Contos de Romance com Male POV e Romances com Cheating

The first time I find a man's watch in my fiancee Lydia Winslow's car, her father calls me himself to explain it away. "Jonah, you've got the wrong idea about Lydia. That watch is mine. I must have left it there by accident." The second time, when I discover two movie ticket stubs, her best friend tags me in a group chat. "Don't overthink it. I asked Lydia to buy those tickets for me." It happens a third time, then a fourth, and every time after that, someone steps forward to cover for her. By the ninth time, I pull a tie from between the car seats and hold it up in front of her face. "Whose tie is this?" Her hand on the steering wheel gives the faintest tremor before she dials a number with practiced ease. "Someone left a tie in my car. Which one of you is it?" The call connects to my own sister, Leah Stratton, and my best friend, Bryce Hollander, who also happens to be Leah's husband. "Lydia? Oh, so that's where it went! No wonder Bryce couldn't find it anywhere. Honestly, though, Jonah, are you doing this again? "Everyone told you at the last get-together—if you keep picking fights over nothing, you two might as well call off the wedding." Bryce chimes in right after, saying, "Come on, Jonah. You know how good Lydia is to you. You've been way out of line lately." After the call ends, Lydia looks at me with wide, innocent eyes. "Happy now? Can you please stop doubting me? That's nine times now, Jonah. If you do this again, maybe we should just call off the—" I smile and cut her off. "You're right. Let's not bother. Cancel the whole thing." What Lydia doesn't know is that the tie doesn't belong to her lover or to Bryce. I bought it myself and left it in her car on purpose to expose the truth—that every single person around her has been helping cover up her affair.

The first time I meet my girlfriend, Nadine Grant‘s parents, she stops me at the door. Her childhood friend and neighbor, Nick Lockwood, has just pulled a tarot card. The card says I'll attract trouble today, so I shouldn't go inside. Before I can say a word, Nadine reaches for the gifts in my hands. "Wait in the car for a while," she says. "When dinner's over, we'll go home together." I don't let go. "I've spent over a month getting ready to meet your parents, and you're not even letting me in?" Displeasure is written all over her face. "Andy, I'm doing this for your own good!" Before I can argue, she shoves me back into the car. Nick smiles at me through the car window. He says, "Andy, don't take it the wrong way. I'll go in and keep Mr. Grant company for you." Nadine stands beside him without looking back once. This is all happening because of one tarot card Nick pulls. I'm the one who's here to meet Nadine's parents, yet I'm somehow the last person they want inside. Then, I have no reason to become part of this family either!

On our wedding anniversary, my wife, Yvonne Ashby, who has never set foot in the kitchen before, prepares a feast. Every time I take a bite, she eagerly asks me what I think and carefully writes down my feedback. At one point, she goes into our bedroom to answer a call. It's the custom ringtone for her assistant, Michael Holden. I casually pick up the notebook Yvonne left behind and leaf through it, only to discover that it is filled with detailed notes about things that have nothing to do with me. "The green beans are a little undercooked. Michael probably won't like them." "The mushrooms are a little too salty. Remember to use less salt when you make them for Michael." "The lamb is too gamey. Replace lamb with beef when you make it for Michael." Yvonne comes back and reaches for her notebook, only to catch me holding it. "Samson Camden, you really have no manners, do you? When did I ever give you permission to touch my belongings?" I'm about to respond when an excruciating pain shoots through my head, and Yvonne's figure begins to blur and double before my eyes. "Yvonne, I'm feeling a little unwell. It's probably because the green beans were undercooked…" "In that case, I'd better write this down so I cook them longer when I make them for Michael." Ignoring me, she scribbles in her notebook and hurries toward the door. "I'm heading out. You have such a strong immune system. If you don't feel well, just take some medicine." Before passing out, I call Yvonne one more time. However, her impatient voice comes through the phone. "Is it really that serious? Are you dying? Call me when you're dead!" I think to myself, "Yvonne Ashby, I'll never reach out to you again."

For the 18th time, Tyra Stone calls off our wedding because I'm a beat too slow during the vows. She looks at me with utter disappointment. "You know I'm a perfectionist. Why can't you follow the wedding schedule exactly? If you can't keep up next time either, maybe you should just let your best friend marry me instead." My so-called best friend, Jeremiah Young, is known for being obsessively punctual. For some reason, Tyra has made him the standard I'm expected to meet. If I come downstairs a minute later than he does after work, she will drive off with him without looking back. If I arrive at the restaurant half a step after him on Valentine's Day, she will give him the candlelit dinner meant for me. If I reach the airport 20 seconds after him for our anniversary trip, she will cancel my ticket and board the plane with him instead. As a result, our wedding has been canceled 17 times. Each time, Jeremiah takes my place and goes through the entire ceremony with her. To ensure the 18th attempt finally goes smoothly, I fill the hall with countdown clocks and spend more than 200 nights practicing in secret. However, ten seconds before the vows are supposed to begin, Jeremiah jumps the gun and says, "I do." Tyra chooses to go by his timing. She ignores me as the hundred-something clocks around us chime in unison. For the 18th time, she calls off the wedding. It turns out the problem is never my timing. The problem is that I'm the groom, not Jeremiah. If that's what she wants, I'll give her the perfect wedding she's been blindly chasing. Tyra takes Jeremiah's hand again. "Watch closely. We'll show you one more time." I laugh and casually slip the wedding rings onto their fingers. "Save it. I hope you two have a long and happy marriage instead."

On New Year's Eve, Gwen Hurst and I attended a reunion with our old classmates. After several rounds of drinks, someone suggested a game of Truth or Dare. Gwen was the first to lose and drew Truth. "What was your biggest regret when it came to love?" She answered without hesitation, but her gaze kept drifting toward her first love, Nikolas Stratton, who was sitting nearby. "My greatest regret was not ending up with the person I loved most. Instead, I married my backup and settled for a life of compromise." The room erupted in shock. Everyone thought I would storm out in anger, but I only smiled and gestured for the game to continue. When it was my turn, the question became, "Have you ever kept anything from your partner?" "I have." "What was it?" "I've been raising a seven-year-old son outside our marriage."

Yvonne Sharp, my fiancee, and I are at the city hall, intending to get our marriage certificates for the 27th time. The staff member has just called our number when Aaron Sutton, Yvonne's stepbrother, suddenly bends over and grabs his stomach. "My stomach is killing me, Yvonne…" Yvonne immediately supports him, saying, "I'll take you to the hospital right now." Aaron quickly shakes his head. "You don't have to do that. It's a very important day for you and Charlie, so I'll just tough it out, Yvonne." He keeps a tight grip on Yvonne's sleeve despite saying so. Yvonne furrows her brow and says, "You don't have to tough it out. I'll take you to the hospital this instant, Aaron." She hands me the queue ticket after saying that. I look at her and say, "It'll only take ten minutes to register our marriage. Is that too much to ask for?" Yvonne doesn't even spare me a glance. "You've already waited for this moment 26 times. What difference will one more make?" I let out a sudden chuckle after hearing how casual she sounds about it. It turns out that she has always known all along—she has just never taken my waiting seriously. "If we don't register our marriage today, there won't be a 28th time, Yvonne." Yvonne helps Aaron along. She doesn't even bother to look at me as she says, "That's enough, Charlie. I'll go take care of Aaron first." I look down at my phone and pull up the contact information of someone I haven't reached out to in a long time. "Grab your personal documents and get to the city hall within ten minutes."

I was the simple-minded fool that General Adelaide Knight had pulled from a pile of corpses on the battlefield. The poison had been too severe. I survived, but my mind never fully recovered. When people hit me or cursed at me, all I ever did was stare blankly and smile. Adelaide took pity on me. She brought me into her home and refused to let anyone mistreat me. She once said, "Reed may be a fool, but he's my whole life." And like a fool, I believed her. For five years, I followed her everywhere like a shadow. Then Fabian Ortega returned to the capital. He looked so much like me that we could almost have been brothers. He'd been poisoned, and none of the doctors knew how to save him. His only chance was to fight poison with poison—using blood drawn from the heart of someone whose body was already saturated with an even deadlier toxin. So Adelaide placed a dagger and an empty bowl in front of me. Her voice had never been gentler. "Be good, Reed. Your body's already full of poison. It's just a small cut over your heart. It won't hurt. Let me take some blood for him. I'll buy you your favorite candy tomorrow, okay?" I stared at the cold gleam of the blade and slowly blinked. The truth was, when the knife pierced my chest, the blood came so fast that I felt so cold. Still, I endured it and forced the same vacant smile onto my face. "Okay." I watched Adelaide pick up the bowl of warm blood and hurry toward Fabian's room. She was in such a rush that she didn't even spare a glance at the bloodstained dagger she'd left lying on the floor. I tossed the cheap candy she'd bought me into the fire and clumsily began packing my things. Since she no longer wanted Reed's life, this poisoned fool had no reason to stay.

On our anniversary, I stood in the doorway holding the diamond ring I'd just bought, waiting for Crystal Linley to finish her video call. She casually took the ring box, set it aside without a glance, and checked her watch. "The client wants last-minute changes to the proposal. Go ahead and eat without me." I sat down at the table alone. The food tasted like nothing. At midnight, her childhood friend posted a photo of the two of them on Instagram, out on a yacht. Crystal was wearing the dress I'd given her, leaning against his shoulder with a glass of champagne in her hand. The caption read: [She said if I ever come back to her, she'll drop everything and run to me.] I calmly liked the Instagram post. A second later, my phone lit up. "Don't get the wrong idea!" Crystal's voice was frantic. "I swear, next anniversary..." I let out a long breath. "There won't be a next anniversary."

My wife of three secretly married years, Izzy Presley, threw a welcome-home dinner for her childhood friend who'd just returned to the country. A sharp-eyed coworker noticed the wedding ring on her finger and teased her about it. "Izzy, does this mean there's a wedding on the way?" Izzy didn't deny it. Instead, she traded a smile with Sebastian Wood, the friend she'd grown up with, and made her answer loud enough for the whole room to hear. "Yes. Sebastian and I are getting engaged." She handed out cash gift cards to everyone in the room as she said it, me included. Someone who'd had a little too much to drink called out. "I've watched Stevie and Izzy come and go together for three years straight. Honestly, I thought you two were the real couple." I kept my head down and tightened my grip around the stem of my glass. On my phone, the chat thread with Izzy was still open. That 200-dollar cash gift, the exact same amount she'd given every other guest in the room, burned behind my eyes. Then her voice drifted over, light as air. "My assistant Stevie is good at his job. Work is work, and feelings are feelings. Let's not confuse the two." The teasing only got louder after that. Through the whole party, everyone celebrated for her. No one knew that Izzy and I had already been married for three years. This marriage was like a deal struck in the dark, the kind that could never see daylight. Because I loved her, I'd gritted my teeth and held on for three years. But now, I was ready to let go.

Every time I slept with Jennifer Brooks, I noticed that she had changed the sheets. After we finished one night, I finally asked her about it. Jennifer traced her fingers across my chest and gave me a gentle smile. "Obviously, it's because your good friend sweats so much. Every time, right before you and I do it, he gets jealous and insists on going first. I never knew a man could sweat that much during sex until I met him." My mind went blank. I stared at her in disbelief. "What did you just say?" She met my gaze, her lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Connor, your father was tortured to death in bed by the women your mother hired, not by me. So every time you lie there like a dead fish, you completely kill the mood. "That's your trauma. I shouldn't have to pay for it. Understand? You should be thanking Hunter. He's the one holding this relationship together." The words had barely left her mouth when the door flew open. Hunter Clayton stormed in, his eyes red, and slapped Jennifer across the face. "You've gone too far! Apologize to Connor!" I looked at the two of them, but all I could taste was bitterness. So this whole time, Jennifer had seen me as nothing more than a burden who ruined the mood. This bed had never been big enough for three people. I wouldn't force myself into it again.

To pay for my grandmother's medical treatment, I became the boyfriend of Camille Harrington, the heiress of a wealthy family. On our 10th anniversary, she sent me the address of a wedding venue and told me she was going to marry me. Overjoyed, I dressed for the occasion and went to the venue, convinced she'd finally fallen in love with me. But instead of coming to me, Camille rushed straight into the arms of her first love. Christopher Vaughn covered his forehead and let out a bitter laugh. "Camille, I lost. Just as you said, the servant you bought with money really is obedient." The guests had spent the entire day putting on a show at my expense. Now, they burst into laughter and mocked me for being such a fool. Camille, however, was delighted that I'd helped her win the game. She immediately promised to add another 200,000 dollars to my grandmother's medical expenses. What she didn't know was that my grandmother had already died, and with her death, my relationship with Camille had come to an end. But when I turned around and walked away, giving Camille and Christopher exactly what they wanted, Camille lost her mind and began searching for me all over the world.

When my 520th flight touches down, I find my girlfriend—someone who has never once picked me up from the airport—waiting for me there in the terminal. Lindsay Shire is holding a bouquet of air-freighted roses and a velvet box with a diamond ring sparkling inside. The moment she drops to one knee, a collective, stunned gasp ripples through the crowd. We've been together for ten years, and this is the first time she's ever indicated that she wants to marry me. Pretending to keep my composure, I slip the ring onto my finger. My voice trembles as I say, "Lindsay, we—" But she suddenly laughs and glances to the side, one eyebrow arched smugly. "I told you he'd say yes. I won the bet. Hand over the painting." I freeze as a wave of cruel laughter erupts behind me. A whole crowd of wealthy socialites and trust-fund babies saunters over, led by none other than Trent Morasca—Lindsay's former fiance. He's laughing so hard that he's nearly in tears. "I was wondering why you kept him around for so long," Trent jeers. "If I had a lapdog this obedient, I wouldn't have the heart to kick him to the curb, either." Then he turns to me. "I heard you grew a backbone this time after your fight and actually moved out of Amber Estate. But the minute Lindsay crooks her finger, you come running back?" One of the rich heirs thrusts his camera into my face. "Guys, look at him! He actually fell for it! He's so moved he's actually got tears in his eyes!" "Lindsay, I think he's going to latch onto you now and demand you take responsibility!" he adds, before breaking into loud laughter. Lindsay shoots them a sideways glance, and the crowd instantly falls silent. For once, she actually bothers to explain. "It's Grandpa's 80th birthday, and I couldn't find a suitable gift in time. "Trent just won the 'Misty Peaks' painting at an auction last week, and you know how much Grandpa loves stuff like that. So, we made a bet. "As long as you accept my proposal, the painting would be mine."

Gillian Chadwick, my fiancee, has always put her adoptive brother, Jude Chadwick, first. When a new romantic trend catches on, he gets the first gift, not me. When she buys her very first car, she gives him the first test drive. Even when a fire breaks out in our house in the middle of the night, she rushes into Jude's room first and drags him downstairs. She doesn't call to wake me until she has made sure he's safe. After getting burned in that fire, I finally lose my temper and demand Gillian choose between Jude and me. She looks at me in confusion. "Thomas, Jude is the only family I have in this world. Why are you competing with him? How about this? I promise to treat you both completely equally from now on, okay?" After a long hesitation, I finally agree. But later, Gillian gives the wedding ring she has custom-made to Jude, and she even lets him be the first to see her wedding dress. On the day we go to get our marriage certificate, Jude tags along. "Thomas, Gillian has never been married before. Let me try it out for you first," he said shamelessly.

My fiancee, Joanie Halter, and I live in the same city, less than five miles apart. And yet, we barely see each other more than twice a month. Whenever I ask when she's free, she always gives me the same answer. "I've just been really busy with work lately." Then, by chance, I come across her travel records. Out of the 52 weekends in the past year, she has bought plane tickets for 48 of them. The destination is always the same country, where her junior from school, Forrest Jacobsen, lives. She always leaves first thing Saturday morning and comes back Sunday night, rain or shine, sometimes even more punctual than she is about going to work. Our most recent date was yesterday, at the convenience store downstairs from her office. She hurriedly finishes her hot dog, checks her watch three times, then says, "I have a meeting." I smile, not exposing her lie. This will be her 49th trip. I neither call nor text her. Instead, I simply sign the lease transfer papers, then buy a one-way ticket to another city. She spends thousands of miles every week playing situationship with another guy. All I want is to move to a different city and stop waiting for someone who will never spend a single weekend with me.

Three days before my wedding to Natasha Bishop, my best friend Devon Hart shows up in tears, saying he's fallen in love with someone he shouldn't have. That night, I stay out drinking with him until we're both wasted, then I call Natasha to come pick me up. Wanting to mess with her, I slump face-down on the table and pretend to be passed out. Half an hour later, familiar footsteps stop right beside me. Natasha leans down and pinches my cheek, the way she always does when I'm drunk. "Graham?" I hold back a laugh and stay quiet, burying my face deeper into my arms, grinning to myself. Any second now, she'll sigh, help me up, and get me a glass of water, just like she always does. But her hand stops. Before I can even react, she turns and walks over to Devon. "How'd you let yourself get this drunk?" Devon grabs her hand, barely conscious. "Natasha…" She doesn't pull away. Instead, she leans down and murmurs, "I'm here." I lie there with my face still pressed to the table, suddenly stone-cold sober. And in that moment, I'm pretty sure I know exactly who Devon was talking about.

My wife, Sienna Fairchild, has one ironclad rule. Every Monday, she has dinner with her brother-in-law. During that time, she turns off her phone and blocks every message. Nothing, no matter how urgent, takes priority over their little family gathering. Then one day, our daughter falls down the stairs at preschool and breaks her arm. I call Sienna over a dozen times, but not a single one goes through. With no other option, I call her brother-in-law instead. "Abby got hurt at school. Can you have Sienna come to the hospital?" The other end goes quiet. Just when I think the call has been dropped, Sienna's voice comes through. "My whole day belongs to them. Don't bother me unless it's actually important." The line goes dead. I stand frozen, staring at my daughter crying on the hospital bed. She looks up at me with red, tear-filled eyes. "Daddy, does Mommy not want me anymore?" I choke back the lump in my throat as exhaustion washes over me. Maybe it's time to find my daughter a new mother.

In order to keep Sam Anderson from being fired, my lawyer wife, Blair Reid, drugged me before the hearing and handed my important case over to him. Blair then handed one of my major cases over to Sam. “The effect of the poison will only last for a day. Once the case is over, I’ll make it up to you.” I watched as Blair pulled an all-nighter to draft an outline for Sam and promote him. She also brought him around to network with other lawyers. After some time passed, Blair said she felt sorry for me. She told me she would immediately promote me to a partner at the law firm. However, she went crazy after realizing I did not get my voice back.

The day of my wedding, my girlfriend, Sherry Jennings, asked me to wait another three weeks for her. It seemed that she had used half her cells to clone her first love so that the dead man would have no regrets in life. The clone only had three weeks to live. During the first week, she beat her fear of heights to go on a Ferris wheel with him, holding him close at the top. During the second week, she used up all her savings to take him to see the aurora and immortalize their love. In the last week, their story touched people around the world, and with countless reporters watching, they kissed until the clone’s heart stopped beating. After that, she came back happily and told me that she wanted to have our long-awaited wedding. Unfortunately, what she came back to was the news of my death.

When I was choking on my food, Jillian Oakley was on the dance floor with an escort. My face had turned red as I desperately begged her to help me, but she only thought of me as an eyesore and chose to run off with him. It wasn't until I was on the verge of dying that a server noticed me and managed to save my life. Yet, the first thing Jillian did when she came back was slap the server across the face. Then, she pointed at me and snapped, "I was gone for only a moment, and you were already flirting with another woman? Since you don't care about getting married, we'll just keep postponing the wedding." I would rack my brains trying to explain myself in every possible way whenever she leveled that threat at me in the past. However, I suddenly found myself just so, so done with it all.

In Willow Creek, there is an unspoken rule about wedding processions: never retrace your route. But on the day we are supposed to get married, my fiancee, Emma Carter, orders our entire wedding procession to turn around and drive more than 12 miles back the way we've come—just to catch up with another wedding convoy. I am about to get out and demand an explanation when I overhear Emma talking to one of her bridesmaids, Lena Williams. "You drove more than 60 miles just to make it to Ryan's wedding," Lena says. "That's some serious dedication." Then she glances nervously in my direction. "And now you're making us turn around? Aren't you worried Nathan's going to be pissed?" Emma continues directing the drivers to turn the procession around. "Don't worry. He's waited ten years for me. No matter how angry he gets, he'll never actually call off the wedding. "If my family hadn't pressured me so much, I wouldn't have agreed to marry him this easily. "Ryan's biggest wish has always been to marry me, and that's not going to happen now. So turning back to see him off for part of the journey is the least I can do. It's a small way of making up for all those years he spent chasing after me." When the matching wedding bands slip from my hand and disappear beneath the seat, I let out a bitter laugh. So much for finally getting our happy ending after all those years of hardship. Apparently, that is only wishful thinking on my part. I pull out my phone, open my messaging app, and send a woman my location. "Are you still planning to marry me? I'm waiting for you here. Come. Now."