Plot Twists Romance Short Stories & Scumbag Cheating Novels

I took my husband's suggestion and got myself a college-aged boyfriend. Only then did I understand why my husband never came home whenever he was with his college-aged girlfriend. In simple terms? It was too damn good. I let the young man stay in our house. I let him wear my husband's pajamas. I let him drink my husband's wine. I even gave him my husband's research data to help him write his thesis. I stood my husband up on a date so I could celebrate my boyfriend's 100th day with me. He responded by shoving me onto the bed, his eyes bloodshot. "Today's our third wedding anniversary, Madeline! Why do you only seem interested in spending time with him instead of me?" I stared at him in confusion. "What? You're the one who said we had an open relationship and that I could take another lover too!" I shot back. "I'm just doing exactly what you told me to!"

I had been dating my boyfriend, Julian Hayes, for four years, yet my best friend Fiona Blake still looked more like his girlfriend than I did. Whenever the three of us went furniture shopping, the sales associate would hand Julian and Fiona a catalog for couples. Whenever we went out for fondue, the server would ask if Julian and Fiona wanted a photo together. At the beach, a stranger once handed me her phone and asked, "Would you mind taking a picture of your friend and his girlfriend?" I smiled, took her phone, and raised it to take the picture. On the screen, Julian and Fiona looked every bit like a couple. Fiona always brushed it off. "We just have similar face shapes. It's a coincidence." Julian always reassured me. "It doesn't matter what anyone else thinks. You're my only girlfriend." And year after year, I believed him. By our fourth year together, I started pushing him to finally set a wedding date. He said he was too busy and promised we'd set the date the following month. But when the next month came, he had another excuse. Fiona's visa was about to expire. She wanted to stay in the United States, and the easiest way to get a green card was through marriage. I stared at him. "And so?" He was silent for a long moment before finally answering. "I'll marry her first and sponsor her application. It's only a formality. Once she gets her green card, we'll get divorced." For a moment, I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "And what about me?" He answered without hesitation. "Just give me a few years. It'll be over before you know it." A week later, Fiona posted a photo on Instagram. She held up their marriage certificate and leaned against Julian's shoulder, smiling so widely that her eyes crinkled. The caption read, "As of today, it isn't a coincidence. It's fate." I went back through years of messages. That was when I finally realized the truth. Julian had never once told anyone I was his girlfriend. Whenever strangers mistook Fiona for his girlfrien

At a gathering with friends, my boyfriend, Donovan McPherson, suggested we play a game of “I Have, Have You?” The winner would get to make one request of him. Everyone there knew I had been trying to get him to make me, Celeste Campbell, Mrs. McPherson for five years, and for as long he had not obliged. Now they all assumed he was giving me a chance. So, tacitly aligned, everyone held back to let me win. But his childhood sweetheart, Lily Kensington, would not relent. “Donovan watched the first snowfall with me. “He gave me a scarf he knitted with his own hands. “The tattoo on his wrist is my initials. “His passenger seat is permanently adjusted to fit my height.” After those four, I had only one finger up. Yet she was not done. Tilting her head, she flashed a smirk at me. “Donovan only started this game to make me happy.” My heart dropped, while my eyes darted instinctively to Donovan. He wore a doting smile, choosing to side with her, just as he had every single time over the past five years. I slowly dropped my finger down. “I lost.” In that split second, something dawned on me. There was nothing left in this relationship worth holding onto.

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.

I was doing the laundry when another pair of lace panties slipped out of my husband's pants pocket. Before I could say a word, he raised an eyebrow and handed me a plastic vase. "Go on. Smash it." He acted as though it were perfectly natural. It was the same routine every time I caught him cheating over the past seven years. I looked around, and only then did I realize what he'd done. He'd replaced every breakable thing in our home with something made of plastic or stainless steel. He was used to my hysterical outbursts by now. He thought our marriage was just like all that plastic. No matter how hard I tried, I could never break it. But this time, I calmly put the vase back where it belonged. "Let's get a divorce."

It is the ninth time I bring up marriage with Shane Yardley, my boyfriend, and he finally gives in. "You know I don't believe in marriage. Do you really need a marriage certificate just to have peace of mind? Haven't I treated you well enough over the years to prove my sincerity, Jasmine?" Shane is truly wonderful. He is gentle, caring, and wealthy. He has never once complained even though I can't bear him any children. Those around envy how lucky I am to have such a great partner. He seems ready to give me everything aside from a marriage certificate. Shane wraps his arms around me after noticing my silence and tries to sweet-talk me. "If it means that much to you, I'll go with you to register our marriage tomorrow." Yet, when the next day comes, Shane suddenly tells me he has to leave on a business trip because something came up at work and rushes off. I watch him leave without saying a word. I suddenly notice the documents he left on the desk. I can't get through to him, so I have no choice but to bring them to the hotel where he's staying. Yet, the person the front desk calls down turns out to be a young pregnant woman instead. She rests her hand on her baby bump and smiles gently. "I'm Shane Yardley's wife. And you are?" I am shaken to my core. Shane rushes over before I can answer the young woman. He immediately steps in front of her, gestures toward me, and says, "I'd like you to meet Jasmine Quinton, m-my cousin."

At our dinner gathering, my best friend, Maya Miller, leaned in with a drunken smirk. "If you find out I'm sharing someone's husband, would you still be my friend?" Before I could answer, Maya kept going. "I didn't miss our lunch yesterday because I was sick," she whispered. "He installed a floor-length mirror, just to try something new with me." She took a sip of her wine. "And that retreat last month? Fake too. His wife just had a baby, so he took me to Aspen instead." I froze in total shock. Maya Miller suddenly burst out laughing. "Oh, come on! I’m totally joking. Look at your face!" I let out a breath and laughed it off. That evening, I drove to the office to drop off files for my husband, Ethan Cross. I walked in and froze. The floor-to-ceiling window in his private office was gone. Replaced by a massive floor-length mirror. Cold sweat broke out on my neck. I turned to Ethan. "Why the mirror?" Ethan pulled me into a soft hug from behind. "The window had a small crack, sweetheart. I got the mirror so you can touch up your makeup whenever you visit." I smiled and nodded, staying silent. As soon as Ethan walked out to grab his keys, I stepped up to the glass. Near the bottom corner were two faint, rounded smudges. I measured the shape with my hands. A D-cup. Exactly Maya Miller's size. I pulled out my phone, snapped a clear picture, and dialed a contact. "Get a construction crew here tonight. I want to replace a mirror with a two-way glass." I took a deep breath. "Then call the press. Tell them Ethan Cross is holding an emergency conference downstairs on Thursday.”

After eight years of dating my boyfriend, Zachary Corington, I finally can't take it anymore and suggest breaking up. Zachary asks, "You're breaking up with me just because I drove over to find you and called your name?" "Yes," I reply. He curls his lips into a mocking smile. "Go on. What do you want this time?" I shake my head and say, "Nothing. I just want you to stop showing up before me."

In the third year of my disappearance, Xavier Gardner has transformed into a powerful capitalistic mogul whose influence runs deep in the finance industry. At the celebratory party, he goes down on one knee and proposes to his first love, Nancy Lowe. "Back when my company was on the verge of bankruptcy, you were the one who sold all of your properties and assets just to help me tide over the crisis. Today, I want you to become the happiest woman in the world. Will you marry me, Nancy?" Amid everyone's blessings, Nancy puts on the ring while feeling extremely touched. "Mr. Gardner, it was said that your ex-wife, Victoria Zahn, had stolen all of your funds and fled with her sugar daddy when your company was in a financial crisis. "Now, she's gone missing for three years. If she ever comes back, will you choose to forgive her?" The reporter's sharp question makes Xavier's expression change drastically. His gaze shifts into one of pure ice. "If I ever find that traitorous gold digger, I'll make sure to skin her alive." As I float next to the crystal chandelier, I can only sigh while noting how deep his hatred runs in his eyes. Xavier, you will never be able to find me. After all, I already died three years ago when I was on my way to clear your debt with the loan sharks. Even the money that you've used to tide over your company's crisis is the funds that I gained from selling my family's manor…

I was a wedding planner, and I personally designed my husband's wedding to his mistress. I had been with Victor for five years. Three of those years were swallowed by the pandemic. The remaining two were spent married, pregnant, and raising a child. The wedding I had always dreamed of existed only as "next time" whenever it came out of his mouth, until the day I received a new wedding planning request. The client was a young woman, her eyes curved with laughter, her smile bright and full of hope. "This is the venue my boyfriend chose himself," she said softly. "He insisted the wedding had to be held here." I took the file from her, and my gaze stopped on the venue name. The church in Clairmont. The very church I had mentioned to my husband countless times, the place I had dreamed of more than anything else. I was just about to smile and marvel at how someone in this world shared my taste so perfectly when the groom's name leapt into view. Victor Langford. My fingers froze on the page. Across from me, the girl was still wrapped in her happiness. She added gently, "We've only been together for two months, but he said he wants to give me the best wedding possible." I curved my lips into a smile and fixed my eyes on that familiar face—the man I had lived with for five years. After all this time, the day I planned Victor's wedding had finally arrived. Too bad the bride wasn't me.

At the party celebrating the multimillion-dollar deal I've landed, my husband, Nick Ferguson, is about to announce my promotion and raise, but Ruby Holm, his secretary, deliberately interrupts him by feeding him her drink. My germaphobic husband doesn't even flinch. Without thinking, he puts the straw she has just used into his mouth. The employees immediately start teasing them, asking when they're getting married. Instead of denying it, Nick promotes Ruby to department manager. A coworker nudges my elbow. "Chloe, you've been with Mr. Ferguson for ten years. You're really not going to say anything?" I let out a cold laugh and toss my equity transfer agreement to Ruby. "Mr. Ferguson, don't be so stingy. A promotion isn't enough. Take these shares too. Consider them my wedding gift to the two of you!"

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.

On my wedding day, I had just stepped onto the aisle when a ripple of laughter spread through the crowd. "Take it all off, and she's got a body on her! Look at her face, like she's enjoying it!" I turned toward the voices and saw my ex-husband's photos of me blown up across the giant screen. They kept changing, one after another, explicit and impossible to ignore. All around the room, phones were already coming up as people started taking pictures. My hands began to shake. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my mother collapse. Behind Leon Coleman, Allison Fleming slapped her thigh and raised her voice, loud enough for everyone to hear. "Oh, wow. Leon showed these to the guys yesterday, just messing around. Guess they accidentally put it on the big screen. Gemma, you're not gonna make a big deal out of it, right?" The groomsmen laughed. "Come on, Allison. Leon always lets you get away with anything. Gemma had to beg for this wedding. There's no way she'd dare complain." With all those eyes on me, Leon reached for my hand and held it, his tone easy. "Allison's one of my closest friends. We joke around like that. She didn't mean anything by it, so don't take it personally. It's just a few private photos. I'll have someone take them down. It's our wedding day, so just bear with it for now."

[Wanna do it?] I accidentally sent the message meant for my bestie to her brother, Gerald Cooper. Ten minutes later, I received his reply. [In the Maybach downstairs. Come down.] To my surprise, her brother was very well endowed too. That night, things got heated and we almost lost control. When we sobered up, he promised me that he would bear responsibility for his actions. He treated me well and doted on me, giving me anything I asked for. However, there was only one rule: I must never admit in public that I was his girlfriend. Five years later, he brought another woman home. With his arm wrapped around the woman, he told me that she was his girlfriend. I confronted him, asking, "If she's your girlfriend, then what would that make me? I waited five long years for you!" He chuckled indifferently and said something that chilled me to my bone. "Wait for me? Did I tell you to wait? Nyssa Bennett, don't ever fall in love with someone so desperately. It's terrifying." So it turned out that my love for him was nothing but trouble. From then on, I tried to live without him, let go of my feelings, and finally left him. But one week later, when I was exchanging my vows with another man, Gerald was standing there in the aisle, looking up at me with reddened eyes.

At a major press conference, my husband, Julian Winslow, is about to publicly introduce me as the love of his life when his young assistant suddenly walks onto the stage carrying a girl. "Go on, sweetheart. Daddy's calling for you." The room erupts. Reporters start firing questions about Julian's relationship with his assistant, but instead of correcting them, Julian simply takes the little girl into his arms and fastens the company's multimillion-dollar new necklace around her neck. "Yes," he says. "We have a daughter." As I stand silently in the crowd, the reporters turn their attention to me. "Ms. Aldridge, you've been with Mr. Winslow and the company for years. Surely you have something to say on such a special occasion?" I smile. Then I take the designs I spent an entire year perfecting and toss them straight into the assistant's hands. "You can have the designs too. Consider them my gift to your happy little family."

Quentin Yale gets together with me to get revenge on my mother. He grips my neck with one hand and keeps the other on my belly. Then, he snorts at Mom, who's pale. "Do you see this? Your precious daughter is pregnant with my child." I hear him laugh manically when Mom collapses. I stab myself in the belly as he watches. Then, I jump into the ocean. Later, he loses his mind. He tells everyone he comes across that I'm following him while carrying our child. When I see him at the asylum one last time, he lies on the bed and begs me not to leave.

My executive boyfriend, Marcus Winters, had always wanted the regional president seat. Then his favorite protégée, Sophie Moresby, complained that I always got the spotlight, and he deliberately sabotaged my car. The crash broke both my hands, leaving me unable to compete in the design contest that could decide the board vote. He handed my entry slot to Sophie and expected me to accept it quietly. When I confronted him, he said it was only one competition and that, as design director, I should give younger employees a chance. To prove his "fairness," he stripped me of my director title and docked six months of my pay to compensate the team. Everyone waited for me to fight back. Instead, I nodded, calm and silent. Marcus was pleased. He promised that once his promotion came through, he would restore my position and publicly announce our relationship. I smiled coldly and told him we were done. I had already submitted my resignation. What Marcus did not know was that the board and I had made a private agreement: if I won the championship and secured the decisive vote, the person I named would become regional president. I had been preparing to name him. Now he had not only replaced me with Sophie, but also encouraged her to submit a fraudulent design. Once the contest ended, the only thing waiting for him was termination, a ruined career, and a bill he could never afford.

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.

After failing the task of winning Spencer Greene’s affection, I was bound to the Perfect Partner System and became his perfect wife. When rumors spread about him and Zoey Xander, I stepped up to clear his name. When Zoey accused me, he let it slide, and I took the blame and apologized. Even when he got Zoey pregnant, I stayed quiet. I calmly handed him the divorce papers and gave Zoey the title of Mrs. Greene. But he was not pleased. He pinned me down on the bed with eyes full of anger. “Zara, I only wanted you to behave! I never wanted you to push me away. “Are you blaming me now?” I froze and stared at him in shock. “Isn’t this what you wanted?”

For five years, Cora Mitchell had been secretly married to Ethan Caldwell, yet they maintained a strictly professional superior-subordinate relationship at work. During the day, they treated each other like any other boss and secretary. At night, they couldn’t keep their hands off each other. No one knew they were husband and wife—until a video of Ethan pinning Cora against his office desk went viral. In the footage, Ethan gripped her waist with bloodshot eyes, his voice still hoarse with desire. “Cora, keep moaning. I love hearing you.” The video had barely surfaced when Cora was branded a homewrecker and dragged to the police station. One side of her face was swollen, and her clothes had been torn off, exposing bruises and marks all over her body. The people surrounding her pointed and sneered with contempt. “Have you heard? She’s a mistress! She used her position as his secretary to seduce Mr. Caldwell. She deserves whatever she gets, even if she’s beaten to death!” Cora struggled to defend herself. “I’m Ethan Caldwell’s wife, not his mistress!” A slap came out of nowhere, sending her stumbling back and nearly toppling to the ground. "Mr. Caldwell belongs with Madison Parker!"