Hypocrisy Romance Short Stories & Cheating Novels

Charles Dickson will transfer five million dollars to me every time he cheats. After three years of being together, I've saved enough money to last a lifetime. This time, he transfers ten million dollars to me. I immediately pack my things and make a run for it when I see the money in my account. By the time he tracks me down, I've started a career as a teacher. He looks disdainful. "Enough of this nonsense. What can you teach them?" I run my mouth. "I'm using my experience to teach young women how to find a rich, generous husband who's always away from home, of course!" That strikes a nerve. His eyes turn red with rage as he snaps, "Am I nothing but a teaching tool to you, Chloe?" "Of course not!" I say. Before he can feel pleased, I continue, "At most, you're a failed specimen because you always come home…"

On our fifth wedding anniversary, Justin Gould stands me up again. I stare at his curt text saying he has to work late. Just as I'm about to reply, I accidentally enter an outdoor livestream. The camera shifts, and Justin suddenly comes into view. I frantically rewind the livestream, replaying the footage again and again to make sure I'm not mistaken. It's not just because Justin has lied to me. The child in his arms has the same distinctive birthmark on his neck as my son, Tommy Gould, the baby I was told had died after being born prematurely. My heart pounds as I rush to the location shown on the livestream. But when I get there, I hear the child call the woman beside him "Mom". She is Justin's foster sister, Lyra Gould. Justin wraps his arm around her, his voice full of affection. "If you could have children, I never would've married Zoey. You wanted a child, so I had one with her just for you. I told that fool our son had died, and she actually believed me. Lyra, you're the only one I love." I stand frozen, my heart turning cold. Only then do I realize that all these years, I was just a vessel for them to have a child.

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 name is Briella Goodwin. For three years after losing my memory, my mortal enemy, Ronan Cooper, and I have fought relentlessly. He snatches my project in the eastern suburbs, so I destroy his in the west. He runs me over and hospitalizes me, so I shoot him in the leg. Everyone in Velport knows we are both maniacs. That is until my men make a mistake, letting him find an opening to kidnap my father, Adam Goodwin. When I rush to the scene, his grip on Dad's hand suddenly loosens. "It all ends here!" he says. The madness that has lurked in his eyes for three years vanishes in an instant. I freeze, as if he has suddenly become a total stranger. He looks at me with a bitter smile. "I lied to you. We were never enemies... We were lovers!" My mind goes completely blank. "Back then, your father tricked mine into buying a worthless piece of land, causing him to die of a heart attack. I hated your father. I hated him even more than I loved you. "You'd just lost your memory then, so… So, I lied and said we were enemies. Only then could I vent my hatred on you with a clear conscience." My throat tightens, and my voice turns hoarse. "Wh-Why are you telling me this now?" I ask him. A soft light shimmers in his eyes. "I don't want Sera to worry about me anymore. So, I don't want revenge anymore," he says. Sera Pierson is his mistress. The blood in my veins runs cold. He gives up on me for the sake of revenge. Now, he's giving up on revenge for another woman. I laugh. Then, I pull out my gun and aim it straight at his heart.

In our most loving year, Hugh Thorne and I make a pact that neither of us will ever ask for a divorce—because whoever does will end his or her own life. I immediately grab a pair of scissors and stab him in the neck when he first tells me that he wants to give Beatrice Lane, my heartbroken best friend, a home. He repeatedly brings up divorce over the next two years, while I repeatedly refuse to let him go. Then, after his 99th attempt to get a divorce fails, Hugh jumps into the river. Everyone claims I am a madwoman and a jinx who killed her husband. Mom and Dad cut ties with me and take in Beatrice as their goddaughter. I am completely on my own after that. I work three jobs a day to make ends meet and raise Nicholas White, the child Hugh and I share. It is the third year after Hugh's death, and I receive a call from a former classmate of mine. "Are you coming to the class reunion this weekend, Mia? Hugh will be there too." In that instant, my mind goes completely blank. I can barely hold the phone because my hand is shaking so hard. It turns out that Hugh is still alive! My former classmate excitedly explains over the phone, "We're doing something different this time! Everyone has to bring something that will surprise the others, and whoever loses has to pay for the meal!" I have to bring something that will surprise everyone, huh? I hang up the phone and instantly arrange for someone to draft a divorce agreement for me.

I'm five months pregnant. One day, I leave the house to do some grocery shopping. As I wait at a red light, I see a woman kiss my husband. I follow them in shock, snapping to my senses when I hear the screeching of a car's brakes. I get into an accident and end up comatose, losing my child in the process. Not only does my husband not care for me, but he even has his lover move in with him proudly. The moment I wake up, they panic.

My wife had called me in the middle of the night with a hint of drunkenness in her voice. She admitted to having too much to drink and asked me to come get her. I hurried to the private club she mentioned, only to find myself having to change into a bathrobe as soon as I got there. Surrounded by a group of wealthy women in their fifties, they playfully flirted and teased me relentlessly. Suddenly, a few of them pounced, pushing me to the ground and demanding I crawl like a dog. Despite the humiliation, my main concern was still my wife's wellbeing. Hours passed before she finally showed up, disheveled, supported by her male assistant, looking at me with a cold smirk. It was then that the truth hit me. This whole situation was a scheme she had orchestrated to please him. My anger rising, I called and spoke through gritted teeth, "Three days. I want every single business under the Spencers wiped out."

For the ninety-ninth time, Thomas Wells brought a strange woman home. Following his instructions, I was washing Chloe Brooks's feet. Without warning, she kicked the basin violently, sending hot water splashing onto my face. "Thomas, Ms. Harris just pinched my foot! My feet are for ballet—I'm in so much pain. What am I supposed to do for tomorrow's competition?" Thomas flew into a rage. To punish me, he had someone bring a brazier, and I was forced to press my foot into the burning coals. The smell of burning flesh filled the entire living room in an instant. Thomas paid no attention as I collapsed to the floor, curling up and breaking out in a cold sweat. He turned away, carrying Chloe off to the bedroom. Shortly afterward, I called Thomas's sister, Tracy. "Tracy, I'm sorry. I don't intend to be with Thomas anymore." After that, I left and vanished from his life. Later, I heard that Mr. Wells of the Wells family had gone mad.

After I landed a five-million-dollar contract and saved the company from financial collapse, my CEO wife wrapped me in an excited embrace and said she wanted to have a baby with me. She took out her phone and showed me a virtual baby on an app she had just signed up for. "Look, honey," she said. "Isn't it adorable? You can even change how it looks. Do you like it? Once things settle down at the company, we can have a real one." That night, I came across a post by her male secretary on social media. It was a photo of a positive pregnancy test, with my wife's figure visible in the background. I did not comment. I just liked the post. When my wife noticed, she panicked and called me immediately. "Honey, it's not what you think. Please listen to me! I wanted to surprise you. The baby is yours! "Can you clear things up on social media for everyone? I promise I'll give you a child of your own soon." She insisted the baby was mine, yet she seemed to have forgotten that we had not shared a bed in six months. "End the pregnancy," I said. "We're finished."

I chase after Dean Wagner for five years while Graham Ashford chases after me for seven. When Dean marries Emily Caldwell, I finally say yes to being Graham's girlfriend. Graham is over the moon. He treats me like I'm everything to him, like he'd do whatever it takes just to make me happy. But Graham doesn't believe in marriage. Even when our daughter turns four, he still hasn't married me. He won't even let her call him "Dad". One night, I overhear him joking around with his buddies. "Your daughter's already four. You still aren't bringing your wife and kid home to meet your parents?" Graham taps his knuckles on the table and laughs. "You know why I got with Nora and had a kid with her. I just want to make Emily jealous. "Nora's easy to fool. She won't ever leave me, even if I never bring her or the kid home." He thinks he has me all figured out, but he doesn't. I turn and leave without a word, then plan to leave him for good. A man like that doesn't deserve my love. And he sure as well doesn't deserve to be my daughter's father.

The entire family had always mocked me as the crazy one. On the day I found Jacob York, my fiancé, cheating on me, I grabbed him and jumped down from the fifth floor. He survived, but I became comatose. From that moment on, every night, he held Ella Stone, his affair partner and my adoptive sister, and made out with her beside my bed. During the first year, when he spoke about me, he would choke up and be filled with resentment. He said that dying together would have been letting me off too easily. In the second year, he had kissed her passionately while saying that he wanted to burn us all to death. By the third year, they seldom talked about me again. Most of the time, they talked about Ella's ovulation period and their wedding. I woke up on the day of their wedding. Under the blinding sunlight, Jacob kissed the pregnant Ella. I raised my thin hands and joined the applause of my former friends. The untimely claps startled everyone. Ethan was the first to come and confront me. He said ruthlessly, "Stop acting like some crazy lunatic, Summer. Jacob and Ella have already registered for marriage. If it weren't for you, they wouldn't have dragged out their wedding until today." Martha, my mother, had always been biased. As she shielded Ella, she begged me to spare them. "Summer, just pretend that Jacob died three years ago because of you. Let them be happy." I looked past Jacob's pained and conflicted expression before nodding slowly. But the moment Ella spoke, my empty stomach started clamping reflexively. So, I grabbed the knife of the cake beside my hand. I had suffered for three years, and I wanted something sweet. But they refused to believe that I wasn't going to lose control again and had truly given up.

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.

"Ms. Jones, the service to fake your death that you requested has been arranged. Here's the agreement. Please sign here." Isabella Jones glanced at the contract that the person placed before her. Client: Isabella Jones Cause of death: Falling from a mountain, eaten by wild animals. Unable to retrieve the remains of the body Time of death: One week from now One week from now would mark the fifth anniversary of her marriage to Samuel Grant. It was also the day she had planned to fake her death and leave him. Since that was the date it all began, it might as well be when it ended.

At the team dinner, everyone started hyping Peggy Madoff and me up to call our partners. Before I could even move, Peggy—runner-up to my top spot—whipped out her phone. "Babe, everyone's making me call you!" she giggled. On the line? Gerard Busch. Yeah, the CEO. He laughed. "Guess I'll be counting on you all to look after Peggy," he said. Cue the gasps and cheers. I just kept downing my wine. Because Gerard? He was my husband.

Chuck's beloved ex, Ella, got divorced and showed up with her two-year-old daughter. Without asking me, he let Ella and her kid move into our home. Then Ella posted a photo of Chuck holding the child, captioned: [My husband cheated, so I filed for divorce, gave my baby a new dad, and found myself a new husband.] The comments were full of praise: [Real-life boss woman drama!] I had to laugh—so being a homewrecker is what counts as a strong woman now? Chuck didn't see a problem. He even told the child to call me "Momma." "Ella's husband cheated on her. She's raising a kid alone. As a woman, can't you have a little empathy? I'm just helping her out." Well, I had no empathy to give—not for the mistress, and definitely not for the scumbag.

By the time I got home from my business trip, it was already past midnight—and my husband wasn't there. A woman's blouse lay on the sofa. It wasn't mine. I called him. He said he was working late at the office. I didn't bother with pretense. "Whose blouse is on the sofa?" His tone was light and casual. "Who else would it be? It's obviously a gift for you. Try it on." Suspicious, I picked it up and held it against myself. The blouse was clearly one size too small. "Honey, this is a size S. I always wear M." My husband owns a clothing company. He handles all my clothes. He's even used my measurements to design women's wear. There's no way he doesn't know my size. On the phone, he froze for half a second, then spoke as if piecing something together. "This is a new women's line I'm launching. I ordered custom pieces for you and my sister. I must've grabbed the wrong one. I'll switch it tomorrow." A moment later, his voice softened with exhaustion. "Babe, you've been gone for days. Without you, I feel so tired… I miss you so much…" It was already late into the night. Hearing him sound vulnerable—something he rarely did—made my chest tighten. I blamed myself for overthinking. But the moment I hung up, realization struck. His sister has the same build as me. She always wears size M.

My son, Yale Foster, had what they called school-pickup anxiety. Every afternoon before dismissal, he needed to know I was home waiting for him. So when he called from his smartwatch yet again to tell me not to come get him, Yates Foster looked genuinely troubled. "Winnie, don't come to the school. "If Yale sees you at the gate, he will start panicking that you're going to leave him. Once he starts crying, no one can calm him down." I stood there with my car keys in my hand, unsure what I was supposed to do. Yates sighed. "Mom's already gone to pick him up. Just stay home and wait for him." That was how three years passed with me almost never picking up my own son from school. Helen Foster handled pickup in my place and went with him on the school's family field trips. Whenever I wanted to go myself, someone always had a reason why I shouldn't. "The entrance gets so crowded. You'll only make him more anxious." "His teacher says Yale's finally getting used to the routine. We shouldn't keep changing who picks him up." "Winnie, you already work so hard. Leave little things like pickup to us." I believed them. Until today, when I happened to see a group chat on Helen's phone. Buried in the group's photo album was a password-protected folder: [Yale's Growing Up] I opened it and found everything I'd missed: school performances, parent-teacher conferences, family field days, graduation photos. Three hundred twenty-seven pictures. In every one of them, Yates, Yara Xavier, and Yale stood together. I wasn't in a single shot. In one photo, Yara even had a name tag pinned to her chest that read: [Yale Foster's Mom] The last file was a video. Yale was holding up an award when he asked, "Dad, why isn't Mom here yet?" Yates smiled and corrected him. "Mommy Yara is already here, isn't she?" Everyone behind the camera burst out laughing. And just like that, I understood. For the past three years, while they kept finding reasons to shut me out, they'd been letting another woman take my place throughout Yale's entire childhood.

My mother-in-law, Kate Irwin, has a hood over her head and a time bomb strapped to her body. Ten seconds are left. My husband, Sean Quimby, could have saved his mother. As Efton's top bomb disposal expert, Sean could cut the right wire without breaking a sweat. Instead, he hands the wire cutters—the tool that will decide whether Kate lives or dies—to his sobbing intern, Yara Gibson. I watch as Yara cuts the wrong wire. The timer hits zero. A wall of flames engulfs Kate. The blast wave slams into me, but Sean's first instinct is to pull Yara into his arms. He even turns his back to shield her from the flying debris, gently soothing her. "Don't be afraid. I'm here." He doesn't even spare a glance at the charred remains behind him. Only after calming Yara does he finally turn to me. He sheds a few tears and says, "Wendy, I'm sorry. I couldn't save Dahlia." My mother, Dahlia Green, is overseas, enjoying the sun and beach. She sent me a photo just moments ago. So I put on a sympathetic face and comfort him, "It's okay." After all, my mother isn't the one who died.

During a round of truth or dare, my boss, Victoria Hale, leaned in and kissed my husband, Ethan Graves. As just another junior employee, I didn’t even have the chance to call her out in front of everyone. Instead, I slipped away to the restroom and asked Ethan for a divorce. He brushed it off as if I were only sulking. "Don’t take it so seriously. She’s just had too much to drink. In the corporate world, you have to entertain, play along for the sake of the project." However, in the very next round, when Victoria was dared to kiss someone else, Ethan flipped the table in front of everyone. "Touch her, and see what happens."

Sorevia City, Darmoria One of my wife's so-called friends practically shouted across the table, "So, you got knocked up by your side piece. What's the game plan?" Vanessa Joplin calmly set a plate of steak in front of me. "We always said if one of us cheated, we'd vanish from each other's lives for good," she said, all sugar-sweet. "I'm not letting that happen. So yeah—I've been careful. Once the baby's here, the only dad anyone'll see is Glen." After that, she signed that she'd love me forever—totally missing the red burn around my eyes. She didn't know I'd gotten my hearing back a week ago. Didn't know I already knew about the guy on the side. And she definitely didn't know I'd bought a ticket north. Seven days. Once the paperwork cleared, I'd be gone. No noise. No goodbye. Just erased.