Plot Twists Romance Short Stories & Mistress Cheating Novels

For his preschool career assignment, my four-year-old son, Joey Parker, writes that he wants to be a homewrecker. When I stare at him in disbelief, he defends his choice with complete confidence. "Mommy's secretary, Mr. Sebastian Hayes, is a homewrecker, and he's living a pretty great life. "Mommy buys him fancy suits that you don't have, and she always drives him to and from work without fail." Joey tilts his head and looks at me curiously. "I hear the grown-ups calling him a homewrecker all the time. So why don't you become one, too? "Besides, they say male homewreckers are super rare. And you're so amazing, Daddy! I bet you'd be the best one ever!" My face drains of color. I stand frozen, unable to utter a single word. Years ago, one comment from my wife, Amelia Brooks, about needing someone to take care of the family for me was enough to make me quit my job and become a stay-at-home dad. For years, I've swallowed my hurt and endured one humiliation after another, all because I want our son to grow up in a complete family. I've never imagined that my patience would teach him to mistake being the other man for being loved. I'm about to respond when Joey interrupts me. "Daddy, I know you and Mommy fought today because she's going out to dinner with Mr. Hayes instead of celebrating your birthday with you. "I don't like it when you and Mommy fight. So when I grow up, I'll be a homewrecker, too. Then you won't have to fight anymore." It feels as though an invisible fist closes around my heart. Rage surges through me, making the veins in my forehead throb. But the moment I meet my son's innocent gaze, the question that has tormented me for years suddenly has an answer. "Joey, being a homewrecker is wrong. If you don't like living this way, then I'll take you somewhere new. We'll find a home of our own, one without your mommy."

Seven years into our marriage, my husband Theo ordered me an Americano, the way he always did. Except I'd just told him, again, that caffeine made me sick. The moment I opened my mouth to say something, his phone rang. He stood up and walked out without a word of explanation. Half an hour later, Lydia posted to her socials. "Thanks to a certain someone for taking time out of his insane schedule to fix my plumbing. Also, the fresh hot cocoa was incredible." The comments filled up with people gushing over her. Steam curled off the mug in the photo. It made the drink in my hand feel even colder. Lydia and Theo had grown up together. Seven years ago, within months of each other, they'd both rushed into marriage. The difference was that Lydia had married a man who hit her. Night after night, Theo would peel himself away from me and run off to defend her. Sometimes he'd fought with her husband and end up at the police station. It happened more than once. I used to think it was just his sense of justice, so I always cleaned up after him and smoothed things over. Now I could see it for what it was. He'd given so much of his attention to someone else that all I got were the leftovers, neglect and a cold shoulder. Fine. This love had already gone cold. I didn't want it anymore.

On my third wedding anniversary with Logan Archer, our housekeeper, Bianca Martinez, calls to tell us that she has to have both her legs amputated after saving Logan's grandmother from being hit by a truck. From that day on, Logan vows to take care of her. When she trembles from the excruciating pain, he shoves his arm into her mouth for her to bite on and stays by her side until she falls asleep. When she pounds her legs and berates herself for being so useless that she can't even go to the bathroom on her own, he rushes home from work, no matter how busy he is, to help her relieve herself. One day, when I tell Logan I'm pregnant, he looks at me wearily. "Get rid of it. Our main priority right now is to take good care of Bianca. We don't have time to raise a child." No matter how desperately I beg him, he still forces me to go to the hospital for an abortion. After lulling Bianca to sleep, he slips into my room and rasps out, "Honey, we owe Bee too much. Once she's all better, I'll definitely give you a child." Little does he know that, in my heart, he already belongs to my past, not my future.

For our fifth wedding anniversary, my husband, Elliott Quinn, promises me a special gift. But when the day arrives, I walk in on him tangled in bed with my best friend, Lauren Langley. Hysterical, I confront him, but Elliott answers without a trace of shame. "On our wedding night, you were fast asleep. Your dad was the one who put Lauren in my bed. We've kept it from you for five years, and Lauren has had to put up with it all this time." Then he drops another bombshell. "And your last miscarriage wasn't an accident. Jack saw how heartbroken Lauren was, so he slipped abortion pills into your drink." Shaking with rage, I scream, "Why?" Elliott pulls Lauren behind him protectively and says offhandedly, "I got bored with you. Lauren is better than you in every way. She's gentle and considerate. Even Jack prefers her. She's put up with this for five years. You should count yourself lucky." Lauren darts out from behind Elliott and grabs my hand, refusing to let go. "Sienna, I'm not trying to take your place," she says anxiously. "You'll still be Mrs. Quinn. I'll just be part of the family too. Remember when you said you wanted us to stay together forever? Well, now you've got your wish." With that, she reaches out to hug me. Trembling violently, I shove her away. The next second, a pair of small hands shoves me to the floor. Searing pain tears through my abdomen, and blood won't stop pouring from between my legs. I look up to see my son, Jack Quinn, glaring at me with pure hatred. "You're the most evil mommy in the whole world! Why don't you just die?" In an instant, my vision blanks out, and my ears start ringing. As the life inside me slips away, my heart turns completely cold. I force my lips into a bitter smile. If they all think Lauren is so much better, I'll just step back and let her have the family.

On the eve of our wedding, Trevin Hoffman's childhood sweetheart, a mercenary who had vanished for five years, was struck by a deadly love spell during a mission. When her teammates dragged her back to him, she was covered in blood, barely clinging to life. Trevin, usually calm and composed, lost control. Ignoring my protests, he locked himself in with her for the entire night. I sat outside that door, sleepless until dawn. The next morning, when I demanded an explanation in hysteria, he shielded her with his body and snapped, his mask completely gone. "I couldn't just watch Wren die. One wild night before marriage, what's so wrong with that?" At that moment, I was disillusioned. My love for him vanished in an instant.

My wife, Rosalie Maynard, gets reported to the authorities for embezzling her company's funds just to please her childhood friend, Ralph Osborne, by placing a high-stakes winning bid at an auction house. I'm the one who help clear all of her debts and receive the three-year prison sentence on her behalf. Rosalie promises me that she will cut off all ties with Ralph and stay devoted to me. But throughout my three-year sentence, she never visits me at the prison. On the day I get released from prison, I bump into Rosalie at the hospital, who has just given birth to a baby. As she plays with the newborn in the crook of her arm, she tells the others, "Vernon is about to get released from prison. The news of me giving birth must never get out. Otherwise, he'll definitely start a fight with me." I find it absolutely ironic, honestly. Not even a three-year prison sentence can make a woman, who's never been in love with me in the first place, miraculously fall for me. This time, I don't bother making a ruckus. Instead, I choose to disappear from Rosalie's world entirely.

I've been secretly dating Liam Burnett, my brother Julian Elling's childhood friend, for five years. On my 23rd birthday, Julian suddenly tells me, "Liam rented out an entire restaurant. He's proposing to the woman he's been seeing for five years. Bring your boyfriend along. We're going to help him pull off the perfect proposal!" Liam promised me that once I turned 23, we'd finally stop hiding our relationship and he'd propose to me. So I get dressed up and head to the restaurant, convinced this is finally the night I've been waiting for. But when I arrive, Liam is already down on one knee in front of another woman, sliding a ring onto her finger. Everyone erupts in cheers and starts urging them to kiss. They're just about to when Liam spots me. Panic flashes across his face, and he quickly looks away. "What are you doing here?"

Late at night on a business trip, my phone chimes with an alert from our family health app. "New weight logged: 176.8 pounds." I stare at the digits, oblivious to the hot ash falling onto the back of my hand. My wife, Jayda Cohen, is notoriously strict with herself. Her weight is locked at a steady 132 pounds. None of her friends push past 150 pounds, either. So who on earth is standing on that scale right now?

After three years of relentless pursuit, I finally won over Logan—a guy who had never shown the slightest interest in women—and he cherished me like I was his entire world. On the eve of our wedding, I accidentally overheard one of his friends teasing him, "Logan, are you really ready to step into the grave of marriage for Bella? And what about Joann? She's chased you for so many years. Don't you feel anything for her?" Logan's voice was cold. "If we hadn't grown up together, I wouldn't even want to see Joann's face. She could never compare to Bella, ever." So, I held onto dreams for our future, and I married him. Two years later, at our daughter's hundred-day celebration, Joann came to me in tears, claiming her baby had leukemia—and that only my daughter could save her baby. Logan's eyes reddened instantly, and without hesitation, he sent our daughter into the operating room to have her blood drawn. I struggled in the bodyguards' grip desperately, crying and pleading, "Logan, Lily is still so little. She can't take this. She'll die! Please, use the cord blood I stored for her. I'm begging you, let her go." He kicked me aside. "It's just a bit of blood. Joann's baby is dying, and you're still this selfish? Get out!" When the surgery was over, he tossed a divorce agreement at me. "Joann's child is mine. I have to give them both a name, and I'm taking her abroad for treatment." I stared at my silent, motionless daughter in the operating room, my heart turning to ash. "Fine." Six years later, Logan saw me in a baby store, holding the hand of my five-year-old son. Logan reached out with a pained look, trying to pick him up. "Why did you cut Lily's hair so short? She looks like a boy. What were you thinking?"

In my third year as a blind massage therapist, Henry Young took his employees on a company retreat. By sheer coincidence, he ended up booking me. When he saw me, he remained perfectly composed, so much so that even his breathing did not falter. I served him the same way I treated every other client. Then his phone rang. My hands paused for a moment as my own voice, young and girlish, came through his phone speaker. His employees immediately started teasing him. Henry simply explained in a gentle voice, “My wife recorded that when she was young and didn’t know any better.” Just as he was leaving, Henry suddenly turned around. “Anya Walt, I’ve never forgotten you. “Are you really going to keep living this hard life, with my child by your side?” I rubbed my fingertips again and again, but said nothing. It seemed he still had no idea. Back then, I kept our child and delivered the baby. But the baby was stillborn.

On the night of our engagement banquet, Mandy Sutton's boyfriend, Lenard Johnson, sends my fiancee, Sarah Lindt, a video clip of him jerking off. It also comes with a text message. "Using my hand doesn't feel good at all. I miss your tight little mouth." I want to call that jerk on the spot and cuss him out. But Sarah, who has flown into a state of panic, quickly stops me out of anger. "Are you dumb? It's obvious that Lenard has sent all of these things to the wrong person! He's my best friend's boyfriend, for crying out loud! There's nothing going on between us! Must you be so paranoid, Jonathan? "You're the one that's oozing negativity and dark thoughts, so stop assuming that everyone else is the same as you! Put that jealousy of yours away and stop embarrassing me already!" To think that Sarah is actually accusing me of being jealous and paranoid when she's the one who has cheated on me behind my back! I merely chuckle coldly before forwarding the video clip to our mutual college group chat. At the same time, I've withdrawn my sponsorship from Sarah's company. I'm quite curious, though. Without the support of a jealous, embarrassing man who has zero confidence like me, just how long can Sarah maintain her image as a strong and independent businesswoman?

The night before the Fourth of July holiday, my husband gathered the entire company for what I thought would finally be our long-awaited public announcement. Instead, his clueless assistant burst into the room wearing a wedding dress. "Cameron, I'm here to marry you." He didn't turn her down. If anything, his eyes softened with unmistakable affection as he promoted her to vice president on the spot. The entire company erupted in cheers for their love story. When my coworkers noticed me standing frozen off to the side, one of them couldn't resist reminding me. "Stephanie, you've been with Mr. Cox for nine years. You can't let a moment this special pass without saying something!" I smiled, walked onto the stage, slipped off my wedding ring, and tossed it to Poppy Campbell. "What kind of wedding doesn't come with a ring? Here, take it."

I have a secret. When I touch someone, I see the face of the person they love most. Since Natalie moved in next door when we were seven, I always saw myself in her heart. At eighteen, when she held my hand—it was me. At twenty-two, when she proposed—it was me. On our wedding night, when she kissed me—it was still me. On the morning of our third anniversary, I fixed the hem of her dress. My fingers grazed her ankle. Out of habit, I closed my eyes. This time, I saw two faces. Mine. And some guy I'd never seen before. That night, Natalie's phone lit up. [Thanks for spending today with me, Natalie.] Twenty-one years. A hundred thousand touches. And for the first time, I was wrong.

When my dad, Jake Snow, is on his deathbed, his final wish is to meet my girlfriend of eight years. I call Nancy Miller 67 times, but she doesn't bother picking up. Only after Dad passed away did she finally send a half-hearted text message. "We're in lockdown mode for the project. I can't leave now. Once things ease up, I'll definitely visit Mr. Snow." I hold Dad's hand that has gone cold. My fingers tremble as I type, "Sure." That very night, I come across a video. Nancy is clad in a red dress at a riverside restaurant overlooking the river. She is holding a cake, standing beside another man. The caption reads, "Four years after graduation, I finally get to stand beside you again. Happy birthday, Sean." Everyone is busy congratulating them in the comment section. I even recognize some of the names. Someone asks, "Are Nancy and Sean finally getting their happy ending?" I stare at the screen, my heart clenching like someone's squeezing it from the inside. Then I reply, "Yeah, I guess so. I just didn't know I was the one left out until now."

I had just returned early from a business trip abroad, eager to surprise my five-year-old son. However, as I stood at the entrance of his preschool, the sight before me froze me in place. My son was clinging to my husband's "first love," calling her "Mom." I moved forward to get my son back, but before I could do anything, she screamed, "Help! A kidnapper is trying to take this child! Let's do the right thing today! Stand up for families who've had their kids stolen!"  She egged on the bystanders, rallying them to act in the name of justice. Without a second thought, a crowd of people pummeled me right there in the street, hitting me with rocks that smashed into my face, breaking my legs with metal pipes, and ripping the clothes from my body before tying me to a streetlamp. It was only then that I realized that in the month I'd been away, my husband had moved his first love into our home, taking my place. However, did he forget? He was nothing more than a man who married into my family! I couldn’t wait to see who couldn’t live without the other!

After spending a passionate night with Emma Kemp, she lights a cigarette lazily in bed. "You really should brush up your intimate skills. You can barely hold a candle to Scott in this aspect." I feel as though my blood has turned to ice in my veins. Scott Barlow is the son of my mom's side piece. Emma continues, "When you called me to check on what I was doing, Scott was right next to me. The moment he heard your voice, he got so worked up that he kept clinging to me very tightly." Then, she turns to look at me, her lips already curling into a mean smirk. "Honestly speaking, I finally understand why your mom had cheated on your dad back then." Emma is waiting for me to kick up yet another ruckus hysterically, just as I did the first few times I found out about her affair. But I opt not to say anything. Instead, I just pick up my clothes that are strewn across the floor and put them on. Emma is stunned at first, but she soon scoffs and dials a number before putting it on loudspeaker mode. "You're wrong. I told you that Vince has learned his lesson this time." Scott's disdainful voice soon drifts out of the loudspeaker. "Fine, you win. You get to decide which position we're using in bed next time." But what Emma doesn't know is that I've never learned my lesson. On the contrary, I don't want her anymore.

The day before my period, I found a note on my fiancé's phone. [Her period starts tomorrow. I already packed pads and painkillers in her bag.] I smiled. It was such a small thing, but it felt thoughtful. The next day, a dull ache twisted in my lower stomach. Pale and uncomfortable, I dug through my crossbody bag. Nothing. Dark red blood stained my pants. Students pointed behind me and whispered with awkward laughs. I figured he'd just forgotten at the last minute. Then the new intern teacher posted on social media. [Just started working, and my supervising teacher is literally the sweetest! He even got me pads and painkillers. This period has been pain-free!] The photo showed a pack of pads, an ibuprofen tablet, and a mug of ginger tea. The painkillers were mine—the ones I'd kept stocked at home for years because of my cramps. The pads were the only brand my skin could tolerate. I turned off my phone and stared at the engagement ring on my finger for a long time. Then I stood up and headed to the principal's office to apply for the overseas teacher exchange program. Seven years. He still couldn't remember my cycle. And now, he never would have to.

My boyfriend pulled in two million a year. He told me that once he'd banked five hundred thousand, he'd invest in my gallery. Year one, he said the startup was bleeding money; he hadn't saved a cent. Year two, he needed a new car to keep up appearances; no funds for me. By year five, he was on his private yacht brokering a major deal and told me not to bother him. I stood outside the cabin door and listened to the laughter rolling out from inside. "If Celeste wanted to open a gallery, Eth would write her a million-dollar check without blinking." "Hell yeah. If Celeste hadn't gone abroad back then, that knockoff he's got now wouldn't even be in the picture." Ethan's voice drifted through the crack in the door, lazy, dismissive. "Enough. Emily's been with me five years. I'll still put something in for her." "She's a free drafting machine. She's not worth five hundred grand. One day's revenue at the firm, maybe. Call it round. Two thousand bucks." My eyes burned. I pulled out my phone and called the one man Ethan hated most in all of New York, Adrian Sterling. "Mr. Sterling. That partnership agreement you offered me? I'm signing it first thing tomorrow morning."

During a thunderstorm on the border, my fiancee, Eleanor Ashby, covers my retreat and falls down a cliff. The search and rescue team spends three months searching through flash floods without finding a trace of her. Everyone concludes she's dead. I refuse to give up and spend another two years looking for her. Eventually, I find her at a small clinic in a remote mountain village. But she's become the wife of the clinic's caregiver, Dylan Foster. That's when I learn she's lost her memory and fallen in love with someone else. In my previous life, I ignore her wishes and force a renowned neurosurgeon to use a high-risk treatment to restore her memories. The day her memories return, the man who has cared for and protected her for the past two years throws himself into the river in despair. Later, during an earthquake rescue mission, Eleanor and I are trapped beneath a collapsed mountainside. There's only one narrow escape route wide enough for one person. She forcibly pushes me out. Moments later, a second collapse buries her beneath a massive boulder. With her dying breath, she reaches through a crack in the rocks and grips my hand. She says in a hoarse voice, "Callum Pierce, these ten years we've spent together is repayment for the debt I owed you from the ten years before. We're even now. Neither of us owes the other anything anymore. "If there's a next life, don't let me remember the past. Please... let me be with him." Tears blur my vision. When I open my eyes again, I'm back on the day I find Eleanor. This time, I choose to respect her decision and let go of the life she's forgotten.

On the day of our engagement party rehearsal, the wedding company suddenly calls to tell me that someone has taken over our hotel ballroom at the last minute. I rush to the hotel to sort it out, only to see my fiance's name, Clark Zimmer, on the welcome sign outside the ballroom. But I'm not the bride. Through the half-open door, I see him down on one knee, slipping a crystal slipper onto another woman's foot. Clark's mother, Darlene Foster, stands nearby. She's beaming with delight. "You two are a much better match. As for Yvonne, let her transfer the project to you first, Clark. Then we can find a reason to call off your engagement to her." Instead of storming in, I record everything on my phone and call Clark. "There's a problem with the ballroom. Can you come over and deal with it with me?" There's a brief pause before his voice turns gentle. "Babe, I'm at the hospital with Mom. She's getting some tests done, so I might not make it home tonight." I look at Darlene onstage, looking perfectly healthy as she happily greets the guests. I can't help but smile. "Alright. Take care of what you need to." I hang up and immediately call my lawyer. If Clark wants my project that badly, I'm more than happy to give him a very special gift.