind?" Madeline Carlton lowers her reddened eyes and pretends to chuckle nonchalantly. "I guess I hit one too many walls and just decided to come to my senses afterward." Hearing this, Gary sighs and says sternly, "This is a highly classified mission. You will be assuming a whole new identity when you start working on this project. Before the mission ends, you will not be allowed to have any contact with the rest of the world. "Madeline, are you sure that you've thought things through?" "Yes. I just want to escape this place as soon as I can." There is a long silence on the phone. However, Gary answers right after the pause. "Alright. I'll send the classified contract to you in a while. It should take about a month for the paperwork to be finalized. Use that opportunity to say goodbye to your friends and family." The call disconnects. An email pops up in Madeline's inbox. Right after reading through the classified contract, she signed her name with a flourish and submitted the file with a click. At the same time, Bloomberg Group's new product launch plays on the television. Timothy Bloomberg, wearing a tailored white suit, slowly leads Lacey Houston up the catwalk stage.

My first reaction when I encountered the landslide was not to run, but to immediately call Ethan. After all, Ethan always nagged at me, and I can almost hear him saying, "You can't do anything right; I always have to come to help." The phone rang for ages before it finally connected, and by then, the landslide had knocked me to the ground. "Yes? What is with you? Calling eight hundred times a day… Don't you ever get tired of it? I told you I'm working; I don't have time. "Hello? If you're not going to say anything, I'm hanging up. I've got other things to do." Beep, beep! Before I could say a word, Ethan impatiently scolded me. Typical. That had been Ethan Lang's attitude five years into our marriage. He might not have to put up with me anymore after this, though, because I might never see him again......

In our five years of marriage, I had given in to my husband, John, for a grand total of three times. The first time was during my pregnancy. He had taken his ex-girlfriend Stacy, who had once taken three bullets for him, back home and cared for her. When I became angry, he immediately sent her away once she recovered. The second time was after childbirth, when I was ready to return to work. To repay a favor, he gave the position I had worked years for to Stacy. He said it was so I could rest well. I looked at my son, who needed me, and I conceded. The third time was during our son’s birthday. In front of the entire company, he had announced that Stacy was his wife, all so she could establish herself in the company. I gave him two choices: divorce or send her away. Without hesitation, he chose the latter and immediately sent her abroad. The fourth time was when my father suddenly had a heart attack and urgently needed surgery. He disappeared again. I searched everywhere for him to cover the hospital expenses, and I finally discovered that he had gone to the airport to pick up a pregnant Stacy, who was returning to the country. Because of that, my father missed the best chance for treatment and died. I was done giving in. I disguised the divorce agreement as our son’s medical bill and tricked him into signing it. No compensation or apology would matter. I did not wish to have him near my son or myself again.

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.”

For five years of marriage, my husband, Caleb Sullivan, had only one rule when it came to buying household appliances: if he could get it secondhand, he would never buy it new. He had found our refrigerator on an online marketplace, picked up our washing machine from a local seller, and even complained that the robot vacuum I had spent six months waiting for at a discounted price of 300 dollars was too expensive. "We're not putting our lives on display for other people. What matters is that the machine works." I had always assumed he had grown up poor and was simply afraid of going back to those days. That was until my best friend, Yasmine Owens, moved into her new home and Caleb asked me to help her unpack her deliveries. A 500 dollars robot vacuum, a 2,000 dollars washer-dryer set, and even the coffee machine I had wanted to buy last year but could not bring myself to splurge on were all sitting in her kitchen. I stood there, stunned for a long moment. "Did you strike it rich or something?" Yasmine laughed as she unwrapped another package. "Caleb bought them for me." Caleb did not even look up. "She lives alone, so it's safer to have new appliances. You and I both know how to find good secondhand deals. There's no need to waste money." When I got home, our old washing machine, which had been leaking for a while, broke down again. I took our shared tablet to list it on the online marketplace, but when I opened the app, I discovered Caleb had forgotten to log out of his account. I tapped on his purchase history and found a total of 47 orders—every single one had been delivered to Yasmine's address. The sideboard, the floor lamp, the juicer, the old television… The first dozen or so purchases were all things Caleb had told me he had found at a bargain over the years. Things we had been using in our own home all along. As I stared at our leaking, battered washing machine, it finally dawned on me—it was not that he knew how to find good secondhand deals. He had simply been waiting for Yasmine to wear things out first.

A month before my wedding, I happen to find a shared wedding planning folder on my fiance Tyler Bilson's computer. I just wanted to check if I've missed anything, but instead I find countless comments he and my sister, Winona Shaw, left on it together. Under the champagne roses I picked, Winona leaves a smiling emoji and writes, "Tanya really has great taste." Tyler replies, "But I think red roses would look better. They'd complement your bridesmaid dress." Winona leaves another comment under the scented gift boxes I specifically prepared for the guests. "Tanya really lives up to her reputation as a perfumer. This gift set will definitely make your wedding unforgettable." Tyler replies, "Actually, I think the towel bear you suggested is better. I've already had someone replace all the gift boxes." Then I see Winona's name under the wedding invitation I've revised with the designer five times before approving it. She says, "If only my name were on this wedding invitation as the bride." I stop reading and close the folder. Since you've already planned the wedding for me, I might as well let you have it.

On my third wedding anniversary with Logan Archer, our housekeeper, Bianca Martinez, calls to tell us that she has to have both her legs amputated after saving Logan's grandmother from being hit by a truck. From that day on, Logan vows to take care of her. When she trembles from the excruciating pain, he shoves his arm into her mouth for her to bite on and stays by her side until she falls asleep. When she pounds her legs and berates herself for being so useless that she can't even go to the bathroom on her own, he rushes home from work, no matter how busy he is, to help her relieve herself. One day, when I tell Logan I'm pregnant, he looks at me wearily. "Get rid of it. Our main priority right now is to take good care of Bianca. We don't have time to raise a child." No matter how desperately I beg him, he still forces me to go to the hospital for an abortion. After lulling Bianca to sleep, he slips into my room and rasps out, "Honey, we owe Bee too much. Once she's all better, I'll definitely give you a child." Little does he know that, in my heart, he already belongs to my past, not my future.

My husband, Alex Carter, is a top AI engineer. He one day gets drugged by a new intern at his company, and one night of chaos follows. He calls me the next morning, his voice hoarse from a hangover and filled with unfamiliar panic. "Em, I messed up. But don't worry. I gave her enough money to disappear from this city." After ten years together, I believe it is just a momentary lapse in judgment. Six months later, Alex's company suffers the worst cyber attack in its history, with core data hanging by a thread. I rush back from a fragrance exhibition in Astral, only to witness a scene at the data center entrance that sends me into shock. Alex stands outside the tightly sealed door, his face showing a weariness and guilt I have never seen before. The doctor says that the intern, Brooke Anderson, is three months pregnant and has spent 72 hours with him in the high-radiation server room. Now, she shows signs of miscarriage. Later, Brooke gives birth to twins, a boy and a girl. The entire Carter family is ecstatic. I remove the wedding ring that has accompanied me for ten years, my fingertips turning ice cold. I dial the number saved with only one letter "S" and say, "Mr. Sullivan, I accept the collaboration you proposed last time." A low, soft laugh comes from the other end of the line. "Ms. Emma Shaw, that's a wise decision."

At nine months pregnant, I suffered an unexpected miscarriage. My husband, Graham Pearson, fought back his own grief as he comforted me. He would whisper to me every day, trying to soothe my shattered heart, "Whitney, we will have children again someday. Our little angel was here for a while, and next time, we'll make sure we hold onto them..." Under Graham's careful care, I slowly began to pull myself out of the numb fog I'd been trapped in. But then, a month later, I overheard him talking to one of his friends. "If Whitney finds out the baby didn't actually die and that you've let Cassidy raise him, don't you think she'll flip out? You've worked so hard to get where you are; you can't let this mess it all up." Graham casually flicked his cigarette, his voice almost detached as he waved a hand dismissively. "Cassidy can't have kids, but she loves children. If this baby brings her joy, it's a blessing for the child, too. "I might never get the chance to be with Cassidy, but letting her raise my son, in some way, feels like a kind of fulfillment..." The truth hit me like a frozen wave, paralyzing me in place. It turned out this whole ordeal had been part of Graham's plan from the start.

In the seventh year of dating Lorenzo Townsend, he still didn't want to marry me. One day, I said to him, "Lorenzo, I'm getting married." He frowned slightly, not even sure if he heard me right. "The company is going public, and we're swamped. This is not the time to discuss such an insignificant topic," he said. I smiled calmly. Maybe to him, it seemed like I was pushing him to marry me. But the truth was, I was getting married, but not to him.

A week before the wedding, Angela Spears receives an anonymous email in her inbox. As soon as she clicks on the link in the email, the jarring imagery that pops out before her makes it hard for her to breathe. The link leads to a porn website called "Animal World", and it is filled with videos of explicit sexual acts. All porn actors and actresses in the videos wear animal masks as they entwine their bodies in every way possible in front of a black backdrop. The videos are all disgustingly explicit, and Angela quickly closes the window. Yet, a fleeting memory lingers in her mind, and when the realization dawns on her, she freezes. The video trending under the livestream segment on the website features a man in a fox mask. His jawline, physique, and even the sound of his breathing are identical to those of her fiance, Daryl Carson.