Plot Twists Romance Short Stories & Mistress Novels

The day Brianna Lindt is supposed to meet my adoptive parents, her phone stays off the entire day. Just the night before, she confidently promises that, as their future daughter-in-law, she'll win Mom and Dad over. But even after the server comes in for the sixth time to refill our drinks, I still can't reach her. A few hours later, I stumble upon a new post from Brianna's assistant, Elliot Collins. In the photo, Brianna is surrounded by shopping bags full of high-end gifts as she chats over drinks with his family. The caption reads, "My family's been hounding me to get married, so huge thanks to my boss for coming to the rescue and pretending to be my girlfriend." Brianna finally arrives at the restaurant that evening. "Michael, I'm sorry I'm late. Something urgent came up at work, and I had to deal with it." She takes my ice-cold hand in hers and soothes me in a gentle voice. "Knowing I was meeting Mr. and Mrs. Pearson today made me so nervous last night that I completely forgot to plug in my phone, so it stayed dead all day. Can you reschedule with your parents for another time, please?" We've been together for seven years, yet she can't even tell me the truth. Furthermore, the so-called work emergency is merely pretending to be Elliot's girlfriend so he can get his family off his back. Years of built-up disappointment finally spill over. I gently pull my hand away from hers, slip off my engagement ring, and say, "Let's call off the wedding. You can play his girlfriend for the rest of your life."

My wife's the captain of an ocean freighter, spending ten months of every year at sea. I've always trusted her completely, though I have one quiet habit nobody notices. Every time her ship docks for resupply, I invite the first mate's husband out for a couple of drinks. The first mate is the silent type, but her husband talks too much and can't hold his liquor. We chat about everyday life, what goes on aboard, and by the third round, he leans in close and says, "Your wife's so romantic. Last month when the ship docked in Beauhaven, she found a local craftsman to custom-make a full set of wave-patterned men's accessories. "A watch, cufflinks, tie clip, the works. She even had them sent back on the supply ship. I'm honestly jealous." I say quietly, "Really? I never got anything like that." I don't push it, and he's smart enough to change the subject. That night at home, I open the voyage ledger. On the Beauhaven supply manifest, the delivery address listed next to the accessories isn't mine. The storms at sea never end. It's time for me to get off this ship.

On my fifth birthday after getting together with Kimberly Rivers, I sit at a table filled with dishes that have gone cold, just like I have for the past few years. Much like she did last year, Kimberly promises to celebrate my birthday with me this year, but then she goes back on her word. This year, her excuse is that her childhood friend, Gregory Morales, has invited her and several of her best friends to appear in his glamor shoot. Hence, she stands me up once again and runs off to him without any hesitation. At 11:00 pm that night, Gregory uploads a photo onto his Instagram and sets it so that only I can see it. In the photo, four women in skimpy bikinis are partially kneeling around a man who stood with the unshakable confidence of truth itself. The attached caption read, "I want more than just your heart—I want your body too." I take a screenshot of the photo, then send it to the boyfriends of Kimberly's three best friends. Since they look down on me so much, they'd better hope that they won't need to come begging me on their knees in the future.

I have to go on a business trip for a week, so I get a cat-sitter to come over and feed my cat Muffin while I'm away. But on the second day, when I check the live footage from the living room surveillance camera, I see my fiancee, Kate Swanson's childhood friend Samuel Lambert enter the password for the front door and walk into the house. Then, he throws a grape into Muffin's bowl. Samuel Lambert raises an eyebrow in the direction of the surveillance camera. "Hey, Jonathan. Muffin is a smart one, isn't it? It's not touching the grape at all." Then, as I watch in horror, he unplugs the surveillance camera. I feel my heart sink, and I immediately ask the cat-sitter to head back over and check in on Muffin. Then, I call Kate and question her. "You gave Samuel the password to our house again, didn't you? Did you know he tried feeding Muffin a grape, and he even unplugged the surveillance camera in the living room?" Kate answers with thinning patience, "But Muffin is fine, isn't he? Samuel was just messing around. He doesn't mean it. Also, he has already apologized to me. He said what happened with the surveillance camera was just an accident. "Come on, you're a grown man, so stop making such a huge fuss over nothing. Samuel and I have known each other since we were in diapers. Am I not allowed to talk to him anymore after we get married? Well, I guess Samuel was right. You really are somewhat of a control freak." That's the 38th time. I've changed the password 38 times, which is also the number of times Kate has leaked the new password to Samuel. For some reason, I don't think I'll change it a 39th time.

Ever since my best friend, Aurelia Westbrook, moved in next door, my boyfriend, Xavier Whitmore, couldn’t stop complaining about her. “She’s so completely useless,” he’d scoff. “If she doesn’t know how to cook, she should just order takeout. If she can’t figure out the washing machine, she should take her clothes to the dry cleaner. Why does she have to keep bothering you all the time?” I smiled and tried to explain. “Aurelia’s family went bankrupt. Her mother had to let all the household staff go. Normally, she doesn’t know how to do these things yet.” Xavier still wasn’t convinced. He started making bets with me every single day. “I bet that woman cuts her finger trying to cook again.” “I bet she leaves the house without turning off the faucet.” “I bet she doesn’t even know how to reset a tripped breaker.” At first, I didn’t think much of it. That was until Xavier made another bet. “I bet she comes over after washing her hair to ask you to blow-dry it for her.” Sure enough, a moment later, Aurelia stood at my front door with dripping wet hair. Except Xavier grabbed the hairdryer before I could even move. “I won the bet, Arabella. Let me go give her a hand.” After that, Xavier went to “give her a hand” every single time. Xavier, who had never done a single household chore in his life, cleaned Aurelia’s air conditioner. Xavier, who had never set foot in a kitchen, simmered soup for Aurelia. He ended up spending far more time in Aurelia’s apartment than he ever spent with me. Eventually, I couldn’t hold back my temper anymore. “Xavier, you make a bet every time, and every time, you go help Aurelia. Have you ever considered that I’m actually your girlfriend?” Xavier didn’t even pause as he twisted open a bottle cap for Aurelia. “Arabella, stop being so unreasonable.” Me? Unreasonable? The next time Aurelia stepped out, I made a bet before Xavier could. “Aurelia left the faucet running. “And the stakes are: let’s break up, Xavier.”

At our engagement party, Michael walked on stage hand-in-hand with a pregnant woman. In front of all the high-society guests in the room, he called off our wedding. “Chloe is carrying my heir,” Michael declared. “I won’t let her suffer. You, you can stay as my side chick.” The crowd erupted into laughter. Michael’s friends cheered, passing cash around. “Told you!” one snickered. “That desperate loser won’t ever leave him. I won the bet!” “Everyone knows she’s a broke nobody. Without Michael, she’s nothing.” Michael handed me a black card with a smug smirk. “Be good, and I’ll still take care of you.” I looked at his arrogant face and almost laughed out loud. Yes, I gave up everything for him. I let him strip me of my pride. But five minutes ago, my lawyer called. My estranged billionaire father just died. And he left his entire fortune to me.

We're at a department dinner when Logan Gilroy tags me in the work group chat. We've been secretly dating for five years. "Everyone else already paid their share without me having to ask. Do I really have to chase you down for yours?" My best friend, Grace Hopkins, immediately posts a screenshot showing she's already paid. "Ashley, are you having money trouble or something? If you really can't afford your share, I can cover it for you." Within seconds, my coworkers start piling on. "I've never seen anyone so shameless. Mr. Gilroy actually had to call you out in the group chat just to get you to pay your share!" "If you can't afford to eat out, then don't come. She probably only showed up because she wanted an excuse to get close to Mr. Gilroy." "At least Grace knows what's appropriate. No wonder Mr. Gilroy always looks out for her." The boyfriend I've kept secret for five years is humiliating me in front of the entire department, and my best friend is right there backing him up. A new post pops up on my feed. Grace has posted a screenshot showing that Logan returned her payment. Her caption reads, "Dinner with him means I never have to split the bill." Logan likes the post almost immediately and comments, "You showed up, so there's no way I'm letting you pay." I swallow hard, my finger hovering over the screen for a long moment. Then Logan tags me in the work group chat again. "We're not close enough for me to be treating you to dinner, are we, Ms. Leith?" After a long moment, I open the shopping app and cancel the anniversary gift I ordered for him. Then I transfer him my share and post a screenshot in the group chat. Apparently, we're not that close after all. Our fifth anniversary hardly seems worth celebrating now.

During the groom's challenges at my house on my wedding day, my best friend, Lexie Powell, suddenly pulls out a coin. "Heads or tails? Guess wrong, and the wedding is off." Ignoring my attempts to stop him, my fiance, Elliot Stewart, responds with absolute confidence, "Heads." Lexie bursts into laughter and opens her hand to show the tails side of the coin. "Looks like today isn't the day after all. Party's over, everyone." The room freezes, and the air turns dead silent. Elliot fondly ruffles her hair. "A deal's a deal. No worries. We can always reschedule." Ignoring my pleading look, he scoops Lexie into his arms and walks toward the door. "I told you not to wear high heels. What if you fall?" Lexie playfully punches his chest, blushing. "Are you stupid? You pick heads every single time, and you lose every single time." This isn't his first time guessing wrong. He guessed wrong on Valentine's Day, giving our reserved candlelight dinner to Lexie and leaving me to walk home alone. He guessed wrong when meeting my parents, leaving them waiting all night while he took Lexie to a private cinema. He guessed wrong for our trip, rescheduling the flights last minute to take Lexie on a romantic getaway to an island instead. Even at our wedding, they have to play their coin-tossing game without a care for anyone else. The coin rolls over to my feet. Only then do I finally see that both sides are tails. I clench my fists. I'm done with a relationship that's rigged for me to lose.

Everyone in the canal town knows that during the Flowerboat Festival, a man who chooses his beloved's boat can marry her right there on board. In the first year, I built a flower boat, but my boyfriend, Julian Lowe, chose the black-canopied boat next to mine without hesitation. The year after, I carved my favorite gardenias into the hull, only to wait in vain for him until the docks had completely cleared. In the third year, I built a small covered riverboat, close enough that he could easily recognize me through the window. Six years passed, yet every single year, Julian chose my stepsister Mia Clark's black-canopied boat. Each year, he gazed at me tenderly and promised that he'd make sure he'd get on the right boat next year. So, on the night before the seventh Flowerboat Festival, I take my boat's blueprints to Julian's place, hoping to give him a hint about which boat is mine. Instead, I hear his close friend teasing him loudly in the courtyard. "Are you really going to pretend you accidentally chose Mia's boat again this year? Aren't you afraid someone else will choose Susan's and marry her?" Julian gives a derisive scoff, his tone unbothered. "Who would want to marry someone like Susan Clark? If she realizes the man who boarded her boat isn't me, she'll probably be so mad she'll knock him straight into the water with her oar. "Besides…" Julian sighs. "I can't be with Mia anymore. The least I can do is go through the ceremony with her." Whenever he talks about Mia, his eyes soften with an affection I've never once seen directed at me. I look down at my hand, scarred from months of building the boat, and let out a bitter laugh. What Julian doesn't know is that in the canal town, choosing the same woman's boat seven times is considered a match blessed by fate. Once the marriage is entered into the clan register, there is no turning back. I don't cry or make a scene. I simply go home in silence. Then I dial a number I haven't called in years and say quietly, "I'll accept your marriage proposal."

The day the company is exposed for accounting fraud, my wife, Megan Grant, immediately holds a press conference to protect Liam Johnson. She shifts all the blame onto me, publicly declaring that I will be punished by the law. Liam puts on an act of heartbreak, saying, "Flynn, I warned you a long time ago that you can't just take the company's money. Why didn't you listen?" My coworkers stare at me in disbelief, expecting me to defend myself. Instead, I smile, take responsibility for everything, and resign. Megan thinks I've finally come to my senses and quietly promises me, "Once this blows over, I'll find a way to get your position back. I'll also tell everyone about our marriage. Consider it my way of making it up to you." However, there's one thing she doesn't know. In order to protect the company's interests, the chairman ordered me to install monitoring software on all the company's computers on the day we opened our doors. Once he retrieves those system logs, their lies will fall apart! When the truth comes to light, they won't just be facing massive financial fines; they'll be facing prison time too!

The night my girlfriend, Lesley Cohen—whom I've financially supported for years—officially announces her relationship with Archie Gould, the System determines that I have failed my mission and strips me of my "saint's heart". From that moment on, I stop caring about her future and focus entirely on my career, eventually landing a spot among the Fortune 500. However, once I withdraw all financial support, Lesley confronts me with tearful eyes. "You always said that loving someone means giving them everything they want or need without asking for anything in return!" I'm baffled. She is the one who finds my money filthy, so why is she suddenly being so calculating about it now?

The day before our wedding, my fiance, Brandon Foster, and his girl bestie pulled out their wedding certificate at the casino. Brandon shrugged as he said, "It's just a joke—we'll be divorced tomorrow, and everyone knows that Wanda and I are strictly platonic." Wanda Stiles, however, was smiling provokingly. "Come on—they say marriage is sacred, so you guys can quit gawking already and hand us our wedding presents!" Everyone around the table laughed, with someone saying, "Alright! I own a business in the West End, and you can have it for your wedding… if you beat me at the dice game. Table rules." I didn't argue and merely sat at the table, smiling faintly as I met Brandon's frown. "The dice roll decides the wedding gift, no? I'll play too."

During our beach vacation, my wife, Carla Locke, lets her guy best friend, Alex Dugan, rub sunscreen all over her. "What have you been eating lately? Feels like you've gone up a cup size." The moment I see Alex's hand lingering on Carla's chest, the drink slips from my hand and shatters on the ground. Carla gets upset and tells me off for being so insecure. "We're just messing around. Why do you always overthink everything?" Alex shoots me a challenging look. "Don't be upset, Hubert. Carla and I are just friends. Sometimes, I wish I'd been born a woman. Then, people wouldn't keep misunderstanding our relationship." Carla leans into his embrace and shakes her head as she looks at me. "I wish you'd stop being so sensitive about this. Stop trying to ruin our friendship." However, Carla and Alex don't know that I'm from another world. After completing my mission in the previous world, the system rewards me with one wish. Since they insist they're just best friends, I'll be more than happy to grant his wish to become a woman.

Yvonne Sharp, my fiancee, and I are at the city hall, intending to get our marriage certificates for the 27th time. The staff member has just called our number when Aaron Sutton, Yvonne's stepbrother, suddenly bends over and grabs his stomach. "My stomach is killing me, Yvonne…" Yvonne immediately supports him, saying, "I'll take you to the hospital right now." Aaron quickly shakes his head. "You don't have to do that. It's a very important day for you and Charlie, so I'll just tough it out, Yvonne." He keeps a tight grip on Yvonne's sleeve despite saying so. Yvonne furrows her brow and says, "You don't have to tough it out. I'll take you to the hospital this instant, Aaron." She hands me the queue ticket after saying that. I look at her and say, "It'll only take ten minutes to register our marriage. Is that too much to ask for?" Yvonne doesn't even spare me a glance. "You've already waited for this moment 26 times. What difference will one more make?" I let out a sudden chuckle after hearing how casual she sounds about it. It turns out that she has always known all along—she has just never taken my waiting seriously. "If we don't register our marriage today, there won't be a 28th time, Yvonne." Yvonne helps Aaron along. She doesn't even bother to look at me as she says, "That's enough, Charlie. I'll go take care of Aaron first." I look down at my phone and pull up the contact information of someone I haven't reached out to in a long time. "Grab your personal documents and get to the city hall within ten minutes."

My brother by blood, Eric Wilson, was having an affair. I found out about it. However, I chose not to tell his wife. Instead, I blackmailed him into buying me three luxury handbags.

My legs buckled when I was told that they'd fished the body of Christopher Quinton from the sea. My knees smashed into the gravel beneath my feet because I knew he'd have survived if he hadn't tried to save me. Three days later, I dealt with all the enemies and became the demoness of Porton's elite circle. Five years later, the pier business expanded considerably. However, I kept the scar on my arm as a memento to remind me of him. It had been five years since he died, exactly five years. I bought a bottle of herbicide in an attempt to take my own life. Then, I saw the supposedly dead Christopher proposing to my best friend, Zoe Shaw. I saw all my underlings congratulate them. I froze for a moment before charging ahead, demanding an explanation. Gus, the guy who'd worked for me for 12 years, stopped me. "Everyone knows, boss. Zoe's pregnant! Calm down!" Henry, the butler my father had left me, stopped me. "My lady, it's been a thorny path for Mr. Quinton and Zoe, and now they're getting married. You're already the head of the pier. Give them your blessing. Everyone knows how possessive you are. "They had to fake their death to keep away from you. It hasn't been easy for them either." I stared at the men who stopped me, my nails digging into my palm. It was then that I realized that my life was an utter joke. I flushed the herbicide down the toilet and sneered at Gus and Henry. "Then, you'll be holding their funerals."

My buddy, Jayden Jenkins, has come over to my place again to mooch a free meal. It is scorching hot outside, and I am sweating over the stove in the kitchen. Meanwhile, Jayden is lounging in the air-conditioned living room. After biting the tip off a strawberry, he pulls my wife, Willow Simpson, into his arms and casually pops the rest into her mouth. "Here, Willow. Help me finish it," he says with a wicked grin. "It's rare enough that this cheap bastard Caius finally buys strawberries. Now he'll complain that I wasted one if I don't finish it." I wipe the sweat from my forehead and glance toward the living room, just in time to see Willow swallow the half-eaten strawberry. The thing is, she is a serious germaphobe. We've been married for years, and even kissing me is something she rarely allows. I remember another sweltering evening. After playing basketball, I bought a Coke and offered her the half-finished cup. "Willow, you must be thirsty. Here, take a sip. It's nice and cold. It'll cool you down." She slapped the cup away and snapped, "Caius, do you have any idea how many kinds of bacteria are in saliva? Don't ever do something that disgusting again." On that crowded field, people stared at our exchange, some barely hiding their amusement. I froze, my hand still hovering near her forehead as I tried to wipe away her sweat. I knew I would never forget the humiliation I felt in that moment. But I told myself she was simply distant and hard to please. Again and again, I reminded myself not to be so sensitive and to respect her boundaries. Turns out, that wasn't the case. She can set aside her fear of germs. She just isn't willing to do it for me.

Lucien Arden took the throne. He crowned Rosalind Hartwell empress. And Evelyn Hartwell—the principal wife who had fought at his side all the way from embattled prince to emperor—was given only the rank of Imperial Consort. The day the decree came down, Silverleaf Palace was completely silent. Every servant kept their head lowered and hardly dared to breathe, afraid that Evelyn would weep, or throw things, or come apart the way any consort does when the emperor's favor leaves her. Evelyn simply accepted the decree, calmly. “I thank His Majesty for his generosity.” There was no movement in her voice and nothing in her face. Even her beautiful eyes held not the slightest trace of grief. She turned, went back into the inner rooms, and picked up her book where she had left it. As though the decree that had just stripped her of her place as his principal wife had nothing whatever to do with her.

I was the famously sickly daughter of a great general. A cold breeze could make me cough blood. Unfortunately, I also had echopraxia, which made me compulsively imitative. Whatever I saw, I copied, and nobody could stop me. When I was three, one of my father's mistresses staged a hanging to win his attention. I thought it looked interesting, looped a sash around my own neck, and copied her. By the time a maid found me, my eyes had already rolled back. The physician forced three bowls of restorative down me through the night before he got me back. When I was five, my half sister threw herself on the floor screaming for candy. I copied her and stayed unconscious for seven whole days. My father even issued one iron rule throughout the Ashford estate: No crying. No tantrums. No dying in front of me. Then, at sixteen, an imperial decree married me to Crown Prince Adrian.

When the rebellious and flamboyant Sylvia Carter returned to her home country, she discovered that her family had already married her off to someone. Her husband was Jason Porter, the head of his family, who was eight years older than her. Naturally, Sylvia was reluctant to accept it. During their first meeting, having heard that Jason was disciplined, reserved, and a clean freak, she deliberately showed up in a black, form-fitting halter dress. She even hired eight male escorts to fuss over her with refreshments. Her parents were embarrassed. Just as they were about to apologize, Jason calmly leaned forward. He held them steady with his strong hands and spoke in a deep, clear voice. "This arranged marriage has put Ms. Carter in an uncomfortable position. I should be the one apologizing to her." Sylvia froze. She slowly raised her head and met Jason's intense gaze. He had such alluring amber irises.