Plot Twists Romance Short Stories & Male POV Marriage Novels

I am the most famous weather presenter in the city, yet somehow, I have never gotten a single forecast right. Over time, everyone catches on. In Haddon, the weather depends entirely on the mood of Shelly Fuller's lover. One moment, I'm on air forecasting moderate to heavy snowfall, and the next, the clouds clear and the sky turns sunny. My boss openly mocks me in front of everyone. "You used to be the station's number one presenter. Looks like you're not so useful anymore. Your wife is spending money to manipulate the weather, so what's the point of you even doing the forecast?" A colleague beside him adds, "I heard your wife's new lover hates the cold. Looks like Haddon won't be seeing snow for the next six months. At this rate, you'll be drowned in disciplinary notices." I clutch more than a dozen disciplinary notices without saying anything. Back home, I toss them at Shelly expressionlessly. "Clean up your own mess. Choose someone else to be the man of the Fuller family."

Before my mother died, she arranged a marriage for me. My bride-to-be was Rosalind Young, Kingsford's most formidable financial tycoon. Before I married her, I added three clauses to the prenuptial agreement. First, no feelings. Our marriage was purely business. Second, she could live her life however she pleased, while I'd live mine. Third, I would step aside immediately if her true love ever came along. Nevertheless, I would be getting double the alimony. Rosalind was quite pleased that I knew my place. Our marriage was a peaceful one until the day a teenage girl who bore a striking resemblance to her knocked on the door of our mansion and calmly said, "Sir, I'm Rosalind's daughter. She raised me elsewhere. I'm 17."

After my daughter was admitted to the ICU for liver failure, the doctor said she had at most seven days to live. My wife, Jessica Holland, grabbed my hand tightly. "Kevin, Tanya can still be saved!" The doctor handed me the organ donation consent form, but I didn't take it. Instead, I pulled out three documents and laid them in front of Jessica. "Sign these, and I'll donate." She glanced down and completely froze. The first was a divorce agreement, the second was a waiver of joint assets, and the third was a share transfer agreement. Jessica held a 12% stake in Eterspring Pharmaceutical. She earned that by building the business with me for eight years. I wanted her to transfer every single share to me. "Are you out of your mind?!" My mother rushed up and slapped me. She looked at me in disbelief. "Tanya's in there, fighting for her life, but you're using her to force your wife to divorce you without taking any assets?" I pushed the pen toward Jessica. "Once all the paperwork is done, I'll do the surgery immediately. All three documents must be signed." Jessica grabbed the divorce agreement and threw it in my face. I walked out without looking back.

After my wife, Talia Rosenthal, becomes pregnant with her mentor's son, Lucas Hawthorne's, child, she asks me for a divorce. "We can get married after the baby's born. It's just for show, so don't read too much into it." To make matters worse, our daughter, Joyce Rosenthal, takes her side. "We need to repay those who help us. Besides, that's my mom's child too. Stop making things difficult for Mom, Dad." Instead of causing a scene like everyone expects, I nod quietly, swiftly finalize the divorce, and marry Sonya Silverstein, the woman who once saved my life. In my previous life, because I adamantly refuse to get a divorce, Talia and Joyce abandon me and leave for a distant land. I become a total laughingstock and hit rock bottom. Now that I've been given a second chance at life, I calmly go through with the divorce and vanish from their lives. … Six years later, at an exclusive luxury cruise party, Talia and Joyce push through the crowd on the dance floor, grab me by the wrist, and demand, "Didn't I tell you it was just for show? Where the hell have you been all these years?" I'm caught off guard. The very next second, my mischievous son, Jeremy Jensington, runs straight into my arms. "Daddy, who are you talking to? Mommy's looking for you!"

My wife and I had kept our marriage secret for three years. Then she became a fraud-busting influencer with ten million followers, and I was the first person she exposed. On her livestream, she sobbed that I was a freeloader who beat her, bled her dry, and even forced her to entertain men over drinks for money. The internet buried me in abuse. Delivery orders I never placed and funeral wreaths piled up outside my door. Her top donor announced he was going to break my legs to get justice for her. On camera, my wife was a fragile victim. Off camera, she was texting me threats. If I did not sign the thirty-million-dollar penthouse downtown over to her, she would burn my name to the ground. She thought that owning public opinion meant owning me. What she did not know was that her top donor, the man showering her with gifts every night, was one of my security guards. And when she brought New York's richest man onto her stream, intending to expose my supposed crimes, something else happened. The richest man in New York turned toward where I was standing and called me boss.

The day my entire family attended my girlfriend's wedding to my stepbrother, I laid in the bathtub and contemplated ending my life there and then. Just as the cold blade touched my wrist, my phone suddenly began ringing nonstop. It was a scheduled call my late mother had left for me. "Happy birthday, Casper!" After a moment of silence, I climbed out of the bathtub, got dressed, and secretly left the country. In the five years I was gone, I changed my name and phone number to cut off all ties with my home country. Everyone thought I was dead. They believed I had died on the day my girlfriend married my stepbrother. For five whole years, fresh red roses had been laid at my grave every single day. Five years later, I returned home to visit my mother's grave. At the floral boutique outside the cemetery, I happened to run into my ex-girlfriend, who had come to buy red roses. After a moment of shock and awkwardness, we finally greeted each other. "It's been a long time." I smiled at her politely. She stared at me without looking away. The red roses in her hand pricked her fingers until they bled. Just as we were about to part, she suddenly asked, "Why didn't you come looking for me in the past five years?" I smiled but didn't answer. After all, we weren't a couple anymore. She had married my father's illegitimate son, and I had a three-year-old child of my own. There was no going back.

The night before my flight home, my online dating partner texted me: [Tomorrow is our first anniversary. Shall we meet in person?] The moment that message appeared, the group chat filled with rich heiresses of the city that I had secretly snuck in exploded. [Congratulations, Wren! You’re at the last stage of your plan for revenge!!] Before I realized what was going on, a photo of me in my orientation days appeared in the chat. I was 340 pounds in the photo, my facial features were all squashed together, and my entire body was swollen beyond belief. “Whoa, Wren actually dated this piggy for one whole year all to seek revenge for Sean. Wren really loves Sean so much!” The group chat started betting on whether I would kneel and beg Wren not to break up with me when I see her in person tomorrow. Wren texted everyone: [I bet five million dollars that John Jackson will kneel and apologize to Sean for my sake.] The other members of the group chat started placing their bets as well; 500,000 dollars, one million dollars, 1.5 million dollars. Sean’s profile picture appeared, and he texted: [Don't be like this. He’s my older brother, after all. Although he stole my opportunity to go overseas, I’ve gotten used to it since we were young. Don’t go overboard today, just enough to make him regretful.] Looking at all the messages expressing their heartache over Sean, I tightened my grip over my phone.