قصص وروايات قصيرة من فئة Romance وتضم Mistress وتدور في Cheating

At the end of the year, I went to the spa and discovered a stranger had been using my VIP card. When I logged into my personal profile, the last three treatment records were not under my name. The preference section listed specific details about someone else. She was allergic to rose essential oil, preferred lavender, and her heating pad temperature could not exceed 108 degrees Fahrenheit. Her menstrual cycle fell around the 15th of each month, so no waist or abdomen treatments during that time. I stared at the screen, my palms turning cold. Only my husband, Zachary White, knew this password. At the time, he said he needed it to check the balance and renew my membership. I scrolled down and found a system note at the bottom: [Birthday treatment reserved for December 30, prepared according to Ms. Anderson's preferences.] Today was December 30. My phone vibrated. Zachary had sent a message: [Working late tonight. Won't be home.] Familiar laughter drifted from the hallway. Through the glass door, I watched Zachary walk into the adjacent room with his arm around a woman, the beautician hurrying forward to greet them. "Mr. White, we have Ms. Anderson's birthday treatment ready, just as you requested."

I stumbled across an encrypted folder on my husband's phone, filled with photos of a little girl I'd never seen before. From newborn to first steps, sorted by month—two full years' worth. But the child in those photos wasn't our daughter. When I confronted him, he said she was a girl named Rosie from the children's home I sponsored. The director sent growth updates, and he'd been saving them for me. I never imagined that my warm, thoughtful husband would use my charity to spin a lie. Because every single photo was geotagged to the apartment complex next to his office. And the children's home was on the other side of the city. I didn't call him out right then. Because I wanted to know whose child she really was.

Midway through the banquet, the clasp on Carrie Ellison's bra suddenly snapped open. I was just about to take her to the dressing room when she turned around, letting her childhood sweetheart, Gabe Allen, slip his hand inside her dress and fasten it for her. I frowned. Carrie rolled her eyes, completely unconcerned. "Why are you getting jealous over nothing? Back then, Gabe even used his teeth to undo my bra clasp. What's the big deal about him fastening it now?" That very day, news of the "perfect childhood sweethearts" shot to the top of the trending charts. After the banquet, Carrie didn't receive my apology. Instead, she received my resignation letter. In front of everyone, she splashed champagne in my face. "It's just fastening a clasp! Do you really have to nitpick and make me look bad?" I said nothing. I simply placed the divorce agreement I had just drafted in front of her.

My wife, Sandra Wren, had suggested taking our daughter, Annie, to a childcare center, saying that it would be better for our daughter. I didn't think much of it and handed her a card. I went on a business trip for half a month. Watching the daily charges on my card, I felt nothing but satisfaction. Until my best friend suddenly sent me a video. The location tag was at the childcare center. "Dude. Why is your wife staying after class for 'extra lessons'? Is it more exciting in the classroom?" In the video, Sandra's lace underwear hung around her ankles. The floor was littered with used condoms. The tables in the childcare classroom creaked noisily. I immediately called her. On the phone, I could faintly hear her suppressed yet excited breathing. She said, slightly panting, "Honey, I'm flying a kite with Annie. Did you miss us?" I let out a cold laugh. "Yes. I missed you so much, I came back overnight. Which classroom are you in? I'll bring you condoms."

At the celebration dinner, my wife lifted her glass and drank on behalf of her male assistant. I overturned the table without hesitation, then walked out and called my lawyer to draw up the divorce papers. By that night, she had already received notice. She would be leaving with nothing. She called right away, fury in her voice. "Are you serious? You're divorcing me over a single drink?" "Yes," I said. "Over that one drink." I would not tolerate betrayal. Not even a hint of it.

After I switched from a private company to a foreign enterprise, my salary rose accordingly. My husband, who was always frugal, suggested that I hand over my entire salary to him. He claimed it would be used for daily household expenses. Watching him calculate the numbers, I asked, “What about your salary?” He said casually, “I’m saving it for our retirement.” I said nothing and followed his instructions. I spent my entire salary within a month. My husband finally felt uneasy when he saw how many packages kept showing up at our home. Seeing his doubts, I happily said, “You’re the one who said to use my whole salary for household expenses.” He exclaimed, “What are we, the Rockefellers?! How can one month cost this much?” That was funny. It turned out that he knew that a normal family’s expenses would never take my entire salary.

As the end of the year approached, I begged my father, the king, for three days and three nights before he finally agreed to let me travel to the frontier and reunite with my husband. But the moment I approached the military camp, the guards stopped me. When they found out I'd come to see Liam Foster, they burst out laughing. "Another girl who came all this way because she's got a crush on General Foster! You'd better turn back. General Foster is famously devoted to his wife. Aside from her, he wouldn't give any other woman a second look." I smiled faintly and was about to pull out my royal pendant to prove that I was the very "Mrs. Foster" they were talking about, when one of the guards pointed toward a woman not far away. "See her over there? That's our general's wife. Their love story has already spread all across the camp." I froze. By the time I came back to my senses, the woman had already walked over. She was wearing bright, elegant clothes—completely out of place in a military camp. With a gentle smile, she asked, "Miss, what business do you have with my husband? He had urgent matters to attend to and left earlier. It may be a while before he returns."

One week before our wedding, my fiance, Ashton Fraser, suddenly cancels the world-tour wedding trip that I've been preparing for the past two years. Thinking that he's misclicked something, I turn on my tablet and am about to ask the wedding planner what's going on when I see the WhatsApp on the tablet syncing with the version Ashton has on his phone. That's when numerous text messages from one of Ashton's friends begin popping up. "Wait, did you seriously cancel your fiancee's world-tour wedding trip just because you wanted to fulfill Mariah's wish? You even entrusted the authority to organize your wedding to Mariah? "I'm not exaggerating when I say this wedding is practically your fiancee's life's work! Everyone knows that she went so far as to force herself to continue planning the wedding even when she relapsed from her cardiac arrest! Aren't you worried that she might not marry you at all once she finds out about this?" With a trembling finger, I tap on the notification. Ashton replies to the friend nonchalantly, "Laura has already given her life to me; why would she care about how her wedding goes? Mariah wants to try her hand at organizing a wedding. This is her dream. "Don't worry. Laura cares more about this wedding than anyone else in this world. She's even willing to cut half of her heart just for me. Clearly, she loves me to the moon and back. Even if she finds out about this matter, she will never have the heart to leave me. At most, she'll only throw a tantrum that lasts for a few days. I'll make sure to coax her properly when the time comes." I take a deep breath to suppress the irregular rate at which my heart is beating at the moment. Then, I tell another man, "Are you interested in getting married? I still need a groom for my wedding."

On the first night of our graduation trip, the class representative, Gordon Perkins, suggests that we draw lots in order to get our rooms assigned to us. "Let fate decide the pairs who get to stay in the same room as long as they have the same number, regardless of their gender! Imagine how exciting this is!" Throughout my four-year college life, Ivan Decker and I have been in a relationship for three of those years. No one knows about our relationship, though. I pull out a ball from the box and await my partner. When it's Ivan's turn, he draws out a ball with the number seven. Gordon raises his voice immediately. "The other lucky person who gets to stay in room seven is… Rebecca Benson!" Rebecca, the young woman whom Ivan has pursued in a high-profile manner in the past, goes bright red. Everyone cheers on them right away, claiming that Lady Fate really wants them to be together. But I'm the only one who stays silent. No one knows that I've heard Gordon secretly tell Ivan something before it's time to draw lots. "Look for the ball with the raised dot. I specially saved those ones for you and Rebecca." As I look at Ivan, who walks over to Rebecca and picks up her suitcase for her with a soft smile, I find myself smiling as well. It turns out that Ivan never plans on making our relationship official despite having waited for him for three years. This time, I decide to be the one who leaves first.

When I'm washing Julian White's pants, I pull out a management fee invoice from one of the pockets. Surprisingly enough, the address is the unit on the floor above my apartment. The thing is, Julian's name is put down as the apartment owner. As I clutch the invoice, I feel my blood turning into ice. Suddenly, I recall the way Julian kept telling me he had overtime shifts to pull over the past six months. Because of that, he often came home past midnight. There were a few times when I realized that his car was still parked in its designated parking slot of the apartment block despite the fact that he had already "gone out". When I asked Julian for the reason, he answered, "The gas prices are very high right now. Taking the subway is more convenient, not to mention I get to save more money for our family's expenses." I used to feel happy about the fact that Julian cared so much about our family. But now, I finally realize that his so-called overtime shifts are just excuses for him to spend time in the unit upstairs. At that moment, I hear the sounds of a key being inserted into the front door's lock. Julian is home. When he notices the invoice in my hand, he takes it from me casually. "Maybe the staff placed it in the wrong mailbox." I nod with a smile. "It's nothing. I'm going to take out the trash first." After leaving the apartment, I head upstairs right away. Once I knock on the door, the woman who came to open the door for me is heavily pregnant. It seems that she's about to give birth.

On the eve of our wedding, I find out that the wedding invitations have Travis Somerson's and his assistant, Victoria Cademere's names printed on them instead of mine. I demand an answer from Victoria, who bursts into tears and tells me that she has accidentally mistyped the bride's name as hers. Travis calls me right away. "It's just a naming mistake, Harper! Must you make such a huge deal out of such a small mistake?" He even calls me a petty and jealous woman who can't even tolerate the presence of a female employee in his vicinity. Five minutes later, Victoria uploads another social media post. Apparently, not only has she uploaded a photo of the wedding invitation, but she also adds a couple photo of her and Travis being lovey-dovey. The caption reads, "Mr. Somerson told me that even if I screw up, he'll be there to help me settle everything." If a female employee were to provoke me in the past, I'd have forced Travis to fire the former. But this time, I no longer care about him anymore.

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.

After I donated my kidney to my movie star girlfriend, she finally agreed to marry me. On our wedding day, Vanessa Laurent left only a video of herself jumping off a cliff, then disappeared. I led a desperate search and rescue at the mountain base for three days straight. Even when a falling boulder crushed my leg, I kept going. When I finally dragged myself to the scene with my last shred of strength, I found Vanessa tangled up with Mason Miller, her late sister's husband. Her usually cold expression was flushed, her thighs red and swollen. When our eyes met, she did not even flinch. "Today is my sister's death anniversary. Mason was going to kill himself to follow her, so I had no choice but to sleep with him. From now on, I'll fulfill my duties to both of you." Mason looked down at me with contempt. "You don't mind if I consummate with Vanessa first, do you? You can wait for your turn." Everyone expected me to explode, but I just smiled. "Of course." I was done with Vanessa. I would never be with her again.

For five years of marriage, Sophie Lane had always believed her husband, Daniel Hart, was just an ordinary call center operator. He was busy with work, so she learned to handle everything at home on her own. His salary was low, so she stretched every dollar as far as it could go. It wasn’t until she was hospitalized during a difficult labor and ran into Daniel accompanying his fallen comrade’s widow, Clara Bailey, that she finally learned the truth. Daniel had never been a call center operator at all; he was a commanding officer in an elite unit. To give all the privileges of a commander’s wife to his childhood sweetheart, Clara, he had hidden his identity from Sophie for five years. When Clara lost her child, and to spare her the pain, he had even made Sophie give her own baby to her. Sophie’s heart went completely cold. After recovering in the hospital, she went alone to audition for an out-of-town performing arts company. With the offer letter in hand, she petitioned the court for divorce. She was going to end this marriage built on lies. And leave Daniel forever.

Three years of marriage, and I'd become known in our social circle as the ultimate doormat. My husband staying out all night, his silent treatment, bringing his first love home to flaunt in my face—through it all, I'd smile and make him hangover soup, keeping the house spotless. Everyone thought I loved him to the point of madness. Even he believed it. Until the day of the divorce, when he begged me with tears in his eyes not to leave—and then watched "me" collapse rigid to the floor after a power outage, revealing a charging port on the back of my neck. He lost his mind. Meanwhile, the real me was lying on a beach in the Maldives, running my fingers through the hair of a gorgeous twenty-something with a six-pack, cheerfully pressing the "factory reset" button.

Lily Thornton was the underprivileged student I'd sponsored for a full ten years. From middle school through college, I covered every penny of her tuition and living expenses. I treated her like my own little sister. When she was diagnosed with a rare disease, I even begged my husband, Graham Forsythe -- Chief of Cardiothoracic Surgery -- to personally operate on her. But on the day of her college graduation ceremony. I went to her apartment early to surprise her. And found Graham pressing her into the sofa, tenderly kissing her slightly swollen belly. "Graham, if Serena finds out about our baby, do you think she'll cut off my medication?" Graham pulled her into his arms, his voice laced with that condescending patience of his. "Don't worry. Serena is the kind of woman who's so rational she's practically cold-blooded. She'd never understand the soul-deep connection we share -- two people saving each other." "But to protect my reputation as department chief, she'll fall in line." "Once I get that one-of-a-kind clinical trial slot for the new drug, I'll divorce her and give you and the baby a real home." I stood outside the door, staring at the freshly stamped Phase-I clinical trial authorization in my hand. I didn't push the door open. I didn't make a scene. I simply, with perfect calm, tore it to shreds and dropped the pieces into the trash can beside me. Graham Forsythe. You couldn't have imagined this in your wildest dreams. That clinical trial slot your entire hospital had pulled every string to secure. Its lead research scientist was none other than your wife. The one you mocked for being so rational she was cold-blooded.

Just three days after we got engaged, I stumbled across a private story posted by the girl he had grown up with. 'Too bad the boy who confessed to me ninety-nine times is marrying someone else in ten days.' In the photo, he trailed behind her through a crowded mall, his arms loaded with shopping bags, looking as if he had rehearsed the scene a hundred times. Curious, I scrolled down to read the comments. 'No way. The childhood-best-friend and first-love storyline still lost? Girl, that hurts.' 'Lost? He's getting married and still spending the whole day shopping with her. She didn't lose anything.' 'I feel bad for the bride. I'm seriously waiting for confession number one hundred to happen at the wedding, followed by a runaway groom scene.' Watching strangers bicker in the comments, I quietly pressed the like button, blending into their chaos. None of them knew that in just ten days, I would be the one stepping away from the altar. The fake-death package I'd ordered was already in motion. While my fiance and his childhood sweetheart mourned the love they claimed was out of reach, I quietly counted down the days until I could disappear for good.

Ava Lane, my wife of five years, suddenly gets addicted to yoga. Whenever she visits the yoga gym, she'll stay there for the whole day. She often does yoga to the point that she forgets all about the time. As a result, she ditches our daughter, Daisy Statham, at the kindergarten, letting her burst into loud cries out of fear. As I cradle Daisy in my arms, I decide to confront Ava angrily. But she retains a nonchalant attitude. "You were the one who told me that I should train my body because of how weak I am! So why are you scolding me for exercising?" I no longer want to tolerate Ava's behavior, so I leave a divorce agreement behind and take Daisy away. Everyone accuses me of being dramatic, saying that nothing actually happened to my daughter. Ava responds by crying about the whole thing in front of my parents. She thinks I'm completely unreasonable. "If not for the fact that Jordan, a personal trainer, doesn't like my figure, I wouldn't have started learning yoga in the first place! And yet, now he tells me that I can't go for yoga anymore! What am I, his slave? Must I obey his every order?" I just point at Ava's trembling legs while mocking in return, "I can't do anything about how devoted you are to yoga at the end of the day. Once we're divorced, you might as well spend the rest of your life in that yoga gym!"

Three years into our marriage, I finally learned from my husband. I went looking for love somewhere else. Three years ago, when his family went bankrupt, I handed him every cent I had. I nursed his dying grandfather. To support his entrepreneurial venture, I accompanied investors in drinking until I suffered stomach hemorrhages—time and time again. In the end, he honored his grandfather's dying wish and married me. Then he got blind drunk on our wedding day and walked out before the vows were finished. He said he hated me. Hated me for driving his childhood sweetheart Seraphina away. Hated me for costing him the only woman he ever loved. Our marriage was his revenge. Until the day Seraphina came home, and I slid the divorce papers across the table. The man who swore he hated me went red in the eyes, staring at the kiss mark on my throat…

Everyone knew Sienna Wolfe had many boyfriends. But I was the only one she publicly recognized as her official boyfriend, all because I was foolish enough to give her everything. Recently, Sienna had become obsessed with rock climbing. To buy her the best gear on the market, I took a part-time job at a high-paying chemical plant. I never expected that job to give me leukemia. When I got the test results, I stood outside the hospital, my hands trembling as I held the test results. I called Sienna in complete despair, telling her I was sick. Yet, all I got was her irritated voice. "Then go to the hospital. What do you want me to do? I'm not a doctor." Just before the call ended, a man's voice came through clearly from her side. "Babe, come try the new gear. I designed this especially for you. It'll fit your body perfectly."