Homewrecker Romance Short Stories & Novels

A month before my wedding, I've discovered a series of suspicious transfers made by my fiancee, Irene Lambert. The recipient is none other than her first love, Blake Chandler—the man she has never truly forgotten. For seven years, she has sent him 50 thousand dollars every month without fail. When I place the bank statements before Irene and demand an explanation, she barely looks up from her work. "Blake injured his right hand saving me. The money is simply compensation for what happened. Don't worry, money's the only thing I'll ever give him," she says evenly. I refuse to let the matter go, but even my friends urge me to overlook it. "It's only 50 thousand dollars. With how wealthy Irene is, she'd consider a watch at that price too cheap to buy for you. As a man, you've got to be the bigger person," they argue. With our wedding only a month away and seven years of history between us, I finally give in. That is, until I discover that our housekeeper, Olivia Harper, prepares a child's meal every afternoon and delivers it to Irene's office. When I confront Olivia, she stares at me in confusion. "Isn't that your child, Mr. Sanford? He's already around five or six years old—and he calls Ms. Lambert 'Mommy'."

Vanessa Langley lay on my operating table, pregnant for the eighth time by the man she'd grown up with. This time, I didn't break down the way I had the previous seven. Instead I calmly closed the incision and went over the aftercare with her. Seven times I'd performed the procedure on my own wife because she was carrying another man's child. I had long since become the joke of the hospital, the story everyone traded over coffee. From getting pregnant by him to pressuring me into ending it, she always had a reason she considered perfectly respectable. This time, Vanessa's eyes reddened and she caught my sleeve. "Adrian, someone drugged Damian. I couldn't just leave him... "Don't worry, I'll end the pregnancy. You're my husband. You're the only man I'd ever have a child with." Even the nurses talked during the procedure, wondering whether I'd fold the way I always had, worn down by a few soft words and a few tears. But nobody knew we'd signed an agreement before the wedding. I gave Vanessa eight chances to get it wrong, and she had used them all. The agreement took effect, and every asset in her name passed to me.

On my second day of employment at the city hall, I took over my colleague’s tasks. A young man came requesting for a new copy of his marriage certificate. It was far from his first visit. My colleague, Bernard Anderson, laughed. “This is the 99th time he’s here to get a copy of his marriage certificate again! We have all of his information ready, so the process wouldn’t take long.” I was stunned. “99th time?” Bernard laughed. “That’s right. He married a rich older woman. They always fought, and they would tear up their marriage certificate whenever they fought. “He’s so immature. Only an older lady would be able to tolerate him. I heard his wife is from the wealthiest family of our city, the Jameson family.” Immediately, I frowned. “The Jameson family has always kept a very low profile. Is his wife a fraud?” Bernard immediately stopped me from talking. “Don’t say that, she’s the rightful successor of the Jameson family, Mae Jameson.” I was stunned. My phone slipped from my hand and fell onto the desk. It was a photo of Mae and I on my lockscreen. Before me, the young man’s face fell. He snatched my phone. “Who are you? Why do you have a photo with my wife?”

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."

I was in love with a man who was already married to another woman. When he divorced her and married me, I thought I had won, only to find out later I was a tool he had been using to produce his heir, his wife couldn't. By the time I saw his true face, I was already pregnant with his child. But he isn't going to get his hands on my baby. I won't let it happen. Later he forced me to stay at his mother's residence while he was busy in spending time with his ex-wife. Despite my desperate pleas against his abusive mother, he rejected all my calls. And by the time he returned, holding hands of his ex-wife, it was too late. The child he was so desperately waiting for... was gone.

Sheila Lindell, my fiancee, is the world's most renowned pyrotechnician. We have been together for seven years, and I have hinted countless times that I want to see a fireworks show made only for me. She always smiles and says, "I'll make you the most beautiful one for your next birthday." I arrive at the beach with high expectations on the night of my birthday, but when I get there, I see Sheila standing together with Jeremy Lund, her first love, under the fireworks. They burst over the sea, looking as brilliant as a dream that doesn't belong to me. I freeze in place when I hear someone nearby chuckle and say, "I heard Ms. Lindell puts on a fireworks show here every year for her first love. It costs hundreds of thousands of dollars each time. I guess she really does love him." I stand at the edge of the crowd, watching them surrounded by the fireworks before feeling a sharp pang in my chest. Sheila presents me with a neatly wrapped box when I return home. "Happy birthday, Christian. I bought you a countertop dishwasher. You can leave the dishwashing to it from now on. Your hands won't have to stay in water all the time now." I look down at the neatly wrapped box and smile faintly. I have loved Sheila for seven years, yet I only need a single moment to let her go completely.

My billionaire wife had just given birth when I was abducted and trapped in a sick, underground survival game. While I was sprinting through the woods with our newborn strapped to my back, Scarlett’s best friend’s voice boomed through the PA speakers. “Shouldn’t you be at home with your newborn and Damian? What are you doing here? Is your lover boy starting drama again?” Scarlett chuckled, her voice full of resigned affection. “Yeah. Jayden demanded some real entertainment. Damian thinks I have urgent work to take care of at the office, so he practically pushed me out the door while the kid was having surgery. He’s a sweet, naive idiot.” I tapped against the security camera lens, desperate to get Scarlett’s attention, but Jayden’s terrified scream distracted her into hitting the shock button on her remote control. The high-voltage electricity ran through me, and our newborn choked up blood, staining the earth. I curled around our son, sobbing in despair. As footsteps crunched closer, the high-rollers raised their stakes. It was a bet to see who would survive to the very end.

When her five-year-old son is crying and asking Ember Lawson to jump into the pool in the middle of winter just to retrieve his toy, she refuses. She says, "Ian, you don't need to try so hard to get me sick. Don't worry, from now on, I won't get in between you, your daddy, and Bella." From his young age, Ian Grant has already inherited Nathan Grant's good looks. Frowning, he asks, "Really? But Mommy, you always get jealous and throw tantrums, and we're always upset around you. But Bella is different. Daddy and I get so happy whenever we see her." They both love Bella Sadler.

Five years into our marriage, everyone s aid I'd married the perfect husband. Noah was gentle, attentive, and endlessly patient, the kind of man romance novels are built around. He pampered me until I hardly had to think about the practical details of life. But the one person he couldn't stand was my best friend, Kayla. Once, Kayla came over for dinner and ordered two extra dishes. "Do you have to be so picky about dinner? Isn't Leah doing enough already?" His expression frosty, he took the apron from my hands, then served the roasted cod and creamy butternut squash Kayla loved. When Kayla got caught in a downpour on her way home from a business trip, she asked me to pick her up at the airport. "Can't she call a cab from the airport? Why does she have to make you drive all that way?" Scowling, he snatched the keys from me, pulled on his coat, and went to get her himself. There were too many moments like that. I told myself he cared too much about me to let my best friend take advantage of me. That was what I believed until the day Kayla and I were installing a wall sconce in the new apartment and I fell from the chair. Noah, who'd just gotten home, rushed straight to Kayla. His voice trembled. "How could you be so careless? Where else does it hurt? Don't move, I'll take you to the hospital." I lifted my right arm, mangled and bloody where the broken glass had cut it. But he'd already scooped Kayla up and rushed into the elevator. I stared around our newly furnished bayside apartment. The space beside the fireplace was still bare, the dining room chandelier not yet installed. There was no point finishing it now.

To surprise my husband for his birthday while he was away on a business trip, I boarded a flight to East Harbor Bay alone. A woman draped in head-to-toe designer tweed, with diamond bracelets stacked along one wrist, splashed iced cranberry juice all over my cashmere coat. All I did was glance up at her. Her face looked vaguely familiar, but before I could say a word, she started shrieking. "What are you looking at? Who do you think you are, staring at me like that?" I almost laughed from sheer disbelief. "Excuse me, you're the one who spilled your drink on me. I haven't even said anything, and you're already throwing a fit?" The passengers around us turned to look, but the woman only lifted her chin higher. "I'll have you all know that my husband owns Winslow Holdings. Anyone who dares take her side today will never work on the East Coast again!" I froze. Winslow Holdings was the company my grandfather, Henry Winslow, had built from the ground up, and my family trust still owned it. How could it possibly belong to her husband?

While waiting for my sons, Mason and Cayden Cox, to get out of school, I come across a post online. The poster asks, "What's the proudest thing you've ever done?" Some people in the comments talk about their happy families, while others mention achieving financial freedom. However, the top comment stands out for all the wrong reasons. "My proudest achievement? My childhood friend's wife had twins, and one of them is mine! That poor idiot has been raising my son for me all these years." Everyone's confused. "How could twins possibly have different fathers?" He responds, "Let's just say the timing lined up perfectly… You can figure out the rest. Now that the boy looks more like me every day, I couldn't be happier!" My breath hitches in my throat.

After I was diagnosed with delusional disorder, I kept seeing images of my wife cheating on me. My psychiatrist told me to avoid intimacy for a while. To ease the symptoms, I started sleeping in a separate room. Three years later, a doctor told me I'd recovered. I went home to share the good news, only to find my wife tangled up with my closest friend on the living room couch. I assumed the delusions were back. As I turned toward the bedroom, my friend asked in a low, hoarse voice, "Does it get you off more, knowing Declan's right here? "Aren't you afraid he'll file for divorce?" Sabrina laughed, contemptuous. "We'll tell him the delusions are back. It wouldn't be the first time." Standing a few feet away, I felt like I'd dropped through the ice.

After I quit my job to become a full-time househusband, my wife, Brooke Lowell, left me with nothing but a bank card capped at 1,000 dollars a month. She said children had to be raised with hardship to grow up strong, and was always worried I might secretly give our daughter special treatment. But 1,000 dollars was nowhere near enough to cover a household's monthly expenses. Every time the kindergarten asked for nutrition fees, I could only swallow my pride and beg for leniency. "She's just a child. Why does she need that much money? You've got some nerve, living so comfortably on 1,000 a month." I had thought Brooke's harshness was meant to temper our daughter's character. That illusion lasted until I asked Brooke for 300 dollars to buy clothes for our daughter's Children's Day performance. What I received instead was humiliation and ridicule from everyone. Brooke accused me of acting like a spoiled rich kid, wasting money on unnecessary clothes. My mother-in-law complained that I dressed too poorly, like a beggar bringing shame to the family. Even my daughter blamed me for embarrassing her, saying I had ruined her Children's Day and damaged her props. I bowed my head, apologized, and paid compensation. Only then did I discover that my bank card had been frozen. The very next moment, Brooke's crush posted on social media about his son receiving a luxury mansion. 'Already a house-owner at three! Who'd believe she's not his birth mother?' Only then did I understand. People who truly loved someone would never be stingy when spending on them.

Five years ago, I witnessed my wife, a university professor, having an affair with Henry Bale, her teaching assistant. Mindy Holmes knelt begging me not to expose her, saying that it would destroy his reputation as a student. I agreed on the condition that he would drop out of school, leave this city, and never return. She would have to sign an agreement to leave the marriage without a single cent if she were to be unfaithful to me again. Everyone rebuked me for being vain and for treasuring money more than our relationship. However, Mindy was willing to go against the entire Holmes family just to preserve Henry’s reputation. Five years later, when I went on a business trip in another city, I found a little girl. I sent her to a police station and had her contact her family. When the policeman dialed the number the girl recited to him, I heard a familiar voice through the phone. “Be good. Don’t be afraid, I’ll come pick you up right away.” Less than half an hour later, Mindy rushed into the station when she was supposed to be at her class miles away. I sat on the bench, my gaze meeting hers. She stood stunned. I stood up with a smile. “Mindy, I didn’t know you had a daughter behind my back. Looks like you can bid goodbye to your reputation as a highly-esteemed professor.”

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.

With the start of school approaching, my son's long-dormant parent-teacher group chat suddenly announces that there will be a Parent-Teacher Community Night this evening, which also serves as the first parent-teacher conference of the semester. The only requirement is that both parents need to be present. A flurry of messages from the other students' parents appear below the announcement, all of them confirming their attendance. I'm just about to reply when I notice that someone else has already done it faster than me. A woman with a family photo as her profile picture sends a voice message into the group. "Got it! Teddy's parents will both be there!" I stiffen at once and click through all the accounts in the group chat to double-check everyone. My son's name is Theodore Baird, and everyone calls him "Teddy" for short. But, if she's representing Teddy's parents, then who am I supposed to be? I immediately call up my husband, Joseph Baird. However, before I can even get a word in, I hear him speaking in a cheerful voice. "Darling? Derrick just invited me over for dinner tonight. I'll be bringing Teddy along. You can just have dinner without me and go to bed early." I feel my heart drop to my stomach. Derrick Johnson's wife, Angela Peters, is one of my good friends. However, I clearly remember seeing her showing off a vacation photo of her and Derrick having the time of their lives in the Palmives just this morning. How can Derrick possibly be inviting Joseph over for dinner, then? I remain silent for a short while. Then, I smile and reply that I got it. After hanging up, I immediately call an Uber to bring me to Teddy's school. I'm going to see for myself who this "other parent" of Teddy's really is.

Harold Cletcher was allergic to hair. For the three years we were married, I kept my head shaved for his sake. Then I saw him plucking his widowed sister-in-law's gray hair lovingly. I kept quiet, but when he invited her over for dinner the next day, I grabbed three live chickens from the kitchen and hurled them at his face. "Come on, defeather them. You know you love it. If you get an allergic reaction, I'll take you to the hospital. If you don't, we're done." Harold frowned. Before he could say anything, Wendy Shaw pulled him behind her, her eyes reddening. "He's going to be the chairperson, and you want him to defeather the chickens? You'll destroy his reputation!" My lips curled. "If you're that worried about him, how about you join in?" Wendy's expression darkened. She bit her lip and bolted. The moment Harold went after her, I laughed bitterly. I had lost the three-year bet I made with my father.

Elle's toxic first love had only one birthday wish: for us to get a divorce. The first time I refused, she aborted our three-month-old baby. The second time I wouldn't budge, she pressed a box cutter to her wrist and asked me to choose: divorce, or widowhood. And today was the third time. Even the clerk at the courthouse knew me by now. When she handed over the divorce certificate, she teased me with a smile, "Remarrying again in a month, same as always?" Elle expected me to fall apart the way I always did, to beg her to stay. She'd already started frowning, bracing herself to explain. I just took the divorce certificate from her hand and said, calmly, "We're not remarrying." Elle froze where she stood, staring at me without moving.

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.

"Can I undergo surgery to widen my vaginal canal? My husband is… on the larger side. It's a bit too much for me to handle," a woman says. I stare at the attractive young lady before me, feeling slightly surprised. Most of my patients come to me for vaginal tightening procedures or hymen reconstruction surgery. Requests for vaginal widening surgeries are extremely rare. According to her medical file, the woman's name is Melanie Sanders. After a brief consultation, I examine her. Her vaginal canal is somewhat narrow, but her condition isn't severe enough to warrant surgery. I advise her against the procedure, but she refuses to reconsider. "My husband is quite… well-endowed. He's afraid of hurting me during sex, so he always tries very hard to hold himself back," she explains. "I can't bear to see him suffer. Please schedule the surgery for me as soon as possible, Dr. Smith." Her words make me think of my husband, Zachary Hudson, whose size has caused me pain during intimate moments on several occasions. Feeling my face grow hot, I quickly push the thought aside and schedule the woman's surgery. All of a sudden, the door to the consultation room bursts open, and a man marches inside. Before I can say anything, Melanie throws herself into the man's arms, calling him "honey". I stare at the couple, my blood running cold. As it turns out, the man she has been talking about is the same man I've been married to for two years.