Cerita Pendek Plot Twists Romance & Novel Mistress Revenge

My husband’s the only son of the richest man in Ivoneu. As for me, I’m an orphan. His parents objected to us being together. When I got pregnant, they got on a plane and came to collect us in person. After that, I posted a picture I took with my husband, captioned, [I’m so thankful for you. Our life is going to be perfect from now on.] Little did I know that the rich girl my husband had been dating online would confront me.  She beat me until I had a miscarriage, then she stepped on my belly and declared viciously, “You are a nasty seductress! That makes the baby inside you a bad seed, too! Purging the baby is my contribution to society! “It’s just a fetus, anyway. I have more than enough money to get away with it!”

Shortly after our wedding, my husband, Lucas Whitmore, got into a car crash that left him paralyzed. For over forty years, I gave up everything to take care of him. However, it wasn’t until the day he passed away that I discovered the sickening truth. In his will, he left every single cent to his high school crush. I was evicted from the home I’d called mine for decades. Shaking and leaning heavily on my cane, I dragged myself to a lawyer’s office to reclaim my legal share of the estate as his widow. That was when they dropped the second bomb: he had secretly divorced me years ago. Before I could even process the shock, Lucas’ high school crush, Lily Collins, showed up to rub salt in the wound. "You really had no idea, did you?" She sneered, leaning in close. "Lucas was so worried I wouldn't be able to support myself. He didn’t just find me a high-paying job. He transferred all his money, plus every single paycheck you earned over the years, straight into my account." She continued, "Oh, and remember how he never wanted kids with you? That was because we already had a son together. Honestly, I should thank you for paying to raise our boy." Rage boiled over inside me. My pulse thundered in my ears. Before I could do anything, Lily lunged forward. She grabbed a handful of my hair, yanking my head back, and drove her sharp nails deep into my face. That night, her son hired a gang of thugs to corner me in an alley. They threw a burlap sack over my head and beat me to death, laughing while I spat up blood. Then, my eyes snapped open. I was staring at my husband. He was young again, his legs newly paralyzed, his eyes rimmed red as he stared at me with a pathetic, tragic expression. "Scarlett, the doctor said I’m never going to walk again," Lucas whined, his voice trembling, "What am I supposed to do if I can't get a job?" I quietly slid the debit card I had been about to hand him back into my pocket. A cold laugh ripped from my throat. "What are you supposed to do? I guess you can lie there and starve, and I'll throw you a real nice funeral when you're done."

On the day of my divorce, my ex-mother-in-law updates her social media with a photo. It's my husband's mistress' ultrasound—she's pregnant. Their friends and family congratulate her. Meanwhile, I share a premarital medical report. It belongs to her son, Owen Wade. It also clearly indicates he has congenital necrospermia. There's no way I'll want a man who can't have kids!

My name is Briella Goodwin. For three years after losing my memory, my mortal enemy, Ronan Cooper, and I have fought relentlessly. He snatches my project in the eastern suburbs, so I destroy his in the west. He runs me over and hospitalizes me, so I shoot him in the leg. Everyone in Velport knows we are both maniacs. That is until my men make a mistake, letting him find an opening to kidnap my father, Adam Goodwin. When I rush to the scene, his grip on Dad's hand suddenly loosens. "It all ends here!" he says. The madness that has lurked in his eyes for three years vanishes in an instant. I freeze, as if he has suddenly become a total stranger. He looks at me with a bitter smile. "I lied to you. We were never enemies... We were lovers!" My mind goes completely blank. "Back then, your father tricked mine into buying a worthless piece of land, causing him to die of a heart attack. I hated your father. I hated him even more than I loved you. "You'd just lost your memory then, so… So, I lied and said we were enemies. Only then could I vent my hatred on you with a clear conscience." My throat tightens, and my voice turns hoarse. "Wh-Why are you telling me this now?" I ask him. A soft light shimmers in his eyes. "I don't want Sera to worry about me anymore. So, I don't want revenge anymore," he says. Sera Pierson is his mistress. The blood in my veins runs cold. He gives up on me for the sake of revenge. Now, he's giving up on revenge for another woman. I laugh. Then, I pull out my gun and aim it straight at his heart.

My cousin, Erin Johnson, is passionate about testing my boyfriends. Although I keep turning her offer down, she keeps insisting on doing so for me. Once she successfully seduces a boyfriend of mine, she'll dump him instantly. Then, she'll announce in our family's group chat that said boyfriend isn't a good match for me. When Erin does the same thing once again, she doesn't realize that she's stepping into a trap I've specifically set up for her. There's no way she won't step into it.

During the year-end review, Shirley Johnson, Chris Kennedy’s childhood friend, said she wanted to take over as the project lead so she could get promoted to deputy general manager. For the sake of the company, I turned her down. Shirley, furious, quit on the spot and went to get married. Under my lead, the project brought in billions, and the company went public in one leap. Later, I married Chris. During our honeymoon, I was kidnapped and dragged into an underground compound in Morandia. I was about to call for help when I heard Chris say, "Do whatever you want with this vile woman." I desperately demanded to know why. Chris kicked me in the stomach. "If you hadn’t forced your way into the project lead position back then, Shirley wouldn’t have been pushed into that marriage! She wouldn’t have been abused to death. You owe her." When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the day Shirley demanded to be the project lead.

It's been five years since I fell ill with depression, and I'm finally myself again. I can talk, laugh freely, and I actually have an appetite. The icing on the cake is that my husband, Ian Beaumont, and I are expecting our second child. At our New Year's Eve family gathering, Ian's godsister, Gemma Waverly, gets tipsy and starts making a scene. "I think it was about five years ago. I was dumped, and I took the car out for a little joyride while the surveillance cameras were under maintenance. "Guess what? The moment I stepped on the gas, a cat abruptly flew out of nowhere and slammed right into my hood. It yowled and bolted off." A faint, disdainful smile plays on her lips. "That damn creature not only scared the hell out of me, but it also ruined my car's wrap. "You'd better be careful in the future. Don't end up like me, accidentally bringing all that bad luck down on yourself. The thought alone makes me sick!" Gemma's tone's lighthearted, as if she's recounting a trivial, unlucky memory. Everyone chuckles and chimes in, telling her she should go to a church and pray so she doesn't end up being haunted by lingering spirits. I, on the other hand, stand amid the rowdy crowd, looking at Gemma's contemptuous face, my mother-in-law, Margaret Holloway's, indulgent gaze, and Ian's resigned, helpless smile. In a heartbeat, all the color drains from my face. It's almost as if the lot of them have forgotten that my daughter, Soleil Beaumont, died in a car accident five years ago.

We were having a gathering before graduation. My girlfriend and best friend were getting congratulated by the whole class. They had gained guaranteed spots into the campus' top course's postgraduate program. I was sitting in a corner, staring at the Hertford University offer that would ensure I went straight to my doctorate. I hesitated on making a decision for three days just for my girlfriend. Howard Herbson, my best friend, turned to me. He had a look of pity and condescension in his eyes as he said, "How about your job hunt? Don't worry. Not getting into the postgrad program isn't the end of the world. The lab's requirements are ridiculous. "It's going to be near impossible for you to progress there even if you work yourself to the bone." Beatrice Shaw, my girlfriend, handed Howard a glass of water. Then, she chimed in matter-of-factly, "Yeah. Research just isn't for everyone. You should get a nine-to-five. When Howard and I are swamped with us, you can help us out and do our errands." They exchanged a smile and kept me out of their so-called intellectual circle. These two thought they were better than everyone else just because they got a spot in this campus' postgrad program. How droll. So, I went back to that offer and accepted it. These people were so vastly beneath me that it was really about time for me to stop playing their games at their level, especially when I was obviously not welcome.

At our engagement party, my fiancé’s so-called girl best friend showed up wearing a wedding dress identical to mine and stood next to him as they greeted guests. Everyone assumed she was the bride. I wasn’t angry. Instead, I calmly picked up the microphone that had fallen to the floor and tapped it twice. The next second, the LED wall lit up. The surround-sound system came alive. And every socialite in the city heard the unmistakable moans my fiancé and his “best friend” had made together on a mountain road the night before.

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.

When Jeremiah Jenner, an academician from a research lab, has bombs strapped to him by a malicious criminal, I know that I can save his life by cutting the right wire. But my husband, Callum Johnson, keeps pinning my hand down with all his might. He tells me that I should wait for his crush, Shirley Gibson, to arrive so that she can save the day for once. This was what happened in my previous life. Thanks to Shirley's mistakes, the timer's countdown decreased from ten minutes all the way down to ten seconds. I was the one who had to shove her away and cut the triggering wire based on my experience. That was how I saved Jeremiah's life. Shirley, on the other hand, was so frightened that she passed out on the spot. She became the laughingstock of the entire squad, which led to her leaving the squad due to depression. Callum didn't say a single word. Instead, he dispatched me to the border as a spy. On the day my mission was supposed to be wrapped up, Callum got in contact with me via a secretive channel. Then, he leaked my coordinates to my enemies on purpose. "Couldn't you just let Shirley play the hero for once? Since you like showing off that much, then you might as well stay as a heroine forever in this place!" The next thing I knew, I felt a bullet piercing through my chest. My enemies had me surrounded immediately before burning me alive, resulting in my death. As I breathed my last breath, I saw Callum embracing Shirley while watching me being licked hungrily by the flames from a long distance away. There was nothing but satisfaction in his eyes. When I open my eyes again, I've returned to the scene where the bombs are set to be removed. Slowly, I put down the pliers in my hand. Fine. I won't steal Shirley's thunder this time. I'd like to see how the golden couple can maintain their bombastic, passionate relationship in a place that's about to be blown apart.

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.

I left Seaport for Crellan, thinking I was about to marry Bryson. Instead, I got drugged and kidnapped on our engagement day. Barely conscious, I caught him talking to his assistant. "Doctor and kidnappers—handled?" Bryson said. "Get her kidney. Lily's out of time." The assistant wavered. "She's not in great shape. This could ruin her." That gave Bryson a flicker of guilt—but it vanished quick. "She's not fragile like Lily. She's a broke student. If her kidney didn't match, she wouldn't be living like this. That's worth it." His face stayed ice-cold. I clenched my fist so hard my nails dug in, blood pooling in my mouth. So that was true Bryson—a monster in disguise. He thought I wanted to sell my health for some empty marriage. Too bad I never wanted it.

Ronan Carmichael and I are sworn enemies in Glenworth. Everyone in high society knows it. Where he is, I'm not, and where I am, he won't be. He poaches my projects on the East End, and I cut off his funding on the West Side. He drives my assistant off a rooftop, and I destroy his lover's reputation. The reason is simple. I'm in love with his older brother, Desmond Carmichael, and he has his sights set on my younger sister, Annette Sayer. Then comes the yacht gala. Business rivals seize me and shove me to the edge of the deck, screaming that my father is going to pay for his betrayal all those years ago. But Desmond only pulls Annette behind him and tells them, "She's just an illegitimate daughter. Do whatever you want with her." The moment I plunge into the water, Ronan is the one who dives in after me and grabs my hand with everything he has. "Forget about my brother, Daphne. Lunatics like us belong in hell together." And just like that, I think he's absolutely right.

My younger sister, Natasha Carter, is three months pregnant when she is delivered to a group of rich scions, who decide to play a special game with her that involves guessing her baby's gender. Unable to escape from them, poor Natasha chooses to commit suicide after suffering from a mental breakdown. Her naked body is later on discovered lying in a puddle of her own blood. I'm enraged, to say the least. My wife, Josephine Floyd, is equally furious, too. She claims that she will seek justice on Natasha's behalf. But when her childhood friend, Jacob Keller, flaunts the fact that he's the mastermind of that game, Josephine changes her tune instantly and advises me to be more gracious. "Jacob is a playful guy. Don't take what he did to heart, yeah?" Jacob remains nonchalant as ever. "Natasha got pregnant out of wedlock, after all. Yet, she pretended to be a chaste virgin." With reddened eyes, I sock Jacob in the face. I want him to pay the price with his own life too. But Josephine responds by smashing a wine bottle into my head. Then, she tosses a luxury watch she has intended to give to the winner onto my face. "Your sister is the shameless one here, Horace! Here, this watch should be enough to compensate for your loss! "Jacob is the heir of the Keller family, you know! A broke peasant like you should learn to be grateful with what you have!" With a sneer, I smash the watch into splinters. Trust me, this watch is incapable of saving Jacob and the other scions from the wrath of the family that has sired two generations of secret agents who've been carrying out classified missions for the nation.

At our wedding, my husband, Justin Garner, pushes me—three months pregnant—toward our enemies as an apology in order to save his foster sister, Clara Garner. "This is my sincerity. You can do whatever you want with her." I don't cry or make a scene. I quietly follow the enemies away. That's because in my previous life, I had traded all my wealth for freedom and returned to Justin's side. In the end, I was forced to drink drugs and lost my unborn baby, suffering for three days and nights. "Justin, those 'enemies' were people you hired to act, and Maxine didn't even lose her innocence. Why did you have to get rid of the baby?" Clara asks. Justin coldly laughs. "If you're acting, you have to make it look real." I died full of hatred. When I wake up again, I choose to let those people take me away. Three years later, when I arrive at a banquet on the arms of my new lover, Justin goes mad, grabbing me and demanding, "Maxine Preston, where is our child?"

Before my death, I repeatedly remind my son, Clark Sinclair, what to do after I pass away. I stress that my heart must be donated to my husband, Craig Sinclair. He has suffered from dilated cardiomyopathy for 30 years. This is the last thing I can do for him. Clark shakes me off impatiently and snaps, "Enough. Stop pretending to be kind. Dad was never sick." I think I must have misheard him. "What?" He lets out a cold laugh and continues, "If you hadn't refused to divorce him all these years, why would he have needed to fake an illness just to be with Vern in secret?" My whole body trembles as I demand proof. Clark hands me a marriage certificate. On it are the names Craig and Verna Bloom, my widowed sister-in-law. The two lean against each other intimately, smiling sweetly at the camera. In an instant, rage and grief overwhelm me. The family I spend half my life building turns out to be nothing more than a complete lie. Clark continues expressionlessly, "Actually, Vern is my real mother. Your child was drowned in a bathtub long ago. Back then, Dad and Vern couldn't resist each other. She went into premature labor and nearly bled to death. She gave birth to me on the same day you gave birth. "Dad was so frightened that he developed heart palpitations. He was afraid you'd never stop causing trouble if you found out, so he pretended to be sick for 30 years." Curled up on the floor, I cough up a mouthful of blood. "Why tell me now?" Clark looks at me with eyes full of nothing but hatred. "You stole Vern's place for 30 years. And now, even on your deathbed, you want my dad to owe you a favor. Why should he?" An inexplicably bitter taste fills my mouth. In the end, I die consumed by regret. When I open my eyes again, I find myself in the delivery room next to Verna's. A wave of excruciating pain surges through my lower body.

My dormmate has dropped out of college to get married. Before that, she shares a livestream link on the college forum. She claims her husband has cheated on her, and she wants to stream how she punishes the homewrecker. She asks everyone to share the link and hype the situation up. I don't take her words to heart. To my surprise, she barges into my house with a group of people that afternoon. She trashes the place and screams bloody murder at me. It seems she thinks I'm the homewrecker. It's only from her words that I understand her rich and handsome husband is my father. Well, since she's caused such a scene, it looks like her darling is going to lose his job and leave this family without a penny to his name.

When I came home from a mission, I found that my wife had accidentally taken my military-grade truth serum. The supplements I had bought for her were still sitting untouched nearby. A thought crossed my mind. I bent down and gently hugged her. "How do you want to spend your birthday this year?" My wife answered without any hesitation, "I want to spend the whole day with Randy. I hope you disappear!" I slowly straightened up and stared at her in disbelief. "What... Do you mean?" Randy was my best friend. Whenever I was busy, I often asked him to look after things at home. My wife smiled sweetly. "Every time you go back to base, we spend the whole day in the master bedroom. It would be even better if you died on a mission. That way, I could take your death benefits and be with him." After that, she passed out. The next morning, my wife hugged me affectionately. "Honey, what kind of supplements did you buy me? I fell asleep right after drinking them, as if I blacked out or something." I calmly pushed her away. "Maybe they help with sleep. By the way, how do you want to spend your birthday this year?"

Neil Jackson's true love steals highly radioactive materials, but I'm the one who's facing a jail sentence. I find the thief, but Lorraine Larsen refuses to own up to her crimes. Even my longtime boyfriend refuses to act as a witness for me. All he wants to do is send me to jail. It's too bad they don't know I'm a researcher at the nation's secret research center. They also have no idea that they've stolen highly radioactive materials—they can easily be killed by those.