Plot Twists Romance Short Stories & Hypocrisy Cheating Novels

On the day I decide to divorce Evan Beckett, I still make lunch and deliver it to him in person. After he takes a sip out of the soup, he widens his eyes in surprise. "The soup's pretty decent! I'll have it again tomorrow!" I nod in response. "Sure thing. I'll teach the housekeeper how to cook it later." That's when Evan lifts his head to look at me. "You got something going on tomorrow?" "Let's get a divorce, Evan." I sound very calm; so calm that everyone, including Evan, thinks that I'm throwing another tantrum. But what they don't know is that I'll be traveling to the ends of the earth with a research team, where we'll be based in for eternity, in 12 hours.

My wife has a severe sex addiction. But in the seven years we've been married, she never lets me touch her. To suppress her urges, she spends all day submerged in ice-cold water, and her arms are covered in needle marks. Several times, I try to initiate intimacy out of concern for her, but her reaction is terrifying. She even threatens to kill herself. "I told you, I only want a Platonic relationship in this lifetime. Can you stop being so selfish? If you insist on making me do that, I'd rather die!" she exclaims. She maintains this unusual obsession for seven years. Even after ending up in the hospital multiple times from suppressing her desires, she refuses to cross that line. Then, on our wedding anniversary, a man comes in for a pre-check of his phalloplasty enlargement for the ninth time. After the anesthesia takes effect, he begins rambling incoherently. "Honey, I love you so much." Looking at the surgical scars, I shake my head, thinking this guy is really willing to go to extreme lengths for his wife. Then, I hear his final murmur. "Tasha, aren't I so much better compared to your useless husband?" My hand jerks, and I nearly drop the scalpel. It is because my wife's name is Tasha Snyder.

To give my wife a sense of security, I stepped back once the company was on track and took over things at home. In ten years, Adeline Hemsley had never brought me to a single company gala. When the tenth anniversary celebration was announced at a five-star hotel, I finally asked if I could come with her. She was slipping into a pair of heels, not even looking in my direction. "You're my husband. If you show up, people won't feel comfortable." Before leaving, she leaned down and gave me a quick kiss. "Be good. Once this busy stretch is over, we'll take Cole to Silver Coast." The door clicked shut. I stood there for a long moment, staring at the Legos and picture books scattered across the floor. A familiar heaviness settled in my chest. Our three-year-old came running over, holding up a black phone. "Dad! Mom forgot her phone!" I hesitated. This wasn't the one she normally used. The moment my fingers brushed the screen, a message preview popped up. [Babe, I picked out a suit for the gala. It's only 6,000. You’ll get it for me, right?]

On the very day I underwent a vasectomy, Susan bought the designer tuxedo I had been eyeing for months. However, her next words struck me like a bolt of lightning. “Tomorrow is my baby’s sip-and-see. I need you looking your best.” The IV needle snapped right out of the back of my hand. With bloodshot eyes, I begged her to stop playing around. However, her face remained dead serious. “Choosing to be childfree back then was just a compromise because we were struggling. But now, I’m sitting on a multi-million dollar estate. I need an heir to inherit my fortune. My child will be your child, too. From now on, you will be the baby’s godfather.” In that exact moment, my vision blurred. “So, you pushed me to get a vasectomy just to secure the positions of your lover and your illegitimate child?" I spat out. Susan frowned, annoyed. “Myles, watch your mouth. I am giving you the status of my official husband, and I'm giving Owen the child. It’s a fair trade. Staying with me means you get to be a father without any of the pain. If you leave me, who else would ever want a sterilized man like you? Think about it wisely.” The pain hit me all at once as the anesthesia wore off. Yet, I couldn’t help but remember that once upon a time, she had carried a child of ours that she refused to accept.

I spent three years on a medical aid mission in Afrikad. During that time, my husband and I could only video call twice a year. In our third year, I missed him so much that I secretly flew home, hoping to surprise him. The moment I opened the front door, I froze. A wedding portrait I had never seen before hung in the living room. In the photo were my husband and another woman. Then, I heard a burst of chatter. As I looked closer, I realized the plants in the house had started talking again. The pothos stretched its vines toward the living room. “She’s back! She’s back! That woman is wearing the doctor’s pajamas again!” The spider plant snickered, “She claimed they were a gift from her best friend last week. That old hag comes up with a new story every few days.” The cactus grumbled, “Quit arguing. She’s bringing that other man over for dinner today. How do you think she’ll explain this to her husband this time?” The pothos replied, “She’ll probably call him her cousin. That’s what she said last time.” Just then, a woman walked out carrying a child. She was startled for a moment when she saw me. “Who are you?” I gave her a faint smile. “I'm Justin's mother.”

When I came home from a mission, I found that my wife had accidentally taken my military-grade truth serum. The supplements I had bought for her were still sitting untouched nearby. A thought crossed my mind. I bent down and gently hugged her. "How do you want to spend your birthday this year?" My wife answered without any hesitation, "I want to spend the whole day with Randy. I hope you disappear!" I slowly straightened up and stared at her in disbelief. "What... Do you mean?" Randy was my best friend. Whenever I was busy, I often asked him to look after things at home. My wife smiled sweetly. "Every time you go back to base, we spend the whole day in the master bedroom. It would be even better if you died on a mission. That way, I could take your death benefits and be with him." After that, she passed out. The next morning, my wife hugged me affectionately. "Honey, what kind of supplements did you buy me? I fell asleep right after drinking them, as if I blacked out or something." I calmly pushed her away. "Maybe they help with sleep. By the way, how do you want to spend your birthday this year?"

I've just received a text from my CEO wife, Cara Lavigne. Apparently, she's gone on another last-minute business trip again, so she can't accompany me to the funeral home. But soon, I see Cara's silhouette being captured in a photo, where she celebrates her assistant, Warren Stone's birthday with him in a work-related post he has just uploaded. The caption reads, "Thank you for the amazing cake, boss! I feel so happy to be able to celebrate my birthday!" I just smile calmly before leaving a like and a comment. "Happy birthday." My colleagues, on the other hand, start betting pools like mad to see what kind of tricks I'm going to pull this time in order to kick up a ruckus. Cara calls me immediately just to scold me. "Warren is just celebrating his birthday, so what's with the comment? He's a very sensitive person, you know! How is he going to survive in this company now that you've passive-aggressively humiliated him in that public post? "It's been barely two years since Warren joined this company, not to mention he doesn't have any friends! What's wrong with me celebrating his birthday with him, huh? People like you, who are born with silver spoons in their mouths, will never understand Warren's plight! "I want you to delete your comment right now! We'll talk more about this once I'm home! Your dad is already dead anyway, so you can just wait for a few more days before claiming his body!" I can only clench my fists tightly as I listen to Cara's heartless and nonchalant words. "No need for that." Once she is back, the divorce procedures will be done.

“The queen wants more children. Since you conceive so easily, have another.” Simply because the queen said so, Lynette bore another girl. As soon as the baby was born, the midwife cut the umbilical cord and took the child away before Lynette could even see her. That was the second one… The maids said that if the queen had not lost her ability to conceive when she followed the king to the front lines, the royal harem would consist of her alone. As the preceptor’s daughter, Lynette was simply a convenient tool to continue the royal line.

For ten years, I stand by Robert Lopez's side, watching him rise from the trenches of obscurity to the blinding heights of superstardom. But on the night he clinches the Best Actor award, he drops to one knee and proposes to a starlet he's known for less than ten days. Those eyes that are so full of love and devotion, no matter who they're looking at, turn cold and threatening for the first time. "Danielle, I've slept with her, so I need to take responsibility. You're willing to stay by my side without a title or a promise, but she can't. She needs a sense of security." A bitter laugh escapes me. That's when I finally understand that love has nothing to do with time. But hear this, Robert. Just because I've waited for you for ten years doesn't mean I deserve to be treated like trash or that you're the only man for me.

Lucas Harlow and I have been together for seven years, and we plan to get married next year. When I accompany him to his hometown to meet his parents, we happen to arrive just in time for his cousin Spencer Harlow's wedding. Following a local tradition, the older relatives cheerfully urge Lucas to sleep in the newlyweds' bed the night before the ceremony for good luck. Lucas' mother, Beatrice Collins, takes my hand and explains with a smile, "Katherine, I hope this doesn't make you uncomfortable. It's an old custom around here. "Before the wedding, a man who's still a virgin blesses the couple's bed by sleeping in it. It's supposed to bring the newlyweds good luck and a happy marriage." I lower my head in embarrassment, for Lucas and I are saving ourselves for our wedding night. No matter how difficult the wait has been for him over the past seven years, he's always respected that boundary and insisted on doing right by me. When I finally look up, my cheeks still burning, I see that Lucas has gone pale. Flustered and visibly uncomfortable, he frantically waves everyone off and adamantly refuses to go anywhere near the bed. "I can't do it. You're going to have to find someone else…" As I watch my boyfriend avoid everyone's gaze, my heart drops.

We were having a gathering before graduation. My girlfriend and best friend were getting congratulated by the whole class. They had gained guaranteed spots into the campus' top course's postgraduate program. I was sitting in a corner, staring at the Hertford University offer that would ensure I went straight to my doctorate. I hesitated on making a decision for three days just for my girlfriend. Howard Herbson, my best friend, turned to me. He had a look of pity and condescension in his eyes as he said, "How about your job hunt? Don't worry. Not getting into the postgrad program isn't the end of the world. The lab's requirements are ridiculous. "It's going to be near impossible for you to progress there even if you work yourself to the bone." Beatrice Shaw, my girlfriend, handed Howard a glass of water. Then, she chimed in matter-of-factly, "Yeah. Research just isn't for everyone. You should get a nine-to-five. When Howard and I are swamped with us, you can help us out and do our errands." They exchanged a smile and kept me out of their so-called intellectual circle. These two thought they were better than everyone else just because they got a spot in this campus' postgrad program. How droll. So, I went back to that offer and accepted it. These people were so vastly beneath me that it was really about time for me to stop playing their games at their level, especially when I was obviously not welcome.

My best friend, Ricky Watson, yanked the oxygen tube from my nose as he grinned down at me maliciously. "I guess there's no point pretending anymore. Remember those leaked files that cost you the promotion? I'm the one who planted them in that storage box under your bed." Then, he slipped an arm around my wife, Andrea Gates, looking even more pleased with himself. "And that son you've spent the last 10 years raising?" His grin widened. "He's mine." Andrea slowly turned the gold bracelet around her wrist and looked at me with open contempt. "I would've taken the kid and left you for Ricky years ago if you hadn't been so subservient to my needs and given me all your paycheck every month." Her gaze swept over me. "A loser like you isn't even fit to shine his shoes." I stared at the two of them as rage burned through me. Alas, I couldn't even force out a curse due to the lack of oxygen. Years earlier, I had been in line for a promotion to Chief Engineer. However, that was also when someone accused me of leaking confidential company documents. That single accusation destroyed my life. It went on my record, cost me my promotion, and ended my engineering career almost overnight. Still, I did whatever it took to support my wife and the son I believed was mine for the next 10 years. During the day, I would haul rebar and equipment across construction sites. When night fell, I would stay up taking freelance drafting and design jobs just to earn a little more to support my little family. I worked myself to the bone. I wasn't even 40 when my heart finally gave out. Meanwhile, Ricky stepped straight into the position that should have been mine. He used the project proposal I had created to climb up the corporate ladder year after year until he became one of the most respected engineering directors in the industry. I thought that was how my life would end, miserable and wrathful. However, that was when I opened my eyes again. I was back on the night before my Chief Engineer promotion interview.

The day I have only 220 dollars left in my savings, I buy a 200-dollar ticket to a piano recital. When my friend finds out, she asks if I have gone crazy. I reply without a hint of emotion, "I just want to see what kind of woman is worth taking all our savings and spending it on a concert grand piano for. "That money was supposed to save our daughter. Summer was counting on it for her surgery." The recital lasts two full hours, and everyone praises the beautiful music. But all I can think about is the woman onstage and my husband, Zander Stafford, sitting right in front of her. He's dressed in a sharp suit and looks so refined that I barely recognize him. At the end of every song, Zander is always the first to applaud. There is a fervor in his eyes I have never seen before. It isn't until the recital ends that I finally receive a message from him after two months of silence, along with a bank transfer. "I'm sorry, Sabina. Things are tight at the construction site right now, so I'm using some of the money from that account," he writes. "My boss says he'll pay me back as soon as the money comes in. "Didn't you say Summer is sick and in the hospital? Take these 5,000 dollars for now." I look up at the two people embracing in the center of the stage. I return the money and reply, "It's not necessary." I no longer need it. I will never need his money again. Summer is already dead, and nothing matters anymore.

The day we take our graduation pictures, I come across a photographer's post. In the caption, he writes, "I've been a photographer for ten years, and this is the first time I've ever done a wedding shoot on the same day as the bride's and groom's graduation! "They're both gorgeous, and they're incredibly patient. The groom doesn't even touch his phone. He just keeps gazing at the bride with so much love. "I spend all day shooting, and my camera's memory card is completely full. But getting to photograph a couple this perfect makes it all worth it!" I think about how my boyfriend, Zack Warner, is absent from our graduation photo session that morning, leaving us without a single picture together in our caps and gowns. Still disappointed about that, I open the photos, feeling envious. The moment I see the bride's and groom's faces, my breathing quickens. The groom is Zack, my boyfriend of four years. He always says we'll get married once he finds a stable job. The bride is my best friend, Wendy Carter, the campus belle. Just two hours ago, Wendy comforts me over WhatsApp, saying there are plenty of men in the world. If I'm upset with Zack, I can always find someone else. But now, she's holding Zack's hand, their fingers intertwined. She's the bride-to-be about to begin her happy new life.

My twin sister, Vivian Hall and I were inseparable. Then she died. Three months later, I married her husband, Lawrence Peterson. For five years, he only touched me once a year, on our birthday. He made me wear her silk nightgowns. He made me put on her signature red lipstick. He forced me to mimic every detail, from the exact way she brushed back her hair to the soft sound of her voice in the dark. "Lift the corners of your lips," he whispered against my skin, his breath burning hot, his words ice cold. "Vivian never smiled so cheaply." He pulled me closer, burying his face in my neck. "Do you know why I only touch you tonight?" he breathed. "Because tonight is the only night I can pretend you are her." In the heat of the moment, his mouth pressed hard against mine. His eyes were wide and dark, overflowing with a tenderness that seemed drowning. For one fleeting second, I let myself believe he was kissing me. That he loved me. Then he whispered her name. Five years of playing a ghost is enough. This pathetic excuse for a marriage ends now. I picked up my phone and typed a message to an unknown number. [I accept your bet.]

It was the eighth year of my marriage. As I was driving my daughter to school, I took a call on speaker. "Is this Mr. Andrew Benedict? Your wife, Ms. Clara Miller, left her diamond ring in our executive suite." My hands froze on the wheel. Andrew was my husband. Clara was my best friend. I rushed to my brother's office, desperate to prove it was a mistake. He didn't even look up from his desk. He wasn't surprised at all. "Summer, drop it," my brother, Aaron Walter, said calmly. "They have a child together now. Just pretend you don't know. "He lied to you to spare your feelings," he added. "We all kept quiet for your own good." I felt my blood cold as it ran through my veins. "He's right, Summer," a soft voice chimed in from the couch. "Don't blame Clara. You're both mothers. You need to understand her side." It was Olivia Walter, my sister-in-law. The three of us used to call ourselves inseparable. Now she was asking me to pity the mistress and the bastard. In family, friendship, and love, I was the only outsider.

On the day my family went bankrupt, my older sister fled the country overnight to escape her wedding. When I returned home after selling off every luxury item I owned, my alcoholic father drugged me and sent me to the bed of Tristan Chevalier, a man with intermittent explosive disorder. Once the effects of the drug wore off, he realized something was wrong. His eyes bloodshot with rage, he wrecked Chevalier Manor. He was even willing to sever ties with his family just to go abroad and explain everything to my sister. In the end, however, Tristan's grandmother, Donna, threatened to take her own life, forcing him to marry me and register our marriage. Whenever Donna pressured him to have a child with me, he would deliberately wait until his intermittent explosive disorder was acting up before taking me with brutal force. Afterward, even when I lay on the bed covered in blood, he would not spare me a second glance. "Sylvia Jefferson, consider this my reward to you this time. If you can't get pregnant, you'd better be prepared to spend the rest of your life as a widow!" After that, I tried everything I could think of to seduce him, but he refused to touch me, not even with a finger. Instead, he tormented me even more cruelly. In public, I was the once-down-and-out heiress who had married into a wealthy family, living the life of a pampered society wife. Behind closed doors, however, he gave me only twenty dollars a day to keep myself fed. Then, one night, I took advantage of his drunken state and climbed into his bed, hoping to sleep with him. But he called the police on me and accused me of sexual coercion, turning me into the laughingstock of our entire social circle. Eventually, I stopped longing for a child. I even personally brought my sister back to him and handed him the divorce papers. Yet this time, Tristan refused to let me go.

The sixth time photos of him cheating surfaced, Leander Prescott snatched the knife from my hand and brought it down hard. Stroke by stroke, he carved the name "Seraphina Vale" into his thigh. "Happy now? Can you leave Celeste alone?" I stood frozen, staring at him as if I suddenly didn't recognize the man in front of me. For ten years, we had tortured each other over Leander's infidelity. Every time he crossed the line, I carved my name into his flesh. Wrist-cutting, kidnapping, even hanging Celeste Waverly from a helicopter to threaten her—every scar on his body had a bloody story behind it. He had never been this calm. … Seeing the confusion in my eyes, a flicker of tenderness passed through his hate-filled gaze. "Celeste is pregnant. As long as you promise you won't confront her again, you can carve as many marks into me as you want. "This is the ninety-ninth mark. Ninety-nine is a good number. Let's make things work between us from now on." My throat suddenly felt dry. "Make things work? Do you really mean that?" He looked at me with a mixture of pain and mockery. "Sincere?" "My body already belongs to you. Stop coveting what belongs to Celeste." Watching him close his eyes in numb resignation, I suddenly understood. Ninety-nine wasn't his way of saying he wanted to spend the rest of his life with me. It meant he had finally resigned himself to his fate. He was willing to sacrifice his entire life so that another woman and her bastard could live out the rest of theirs in peace. A bone-deep sorrow flooded my heart, chilling me to the core. A lifetime was too long. And suddenly, I no longer wanted to sacrifice mine for him.

It was the seventh year we spent living separately after the marriage. I came to see Blake Shaw, and once again, my key broke and was stuck in the keyhole. I quickly called Blake. He said, "You probably got the wrong key again. Stay in a hotel. I'll come back and open the door." I looked at the sticker on the key and froze. The key was right. He changed the locks. Before I could think further, my father called, and he laughed heartily. "Of course he's out! He came over first thing in the morning, and he brought gifts! Then, my best friend's call came in. She was drunk from the sounds of it. "He's drinking with Zack. Your man's growing to be a good drinker." Then, my brother's call came. "He's a busy guy. Finally found the spare time to help me out with my investments." My mind was reeling. They had no idea I just asked the guard if this house's owner was home, and they said he was. I stopped asking questions. Instead, I called a locksmith. A strange curiosity took hold of me. I wanted to find out what secret my friends and family were keeping from me.

My boyfriend proposed to me when we graduated from high school, but I made a deal with him instead of giving him an immediate answer. "We'll get married when we've collected 500 train tickets." In the first year, Marcus could hardly wait to come see me every day. Before long, our collection had grown to 280 tickets. He even laughed and said that he'd be able to take me home as his wife before graduation at the rate he was going. In the second year, we met each other halfway. Soon, the number of tickets climbed to 400. But in our third year, Marcus told me that his advisor had taken on a new project and that a junior who had just joined the research team needed him to show her the ropes. He became swamped, so I ended up visiting him most of the time. Meanwhile, he only came to see me occasionally. By the end of the year, we had barely managed to collect 460 tickets. In our fourth year, he said he was too busy with internship interviews, leaving me no choice but to pull several all-nighters to finish my assignments so that I could spend a weekend going to see him. We finally collected 499 train tickets just before graduation. I secretly put on a white wedding dress, slipped on the ring he'd given me when he proposed, and boarded a train. I wanted to surprise Marcus. I wanted to tell him that we had finally reached 500 tickets. I wanted to tell him that I was ready to marry him. But when I arrived at the foot of his dormitory building, my heart full of anticipation… I saw Marcus holding another girl tightly, surrounded by a large heart of flickering candles. He lowered his head and kissed her on the lips amid the cheers and teasing from the crowd.