Contos de Romance sobre Plot Twists e Romances com Homewrecker

I went to my best friend's place for her birthday, and out of nowhere, she started complaining. "I'm so jealous of you," she said. "Your boyfriend has basically no sex drive." "Mine's the complete opposite. He wanted it seven times last night. I was crying so hard I lost my voice, and he still wouldn't stop." I gave her a sympathetic smile. "That just means he's crazy about you. Unlike mine—he's practically celibate. Like a monk." She raised an eyebrow, casually stroking the two-million-dollar ruby bangle on her wrist. "He's not bad," she said, a hint of smugness in her voice. "He was with his ex for five years, but he still chose to marry me behind her back. He was so afraid she'd push for marriage that he faked going bankrupt and told her he had ALS. "The girl wouldn't let go, though. She sold her blood, her kidney—whatever it took—to scrape together money for his treatment. "She was working the graveyard shift at a factory, while he and I were fooling around in a twenty-million-dollar villa." I froze. To help my boyfriend Nathan Whitley pay for his ALS treatment, I had done all of those things. Before I could even process it, the door opened, and a tall, sharply dressed man walked in. "Babe," he said, "I got that strawberry flavor you like. How about wearing that silk nightie tonight?" Our eyes met. I stood there, frozen in shock, a chill running down my spine. It was Nathan Whitley—the man who was supposed to be broke, bedridden, and dying of ALS.

My billionaire husband cheated on me. My ten year old daughter covered for him. On her birthday, I found out my happy family of three only existed in my head. [“Mommy is too boring. Miss Celeste is more fun.”] The text was sent from my daughter’s secret phone to my husband. And his own message was, [“please distract her for me. Miss Celeste and I still need to do something at the penthouse.”] They weren’t just having an affair. They were building a new family together. And worse, they lied to my face every single day. While I was trying to be the best mother and wife, they were busy chasing after the hot flavor of the season. Realizing fighting for people who had clearly replaced me was useless, I filed for divorce and disappeared. But after I left, my husband and daughter went crazy trying to find me.

My girlfriend, Aria Zimmer, only agreed to marry me after I transferred one million dollars to her. My parents took the train from our hometown to discuss the marriage arrangements. We had to wait for three hours at the restaurant before Aria finally answered the phone. “What’s the rush? My mom’s facial treatment isn’t finished yet. You small-town folks always make such a big deal out of everything.” I felt so dejected that I even forgot to hang up. That was when I heard her mother, Jesicca, speak on the other end of the line. “Good job, sweetie. That’s exactly how you keep him in line. Otherwise, once you’re married, he’ll forget who’s the boss. Besides, he has already given you every penny he has, and you’re pregnant. He can’t run away now.” Through the blaring speakerphone, my parents lowered their heads in embarrassment. Out of nowhere, a desperate child’s voice echoed in my mind. “Dad, don’t marry her! And don’t let her give birth to me!” I shuddered and looked around frantically. “I’m your future daughter. I’ve returned to the past. Back then, you gave in and married Mom. Her mom hated that I was a girl, so she locked me outside in the middle of winter until I froze to death. Grandpa tried to stand up for me, but they broke his legs too. Dad, run!” After the child’s voice faded, I broke out in a cold sweat. At that moment, my father’s eyes welled up in tears as he tremblingly took my arm and said, “Philip, let’s just go home. We may not have much, but we can’t let ourselves be treated like this.” I took my parents’ hands and said resolutely, “Okay. Mom, Dad, let’s go home tomorrow. I’m calling off the wedding.”

Retired teacher Ryder Jensen appears on a talk show. His former students are spread across every field, with many becoming CEOs and renowned scientists. But when asked who left the deepest impression, his smile turns bitter. "The one who completely ruined his life. He was the top student in his grade, yet he dated the class' bottom-ranked delinquent. To save his future, I intercepted his love letter, rewrote it as a scathing roast, and read it out loud at a parent-teacher meeting. That broke them up. "But things didn't go as planned. He failed his exams, while that delinquent made it into a top-tier college and became a financial tycoon. Life has a cruel sense of humor." Saddened by the story, the host asks if Ryder has any words for that student. Ryder lets out a long breath, tears welling in his eyes. "He wouldn't hear me anyway. He was diagnosed with leukemia and couldn't afford the treatment. He passed away three years ago." The interview segment is clipped and posted online, instantly blowing up on social media. Meanwhile, Eliza Woods, the woman at the heart of the story, has no idea. She just wrapped up an international finance conference and is rushing to buy a top-tier graphics card for her fiance, Theo Holland.

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.”

I had been married to Lucius Martin for three years, and in all that time, there was never a shortage of women around him. Each time he brought another woman home, he would give me a necklace worth a fortune. In just three short years, I had accumulated ninety-nine necklaces. When Lucius fastened the hundredth necklace around my neck, I no longer cried or made a scene. Because this time, the woman he cheated with was my own older sister, the one who had beaten and scolded me since we were children. The man I loved most joined hands with the person I hated most to torment me together. At that moment, my heart finally died. This time, I took the initiative and walked up to Lucius, placing a house purchase contract into his hands. "As long as you sign this," I said, "you can do whatever you want with her." A flicker of surprise crossed his eyes, but in the end, he signed without hesitation. For the first time ever, he even leaned down and gently kissed my cheek. "Good girl," he murmured. "You've finally learned to behave." I personally opened the car door for him and watched as he hurried off toward my sister. When the car disappeared completely from sight, I let out a long breath. Then I reached beneath the documents and pulled out the paper hidden there—a divorce agreement.

After my brother and fake heir, Damon Stewart, runs someone over, he frames me for it. My fiancee immediately breaks off our engagement and marries him. I'm facing prison time, but Crystal Morgan—my childhood sweetheart who's also a lawyer—resolutely chooses to marry me. She works tirelessly to clear my name, and eventually she gets Damon sent to prison. However, her family runs into financial trouble, and her ailing mother is facing prison time herself. To repay a debt of gratitude, I, an accountant, take the blame for the crime and spend seven years in prison. But on the day I'm released, I overhear Crystal and her mother, Lilian Murphy, talking from behind the gates. "Crystal, Elijah loves you so deeply. If he knew that you married him to get Damon off the hook and sign the leniency agreement for his parents' deaths, how heartbroken would he be?" Lilian questions angrily. "I didn't want to either, but his parents are already dead," Crystal replies. I feel my mind reeling. Damon is the one who killed my parents? Lilian sighs. "You signed the leniency agreement, so Damon didn't even have to go to prison. Why did you still frame Elijah and send him to prison?" "If I didn't send him to prison, there was no way we could keep the truth hidden. What, was I supposed to sit back and watch Damon spend seven years behind bars?" My heart clenches painfully. Seven of the best years of my life were spent behind four prison walls, all for Damon's sake. It turns out the mutual love I thought we shared is nothing but a lie. Since that's the case, I'm done with Crystal.

We'd been in love for eight years. Every night, my husband kissed my forehead and told me he loved me. Ever since I was a little girl, I'd been able to see how much people truly cared about me. For eight straight years, Evan Brooks's number had stayed at 100 percent. I knew better than anyone that he had really loved me. That changed the Friday we'd planned to go to a concert. I turned around to hug him and saw that the number above his head had dropped to 96. He felt me stiffen and immediately bent down. "Did I hurt you?" I shook my head, but I couldn't bring myself to look him in the eye again. That afternoon, he'd just signed off on the hotel's show schedule, and he was excited to tell me about Chloe Morgan, a young dancer making a comeback after an injury. Evan had been helping her for three months. Before that day, it had never bothered me. That night, he stayed with me for the whole concert, and his phone didn't ring once. On the way out, he smiled and suggested inviting our friends to hear us read our vows again on our fifth anniversary. I said yes. I just didn't want to believe that eight years of love could start to change on such an ordinary night. After that, I waited for him to finish a phone call. I waited for him to show up for a photo he'd promised to be in. Every time, he had an explanation, and he truly believed he was only helping someone who needed help. 96. 82. 61. The weekend we went to the beach, he held my hand and said earnestly, "My feelings for you have never changed." I looked at the 61 above his head, and the tears came. "Let's cancel the vow renewal. I want to move out."

My husband, Mitch Cooley, has been with me through my fifth year of battling depression. While searching for recipes online, a notification for a late-night livestream for anonymous confessions pops up on my phone screen. "What's the biggest lie your husband has ever told you?" I tap on the notification out of curiosity as my eyes are drawn to the profile picture showing two hands tightly clasped together. The interviewee replies, "I'm still single, but if it's about my stupid best friend, then she'd been lied to by her husband three times. "The first time, her ex-boyfriend died in a car crash while cheating on her, and her now-husband hid the truth on purpose so that she thought the main reason her ex died was that she wanted to break up with him. "Her husband knew all along that her ex-boyfriend had been cheating on her with me, but he watched her try to slit her wrists in remorse multiple times without telling her the truth. "As for the third time, I just mentioned to her husband that he could only ever have a baby with me, and he immediately got himself a certificate proving that he was sexually frigid and refused to sleep with her. "But the most ridiculous thing is that my best friend still stupidly went to get an IVF done while I was rolling in the sheets with her husband every night." I feel alarm bells go off in my head. Mitch had also suddenly experienced sexual frigidity recently. The hospital he went to for treatment was one recommended by my best friend, Lexie Moyer. My hands tremble as I click on the interviewee's profile picture. I then realize that the red mole on the ring finger is the exact same one on Mitch's finger. The interviewee's tone suddenly turns low and restrained. "Even when her husband told her today that he would be working overtime at the company, when he was actually keeping me and our son company, she still made a whole table of dishes waiting for him to come home." I freeze on the spot the moment the interviewee's voice changer malfunctions for a bit. I know that voice too well. It is Lexie's.

During a team-building event, we are playing King's Game, a game where anyone who draws the King card gets to order another player around. The company's new intern, Daniel Zugler, draws the King card. His eyes narrow as he sweeps a glance across everyone present. At last, his gaze lands on my fiancee, Sharon Solt. "Then how about… Sharon, feed me a grape using your mouth." There is an immediate uproar, with people slamming their hands on the table, wolf-whistling, or even holding their phones up in preparation to record the moment. Their loud jeering is almost deafening. I initially think that Sharon will refuse coldly, yet to my surprise, she actually blushes and playfully scolds them, "You guys are seriously too much!" Following that, she plucks a grape from the fruit platter, bites it gently between her teeth, then leans closer to Daniel. Daniel smoothly wraps an arm around her shoulders and brings his lips close to hers, almost brushing against them. However, his eyes aren't focused on her. Instead, he gazes past her to shoot me a provocative look. I immediately jump to my feet, my hand snapping out to seize her wrist. Silence descends upon the room at my action. Yet, Sharon yanks her arm out of my grip. "It's just a game. Why are you making such a huge deal about it? Danny's new here, and this is his first team-building event with us. Are you trying to make things difficult for him and humiliate him?" Subsequently, I don't bother stopping them again, allowing their lips and teeth to clash together. That night, after we return home, the phone she left on the coffee table suddenly vibrates. A WhatsApp message appears on the screen, sent from someone she saved as "Sunshine" in her contacts. "Sharon, the grape was quite sweet. Are you going to feed me again next time?" I lock her phone screen and don't ask any questions. One week later, Sharon goes on a work trip and has to bring an assistant with her. She chooses Daniel, who has zero experience. Still, I say nothing, but I do hand in my resignation letter to the HR department. This time, I won't look back again.

At eight months pregnant, my husband, Weston Gibson, tells me the doctors misdiagnosed my pregnancy. I am not carrying a baby. There is supposedly a tumor growing in my womb. He tricks me into undergoing surgery, but on my way back to my room, I overhear him talking to his friend, Daniel Brooks. "You lie to Scarlett and tell her she is infertile. Then you convince her to undergo IVF so you can implant the embryo created from you and Whitley into her. After that, you told her she has a tumor so you can secretly deliver the baby and hand him over to Whitley to raise. That's beyond cruel." Weston scoffs. "Whitley is a model. She can't afford to ruin her figure by having a baby. Now that she has my baby, she can finally hold her head high in front of my parents." My heart shatters when I hear that. Without hesitation, I call the best lawyer in the city. "My husband has cheated on me. I want him to walk away with nothing."

I spent four hundred thousand on the house I bought for our wedding. The whole place ran on a smart home system. On the day I moved in, my girlfriend locked every door and window from her phone, then turned on the gas. Someone pounding on the door woke me. I fought my way out with everything I had. After I was taken to the hospital, the doctor said a few more minutes would have left me in a vegetative state. In the ICU, my girlfriend called to complain. "Couldn't you have held on a little longer? Who gave you permission to run?! Evan was doing a medical experiment. He wanted to see how long a person could survive in a room full of carbon monoxide." She paused, her voice full of annoyance. "We were even going to ignite the gas and see what would happen. Now that you ran off, the whole thing was wasted." After I was discharged, I went back to the house, only to find that the smart lock no longer recognized me. My girlfriend called at just the right moment. "Evan needs a place for his experiment. Your place is big, so let him use it for now. Go rent somewhere else and don't bother him. All of this is for medical progress, so try to see the bigger picture. Don't be so narrow-minded." I said nothing. After I hung up, I went straight to a real estate agency and listed the place for an urgent sale. The moment the money came in, I texted my childhood friend whom I hadn't seen in years. [Do you have a house ready for after the wedding? If you do, let's get married.]

In the sixth year of my relationship with Niklas Berg, he spent three hundred days a year in Inari, in northern Finland, doing fieldwork on Sámi culture and traditional crafts. I stayed behind in London, looking after his mother, Helena Berg, who had been bedridden since her stroke. The day I miscarried from sheer exhaustion, I was shaking all over with pain. I called him. Before I could say a word, he cut me off. "Signal's bad up here. The project's at a critical stage. Stop bothering me with every little thing at home." Then he hung up. I had always believed he was simply too consumed by his research to understand the needs of an ordinary relationship. That belief lasted until late one night, when I came across a promotional video for a Nordic traditional crafts exhibition on social media. In the video, Niklas, always so reserved and composed, was leaning down, fastening an heirloom silver brooch at the collar of a radiant young Sámi woman. The silver caught the light against her red-and-blue shawl, and his hands moved with such solemnity it looked like a ritual only the two of them understood. Someone off-camera teased him, asking if he planned to stay in the north forever. He looked at the girl, his voice low and tender. "Aila says this brooch is only given to the person she wants to share her life with. I'd gladly stay here for her." I closed the video. I didn't cry, and I didn't confront him. I simply signed the Helsinki transfer confirmation I should have signed long ago, then left my flat key and engagement ring behind in our home. His beliefs had never left room for me. So I would go and find a world of my own.

At the company's annual banquet, my wife, Amelia Sanford, publicly announces that she is gifting her assistant, Zayden Craig, a private jet worth 20 million dollars. Zayden wraps his arm around her waist gleefully. "Thank you, Ms. Sanford. I will definitely repay your kindness." I do not argue or make a scene. I simply turn and leave. But Amelia comes after me to give me a scolding. "Why are you jealous? What is wrong with me giving my top assistant a plane? You are incapable of doing anything right, and you still have the nerve to make a fuss?" I smile bitterly and don't bother to explain. I am the one doing all the work, but all the credit goes to Zayden while she pretends not to see it. It is time to walk away from this rotten relationship.

After my son was abducted, my husband took me to an adoption center to bring home a baby boy born the same year as the child we'd lost. I poured every ounce of love I had into raising him. He had a sensitive stomach, so I pushed through my chronic back pain to cook him special meals every single day. When he spiked a fever in the middle of the night, I carried him twenty miles through the rain to the nearest hospital. When he couldn't focus in school, I was constantly at his classroom door, flattering his teachers and bringing them gifts, just to get them to pay a little extra attention to him. Fifteen years of grinding sacrifice, and it all came down to one moment at his college acceptance party. "I couldn't have gotten into Harvard without my mother's love and hard work," he said into the microphone. He raised his glass, eyes drifting toward where I was sitting. The cameras flashed as I started to rise from my seat, matching his silent lip movements. And then I heard a name I didn't expect. "She is Rachel Lynch." I froze. That was my best friend's name.

My father-in-law, Lawrence Richards, suddenly becomes gravely ill. After seeing the exorbitant medical fees, I call up my wife, Victoria Richards. She doesn't ask questions and instructs her people to transfer five million dollars to my bank account. But even as Lawrence is prepped for surgery, the money doesn't show up. Out in the hospital hallway, I repeatedly call Victoria, but my calls go unanswered. Finally, the 7th call gets connected. "Tori! The surgery's about to start, and Dad's in a lot of pain right now. Please tell the finance department to hurry! He's—" The call gets cut off. I continue to wait. In the end, all I receive is the official death verification from the hospital, confirming that Lawrence has died. I also see a photo of a ridiculously expensive watch that Victoria's assistant, Simon Lewis, uploads to his social media. "I only said that I fancied it, and Ms. Richards gives me five million dollars without any hesitation! Now that's a boss I will happily serve for life." Victoria finally sends me a message. "The finance department needs some time to clear the transaction. Can't your dad just wait a little longer?" I looked at my dad, who was waiting outside the operating room with me. It now occurs to me that Victoria has assumed that it's my dad who died.

Before the holiday ticket rush started, my fiancée, Lisa Jetrow, and I had agreed to go back to my hometown for the holidays. A minute before the train tickets went up for sale online, her phone suddenly rang. Her male assistant's voice was trembling on the phone, sounding flustered. "Ms. Jetrow, what should I do? My mom sprained her ankle, but my signal's terrible so I can't buy tickets to go home..." I was totally focused, double-checking all the info in the last thirty seconds. But Lisa suddenly grabbed my phone, deleted all my travel details, and keyed in her assistant's details instead. When she tossed my phone back to me, she and her assistant had successfully booked tickets, and the destination was his hometown. All the other tickets were already sold out. "Are you out of your mind? You promised my grandma..." "His hometown is really far, so he can't wait. I'll explain to your grandma later." I was speechless. My grandma was critically ill, and she wanted to see her grandson and future granddaughter-in-law one last time. Lisa had only reluctantly agreed to go back with me after I'd asked her three times. But she wasn't going back to my hometown now. She gave that precious ticket to someone else. Taking a deep breath, I opened a WhatsApp chat and typed: "Come pick me up. Grandma wants to see you."

We can't settle on our holiday plans, so my girlfriend, Janine Simpson, starts a group chat with the three of us. "Let's roll the dice. Whoever gets the highest number decides. That's the fairest way." My friend, Mitchell Stone, rolls a six and wants to go to Marisport. I roll a one. I wanted to go to Rosemont. Rosemont isn't a random pick. It's the place my late mother had always wanted to visit but never got the chance to. This year marks five years since she passed away, and I've promised her I would see Lake Azure for her. Janine knew that, too. Three months ago, she held my hand and promised she would go with me this year. "Fair's fair. You lost the bet." She sends a little pat-on-the-head sticker in the group chat. This is the 27th time this year that I've rolled a one. The week before, I'd lost when we were choosing a restaurant for our team dinner. The week before that, it was a movie. Then yesterday, I used Janine's tablet to look up travel guides and accidentally came across her synced text messages. Her chat with a friend sat right at the top. "I sent you the dice plugin. It can roll whatever number you want." "Thanks. Cameron can get quite stubborn. This is the only way to get him to agree to things." I stared at those messages for a long time and placed the tablet back where I found it. She has known all along what Rosemont meant to me, and it turns out I haven't been losing because of sheer bad luck. I've been losing because she has already taken someone else's side. I leave the group chat and book a direct flight to Rosemont. On the first day of the holiday at 7:00 am, I will board the plane alone.

Married for five years, I'm known as the woman with the perfect husband. Alexander Foster is tall, strong, endlessly passionate, and people love to joke that we can't keep our hands off each other. Then he goes on a mission one day and never returns. I fall apart. I try to end my life six times, and six times someone drags me back. On the night of the sixth attempt, I overhear my mother-in-law, Anna Greyson, whispering to the man everyone believes is Alexander's younger brother, Daniel Foster. "Alexander, how long are you going to keep hiding this? Mia has tried to kill herself six times because of you." Alexander's voice stays calm. "Mom, before Daniel died, he asked me to take care of Lily. She's fragile, and now she's pregnant with my child. If she learns the truth, she won't survive it." And that's when the truth hits me. My husband isn't dead at all. He's been pretending to be his own younger brother and plans to have a child with Lily Harper under that lie. After crying until I can barely stand, I contact Margaret Warren at the matchmaking agency. "About that blind date you mentioned. I'll take it. And I want the wedding as soon as possible."

On my first night shift at the new hospital, I saw my newlywed husband, Nathan Lloyd. He was supposed to be on a business trip. He was kneeling at the operating room entrance while a pregnant woman in labor was lying on the emergency bed beside him, experiencing heavy bleeding. Nathan gripped my hand, his pleading cries echoing in my ears, "Doctor, I beg you to save her!"