Contos de Romance com Male POV e Romances com Cheating

The day my parents travel thousands of miles to discuss our wedding, Teresa Harper and her family have yet to show up. After my third call goes straight to voicemail, Mom smiles and reassures me. "They're probably just stuck in traffic. It's fine, your dad and I can wait." Except we wait for three hours. My parents' expressions slowly shift from bright anticipation to quiet heartache. Dad tugs at his ill-fitting blazer for the 100th time. Finally, his eyes well up, and his voice cracks as he asks, "Colin… does it really have to be her? "We're just simple country folks. We know we don't have much, and we're nothing compared to city folks. We even agreed when they asked you to be their live-in son-in-law. "I don't want to break you two up. I'm just worried. You're thousands of miles away from home out here. If things get bad down the road, your mom and I… won't be able to just rush over and comfort you." Digging my fingernails into my palms, I force a smile and help them up from their seats. "Dad, Mom, let's go home. The wedding is off."

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.

My wife has an emotional breakdown after being violated. She insists I'm the one who orchestrated it, but both our parents know her true love is the actual culprit. Still, they don't object to her insane retaliation. They even have me locked up in a prison abroad. As I'm tormented, she sells my company to help her true love get away scot-free. Ultimately, he's set free, but I die without even having a final resting place. When a judge informs her to collect my body, she sneers and says, "I've had enough of this nonsense. Does he think he can get away with a fake corpse? I won't even bat an eye if his body is flushed down the drain! He's nothing but a disgusting criminal!" Later, she realizes that I've truly died. She's delighted, but her laughter soon turns to tears as she holds my corpse.

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."

My girlfriend, Eloise Harper, sought efficiency in everything. She could barely tolerate anything she considered a waste of time. She decided that our wedding ceremony rehearsal was a waste of time and canceled it. When she found a long line forming at City Hall for marriage registration, she spun on her heel and left at once. On Valentine’s Day, I reserved a table for the two of us at a private restaurant known only to a few people. I arrived early at her company to pick her up. But I accidentally overheard her colleagues gossiping. "Have you heard? Ms. Harper deliberately took the service elevator every day to leave work with Mr. Pierce." In the elevator hall, I was shocked to find Eloise waiting at the back of the line. She was casually discussing work with her secretary, Matthew Pierce. Later, I caught up with them on the first floor. Eloise turned around and greeted me with a displeased frown. The reproach in her voice was obvious. "Andrew, we aren't even married yet. Are you really so desperate to show up here and taint my reputation?" I choked on her groundless accusation and could only shake my head in resignation. She had forbidden me from visiting her at the office, saying she wanted to avoid gossip. Today, I had not wanted to test her patience and risk having her cancel our date as usual, so I rushed all the way to her workplace to pick her up after work. Before I could explain, Matthew put on a panicked expression and chimed in. "I forgot my laptop. I need to go back to the office to pick it up." Then, he turned to Eloise and apologized, "I'm sorry, but it seems I can't drive you home today. You should go with him. No need to wait for me." She held his shoulder, her expression visibly softened. "I'll get it for you. Just get Andrew out of here now." Finally, she walked away and joined the crowd waiting for the elevator. At that moment, realization dawned on me. If she could not even be bothered to maintain our relationship, then we should end it now.

On the day of the court hearing, the judge went through the routine questioning: “You’ve only been married for three years. Has the marriage truly broken down irretrievably?” I bit my lip with a bitter smile, slipped off my wedding ring, and placed it on the table. “In our three years of marriage, we’ve lived apart for every single day. “Your Honor, do you really think there’s any love left between us?” Throughout our five years of dating, I was the one pinned at the top of her chat list. I was her emergency contact. I was even the sole beneficiary of her insurance policy. I thought I had found the right person—the love of my life. But on our wedding day, she took a phone call, and her face turned deathly pale. When I asked what was wrong, she claimed her mother was gravely ill. Dropping everything, she bought a ticket and flew back to her hometown that very day. For the next three years, she sent me daily photos of her meals, yet her mother was never in a single picture. My heart ached for her, so I offered to quit my job and move there to help care for her mother. But she declined gently, saying she couldn’t bear to let me suffer. It wasn’t until a month ago that I stumbled upon a viral vlog channel of a cancer patient. There she was—Amelia Rose Whitmore—appearing right in Austin Carter’s videos, accompanied by a heartwarming caption: “She’s there when I wake up. “She’s there for every meal. “She’s the one whose hand I hold so tightly.” What about me then? For 1,095 days and nights, I had no one but myself. She lied to me. The judge struck the gavel and asked one final question: “Have you truly made up your mind?” I gave a firm, heavy nod. When the official divorce decree was handed down, I stared at the paper as tears finally came streaming down my face. Goodbye, Amelia. I’m setting you free. And I’m setting myself free, too.

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.

I have a poor sense of direction. I can go to the same place ten times and still not know how to get there. So, Aimee Thornton spends an entire week putting all the streets around school into a hand-drawn map for me. There are no directions on the map, only places named "The Convenience Store With the Yellow Dog at the Door" and "The Old Man Who Sells Terrible Tacos". She ruffles my hair and muses, "How is this one going to survive without me?" But everything changes when our friend, Dean Sullivan, comes home from abroad. During our trip, Aimee tells me to get out of the car and check if we've skidded. My feet have just touched the ground when the car speeds off. She texts me the next second. "There's a rest area about three miles ahead. Dean and I will wait for you there. Dean has a point. You'll never get over your poor sense of direction if I don't give you a push." I end up trekking through the torrential downpour for an hour, desperate and panicking. Aimee suddenly sends me a hand-drawn map with an arrow, and she's added a cute smiley face beside it. "Follow the map, and you'll be there in 20 minutes." Alas, I walk until my calves ache, only for the road to narrow and cut off in a dead end. I call Aimee, but Dean's lighthearted laughter greets me instead. "Hey, man, congratulations on taking the wrong way! "I made a bet with Aimee that you wouldn't notice the arrow she'd drawn on the map was deliberately pointing in the opposite direction. As it turns out, I know you better than she does. "And that means I'm the only one she gets to hang out with for the rest of the trip, since having you tag along will be too much trouble." I hear Aimee's indulgent laugh going off beside him. "A bet's a bet. Whatever you say goes, Dean." The price of codependency is too much for me—so much so that I'll be lost if Aimee decides to up and leave me. I wipe my tears dry. I want to find my way alone this time.

Five years after falling into the abyss of depression, I finally felt like a human being again. I was back to talking, laughing, eating on my own, and my wife Stella Anderson and I were even expecting our second child. During our New Year's Eve family dinner, my wife’s godbrother, Lucian Smith, got trashed and started boasting through his alcohol-slurred breath. "Must’ve been five years ago." He smirked. "I was going through a brutal breakup, so I took my car out for a reckless joyride while the street cameras were down for maintenance." Lucian took a slow sip of his drink, his expression turning into a sneer. "You won't believe it. Right as I floored it, this stray cat flew right out of nowhere and slammed into my front bumper. It squealed once and bolted off into the dark." He shook his head in disgust. "Stupid animal ruined my custom wrap and scared the hell out of me. You guys better keep an eye out. Don't end up like Spencer, dragging home bad luck like a damn plague. Makes me sick just thinking about it." Lucian tossed the story out like it was nothing more than a minor, gross inconvenience. Around the table, everyone broke out in chuckles, nodding along and telling him to visit a church or grab a lucky charm so no evil spirits would haunt him. I stood there right in the middle of the noisy crowd. I looked at Lucian’s smirking face, my mother-in-law Camila Anderson's fond, doting eyes, and the tolerant, helpless smile on Stella’s face. The blood drained from my face instantly. It was as if every single one of them had forgotten. My daughter, Evelyn West, died in a hit-and-run five years ago.

My wife was diagnosed with a terminal illness, and the specialty medicine that kept her alive was expensive enough to strip my whole family down to nothing. I worked day and night on less than four hours of sleep, all of it to buy her a little more time. My father sold one of his kidneys through a black-market broker to raise the money, and died in the hospital of a postoperative infection. My mother took a job at a factory that cut every corner, breathed in toxic fumes for months, and came away with her lungs destroyed. My wife cried until she couldn't see straight and said it was her fault, that she was dragging our whole family down with her. Then, on a delivery run to Havenford's most extravagant private club, I watched her spend a fortune throwing a birthday party for someone else. "Ms. Calder really doesn't hold back. She bought out the entire club for her boyfriend's birthday. That has to be hundreds of thousands." "His actual birthday isn't until tomorrow. Tonight is just the appetizer." My dying wife lay in a strange man's arms, smiling, without a trace of illness on her. With the whole room egging them on, the two of them kissed long and deep in front of everyone. The message she'd sent me an hour earlier was still sitting on my phone. "Julian, I'll be home late. Don't forget to pick up my medicine." Vivian Calder, I'm done treating your illness.

I, Wayne Watson, grew up in an orphanage, which made me strong and calm. I never asked others for help, no matter what happened. My girlfriend, Rosetta Walter, always said she admired my independence and ability to solve problems on my own. "Men who run to others for help whenever something happens are the worst." I once believed she truly meant it. That was until the new assistant, Kevin Skyler, at her company called her for the 99th time while crying. "Ms. Walter, the light bulb at my home is broken. It's so dark, and I'm scared." "Don't cry, Kevin. I'm coming right over!" Just like that, Rosetta left without another word. Watching her hurry away, I knew our relationship was over.

After three years away on business, I finally came home. My five-year-old daughter hid behind my wife, peeking out timidly as she asked, “Mommy, who’s that man?” I stood in the doorway, still holding the princess dress and puzzle I had bought for her. My wife, Heather Whitfield, had just come out of the kitchen. She had not even had time to take off her apron. The moment she saw me, she instinctively pulled our daughter, Nicole Lowe, behind her. “Desmond, why didn’t you tell me you were coming home?” My throat tightened. “The project wrapped up early. I can stay home from now on.” Nicole peeked out from behind her mother, revealing half of her little face. “Mommy, I don’t want him. I want Daddy.”

After three years of marriage, I believed I had the perfect family. My wife, Sarah, was gentle and caring, and our son was bright and adorable. On a rare day when I finished work early, I arrived home to find Sarah asleep, slumped tiredly by the crib. My heart went out to her, and I decided to carry her to our bedroom. As I approached, Sarah's phone screen suddenly lit up. A message appeared: “Sarah, is our son asleep?"

My girlfriend, Lilith Fordson, has a lot of quirks. She creates her own marriage vouchers and tells me that she'll marry me after I collect 19 of them. She gives me one when she's happy and gives me another one when I give her a present. I get another one when she misses my birthday because of work. She gives me another one when she wakes up late and misses the chance to send me off when I leave for a business trip. I know that Lilith is ready to marry me when I eventually collect 18 marriage vouchers. I buy a bouquet of roses to surprise her with a proposal. However, when I return home, I see my best friend Declan Smith's car parked outside my apartment. Lilith and Declan are hugging in his car. They kiss each other passionately, looking as if they wanted nothing more than to be wrapped up in each other's arms forever. As I stiffly and slowly approach the car, I hear Declan say mockingly, "I feel so sorry for Theo, Lilith. He has no idea that you're actually compensating him for your betrayals every time you give him a marriage acceptance voucher. "He told me that he only needs one more voucher. You're not actually going to marry him when the time comes, are you? You're not going to just cast me aside, right?" Lilith pecks his lips and says, "Don't worry, darling. I won't give him the last voucher. I'll only settle down and marry him after I've had my fill of playing around." It turns out that every wedding acceptance voucher is actually proof of Lilith's betrayal. I turn around without any hesitation and throw the bouquet into the trash. I then grab my phone and call Mom. "I'm ready to go home, Mom. I'll marry Luna Ellis, the daughter of the mafia boss."

At my wedding reception, one of Patricia Ferguson's friends suggests a party game to liven things up. She keeps the rhythm, then points at me. "What's something you see at a wedding?" I look at Patricia beside me and point to myself, beaming. "The groom." My friend, Gordon Palmer, shoots me a knowing look before saying with a smirk, "A pathetic bed warmer." I freeze. I'm about to demand an explanation when Patricia's older sister, Amelia Ferguson, gives me a pointed look and sneers. "The side piece." As the color drains from my face, Patricia gently pats my head. "The truth is, Marvin and I got married last year. If your mother hadn't begged me to take care of you before she died, I wouldn't even be going through with this wedding. "Brad, I know how much you love me. Don't get all hung up on what you are to me." The moment Patricia finishes speaking, my half-brother, Marvin Sawyer, steps onto the stage holding a marriage certificate. Behind him, the screen lights up with an explicit video of me. It's not censored at all, and the audio is loud enough for everyone in the room to hear. Marvin says, "Bradley, your mother was the other woman, and you've followed right in her footsteps. But thanks for throwing yourself at Patricia and keeping her company in bed while I was abroad getting treatment. "All you have to do is get on your knees and beg. Then I'll make it official. I'll let you be Patricia's side piece." My friends exchange mocking glances, smiling as they watch me being humiliated. Turns out every last one of them has known about this, but they've been keeping me in the dark. Their game has reached its grand finale, and I'm the only fool in the room.

No one knows that Ingrid Steele, the CEO who's currently talking about how her company bans office romances on the podium, has begged me to do it with her eight times in a row last night. Her secretary leans in and murmurs into my ear, "I heard that our cold and aloof CEO has plans to reveal her husband's identity recently. Rumors say that she even plans on throwing him an extremely grand wedding just to make it up to him." Warmth floods my heart at that moment. It's then I decide to make the great news of me winning a billion dollars in the lottery a wedding gift for Ingrid. Our daughter, Gaby Newman, no longer has to hide anymore in life. The three of us can publicly spend time together as a family now! The next day, I put on the suit that Ingrid has given me eight years ago. Then, I enter the wedding venue. As soon as I open the door, I see Ingrid leading her first love, Hank Conley, up the stage. After they exchange rings with each other, they share a sweet kiss in front of everyone in a tight embrace. In the end, Ingrid tosses her wedding bouquet at the guests. Coincidentally, it lands right in my hands. Someone next to me gives me a light shove. "What are you waiting for? Give them your blessings already!" I just clap for the newlyweds while walking toward them. "Congratulations, you two! I hope that you can live happily ever after and that you'll have a bundle of joy soon! No, make it 108 babies, how about that?" As soon as my words fall, I turn on my heel and stride away. As expected, Ingrid doesn't chase after me. She doesn't even bother calling me nor explaining everything to me.

The OB-GYN clinic is almost closed for the day when Isaac Howard gets a male patient. He's young and handsome and looks to be in his early 20s. He seems to be a college student. Thinking he's here to start trouble, Isaac frowns. "This is the OB-GYN clinic. What's a college student doing here?" Out of breath, the young man replies, "Doctor, please wait a minute. My wife is on her way. She'll be here soon." "Is that so?" As a professional doctor, Isaac doesn't overthink it. He just asks, "So, what seems to be the problem with the pregnant patient? What's bothering her?" "We kind of went overboard this morning… Picked things up a notch. I was in class this afternoon when she suddenly texted me saying she wasn't feeling well. I was worried, so I skipped class to grab a spot for her." "What's the patient's name?" Isaac looks down to check the intake form. His fingers freeze the second his eyes hit the family section. In the patient name column, it reads, "Julia Gordon." What a coincidence. That's his wife's name, too.

Five years ago, I lost my memory in a car accident. Eira Jones had claimed she was my beloved. She saved me, cared for me, and we naturally got married. For five years, I managed every aspect of our home for her. As I tended to her every need with unwavering devotion, I was convinced I was the happiest husband in the world. But as I was about to tidy up the study, I overheard Eira and her childhood sweetheart talking. “Eira, these past five years, Vedran Clarus has been utterly devoted to you. He just hasn’t chewed your food for you! I’m getting jealous.” Eira kissed his cheek affectionately. “Silly boy, those chores are his responsibility. I’d never let you do them.” Furious, I burst through the door and accused Reed Harris of being a shameless homewrecker. But to my shock, he showed his marriage certificate to Eira. He declared that I was the third wheel in their relationship. As we shoved each other about, my head slammed into the bookshelf, and my memories returned. Apparently, I was the sole heir to the city’s wealthiest, the Grant family. I watched as Eira ranted accusations at me, and the fair-faced, pretty boy in her arms feigned hurt. I turned and dialed my childhood sweetheart’s number. “Elena Gibson, your fiance is being bullied!”

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?"

While I was with a client looking at watches at a luxury boutique, I spotted a Chanel bag sitting on the authentication counter. "You've got a great eye, sir. This bag retails for eleven thousand dollars, and the young lady who brought it in wants to let it go for under three thousand." As the sales associate opened the inner pocket, a hand-drawn dried-flower card slipped out. "May my girl never have another worry." I wasn't seeing things. It was the seventh-anniversary gift I'd given Veronica Hale, with a note in my own handwriting. The sales associate started chatting idly. "A young woman dropped it off the day before yesterday. It's already been authenticated. She said she needed cash fast to buy her younger boyfriend a car." Younger boyfriend? A car? The color drained from my face. I opened the video account of Dylan Kerr, the college intern at her company. In the video, he was holding a slender hand in the passenger seat, their fingers laced together. On the woman's wrist was a clover bracelet. The one I'd fastened there myself three years ago. Fighting back nausea, I swiped my card and bought the bag. "No need to pack the card. Just throw it out."