Plot Twists Romance Short Stories & Mistress Face Slapping Novels

Jenson Clarke lives his life like a report card. When we were dating, he used to say that anyone or anything scoring under 90 wasn't worth his time. After we get married, he grades everything I do. On our wedding anniversary, I cook a whole table of his favorite dishes. He takes a single bite and says, "89." Then he sets down his cutlery and leaves to have dinner with Aleena Walton because she has a poor appetite. For his company's anniversary gala, I try on 27 different dresses. He glances at me. "88. Not good enough to take you out." That night, he attends the gala with Aleena on his arm instead, who wears nothing more than a plain white dress. To earn a perfect score, I quit my job, earn seven certifications, and learn four foreign languages. Yet no matter how hard I try, my grade stays stuck at 89. Aleena does nothing at all, yet simply standing there makes her a hundred. "What does a 90 even look like to you?" I ask Jenson. He looks over at Aleena and says nothing. At that moment, I suddenly smile. His grading system only ever has one metric, and it isn't me. I take off my wedding ring and drop it into his wine glass. "My turn to grade you, Jenson Clarke. Your loyalty? Zero. As a husband? Zero. And as a human being? You fail."

I was with Grayson Redding when his phone lit up with a message that came out of nowhere. [I'm so much prettier now than I used to be. Want to see me?] "Another marketing text," he said. Before I could get a good look at it, he'd already tossed the phone aside and pulled me back into his arms. A month later, I saw another message from the same number. [Same place as last time?]

I had been begging my wife for weeks, and she finally agreed to come to the movie theater with our son and me to catch the latest blockbuster. My plan was to wait until the credits rolled, then hit her with the big news: I’d just been promoted to general manager of the entire multiplex. Then, right in the middle of the movie, my phone buzzed with a wave of notifications from the work group chat. [Holy crap! Hall 3 is wild right now, 4K quality!] [Are people for real right now? Doing it in a movie theater like they’re glued together?] [Seriously though, ping janitorial ASAP. That row is gonna need a deep clean.] My mind went blank. Hall 3? That was the exact theater we were sitting in. Curiosity got the better of me, and I tapped on the video file. The second the screen lit up, my whole body froze. The couple in the video was sitting right in our row. It was my wife, sitting just past our son, locked together with the guy next to her. I spun my head toward her. Her cheeks were flushed, her breathing heavy. "What the hell are you doing?!" I snapped.

I suspected my husband's young assistant had signed up for some kind of socialite training program, all so she could try to become his mistress. She didn't call him "Mr. Anderson." She called him "Cocoa" because he loved drinking mocha lattes. It was her way of making herself seem special. Whenever he assigned her work, she didn't even move. She would just throw him a flirtatious look, twist her body into some exaggerated pose, and say, "What, you need me?" with a pout. In the end, I couldn't take it anymore. I told Perry Anderson to fire her. The second I said it, Faye Dawson leaned right into his ear and whined, "I know, I messed up. Don't be mad. I'll give you a kiss and make it better, okay?" And somehow, Perry actually fell for it. He smoothed things over like it was nothing. "Honey, Faye's a socialite. That's just how she is. Try to be a little more understanding." Fine. If he wanted to protect that fake socialite and throw away the real one, then he could forget about the billion-dollar contract from my father.

Late in my pregnancy, my husband, Joshua Jaxson’s ex-wife returned.  Olivia Wylde cornered me at my doorstep and, without a word, launched into a brutal attack.  She insisted I was an intruder who had taken advantage of her absence to steal her place. I pleaded, explaining I wasn’t a mistress, but she refused to believe me.  Together with her supporters, she tore my home apart and beat me so viciously that I went into premature labor.  Blood pooled beneath me, and my consciousness began to slip, but she greeted my husband’s arrival with a radiant smile.  “Honey,” she said, “I’m back. Let’s get remarried!”

After a passionate night, my childhood sweetheart, Jack Jenner, thoughtfully prepared birth control pills for me. I held his wrist and pleaded coquettishly, "The pills are bitter. I don't want to take them. Let's just get married if I get pregnant." Jack patted my head and chuckled. "Don't be silly. Childbirth is much worse than taking pills. Besides, I'm getting engaged on Sunday. Whose child would it be if you gave birth?" I froze as he casually kissed my forehead, gently coaxing me, "My darling Ariana, pack up your things and take them with you. We can't fool around like this anymore. My fiancée asked me to be chaste." I numbly threw the things into the trash can and dialed my father's number. "I'll marry him."

After getting tormented by electrical shocks for five years, I've contracted severe brain atrophy. Once the psychiatric hospital kicks me out, I rely on the posts that are recorded in my old Facebook account in order to survive. Rosalie Vaughn, my childhood friend and former girlfriend who has sworn to torture me till I die, takes her rich fiance, Sebastian Crowe, back to the old, rundown complex. The moment she sees me curling up on the moldy couch while clutching my phone tightly, she lets out a scoff. "Oh? Now that you've escaped from the hospital, are you still waiting for some rich woman's text? Weren't you very quick and decisive when you stole my life-saving money back then? Why are you still pretending to be some devoted man?" As soon as Rosalie's voice falls, she snatches my phone from my hands. After keying in the wrong password three times in a row, she chooses to recover my password. The moment she sees the security question, her mocking expression freezes momentarily. The question shows, "Who's the only one I've loved in this life?" I blink hazily, my eyes cloudy and dull. Then, I tug at Rosalie's sleeve. "Miss, do you know who she is? I remember I used to love someone with all my heart, but I think she locked me up in a psychiatric hospital." After that, I turn around and try to scavenge the trash can for a piece of expired bread just so I can offer it to the "nice lady".

I create a fake account, add Lucas Bennett's lover, and then help her with advice and strategy. "A little drama keeps the spark alive. If you don't stir things up now and then, how else will he remember to pay attention to you?" So on my birthday, he spends an hour in the bathroom coaxing her to eat. On our fifth anniversary, Lucas sneaks off to a hotel and spends an hour tangled up with her. Lucas spends less time with me, but their relationship grows stronger. On the night of the company banquet, when Lucas is entertaining important clients, I tell her, "Lucas' girlfriend will be there too. If you don't ruin this contract, they'll be tied together forever." That evening, she picks up a glass of red wine and dumps it over my head. Lucas, who's been fawning over my dad, completely lost his composure.

Five years ago, I catch my husband, Henry Lancaster, cheating on me. He's a college professor, and the other woman is his teaching assistant, Vera Ashmore. Henry begs me not to go public, saying it'll ruin her reputation. I agree, but only if she drops out of school, leaves the city, never comes back, and signs a binding agreement. Everyone around me calls me vain, saying I care more about money than feelings. And yet Henry is willing to turn on his entire family just to protect her name. Five years later, I travel to that same city on a business trip to attend a lecture and end up finding a little boy wandering by himself. I take him to the police station so he can get in touch with his family. The officer dials the number the boy recites from memory, and a familiar voice comes through the line, "Hey, it's okay, don't be scared. Daddy's coming to get you right now." Less than half an hour later, Henry, who's supposed to be teaching classes a thousand miles away, rushes through the station doors. I'm sitting on a bench when our eyes lock, and he freezes on the spot. I smile and rise to my feet. "Henry, I had no idea you had a secret son behind my back this whole time. Looks like that spotless professor image of yours isn't going to last much longer."

“Lenny, I’m not telling you to hand over your engagement to Ava for nothing. I will make it up to you…” The familiar voice echoed in her ears, and the pain made Lena snap her eyes open. In a daze, she realized with a jolt that she had been sent back in time to exactly one month before her wedding to Henry. Her father, Chase Johnson’s earnest, pleading expression was identical to the one in her memories when he had forced her to give up her engagement. “Fine,” Lena said, her voice slightly hoarse as she abruptly cut him off. Chase could not hide the joy on his face. “Lenny, you’ve finally come to your senses!” A cold, detached look flickered in Lena’s eyes, and her lips curled into a faint, mocking smile. “I want one billion dollars–” “One billion? Have you lost your mind?” Before she could even finish her sentence, her father's face turned a deep, angry purple, the veins on his temples bulging out. Lena casually tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, taking her time to finish the rest of her sentence. “Plus, a legally binding document cutting all ties with you. We will no longer be father and daughter.”

On the day Mom's condition turned critical, I stared at the mounting hospital bill and called my husband. He didn't even hesitate. Half a million dollars appeared in my account within minutes. But when I tried to use it, the transfer was frozen — pending review. It never cleared. Not even by the time Mom was wheeled into surgery. I crouched in the hospital hallway and called him again and again. No one picked up. On the seventieth call, he finally answered. "Honey! They're starting the surgery. Mom's in so much pain right now. I'm begging you." All I got back was the flat drone of a dropped call. I waited. And waited. I waited long enough to receive Mom's death notice. I waited long enough to see what his secretary had posted: a photo of a necklace worth a fortune, wrapped around her neck. [One offhand "I like it," and Mr. Gilmer wired me half a million dollars just like that. [Guess this wild little kitten finally found the collar that fits.] Robert Gilmer finally deigned to call me back. "Accounting still needs to sign off on it. Can't your mom wait a little longer?" I looked over at my own mother, standing right there beside me outside the operating room, very much alive. And that was when it hit me. He'd thought the one dying was my mother.

I notice only two seats left in the conference room—one near the trash can, and the other next to Anthony Sharp, my secret boyfriend of three years. I'm about to walk over when Queenie White, my best friend, suddenly pulls Mia Farrell, my younger sister, over to sit next to Anthony. "You have a cold. You should sit here since the draft is weaker here, Mia." Anthony pulls out the chair for Mia, takes off his suit jacket, and offers it to her. "You should wear this." I freeze right in my tracks. Meanwhile, everyone in the work group chat goes wild over Anthony's actions. "Mr. Sharp personally pulled out a chair for Mia! He even gave her his suit jacket! That's so sweet!" "They're definitely dating! They're basically flaunting their relationship! I'm so here for this!" Anthony doesn't even spare me a single glance during the two-hour meeting, clearly trying to keep our relationship under wraps. I point out the flaws in Mia's proposal and offer suggestions, but none of them are taken seriously. Yet, when Mia coughs just once, Anthony immediately orders his assistant to turn up the AC. I suddenly realize Anthony is deliberately ignoring me. If he doesn't want to acknowledge me, then I don't want him either.

Ten years of marriage, and my wife always insisted she was asexual. She never once let me touch her. Then, during a visit to her parents—who had been pressing us about having a child—she suddenly started throwing up. She announced to everyone that the baby was mine, and told me flatly, "This child will be born as your son, whether you like it or not." So I smiled, encouraged her to keep the baby, and quietly signed the divorce papers.

I had been in a relationship with Celine Jodie for seven years, but she married her first love, Dylan Graham, a month before our wedding. One afternoon, I was checking the guest list when a screenshot popped up in the wedding planning group. The screenshot was of another group chat called 'Our Promise at 18'. There was a photo of Celine and Dylan standing at the entrance of the local county clerk's office, holding their marriage certificate, and below were people who responded with texts. Her brother, Jordan Jodie, said: [Did you manage to keep it a secret from Gabriel? Don't let him delay the wedding over this matter.] My best friend, Isaac Tatum, replied: [Don't worry, he's still waiting for Celine to come back to try on her wedding dress.] Celine's best friend, Hailey Krate, wrote: [They just want to give their youth a proper ending. It's only a temporary marriage certificate. It's not like we're actually changing the groom.] Celine said: [Let's keep this from Gabriel for now. I'll explain to him after the wedding.] I held my phone, my fingertips cold. Two seconds later, the screenshot was unsent. The wedding planning group was silent for a moment. Then, Jordan casually asked how many boxes of candy I wanted to order, and Isaac urged me to try on my suit tomorrow. I stared at the screen and answered: [No need to order candy for doorgifts anymore. The groom won't be attending.]

In the fifth year of her marriage, Natalie Shaw is taken to the police for the 199th time after being mistaken for a mistress. Someone comes to bail her out. Her face is covered in scratches and blood. A chunk of her hair has been ripped out, exposing raw, bleeding skin. It's a horrifying sight. She cries from the pain. But soon, she goes numb. She sits in the chair in silence, trying to untangle her hair, which has been clumped together by thick, sticky blood. Only when a police officer hands her a document and tells her she is free to leave does she slowly lift her head. And sure enough, the person who has come to bail her out is not her husband, Adrian Carter.

It's been three years since I went against my family to be with my boyfriend, Marvin Stuart. At last, my parents have finally agreed to let me marry him. I rush back to our place at once, eager to share the news with him—only to end up overhearing his conversation with his childhood friend, Camellia Hough. "They're redeveloping the area where my family home is, and we're going to get a huge buyout payment! You can finally abandon that loser and officially be with me now," she declares. "You wouldn't have had to settle for being with her if my family hadn't gone bankrupt back then." Marvin agrees to it right away. "I'll lie to her, saying that my family is in debt, so that she'll break up with me. Let's get married right after that." I swallow down the words I'd been prepared to say and calmly enter the house. Marvin turns to me with a sorrowful expression. "My family owes a debt of five million dollars. I don't want you to have to suffer with me. Let's break up." I nod. "Sure." Soon after, I sent my parents a text. "You don't need to transfer the three buildings to Marvin anymore. Also, call off the redevelopment project on the south side of the city." Since Marvin wants to break up with me, I'll grant him his wish. As it stands, we've always been from two different worlds.

The day before the wedding, my fiancé did not show up for the rehearsal. That night, I received a few text messages from him: [Ruby is pregnant. The child isn’t mine.] [But I have to marry her first so that the baby can be registered properly.] [Let’s postpone the wedding for another three years. Don’t contact me during this time.] [Figure out how to explain it to both our families. Whatever you do, don’t damage Ruby’s reputation… Just tell everyone you don't want to get married for now.] I only replied with one word: [Okay.] I no longer wanted this marriage anyway.

For four years, I worked three jobs to support my husband, Edward Godfrey, while he chased his PhD and battled ALS. And somehow, in all that time, I'd never stepped foot on his campus. Not because I didn't want to. Every time I brought it up, he had some excuse ready. When graduation came, I asked to go to his hooding ceremony. He shut it down fast. "It's just a formality. A bunch of lab nerds. You'd be bored. Once I bring the diploma home, we'll have a candlelight dinner." I didn't argue. Just helped him straighten his doctoral gown. But I couldn't hide how excited I was. So I dressed up. And secretly followed him. Onstage, Edward stood beside his wheelchair, voice thick with emotion. "I want to thank my wife. She stood with me in the lab, even while pregnant, helping me grind out countless precious data points." I froze. My hand pressed against my flat stomach. Cold crept down my spine. For four years, I'd busted myself raw to support his PhD. I went from the girl everyone on campus admired to a fish seller, reeking like seafood every day. Worked so hard I miscarried twice. So who exactly was this "wife" he was thanking?

Seven years after registering our marriage, my husband Gaius and I finally decided to hold the romantic wedding ceremony we had missed back then. That day, I wore the wedding gown I had designed myself and walked toward him with hopeful eyes. Before I could deliver my carefully prepared vows, an incident interrupted the moment. Amid the stunned murmurs of the guests, Gaius dashed toward the woman who had fainted—again—at my wedding. His voice trembled with urgency, eyes burning red. "Call an ambulance! Now!" He didn't even look back as he left the wedding hall. When the wedding bell rang seven times, I calmly pulled off my veil. Facing the guests who had yet to disperse, I smiled and said, "As you can see, today marks the divorce ceremony between Gaius and me. Please, eat and drink to your heart's content. Don't let the trip go to waste!"

Throughout our seven-year marriage, my CEO wife, Ruby Irving, goes on yet another business trip on Memorial Day once again, so she can't travel back to my hometown with me. But soon, I saw the photos uploaded by her assistant, Wilbur Stork, on his social media feed that featured her sweeping the grave in his hometown instead. The caption writes, "Mom and Dad must be very satisfied with their daughter-in-law because the gloomy weather has cleared up in an instant." I chortle in amusement for a brief moment before liking the post calmly. Then, I comment, "I respect your relationship and wish you nothing but happiness." But my colleagues all go nuts over the latest bombshell. They are quick to form their chat groups and speculate as to how I'm going to cause my next ruckus in the company this time. Ruby soon calls me while sounding very stern. "I know Wilbur does things very brashly due to his young age, but you shouldn't have caused him trouble in the comment section! What will everyone else in the company think of him? How is Wilbur supposed to continue working in this company? "Moreover, Wilbur doesn't have anyone left in his family. What's wrong with me keeping him company just this once? People with happy families like you don't have empathy for others at all! "I want you to delete your comment and remove your like right now. Once the holidays are over, I'll free up some time in my schedule to go back to your hometown with you." As I listen to Ruby making yet another empty promise to me in such a casual way, I let out a soft chuckle. "It's fine." Once the holidays are over, we'll be able to obtain our divorce certificates.