Plot Twists Romance Short Stories & Homewrecker Regret Novels

Three years into our long-distance relationship, my daily conversations with Evan Crawford turned into a three-person group chat. He said the company was busy preparing for its IPO and that he didn't have time to check his phone. If I needed anything, I should tell his "buddy," Nicole Pearce, and she'd pass it along. From then on, everything came through Nicole: what time he left the office, when he traveled for work, what he took for his stomach pain. She knew every moment of his day. Every message I sent him just sat there on "unread." On my birthday, I asked in the group chat if he could spare ten minutes for a video call. Nicole replied, "The launch event is right around the corner. Don't distract him." And yet somehow he had time to like her latest Instagram post. The night the company went public, I took an overnight bus to the celebration dinner and arrived in time to hear him raise a toast. "I owe these past six months to Nicole. She took care of all the little things for me." When he spotted me, he frowned. "Why didn't you check in through the group chat first?" Nicole took the gift from my hands. "He's exhausted. Whatever you need to say, I'll pass it along." A wave of helplessness hit me. I pulled my hand back and left the group chat. If even missing him had to go through her, I had no reason to report my life to him anymore.

On the day of our engagement, my fiance, Adrian Kinsley, and I are just about to exchange rings. His adopted younger sister, Sarah Nott, suddenly rushes onto the stage and exclaims, "She starred in porn movies, did you know that? How can you marry such a tainted woman?" All of our guests gasp in surprise. At first, everyone thinks it's some kind of prank. But in the next second, Sarah plays a video on the big screen and says, "The woman is quite the celebrity. She shoots more than 60 films a year, and her starting rate is 2,000 dollars per film." I stare at the face in the video that looks almost identical to mine. I'm stunned, as I'm the daughter of a crime boss with a fortune worth hundreds of billions. I casually hand out millions to my subordinates as rewards. Sell my body for 2,000 dollars? I have to be out of my mind to do that.

On our fifth wedding anniversary, my husband cancels a 100-million-dollar business deal to take me on vacation. While we're together, breathless and intimate, I'm about to tell him the news that our IVF finally succeeded when he answers his phone. His Valerian flows, smooth and effortless. "Of course I'm coming to tomorrow's prenatal checkup. That's our baby." "But won't your barren wife get jealous?" The woman on the other end speaks with a sultry lilt. Ethan Shaw traces his tongue along my neck as he responds, "What she doesn't know won't hurt her." My mind went blank, like lightning striking too close. I stuff the pregnancy report back into my pocket without thinking. "Honey, who's that?" Ethan pulls me close by the waist. "Just a business partner in Valeria. Time difference, that's why they're calling now..." I can't process the rest of his words. Ethan doesn't know I understand Valerian. Since he's clearly not excited about our child, I'll make sure this baby grows up without him as a father.

A week before our wedding, my fiance, Michael Gordon, secretly accepts a classified government job. He departs in a hurry, only leaving me with a simple, "Wait for me." Hope and expectation fill me as I hear that. Yet, for the next three years, he spends his monthly visitation day with someone else. Even when my mother falls terribly sick and I'm in desperate need of money; even when I cry heartrendingly just for a chance to meet with him or make a phone call, the only response I receive is the guard's exasperated message. "Mr. Gordon has already used up his visitation day. Please wait for the next month." Dejected, I get ready to leave. However, in the next second, Michael's childhood sweetheart, Liliana Zink, easily gains entry. "Mr. Gordon specifically instructed us to bring you straight to his office. He really does treat you very well. It's been a year since your breakup, yet he still worries about you being in a bad mood and spends his visitation days with you." As I move to rush inside again, the guard hastily stops me. "Don't even think about it. As if Mr. Gordon could possibly have any money. All his allowance goes to Ms. Zink." That night, I can't even afford to get Mom any painkillers. This is all my fault for being so useless. Nevertheless, I don't want to wait any longer. At last, Michael completes the project and returns, but I'm already married to someone else.

Three years after my husband, Lucien Vance, put me on a household spending card linked to his account, he hired Camilla Bennett to manage his money. From then on, every dollar I spent needed her approval. "Nine dollars for a cab? The bus costs one dollar." Denied. "An air conditioner for your mom? She's gone without one for decades. What's changed?" Denied. Lucien watched me fume and said, "Camilla knows what she's doing. She's helping us save money. You know I can't stand gold diggers." Then Lucien's mother, Nora Vance, landed in the ICU with severe pneumonia. She needed a ventilator, antibiotics, and continuous hemofiltration. The bill came to $30,000. Camilla denied it again. My hands shook as I called Lucien 43 times before he finally answered. "Send the money now! Nora has pneumonia. She's going to die without treatment!" He sounded annoyed. "Camilla said it isn't serious. A little cough syrup will clear it up. You're making this up for money? What would your mother say?" Then I heard Camilla's voice in the background. "Lucien, this necklace only cost $25,000. I couldn't pass it up. Let's call it my birthday present!" I opened my mouth, but he hung up before I could speak. As I watched Nora suffer, it hit me. Lucien had gotten one thing very wrong. It wasn't my mother in that hospital bed. It was his.

On the way back from our pre-wedding trip, the yacht hit a reef and started taking on water. There were five of us on board, and only four life jackets. My fiancé, Ethan Clarke, slipped the last life jacket over my adopted sister Sienna Shaw's shoulders and fastened the buckles for her. "I might as well tell you the truth now. "Sienna's pregnant with my baby. Nothing can happen to her." Before I could say a word, Owen Ford, my childhood friend, stepped in front of me. "You've had years of happiness that should've been hers. This time, give her a chance to live." My brother, Adrian, wouldn't meet my eyes. "Mom and Dad know about it too. You've always been a better swimmer than Sienna. You'll figure something out." Sienna cradled her belly and looked at me through her tears. "I'm sorry. But out of five people, someone has to stay behind." So this pre-wedding trip was really just a celebration of their baby and a farewell they'd planned for me. The yacht slowly began to sink. They jumped into the sea, and not one of them looked back. Half an hour later, a rescue boat came cutting through the waves. I stayed in the cabin, yet I was the first to be rescued. If five was too many, I'd be better off alone.

When a car struck me and sent me flying, blood sprayed everywhere. It resulted in ruptured organs, so I begged my wife, Lucy Hathaway, to take me to the hospital. But she told me to endure it because her younger uncle, Alan Cooper, had surgery that day. To stop me from applying to a foreign institution, Lucy went so far as to lock me in a cold storage room kept at negative twenty degrees Celsius. “The chance to travel abroad has to go to Alan. He has nothing, while you already have all of my love. You should give him your future! “The chill in the storage room will help with your wounds. After Alan finishes his surgery and submits his application, you can go to the hospital.” The pain from my wounds drove me to the brink of death. I even gave up my dignity and begged Lucy to take me to the hospital. Instead, she kicked me to the ground. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re trying to pull. Aren’t you pretending to be seriously injured so that you can go to the hospital and stop Alan’s surgery? That way, he’ll lose his eligibility to apply for the institution. “How could you be so despicable?! You’re willing to hurt yourself just to put on an act and compete with Alan. You made your bed, so lie in it!” I tried to explain to her weakly, “I’m not pretending. The car accident came out of nowhere. I never wanted to go abroad in the first place. I just want to live a good life with you. I swear. Please save me.” Lucy pulled her pant leg out of my desperate grip and snorted. “You’re so full of schemes. Who knows if you’re trying to manipulate me again? I’ll come back for you after Alan finishes his surgery and submits his application.” After Lucy had had enough of staring into and admiring Alan’s eyes as he regained his sight, she accompanied him to submit his application. She finally remembered me again after all that and ordered her secretary to take me to the hospital. However, her secretary said through gritted teeth, “Mr. Fisherman has passed away from the car accident…”

On my wedding night, I was rushed to the hospital in an ambulance after a tampered condom left me in excruciating pain. The surgery took over twenty-four hours, and the story spread like wildfire. My husband, Alexander, let it be known that anyone who managed to photograph me in my post-surgery state would be rewarded with ten million dollars. Overnight, I went from being a billionaire's new wife to the laughingstock of every elite circle in New York. The next day, Alexander's childhood sweetheart Dahlia showed up at my door. That was when I learned the truth: she'd coated the condom with industrial-strength adhesive as part of what she called a "social experiment." She didn't show a shred of remorse. Her tone was flippant and cruel: "It was just an experiment. I mean, how was I supposed to know you'd react like that? Besides, we both know you were never good enough for Alexander. So drop the act." Alexander stood beside her, his gaze cold and dismissive: "If it weren't for the marriage contract, no one would've touched you. You know that, right?" What he didn't know was that the woman he was calling a slut had saved his life more times than he could count.

On the day my twin sister, Alexia Cavanaugh, and I turn 22, I collapse and find out that I have late-stage cancer. Ignoring the doctor's advice to be admitted, I walk out of the hospital. All I want is to spend one final birthday with my family without a single worry. But when I arrive at the party, a server stops me at the door and tells me the venue has been reserved exclusively for Alexia. Outsiders aren't allowed in. Through the glass, I watch as my brother holds a cake and my father places a birthday hat on Alexia's head. Even my boyfriend is there, smiling as Alexia makes a wish. I stand there for half an hour, gripping my phone, before my boyfriend finally answers my call. "I was just at the hospital. I—" He cuts me off. "Ophelia, you've always been healthy. It's Lexi's birthday today. We should talk later." Isn't today my birthday too? My mother died giving birth to me. The doctor later explained that I deprived Alexia of nutrients before birth, which left her frail from the start. And just like that, everyone decided I should always step aside for my twin, who was born five minutes before me. I ball up the report with my cancer diagnosis and toss it in the trash. I'm done letting their favoritism hurt me. I've never received their love anyway, so I choose to leave for good.

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.”

At our wedding ceremony, Rose Lane's assistant, Zachary Zimmer, accidentally projects the wrong photo on the screen. The huge screen initially shows a wedding portrait of Rose and me. But suddenly, it turns into a photo featuring Rose and Zachary in wedding clothes. Both of them held hands with each other while looking into each other's eyes lovingly. It was clear that they looked very happy together. Everyone gasps in shock. Zachary begins sobbing quietly and asks if I can delay the wedding. Rose remains calm and collected as she starts throwing out suggestions to me. "The guests are already here, so it'll be embarrassing for us if we delay the wedding ceremony. Besides, it also spells ill luck for us if we do that. No one recognizes the groom's face anyway. Why don't we let Zachary replace you in this ceremony for now?" All of our friends are stunned, to say the least. They think I'll go ballistic and get incredibly jealous because of Rose's suggestion. Instead, I nod and claim that it's a great idea. Noting my composed manner, Rose smugly declares that we've already registered our marriage, so she promises me that she will hold another wedding for me when she's free enough. But she seems to have forgotten that she's signed a divorce agreement just now.

I cooked up a storm for our seventh wedding anniversary. However, my CEO wife took a couple of bites before leaving in haste for some work emergency. I trailed behind her, only to find her entering an upscale event space where she held a sip-and-see event for the twins she had through surrogacy. Pulling out a centurion card, she handed it to her male secretary and uttered solemnly, “You’ve done well, Dale. Everything I own will go to the children.” Dale, his eyes sparkling, pressed his lips against hers. “Ms. Markham, it’s my honor to have children with you.” With a scoff, I pushed open the door to the hall. I’d like to see how the guy managed to have children with a woman who was born with underdeveloped ovarian follicles.