Lovesick Fool Romance Short Stories & Cheating Novels

My wife, Jolene Stephens, and I both cheated. The difference was that she chose to betray me while I had been made to cheat. She got me blackout drunk the same night her affair with Leon Homes came to light. Then, she stripped me naked and left me in a hotel room with a stranger. She posed my unconscious body in degrading positions and took photos to create evidence of my "affair." Both our cheating photos were exposed consecutively, and the public outrage against her little lover was offset. A huge wave of nausea rolled over me, making me dry-heave over the sink. My body was covered in red marks. The thought of what the stranger had done to me drove me to fits of terror. My wife watched as I scrubbed my skin until it split and bled before saying quietly, "I didn't have a choice. Leon's from a conservative family. It would destroy him if word got out that he was a homewrecker." The internet tore me apart overnight. My grandfather, Bruce Tillman, the only kin I had left, suffered a heart attack after seeing the news and was rushed into the emergency room. I had to protect her just to protect myself. So, I repeated the lie she needed me to tell under a wall of flashing cameras and microphones. "Neither of us cheated. Ms. Stephens and I had already separated long ago."

One of Ethan Sterling's closest friends got drunk and humiliated me. Called me a nobody orphan who married above her station, said I'd never be accepted by the Sterlings, that I wasn't fit to sit at their table. Ethan smashed a bottle over the man's head. He announced in front of everyone that if anyone ever disrespected me again, he'd make them pay. When I was pregnant and the morning sickness was so brutal I couldn't keep anything down, he went and scheduled a vasectomy. He didn't want me to suffer through another pregnancy. This was a man who loved me like I was his whole world. And yet — when I was lying on the operating table about to give birth, he was standing right in front of me with his arms around Iris, putting on a show for anyone watching. Iris was the daughter of another old-money family and she'd donated bone marrow to save Ethan's mother's life. The night before her own engagement, her fiance betrayed her, and the trauma wiped her memory clean. Now the only thing she knew for certain was that Ethan Sterling was her husband. In her world, I was the homewrecker — the scheming woman using the bastard in her belly to force her husband into a divorce. Ethan promised me it was all an act. Just repaying the debt for his mother's life. Once Iris recovered, he'd walk away from her immediately. But when I picked up the surgical consent form for him to sign, and his first instinct was to pull Iris behind him — to shield her — I knew. His heart had already drifted off course. The fairy tale of a Cinderella marrying into high society was over. Time to wake up.

"Mr. Reed, your request for euthanasia has been approved. The procedure is scheduled for next month. Please sign here to confirm." The staff member handed Ryan Reed a thick stack of papers. His fingers trembled over the page. After a few seconds, he slowly signed, his name scrawled as if it had taken all his strength.

When Yasmin Smith comes to the courthouse to pick me up from work, she suddenly hands me a copy of her marriage certificate. "To tell you the truth, our marriage certificate is forged. I was just messing with you when I told you that I wanted to remarry you." Before I can register the news, Yasmin produces a brand new—and certified—copy of her other marriage certificate. She's already smiling bashfully. "Last night, Zach embraced me and kissed me throughout the night. It felt so good that I couldn't resist him at all. So, we ended up getting our marriage registered for real." I feel nothing but chills seeping through my pores thanks to Yasmin's second betrayal. As I stare at her in disbelief, I feel my voice starting to quiver. "Why?" "Because you're dumb." Yasmin chuckles lightly as she taps a finger on my face, which is starting to go pale. "Previously, it took you three years to find out about my affair with Zach. That's why I made another bet with him to see how long it'd take you to realize that I'm cheating on you again." My gaze lands on the hickey decorating her neck, which has yet to fade away. Then, she shrugs at me. "Zach thought that it'd take you one year. That's why I slipped up many times purposefully over the year. But I've already grown tired of acting, and yet you never picked up a single clue. "Today is the last day of the bet. I want Zach to win, so I have no choice but to come clean to you."

I've been with Dominic Hayes, a gang leader, for ten years. But on the day he goes clean and leaves the underworld behind, his men address someone else as his woman. The hands that once held guns and spilled blood now gently slip a crystal shoe onto another woman's foot. He says, "Violet, she's not like you. You were willing to follow me through chaos without needing a title, but she can't do that." That day, I don't look back. What Dominic doesn't know is that I'm the only daughter of an underground mafia king. When my family found out I was running wild, they quietly prepared a good man for me. All that's left is for me to say yes.

Our place was hit by an earthquake. I was crushed by a slab of stone, but my wife, leader of the rescue squad, abandoned me in favor of her true love. She said, "You're a soldier. You can live with a little injury. Felix can't. He's always been weak, and he needs me." I was saved, eventually, and I wanted to leave my wife. I agreed to the chip research that would station me in one of the National Science Foundation's bases deep in the mountains. My leader was elated about my agreeing to this research. He grasped my hand tightly. "Marvelous. With you in our team, Jonathan, this research won't fail! But… you'll be gone for six whole years. Are you sure your partner's fine with it?" I nodded. "She will be. I'm serving the nation here. She'll understand." The leader patted my shoulder. "Good to know. The clock is ticking, so you'll only have one month to say your goodbyes. That enough for you?" I smiled. "More than enough."

Intimate photos of Sienna Taylor topped the city's trending searches again. Out of habit, I take screenshots of them and send her a link to a luxury apartment overlooking the river that I've been eyeing. "Buy two of these. One for me, and one for our kid." She replies almost immediately with a simple "Okay" and a screenshot of a massive bank transfer. She never hesitates to throw money at a problem. After ten years of marriage, I've finally stopped keeping tabs on my wife's affairs. These days, I only keep tabs on my bank balance. But this time, Sienna is serious about a young man named Gavin Reed. When I find out they've been caught kissing by the harbour, I ask for a million dollars. When she holds a press conference and calls him her best friend, I ask for another million. And when I hear that they're celebrating their move into a new home together, I ask for yet another million. Her affair with Gavin has become the talk of the city, and she's so caught up in it that she's forgotten all about the man she once had to woo with 100 love letters before he'd agree to marry her. I don't cry or make a scene. Every time she hurts me for his sake, I just burn one of those letters. When the 100th and final letter turns to ash, I'll leave her for good.

Right after I die, my wife goes on a date with her first love. I once told her, "If I die, I swear I won't love you in the next life." She scoffs. "Gladly. But people like you live forever, don't they?" Just as she wishes, I die. However, right then, she holds my urn close, whispering, "Are you still mad at me?"

This was the eighteenth time I received photos of Autumn cheating on me. With practiced ease, I bought them all and had them wiped. On the night of our engagement, I stepped forward to stop her as she prepared to leave. “Can you stay tonight?” She frowned. “I don’t like men who are too clingy.” The next day, a video of her playing dress-up in a wedding gown with another man spread like wildfire across the city. In this gamble called love, I had lost everything. Just then, my childhood friend called, her voice bright with laughter. “Mr. Dunn, isn’t it about time you came back and married me?”

As the upcoming tour approached, the dance troupe suddenly revoked my position as the lead dancer. Anxious to get an explanation in person, I lost my footing due to my distracted state and tumbled down the stairs. While enduring the sharp pain and preparing to call for emergency services, a notification popped up on my phone screen: “Redwood Dance Troupe: Welcome our new lead dancer, Averil Wells, and our generous sponsor, Julian Ford." The accompanying photo featured two smiling faces—my husband of seven years, whom I had secretly married, and his pampered mistress. Julian had his arm wrapped around Averil's waist as he placed a gentle kiss on her cheek. Meanwhile, Averil clung to Julian's neck, her face radiating shyness and delight.

Hannah Neate hated having her picture taken more than anything. When her company held a press conference, she forbade any reporter from bringing a camera inside. I had been married to her for three years, but we never had a single wedding photo. She had an effortlessly frigid personality and would not waste her time getting her photo taken. She believed that it was a poor use of energy and time. One day, I saw a photo of her and a man in a photo booth at the mall. It was displayed as a couple’s photo template at the center of the wall. They were nestled close together. The man’s gaze was doting, and she was smiling sweetly. I tore the photo down and threw it onto her desk. She merely glanced at it and said lightly, “Dwade was just being playful. He insisted on dragging me there. Why are you upset? It’s just a photo.” I laughed exasperatedly. I had spent three years trying to get a photo with her, but another man got one in just three minutes, like it was nothing but a game to him. I took off my wedding ring and placed it on top of that photo. Since that was the case, I might as well disappear from her life for good.

My daughter Mia's congenital heart condition had worsened. She desperately needed the one-of-a-kind miniature artificial heart I'd spent five years developing. The night before surgery, my wife Victoria stole it from the cold storage unit. I rushed to the hospital like a madman, only to find her at the bedside of her first love Dominic Forsythe's son, prepping him for surgery. "Mia can hold on for another six months. Dominic's son can't wait." "What kind of father are you, being this selfish?" Victoria stood there, righteous indignation written all over her face. I looked at my daughter lying in her hospital bed, barely clinging to life, and dialed the overseas number I'd refused a dozen times before. "Professor Ellsworth, this is Nathan Hartley." "I'll accept your offer. But I need you to arrange a medical transport—immediately—to bring my daughter to your facility. Her heart needs emergency intervention." I spent five years developing a life-saving heart for my daughter. Victoria stole it overnight and gave it to Dominic Forsythe’s son. “Mia can hold on for another six months. Dominic's son can't wait.” She had no idea I held all the core patents for that heart. That same night, I took my daughter aboard a medical jet and fled the country. The next time we met, you would be on your knees begging me.