Historias cortas de Tragic Love Romance y novelas con Independence ambientadas en Cheating

One night before our engagement, Darren Finch insisted on throwing a singles party aboard a cruise ship. He made it clear I wasn't invited. But in the middle of the night, I got a call saying he'd fallen overboard. Panic overtook me. Feverish and disoriented, I stumbled to the deck and dove into the sea without a second thought. The night waters were icy, sapping the strength from my limbs. As I was pulled back onto the deck, shivering and soaked, I heard laughter ring out from the crowd. Carrie Specter, Darren's childhood sweetheart, stood above me. She gave a soft, lilting laugh. "Seeing how far you're willing to go for Darren... I can finally hand him over to you without worry." At that, Darren wrapped an arm smugly around her waist. "Carrie, you really do know me best." "I told you," she beamed, "Paula would pass your test." I let out a cold laugh, slipped the engagement ring from my finger, and flung it at his face. "No, thanks. I wish you two eternal bliss. Just don't ever drag me into your drama again."

At my wedding, the giant screen that's supposed to show our photos suddenly switches to the groom's assistant's prenatal exam report. It clearly shows that he is the child's father. The assistant looks flustered and panicked as she rushes to apologize to me. The groom, on the other hand, stays perfectly calm and offers an explanation like it's no big deal. "I took pity on her because she got pregnant out of wedlock, so I went with her to the appointment and left my name. I'm going to be her kid's godfather, too." The day of her exam was also the day I went for my very first prenatal checkup. Everyone thinks I'll break down, but I simply reach up and tear off my veil. Then, I calmly schedule an abortion. "She really is pitiful, being pregnant without a partner by her side. She deserves this wedding more than I do." Then, I raise my champagne glass to congratulate him. "Congratulations to you both. May your shotgun wedding be a happy one, especially since it's happening with a bun in the oven."

At the World Rally Championship Final, my fiancee, Brielle Fuller, deliberately gave me the wrong turn call. Because of her, I lost the championship. Right there on the spot, she called off our engagement and ran straight into the arms of my rival, Chase Monroe. Just when I thought I'd lost everything, my childhood friend, Naomi Sutton, proposed to me. "It's okay. To me, you'll always be number one." Seven years later, I rebuilt my career and fought my way back to the top. Just as I was preparing to break Chase's championship record, a brake failure sent my car plunging off a mountainside. While drifting in and out of consciousness at the hospital, I overheard a conversation outside my room. "You're ruthless. You actually did something like this. Weren't you afraid he might die?" "If he dies, so be it. The only person I've ever loved is Chase. I only regret that you married him before I could. Otherwise I wouldn't have had to put myself through that all these years." I stared wide-eyed into the darkness. The love I thought was so deep was nothing more than wishful thinking. If they cared so much about Chase, then maybe I should disappear.

I waited for my boyfriend for three hours at his birthday party. Sean Ziegler was supposed to show up dressed as the star of night. However, his secret lover, Josie Sullivan, called him to the hospital. She had pretended to sprain her ankle. There, she recorded a video of her and Sean kissing. In the heat of the moment, Sean stood up and pushed her against the door. But he was supposed to be paralyzed. “Sean, why haven’t you told Wendy that your legs are fine now?” “If she knows, she’ll pressure me to marry her. Seriously, who does she think she is? Wendy’s just a free maid. She’s not good enough to be my wife,” Sean said in a muffled voice. After that, he continued to kiss Josie intensely. Wearing the wedding dress I had designed, Josie looked provocatively into the camera. The video then ended with the sounds of them kissing. It turned out that Sean had been lying to me all along. I threw the cake that I made for him into the trash. Then, I texted my mom. [Mom, I’ll go on that blind date.]

When my grandma is on her deathbed, she tells me hoarsely that her only wish is to see me get married. I keep crying to the point that I can barely utter a word. That's when my entire family turns to look at my boyfriend, Robert Fuller. Robert lets out a small sigh before wiping my tears off my face gently. Then, he leads me out of the ward. But as soon as the door is closed behind us, his expression goes cold. "Clary, we've been together for seven years. You know I hate getting forced into doing things by others the most. "Love is something that occurs by nature. It shouldn't be forced to happen just because others have opinions on how it should go." He strokes my hair comfortingly. "Let's not rush our marriage, hmm? Why don't we breach this topic again once things in my company go steady after it gets listed. What do you think? "Anyway, I have a meeting to attend at night. You should deal with your family for the time being. I'll bring you a gift when I visit you tonight." Before I can respond to Robert, he turns on his heel and leaves with his secretary, Mikayla Glenn. The moment they enter the elevator, I witness Mikayla standing on her tiptoes so that she can arrange Robert's tie for him skillfully. Robert never turns her away. After wiping my tears away, I return to the ward and take Grandma's hand with a smile. "Don't worry, Grandma. I'll get married in three days. Before I get married, I want you to do my hair 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.

My wife, Sophie Souza, cheats on me when she gets drunk. That's when she gets pregnant with her assistant, Dylan Hart's baby. By the time I come across Sophie's pregnancy report, she's already three months into her pregnancy. I tell her outright that I will choose to forgive her as long as she aborts the baby. But Sophie asks me coldly, "Which one will you choose? Me or your dignity?" I remain silent for a very long time afterward. In the end, I leave a divorce agreement behind and completely vanish from Sophie's world. But that's when she claims that she regrets making me choose.

I am an infamous pilot in Gradenburg whom everyone calls a jinx. In the past six years of my career, every time I had to fly a plane, it either started raining heavily or became terribly foggy. Eventually, passengers started avoiding my flights when booking their tickets, and the airline company pulled me off its flagship route. Nonetheless, I refuse to believe that I'm that cursed. It isn't until the 99th time that my flight is delayed that I overhear some people talking in the break room. "Mrs. Zayner can't fly again today?" Another person lets out a mocking laugh. "She seriously still thinks that she just has rotten luck. Little does she know, all the extreme weather she's experienced is actually interference by Mr. Zayner as he pleases his mistress. "She wants rain? He'll call for a rainstorm. She wants to see dark clouds? He'll do it for her. His mistress' happiness is certainly more important than whether his wife can actually fly!" Amid the scornful laughter that rings out, I clutch the 99th disciplinary notice I've received for flight delays so far, feeling my entire body go cold. Just last night, Samuel Zayner was tending to the injury on my wrist I got when a passenger threw their luggage at me. In a low voice, he comforted me, saying, "The weather isn't something anyone can control. Don't blame yourself for it." However, right now, I check through my flight records from the past six years. Every single delay coincides with a social media post from the same woman. "I suddenly feel like admiring a rainstorm." "The summer sun is just too glaring. How I wish black clouds would darken the skies over Gradenburg." Without fail, Samuel has liked every post. As it turns out, the bad weather that has kept me trapped for the past few years is nothing more than a little flirting game played between him and another woman. I stare at the flight assignment roster for three days later and let out a soft laugh. Then, I submit a route transfer request. From now on, whether it's rainy or sunny in Gradenburg has nothing to do with me anymore.

After graduation, I finally got what I'd wanted: a job in Bellshore alongside Callum Price and Brielle Sutton. They came up with one rule. Whenever something came up, we'd vote. Majority rules. Once, I accidentally got Callum's shirt wet. Brielle immediately said, "She always does this. Last time, she swiped my lipstick without even asking." Callum pulled out his phone. "Let's vote. Who's in the wrong?" Two votes to one. I had to apologize, pay for the shirt, and from then on, I wasn't allowed to touch his things. Yet Brielle wore that same T-shirt for years. On our second vacation, I wanted to go to the beach. They wanted to go hiking. Two votes to one again. That day on the mountain, Brielle looked at me and said, "Next time, don't bother voting against us. He only listens to me anyway." It happened so often that eventually, I went numb. And yet I was Callum's girlfriend. In five years, we'd cast more than a hundred votes, and not one had ever gone my way. Every time, they told me the same thing. I was wrong. I was being dramatic. I was overthinking everything. Then one day, my fever spiked to 102°F. For the first time, Callum hesitated. "She really doesn't look well. She hasn't had any energy for days." Brielle said, "Why don't we vote and see?" With my eyes closed, I listened as they quietly discussed the options. Option A: I was genuinely sick and needed someone to take care of me. Option B: I was faking it to get their attention. In the end, Callum decided, "Option C. Same old thing. No need to worry about her." The rich smell of barbecue drifted over from the table. I'd never felt so exhausted in my life. Soon after, I booked a flight to Westhaven. I left our group chat. And I decided to leave the game that had always been rigged against me.

I had been in a relationship with Zachary Dawson for seven years and engaged for three when, out of the blue, Ruby White, the daughter of his mentor, moved into our home. Sitting casually on the bed that Zachary and I shared, Ruby lounged with an air of nonchalance, her voice playful and teasing. "Zachary, the dental god, sure has a nice bed," she remarked with a smirk. "I can only imagine what it would be like to spend the night with him in this bed." I captured the scene on my phone and sent the video to our family group chat with a brief message: Looks like Zachary might have a new girlfriend Zachary rushed home, wrapping his arms protectively around a tearful Ruby. He pointed at me, his voice seething with anger. "My mentor's dying wish was for me to take care of Ruby! If you can't accept that, then move out!" Honestly, my brows furrowed deeper than the wrinkles on the bedsheets Ruby had sat on. Fine. I didn't need the bed, and I didn't need a fiancé anymore.

As I get ready to delete our TikTok account that has over a million followers, the comments section explodes as everyone desperately tries to talk me out of it. "Winnie, don't go! I'm still waiting to see your travel documentary with your boyfriend!" I laugh but still press the button to confirm the deletion. My boyfriend, Zachary Sutton, is a video editor. We've previously agreed to use TikTok to record every city we ever go to. For the past three years, he has always been featured in my shots. Yet, every time he finishes editing the videos, I'm never in any of the shots. Then, last week, when I'm helping him export a video file, I notice a folder named "Rowena Sanders" hidden deep within his hard drive. Upon opening it, I see that there's a video with another woman in it. She is standing by the ocean. The sun is haloing her figure and painting her hair a warm, golden brown. The video was edited to be in slow motion, capturing her as she turns to the camera, all while our love song plays in the background. Every single frame has been meticulously edited. In contrast, after I check through all our finished videos, I realize that I've only ever appeared once, and even in that, I was blurred out. I looked like just another part of the background. He even added a caption that read, "Where did this random nobody come from?" As it turns out, it isn't that he's not good at editing videos; it's that I've never been worthy enough to appear in his shots. While I'm packing up my things, he sends me a message, anxiously asking why the account is gone. I didn't reply. Since he refuses to keep me in the picture, I'll just walk out of the frame myself.

In the fifth year of my marriage with Lionel Kruger, I suddenly develop an ability to see everyone's ranking system. To my mom, I'm ranked first. To my best friend, I'm ranked second after her daughter. Even the owner of the breakfast cart in the neighborhood views me as his sixth favorite person in his life. Delighted, I rush off to see Lionel's ranking system. His mom ranks first, whereas Natalie Cooper is ranked second. That's me! I'm ranked second! That piece of news makes me smile throughout the day. That is, until I see an unfamiliar name taking up the sixth spot—Lindsay Sloan. I tell myself that it's fine. I'm ranked second, while she's ranked sixth. But the next few days, I witness Lindsey's name climbing slowly up the ranks to the point she's almost reaching my rank. That evening, Lionel comes home and hugs me as usual. "I missed you." As I stare at the ranking system above his head, I notice that Lindsay, who's now ranked third, is slowly climbing upward as he speaks. "Lionel, who's Lindsey Sloan?" At that moment, Lionel freezes up while hugging me.

On my birthday, I personally prepare 16 dishes. After setting up the candlelight, I open a bottle of red wine. I take a photo and send it to my husband, Eric Sinclair. "I'm working late tonight. Don't wait for me," he replies. I choose to believe him. But after midnight, I notice an Instagram story posted by Shirley Huxley, his secretary. Eric was there with her, dressed in the trench coat I once gave him. They sat side by side in the VIP seat of football stadium where my favorite Super Bowl take place. Entwined in a passionate embrace, they kissed beneath a sea of shimmering lights and the roar of thousands of fans. That game is the one I have always longed to experience with him. I look down at the cold food on the table. Eric's words keep ringing in my head. "I hate kissing." "Marriage is a partnership, not about love and kisses." Though we've been married for ten years, we've never shared a single kiss. Meanwhile, he's out there, kissing Shirley openly and passionately. Despite it all, not a single tear falls from my eyes. The next day, Eric settles into his chair, completely unfazed. "Return the gallery to Shelly," he commands. I nod quietly, saying nothing. Suddenly, Layla Sinclair, my daughter, comes running down the stairs and throws herself into Shirley's arms. "Aunt Shirley, you're my favorite. I don't like Mom!" In that instant, it hits me—the home I devoted my heart and soul to means nothing anymore. It doesn't matter that I've been married to Eric for a decade. Now, all I want is to find myself again. I decide to accept an invitation from the Parisoir School of Fashion Design. From this moment on, I won't wait for them to come home, and I won't look back.

I ended my business trip earlier and went back home, but the moment I pushed the door open, I nearly vomited from the rotten stench that stank up the entire house. Ten minutes ago, Selena Niles, my wife, posted in the Moms Unite group. [I read together with Dolce today again. It might be tiring bringing up a kid, but mothers need to be part of their children’s growth.] Dolce looked up. Her face was dirty, and she said to me sadly, “Dad, Mom is playing with Howard in the bedroom.” Howard Zimmer. That was my childhood best friend. I treated him like a brother of mine, gave him a job, and let him move into my house. I was not expecting him to “take care” of my wife and daughter like this during the few days I was away on a business trip. While I squashed down my anger and cleaned the living room, I found a long, black thing among Dolce’s toys. At first I thought that it was my stun baton, but when I did a Google search on it with my phone, the item description made my stomach churn. [An adult toy. Silent. Easy to carry and can vibrate.] Meanwhile, my stun baton was nowhere to be found. At 2 a.m., a pained screech tore through the air.

Five years into our marriage, I still hadn't gotten pregnant. The doctor said my fallopian tubes were blocked and that conceiving would be difficult. Even so, my husband, Lucas Enright, loved me with all his heart. Then, on our anniversary, he called and promised me a surprise I'd never forget. But when the estate gates swung open, a pregnant young woman stood outside. The smile froze on my face. Lucas didn't notice. He kissed the top of my head, beaming. "Freya, once we have this baby, the elders in my family will finally stop pressuring you about not having kids." When he saw how pale I was and noticed me trembling, he quickly pulled me into his arms. "Isabella is nothing more than a surrogate. Once she gives birth, we'll send her on her way. "If you don't like having her around, I'll put her in the guest room. You won't even have to see her." I swallowed my hurt and told myself he'd simply gone too far. Surely he still cared about me. But later that night, I walked past the guest room carrying a glass of warm milk on a tray. Through the half-open door, I saw the man who claimed to love me with all his heart tenderly kissing Isabella's pregnant belly. "Baby, grow strong and healthy. In a few more months, we'll get to meet you. "Mommy and Daddy can't wait for you to get here!" In that moment, I realized I was the real outsider in this house, and I always had been!

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.

This Thanksgiving, Elmer Fuller finally agrees to go on a trip with me. But when I wake up in the hotel, I don't see him anywhere. I spend the entire day desperately searching for him, only to stumble across a social media post from his first love. It's a selfie of her and Elmer having a cozy family dinner with her parents. The caption reads, "Someone's finally meeting the parents on Thanksgiving night. Mom and Dad can stop pressuring me to get married now!" Around her neck is the scarf my mother knitted for me before she passed. I left a comment. "Stop using my things to flirt with my husband. Take the scarf off—you can have him." Not long after, she posts an update. The scarf is shredded into pieces and tossed into a dog bed, with the caption, "What trash—too filthy even for a dog!" Elmer likes the post.

"Martin, you're getting married within two weeks. What are you going to do about the woman outside?" Stacy Lynd paused at those words, even as a man answered indifferently, "Just keep your mouth shut. She won't know if none of you breathe a word." Behind the door, Stacy's tears blurred her vision. Never did she expect that the man she loved for years was going to treat her like a side chick. At that point, she truly understood, and went on to burn her accounts. It was not until afterward that Stacy realized she wasn't the one who couldn't get over that doomed relationship.

Two years after the death of my husband, John Foster, I get a video call from him—except it's him from five years in the future. "John! You're still alive! Tell me where you are. I'm coming now to bring you home!" Crying tears of joy, I scramble to pick up the car keys I dropped, only to hear him say, "Actually, I faked my death to be with your friend…" As my mind goes blank, he continues to tell me everything as if none of it is a big deal. "I attended my funeral. The whole time you were crying beside my casket, I was in the back room with Adaline, getting it on with her. You thought her eyes were red because she was crying in grief. "Oh, my mother and our son know that I faked my death, too. Every year, they've found all kinds of excuses to come spend time with us instead…" My blood turns cold. My hand shakes as I clutch the phone. Meanwhile, John exhales, looking like he has taken a load off his chest. "I've already told you the truth about everything now, Cecilia, so it's up to you whether you want to continue living like a widow."

At the very beginning, he had said to her, "Wanwan, I shall fill your days with joy and happiness." Later on, he had said, "Ye Wanwan, why don't you go to hell?" As she stood upon the edge of a cliff and looked down into the abyss below, a serene expression settled on her face as she whispered helplessly, "It seems that after everything we've been through, we won't be growing old together after all, my dear Qing." At the moment of her death, however, he felt a twinge of pain in his heart. To whom would his love belong henceforth?