Tragic Love Romance Short Stories & Mistress Cheating Novels

On the day of our wedding, my fiance's best friend, Penny Lynd, showed me a video, smiling as she said, "Hey, Lydia. I've already educated Aron for you. He's now a real stud, so enjoy!" I felt my breath leaving my lungs as they made love in the video, while Aron Quaker laughed, clapping her shoulder. "Where did you get that AI video? I only took your clothes off that one time." While he was laughing without a care, I felt like I'd just fallen into an abyss. Seeing me lose my cool, Penny laughed out loud too. "There! I knew it would upset Lydia! She's so dumb that she can't even tell that it's an AI video—and a bet's a bet! Starting today, we will be married for three days." It was only then that I understood. They made the AI video to bet if I would believe it, so that I would embarrass myself at my own wedding. And the wager was for Aron to be Penny's for three days! As the video continued, Aron turned to me, chuckling. "Don't worry. I lost the bet, but the wedding goes on as planned… Although you have to pick up your stuff from the bedroom and only come back three days later." He reached out to me, but I shook it off and took off my ring. "There's no 'later'. I'll get my stuff right now and let you guys have the wedding too. You're her husband now anyway, and you can't go without a wedding, can you?"

After finishing the buffalo wings, I casually pick up an iced beer to cut the spice. My stepsister, Zoe Cruz, tries to copy me, fanning her mouth and sticking out her tongue from the heat. But my boyfriend, Luke Nash, snatches the beer away. He pinches her cheek playfully and says, "You just ate all that greasy, spicy food, and now you're chugging ice-cold beer? Are you trying to wreck your stomach?" Then he turns his head and frowns at me with displeasure. "Same goes for you. You know Zoe has zero self-control, so why do you have to drink that right in front of her? Go outside. Come back in after you finish your beer." My grip instantly tightens around the beer bottle. Furious, Zoe wraps her arm around his neck, pretending to strangle him. "Since when do you get to boss me around? Mia, tell Luke off! Luke, I'm older than you! Watch your tongue, or I won't give Mia permission to marry you." Refusing to back down, Luke sticks his hand into her clothes to tickle her. "Mia, you tell a certain someone that if she doesn't listen to me, she'd better not call me crying in the middle of the night complaining about a stomachache again." I watch the two of them fall back into their seats, laughing. All of a sudden, everything just feels pointless.

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.

On New Year’s Eve, I was working overtime at a mall. Then, I saw my girlfriend rent out the mall’s largest digital billboard to pressure a poor student into marrying her. I was about to go over and question them when the poor student responded emotionally, “Getting confessed to in my family’s mall is so romantic and meaningful.” “Silly boy. I’ve loved you for five years. Of course, I was going to propose. So, marry me, okay?” Then, they kissed passionately amid a chorus of cheers. They even won the mall’s Best Couple award that night. I smiled bitterly and volunteered to present the award to them. I wanted to see just what would happen when trash found trash.

The day my wife, Megan Carrick, is due to give birth, her ex-husband, Ian Reynolds, calls again. This time, his excuse is an alcohol allergy. To take care of him, she ignores her labor pains and wraps a thick rope tightly around her pregnant belly to delay the delivery. By the time I arrive at the hospital, the doctor tells me our baby has suffocated to death. I light a cigarette and ask Megan for a divorce. That night, despite having just lost our baby, she drops to her knees outside our door and kneels in the pouring rain for an entire day and night. She begs for my forgiveness and swears she'll never contact Ian again. I believe her and stay. For three years, I endure a sexless marriage, just to accommodate her postpartum depression. It isn't until my birthday this year that she willingly climbs into my bed. But right at the peak of our intimacy, the custom ringtone reserved just for Ian rings out in the room. "Aiden's sick, Megan. His fever won't come down. What do I do?" Megan looks at me, torn and hesitant to speak. I look at the untouched birthday cake and the disheveled clothes, and suddenly, everything feels pointless. "If you walk out that door tonight, our marriage ends here."

I had been with Graham Sterling for four years, yet plenty of people had ridden in the passenger seat of his car. His mother. His female cousin. His female coworker. His “good friend,” Vanessa Pierce. Everyone except me. Whenever I brought it up, he always gave me the same answer. “What’s the difference? You can sit in the back. It doesn’t matter.” I counted. He had told me “it doesn’t matter” seventy-six times. My birthday didn’t matter. My graduation didn’t matter. The fact that I wanted to sit beside him didn’t matter. Until yesterday, when Vanessa came home in someone else’s passenger seat. For the first time, Graham lost his temper with me. “Couldn’t you have come downstairs sooner? If I hadn’t been waiting for you, I wouldn’t have missed something this important. I was supposed to pick up Vanessa!” I stared at his reddened, anxious eyes. So he did understand what the passenger seat meant. It only became “unimportant” when it came to me. I placed his car keys on the coffee table. “Then I won’t sit there anymore. “Front seat or back seat. I’m done with both.”

At the company’s annual dinner party, the front desk receptionist, Laila Nachtman, lost a game and had to randomly select a man to kiss as her penalty. She blushed and cautiously looked at Leonard Griffin. “Mr. Griffin, could you maybe—” Before she could finish, Leonard briefly said, “Scram.” The entire room erupted in laughter and mockery at her being so ridiculously oblivious. Everyone in their circle knew that he doted on me, his wife. Over the years, he had never given a second glance to anyone except me. His phone password had always been my birthday, and he reported his itinerary to me every time he traveled for work. He even kept a video call with me running while showering. Laila was foolish to throw herself at someone so untouchable. Just then, my phone rang. When I answered, the person on the other line claimed to be myself ten years in the future. She said while laughing mockingly, “Iris, the real fool here is you. That little nobody you look down on has been having an affair with Leonard for five years. “She used those pitiful tricks to steal everyone around you, leaving you with nothing and no one. “Fighting back destroyed your whole family. Leonard had you locked up in a psychiatric hospital, where you were imprisoned until your death.” When I heard the bitter laugh at the end of the line, a chill ran down my spine as my mind went blank. As I was about to hang up, that voice warned me again, saying, “Don’t believe me? Go ahead and open that private room door behind you and see for yourself.”

On Christmas Eve, I giddily wait for my husband, Hunter Gibson, to come home while nursing my eight-month pregnancy. Unexpectedly, Hunter bursts through the front door with his childhood friend, Winter Jones, in his arms. I attempt to help him out, only to get shoved to the floor instead. My belly bumps into a corner of the coffee table, causing pain to shoot up my nerves. Cold sweat soon beads on my forehead, and yet Hunter doesn't even spare me another glance. "Get out of my way! Someone drugged Winnie's drink at the bar! If I don't purge the poison out of her, she'll die!" As I shield my belly, I dig out my phone. "I'll call an ambulance for her—" But Hunter snatches my phone away before hurling it at the floor, breaking it into splinters. Then, he grabs me by the neck angrily. "Are you trying to ruin Winnie's reputation? If word gets out, how is she going to live with her head hung high?" In order to prevent me from "ruining his plan", Hunter decides to trap me on the balcony while disregarding my pleas and the fact that I'm only wearing thin pajamas. "You should take some time to cool off! Once you've finally learned your lesson, you're only permitted entry!" I can only slam my palms onto the glass door desperately with tears running down my face. There, I'm forced to watch as Hunter and Winter go at it like desperate rabbits on the carpet in the living room, with the Christmas songs serving as their ambiance. A heavy snowfall has occurred that night. At the crack of dawn the next morning, Hunter finally remembers that I exist. He calls my number, yet my phone was turned off. Furious, Hunter yells, "Where the hell did you go? Winnie's stomach is in discomfort! Get your ass back here right now and cook her some soup!" What he doesn't know is that I'm right outside the balcony door. The thing is, dead people are incapable of answering phone calls, not to mention Hunter has already broken my phone, to begin with.

My family was the wealthiest in River City, with assets worth trillions. On my eighteenth birthday, my brother, Calvin Chester, gifted me an entire jewelry production line while my parents built a private museum and named it after me. The greatest hardship I’d ever faced? Learning how to spend my inheritance. Then I met Dario Darwin. For him, I cut ties with my family and helped him build his empire from scratch. But when I was three months pregnant, he demanded I drink on behalf of his assistant, Fran Fallon, a woman “slumming it” as an intern while secretly being the heiress to another fortune. “Stop pretending,” he sneered. “You’re not like Fran, raised in pampered luxury. You’re older, so act like it and take care of your juniors!” Then, to the clients leering around the table, “My wife’s just being dramatic. She can hold her liquor. Don’t hold back—pour her another!” Amid their jeers, he left with Fran, abandoning me to a room of drunken men. Years of sacrifice, only to be humiliated. I scheduled an abortion and called him. “We’re done.” Through the phone, Fran’s simpering voice chimed in, “It’s my fault that Clea is upset… I should quit and go home to my family’s billions.” “Ignore her. She’s faking it,” Dario cooed back. On the day Dario signed the divorce papers, my parents and Calvin came to take me home. Our marriage came to an end, but his tragedy was about to begin.

I'm seven months pregnant when my husband's close female friend, Suzy Ruffalo, invited us to a beach party. The sun is blazing, so I stay tucked under a parasol, quietly scrolling through my phone. Suddenly, Suzy wanders over and swings herself onto my husband's lap. "Hurry up and put the sunscreen on me! Don't just put it on my chest this time. I don't want to wake up tomorrow with my boobs two shades lighter." For a moment, I wonder if I've heard her wrong. My husband, Ted Cohen, casually picks up the sunscreen and starts rubbing it on her chest without hesitation. "Your boobs are tiny to begin with. I'm helping you to make it fairer so that it looks bigger." Suzy slaps his shoulder in annoyance. "How's that your business? You said my bikini area was darker the previous time." The rest of the guys started whistling. When Ted rubs the sunscreen just below her navel, he subconsciously glances at me. However, Suzy grabs his hand and shoves it lower. "Don't worry, Nina. He's touched this area so many times he's immune by now. It's just sunscreen. There's no need to get jealous over this, yeah?" I snort and look away to book a time for the divorce agreement. I will not be jealous, but they're both going to be on the receiving end of my slaps.

The first time I found a necklace in my fiancé’s car, his mother called me to explain. “Wylie, you’ve got the wrong idea. Rowan didn’t do anything. I accidentally left my necklace there.” The second time, I found two movie ticket stubs. My best friend, Sandy, tagged me in our shared group chat. [Wylie, don’t overthink it. I asked Rowan to help me buy those tickets.] Then came the third time, then the fourth time. Every time, someone always stepped forward to explain things on his behalf. That was, until the ninth time. I pulled a lipstick tube from the crack between the car seats and held it up in front of him. “Whose lipstick is this?” Rowan’s hand trembled almost imperceptibly on the steering wheel before he calmly dialed a number. “There’s a lipstick in my car. Which one of you left it behind?” My younger brother and Sandy answered the call. “Rowan? So that’s where I left it! No wonder Sandy’s been looking everywhere for it. But seriously, Wylie, why are you getting suspicious again? Didn’t everyone tell you at the last gathering? If you keep making a fuss like this, maybe the two of you shouldn’t get married at all.” Sandy chimed in, “Exactly! Wylie, Rowan treats you so well. Don’t you know that? You’ve really been taking things too far lately.” After hanging up, Rowan looked at me with an innocent expression. ‘Well? Can you stop doubting me now? “This is already the ninth time, Wylie. If you pull something like this again, then maybe we should reconsider the wedding—” I smiled and cut him off. “In that case, let’s not get married. We’ll just call it off.” What Rowan did not know was that the lipstick did not belong to his mistress, or my best friend. I had bought it myself and deliberately left it in his car. It was to expose the lies everyone had been telling to cover up his affair.

On New Year's Eve, I hurry home from abroad to surprise my wife, Moira Wesley, from whom I've kept my return a secret. But when I push open the front door of our home, I'm greeted by the sound of laughter and friendly chatter. Overcome with emotions, I enter the house to see Moira with a baby in her arms as she announces sweetly, "Today, we celebrate New Year's Eve and Beatrice's one-month birthday! Happy New Year, everyone!" Upon hearing my entrance, Moira glances over her shoulder, then turns and walks toward me. She grabs the mug of hot tea on the table and splashes it at me. "Who are you? How dare you trespass into a private residence on New Year's Eve?" I try to ignore the burning pain on the left side of my face as I grab Moira's arm, hoping she'll explain herself. However, she shrugs off my grip and gives me another hard slap. "Noah, call the police! Tell them a suspicious person broke into our home and is attempting to rob us!" After that, Moira winks at me, then turns with the baby in her arms and joins an older couple. "Francine, Eric, don't worry about that. It was someone irrelevant." I stand in place, watching as the large family has fun in the house that now seems so unfamiliar, and feel a sudden wave of emptiness wash over me.

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.

I've been married to Joel Hoover for three years. But whenever we go out with my best friend, Cynthia Marsh, people assume they're the couple. At the mall, sales associates hand them the gifts meant for couples. At restaurants, servers ask if they want to take part in the couples' promotion. When we travel, strangers compliment them on what a great couple they make, then hand me a phone to take their picture. At first, it makes me uncomfortable, but Joel never corrects anyone. Cynthia always laughs it off. "Maybe we just happen to look like a couple. Don't read into it." She says it so casually that every time, I tell myself not to make a big deal out of it. Then Joel tells me he's finally taking me to meet his family at a holiday dinner. I spend three whole months getting ready. But the moment we walk in, his mother grabs Cynthia's hand, beaming. "Just look at these two. Don't they make a perfect couple?" The relatives immediately start teasing them too. "You two must kiss a lot. You're even starting to look alike!" The whole room erupts in laughter. I stand there, watching Joel. He doesn't correct anyone. He just reaches over and tucks a loose strand of Cynthia's hair behind her ear. That's when it finally hits me. Joel isn't staying quiet because he can't be bothered to explain. He just doesn't want me to be his wife.

My husband, who's a negotiation expert, allows his intern to recklessly anger some criminals. It causes me, the hostage, to suffer severe injuries in the explosion, and my right leg breaks because of it. Yet, my husband once again issues a letter of forgiveness for her. "My wife, as a reporter, ignored warnings and forced contact with the criminals to get the scoop. The main responsibility lies with her. Kimberly, being a newcomer, should not bear major fault." I don't cry or make a scene. I simply pull out a divorce agreement. However, he sneers at me. "I know you're just jealous and want me to comfort you, but don't cross the line." For the past three years, I've brought up the topic of divorce 47 times, and each time, he treats it like I'm just throwing a tantrum. But it's different this time. His name has already been signed on this divorce agreement. As long as I add my signature to it, it will take effect immediately.

I got back from a six month work trip and found my pet hamster dead. I couldn't just bury it. I wanted to preserve it, keep it whole. But when I carefully opened it up, I went still. Its lungs were pitch black. That kind of damage couldn't happen fast. It meant months of breathing toxic smoke. But my husband and I never smoked. So who'd been living in my house while I was gone?

One day, I was bringing lunch for Joshua Warren when I noticed a new flower shop that had just opened downstairs from his office. On a whim, I decided to stop by and buy a bouquet. However, when I stepped inside and asked, I learned that every flower in the shop had already been reserved. The owner gave me an apologetic smile. "I am sorry. My boyfriend hates seeing me work too hard. Every day after noon, he buys out all the flowers in my shop. He says it is a little perk for his employees." I smiled and told her, "I am jealous." However, my thoughts immediately went to Joshua. He had never been the kind of man to notice the things I did for him. He only complained that my cooking was too salty or too bland, that my plans were not thorough enough, or even that the color of our curtains needed to be changed for some carefully reasoned explanation. It was as if everything I did could only earn one response from him: criticism. I was about to leave when I happened to glance at the screensaver on the owner's phone. It was a picture of her and her boyfriend, smiling together. I knew that man's profile so well that I could have drawn the curve of his jaw with my eyes closed. It was the same man who slept beside me every night. Suddenly, I remembered how he had come home every day for the past three months with the faint scent of flowers lingering around his collar. I had always assumed the jasmine bushes outside his office were in bloom. I was wrong. It was not the flowers that had bloomed. It was his heart. I had always thought that Joshua simply did not know how to be gentle. Now I understood that his tenderness had never disappeared. He had simply given it all to someone else, leaving me with nothing but the shell of a man who always found something to criticize.

The night before my wedding day, I receive a call from my mother. She tells me that my fiance, Ivan Gerber, is in bed with another woman. Shaken and confused, I rush over to his place. When I open the door, there really is a woman I've never seen before standing there. "The wedding is off," I text Ivan immediately. At dawn, Mom arrives after rushing all the way from our hometown. She bursts into the room and pulls me into a tight hug as I sob in her arms. "It's okay," she cooed. "You still have me. I'll always be here for you." Ivan sinks to the floor in front of me, swearing he hasn't cheated. "That isn't my mistress. She's Jean's younger sister. Jean and the others came over to keep me company…" After watching the security footage, I finally breathe a sigh of relief. Ivan holds me close and tells me that today is an unlucky day for a wedding, so we should postpone it. I agree. But that night, Ivan's phone won't stop buzzing. Jean Brockwell starts the conversation. "Ivan, this is going to be your hundredth wedding ceremony. What excuse are you planning to use this time?" Mom's voice came through. "Shall I call Olivia again?" "If we use the same trick again, Olivia will get suspicious. Kaia's been gone for five years, and we can't afford any mistakes now. Think of something else." The messages on the screen make my eyes sting. "Marie, thank you. You've kept this act going for so long, all for Kaia and me." "For Kaia, anything is worth it," Mom replies with a sigh. Tears blur the screen as I read through the messages. It turns out the wedding is nothing but a ruse. I'm just a supporting character being used to lure the story's heroine back. If none of it is real, then there's no reason for me to make it real. After 99 failed attempts, I decide I'm not getting married at all.

Three years into our secret marriage, the shoe rack at home still held only three pairs of slippers. Kevin Russell's, his student's, and his friend's. The only pair missing was mine. When he handed me a new pair of disposable slippers, my voice was so flat it gave nothing away. "Where are the fleece slippers I bought?" He didn't even glance at me. "I threw them out before they came over." "Oh," I said. Swallowing the sourness in my chest, I asked as if it were an afterthought, "Did Monica come this time too?" "No." He was lying. Monica Lawrence had just sent me a message to gloat. Monica: [Honestly, you're kind of pathetic. Every time we come over, you have to pretend to be the cleaning lady and carry the trash downstairs.] Monica: [Have you ever thought that maybe it's not that he can't go public? Maybe he just doesn't want to.] I switched off my phone screen and went to the bathroom. The mirror over the sink was covered in dense handprints, like some kind of declaration of war. When I walked past Kevin, I didn't ask him why he'd lied to me. Or why the contact pinned to the top of his phone was a little m, and not me. I watched a game with him and gazed at the moon for a while. Then, with a smile, I pushed the slippers I'd found hidden in the safe across to him. "If you treasure her this much, stop hiding her away like some dirty little secret."

Melissa Mills, my wife, had allowed her lover to stay in our home for an entire week. Normally, I would've asked her to pay me for putting up with it. This time, I didn't. She must've thought I was finally learning how to be a good husband because she tossed me a check without me requesting one for the first time since… well, ever. "Nathan's moving out later. Pack his things for him. Do it, and the check is yours." That was how things had always worked between us. Every dollar Melissa gave me came at a cost. I would receive 50,000 when she wanted to parade me around as "Melissa Mills' husband." I'd be paid 100,000 to stand by and watch her flirt with Nathan Reid right in front of me. Finally, I was given 300,000 when she wanted the master bedroom for some alone time with Nathan. I'd swallowed my pride and put up with all of it because I needed her money for my mother's medical bills. However, that changed a week ago. My mother couldn't bear watching me humiliate myself for her, so she took her own life. Now, all I had left of her was nearly three pounds of ashes in an urn. There were no medical bills left to pay. So, I no longer had a reason to keep selling what remained of my dignity. Melissa knew none of this. Therefore, I wasn't really listening when she went on about Nathan moving out and told me to pack his things. Instead, I was sitting at a poker table with a few trust-fund guys, tossing another chip into the pot without even looking up. "I'm busy. If you need something, ask Nathan."