Nouvelles Scumbag Romance & Romans Cheating

I'm the most famous marriage-desperate woman in Merrowfield. But every time my fiancé, Gavin Northwood, and I try to hold a wedding, disaster strikes. The first time, his mother fell down a staircase and broke her leg. The second time, Scout, the dog Gavin had raised for eight years, died of poisoning. The third time, my mother was struck by a falling sign and critically injured. The fourth time, the fifth time... every attempt after that ended with someone close to us getting hurt. I hated that curse, and on my thirtieth birthday I dragged Gavin out to see a spiritual adviser and have it stripped off us for good. Before we left, I happened to see a group chat on his phone called "Operation: Protect Gavin and Serena." One name came straight into my head. Serena Colebrook. Gavin's first love, and my stepsister. I stared for a long time before I opened the chat with shaking hands. The pinned announcement at the top read: "Twenty-ninth successful operation preventing Gavin Northwood from marrying Maris Ellington." The members were my mother, Gavin's mother, my stepsister, Gavin himself, and my best friend, Paige Merrick. Everything came clear in an instant. My heart clenched hard, but I only opened my own phone, my face perfectly blank. It doesn't matter. Who says the man I'm desperate to marry has to be Gavin Northwood? I looked at the message that other man had sent me. "Didn't we agree that if you still weren't married at thirty, you'd marry me?" I answered calmly. "Yes. I'll be there."

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.

For the national championship final, I took time off work and flew halfway across the country to surprise my boyfriend. I'd barely settled into my seat when the girl beside me started gushing to her friend. "See his tie? I picked it out for him last night. Good taste, right? He even said I was the inspiration behind his entire Human Emotion Thesis for this tournament." Her friend gave her a knowing smile. "You actually landed Lucien Grant, the debate star. You should be thrilled." I froze. My boyfriend's name was Lucien Grant too. And the Human Emotion Thesis she claimed to have inspired? It had been born from seven years of pillow talk between Lucien and 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.

My fiancé sent me overseas and immediately burned my wallet, threw away my phone, and tore up my visa. He did it all to make sure I couldn't return home and ruin his wedding to his first love. His friends tried to warn him. "Don't go too far. What if your fiancée really gets angry?" But my fiancé didn't care at all. "She's gotten too spoiled because I've always treated her too well. I'm just teaching her to be more understanding. Besides, Yvonne and I aren't really getting married. I'm only doing this so her dying grandmother can pass away without regrets. Nothing will happen between us. Once the wedding is over, I'll make it up to Winnie." The moment his wedding ended, he rushed to find me and apologize. But he never got the chance to see me. Later, he even took my documents and planned to register our marriage first as a way to make it up to me. It seemed he truly had no idea that I had already died the night he sent me overseas.

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."

I'd known Ethan for twenty years. We'd been together for five. Everyone was certain that at the Rose Crown Gala, I would place the crown in his hands and publicly confirm our engagement, sealing the alliance between our families. But when I walked onto the stage, the person standing beside him was my adopted sister, Claire. She wore a custom white gown, my mother's missing rose diamond ring glinting on her finger. Behind them, the screen that should have displayed my name alongside Ethan's had been changed to theirs. The most laughable part? They'd been together behind my back for six months. My father ordered me in front of every guest, "Give Claire the crown. We'll discuss this at home!" They wanted to throw me out of my own family. My crown was tossed aside and landed in the arms of a mud-streaked stranger the guards had mistaken for a homeless man. I didn't hesitate. I pulled off my engagement gloves and walked up to him. "Will you marry me?" But after marrying that homeless stranger, I became the most powerful woman in the country.

My fingerprint had never been given a permanent place in Haiden Buckley's smart lock. He always registered it as temporary access. Whenever he set it up again, he gave me the same reassuring promise. "Come by whenever you want. You're always welcome here." His words sounded generous, yet the result never changed. Whenever I returned to his house, the scanner rejected me with the same message—fingerprint not registered. That day was no different. I stood outside Haiden's front door, watching the scanner flash red after rejecting my fingerprint once again. After staring at it for a moment, I pulled out my phone and called him. Haiden answered almost immediately. His apology came easily, as though this were nothing more than a minor inconvenience. "Sorry. My friend was playing around with the lock yesterday and accidentally removed your fingerprint." He continued before I could respond. "Wait there for now. I'll register it again the next time I'm home." There it was again. Another promise for next time. My fingers tightened around my phone as memories of all the previous incidents returned. Two times ago, Haiden had blamed a system update for wiping out my access. Somehow, Kendall Hatfield's fingerprint had remained perfectly intact. Last time, he claimed the lock was faulty and that he needed to replace the entire control panel. But the truth had been much simpler. Kendall had casually remarked, "Keeping too many fingerprints in the system isn't safe." Soon afterward, mine had been removed. Haiden always had an explanation that sounded reasonable enough on the surface. Somehow, every convenient accident ended the same way. He gave Kendall exactly what she wanted, leaving her as the only woman with unquestioned access to his home. Haiden was still trying to reassure me over the phone. "Just stay there. I'll open the door for you when I get back." The call ended. A second later, a sharp click came from the other side of the door. I knew that sound. Someone inside had turned the deadbolt. Kendall knew I was right outside, yet she had deliberately locked the door anyway. I remained still for a few seconds before slowly getting to my feet. I brushed the dust from my pants and looked at the door one last time. 'Forget it. I don't want to go inside anymore.'

After divorcing my unfaithful husband, Yale Gibson, I end up completely miserable. So when we remarry, I become the perfect wife he always wanted. When rumors swirl about him and Willow Leeds, I step forward to clear his name. When Willow falsely accuses me, he turns a blind eye while I immediately take the blame and apologize. Even when I'm set up and brought to the police station, I refuse to call him to bail me out. I simply tell the officers I have no family, letting them lock me up for an entire week. Seven days later, the heavy gates of the police station clang open at dusk. A sleek black Cullinan screeches to a halt right in front of me. Yale strides over, his brow furrowed slightly. "Sarah, why didn't you call me when you ran into trouble?" he asked. I give a faint, distant smile. "It's nothing serious. I didn't want to bother you." A flicker of unease crosses Yale's eyes. He replies, "I was overseas with Willow the past couple of days and didn't check my messages." He pauses, then lowers his voice. "I'm sorry." "It's fine," I say smoothly. "I wasn't expecting you to come anyway. Just focus on what you have to do." Yale stares at me for a moment before suddenly grabbing my wrist. "Why aren't you upset?" he asks. He keeps his eyes on me, confusion flickering in them, along with a hint of unease. I find it almost funny and reply, "Why would I be upset? You gave me an explanation, and I accepted it. There's nothing to be upset about." "Yale…" I look at the man in front of me, completely confused. "Isn't this exactly what you wanted?"

Eight years after I left the country, I'm offered a fortune to come back. After a research symposium, I run into my ex-boyfriend, Ethan Grimsley. He proposes to me and asks me to give him another chance. My former colleagues from the research institute immediately start cheering, all of them waiting for me to burst into tears and say yes. After all, they remember how crazy I used to be about Ethan. Back then, there was nothing I wouldn't have done for him. Apparently, they've forgotten what happened eight years ago. At a project showcase, I proposed to Ethan in front of everyone, only for him to turn me down without a hint of emotion. And that wasn't all. To help Michelle Lindberg, someone he knew from grad school, win the bonus, he accused me of stealing her research in front of over 100 cameras. I did everything I could to clear my name, but the evidence he fabricated was so convincing that every attempt to defend myself only made me look guiltier. Then he stood by while Michelle paid to spread the scandal all over social media, turning the entire internet against me. All those years of hard work became the biggest stain on my career, and the man I'd loved for years turned our relationship into a joke. After that, I had no choice but to flee the country. Now I'm back, and Ethan is down on one knee in front of me, holding out a ring with an easy smile. "That's all in the past. I'm not angry anymore. Now that you're back, let's get married." What he doesn't know is that I already have a husband.

On the day Evan Carter was supposed to meet my adoptive parents, his phone was turned off all day. As my future husband, he had confidently promised me the night before that he would win my parents over. Yet even after the server had refilled our glasses for the sixth time, I still couldn’t reach him. A few hours later, I came across a post from Evan’s assistant, Maya Collins. In the photos, Evan was sitting on her family’s couch with bags of expensive gifts around him, keeping her parents company. The caption read: “My family has been pressuring me to get married nonstop. Thank you to my amazing boss for stepping in and pretending to be my boyfriend so I could get through this!” Evan finally arrived at the restaurant that evening. “Tessa, I’m sorry I’m late. Something urgent came up at work, so I had to deal with it.” He took my cold hand and gently tried to reassure me. “I was so nervous about meeting your parents today that I forgot to charge my phone last night. It died, and I couldn’t turn it back on all day. “Could you arrange another time for me to meet your parents? Please?” After seven years together, he still wasn’t willing to tell me a single honest word. His so-called work emergency was actually nothing more than pretending to be his assistant’s boyfriend to help her deal with her parents’ pressure to get married. Years of disappointment finally reached their breaking point. I gently pulled my hand away and slipped off my engagement ring. “We’re not getting married. Go ahead and play boyfriend for her for the rest of your life.”

The college girl I was sponsoring, Yasmine Reed, texted me that she was pregnant. She asked me what to do. She was only a sophomore. I told her to focus on her degree. Before my message was even sent, she blocked me. A few weeks later, I twisted my ankle. My best friend, Clara Barnes, brought me to the clinic. Clara pointed at a young couple standing outside the maternity ward. "If your husband were in town, he would pamper you just like that," Clara sighed. "I still don't get why he insisted on taking that project that faraway." I stared down at my phone. "Julian is doing it for our future. As long as he loves me, I don't mind." As we walked out, the couple turned the corner. The man held the girl close, kissing her forehead. "Be good, Yasmine. Right after this ultrasound, I'll buy you that designer purse." My blood ran cold. My feet froze to the floor. The man holding her was the same man that was supposed to be faraway. He was standing right in front of me. It was my husband, Julian Drake. And the girl in his arms was Yasmine Reed, the student I was funding.

Mason Chapman has lost his memories. He has forgotten everything about me. His memories are stuck in the year he was most in love with his ex-wife, Tiffany Auburn. No matter how much the people around him try to talk sense into him, he remains convinced I'm the other woman who has come between him and Tiffany. The doctor says there's a chance he might recover his memories, so I cling to that hope and refuse to let go. Within three years, we divorce and remarry many times. We become the biggest joke in the city's social circles. People even start placing bets on when I'll finally give up and when Mason will regain his memories. Then, news of our eighth divorce makes the trending searches again. Reporters storm into the law firm I work at with cameras on their shoulders. They shove microphones in my face, their questions dripping with provocation. "Ms. Gardner, as a divorce lawyer, what do you have to say about getting divorced eight times yourself?" Someone smashes the firm's sign. My personal award banner is trampled underfoot. Before I can even respond, my boss fires me for ruining the profession's reputation. "Take my advice, Isabel. Have some dignity, and stop chasing after Mr. Chapman." I clench my trembling hands and suddenly feel depleted. They're right. Maybe this time, I should just give up.

Ten years into my marriage to Joshua Ford, heir to the largest fortune in Kingsbury, I receive a video. The footage is shot inside a car. The video is shaky, and the sounds coming from it are vile. When I hold up my phone to confront him, the moaning is still echoing through the living room. Joshua's expression remains calm. He just shrugs like it's nothing. "Younger women are just fresher. Your health isn't great, so I wouldn't dare push you to try anything wild. But everyone craves a little excitement, right?" I freeze in place, my arm going numb from holding up the phone. "That's your explanation?" Joshua doesn't answer me. His gaze drifts over me with casual indifference. "The truth is, all these years, you've never exactly been someone I could take out in public." I look at him, and my heart goes cold. So, the forever we promised each other turns out to be just ten short years.

For three years, my husband and I had lived apart because of our long-distance relationship. Then I landed a bridal makeup job in the city where he often stayed for work. I planned to surprise him after I finished the job, but three days before the wedding, I sprained my wrist. I explained the situation to my client and offered her a full refund, but she refused. "Everyone only gets one special day like this in their life, Felicia! I want my husband to see me at my prettiest on the most important day of our lives! I don't wanna be anything less for him..." I couldn't convince her otherwise, so I decided to bring my apprentice, Dakota McCree, to apply the makeup while I guided her. Then I stepped into the reception hall and came face-to-face with a gigantic banner that made my blood run cold. The groom looked exactly like my husband. He even had the same name. Panicked, I spun around and scanned my surroundings. My own little brother was at the entrance, greeting guests. My childhood best friend was dressed as a bridesmaid, busy making sure everything went according to plan. Dakota hurried over to me with our cosmetics case, her face bright with excitement. "Come on, Felicia! The bride's waiting for us!" I stopped her, unwound the bandage around my wrist, and flexed my fingers. "Change of plan. I think this calls for my personal touch."

Ronan Blackwell was wrapping his arm around some girl as they stepped out of the hotel elevator. I was sitting right there on the lobby couch, snacking on nuts. The second Ronan locked eyes with me, his face went paler than a three-day-old corpse. The girl in his arms reacted first, shoving him away with a sharp gasp. "Miss West, wait, it's not what it looks like!" she squeaked. I rubbed my forehead. "Alright, drop the act. You're practically bursting at the seams trying not to laugh." Honestly, it wasn't just her. I was barely holding back a massive grin myself. Ronan getting caught red-handed cheating meant I was walking away with ten percent of the family company stock. Jackpot.

The day after my twin sister died in an accident, I married her fiancé, the man who was supposed to be my brother-in-law. That very day, Mark Zeller printed thousands of copies of my sister's death report and told everyone I was the real murderer. Because of this, everyone despised me, and my parents immediately disowned me. After we got married, he was constantly in the tabloids with his flings and brought countless women home. He'd make me stand by the bedroom door, listening to them making love. Then, after he was done, he'd make me take photos of him and his lovers in bed. I silently endured it all. My only request was to have a baby with him. Mark scoffed. "Gloria Hale, how can you be so shameless? If you're so desperate to sleep with a man, just go out and find one. Instead, you're begging for it at my feet like an animal. Aren't you disgusted with yourself? "You think having my baby will make me change my ways? Let me tell you, never!" To crush my hopes, he went even further and spent a fortune to build a castle in the suburbs. Every single room in that castle housed one of his lovers. The people in our social circle said, "Mark's mistresses are way lovelier than his wife at home who only knows how to wag her tail like a dog." Three years later, Mark's mother sent me a text to remind me: "Gloria, remember our agreement. Three years are almost up. You have one more week to sort everything out."

Jordan Ford lost a bet, and I was forced to remove my makeup in front of everyone. The whole crowd goaded me on while his friends laughed especially loudly. “Don’t be a buzzkill. Eira already did it. “Come on, Clara! You’re not chickening out, are you?” Three years prior, I had saved Jordan from a car accident. Glass shards cut my face and left a scar that could barely be concealed with makeup. “Go on, remove it.” Through the smoke, his gaze met mine with nothing but casual indifference. I dragged a makeup-removing wipe across my face, again and again, revealing the ugly scar. “It’s just makeup. Quit being so dramatic. “You killed my mother back then. That scar is just a light price to pay for it.”

At a class reunion, someone introduced me to the man I had secretly dated for five years. “Mr. Lawson, Mia works on your research team too. Why don’t you two give it a try?” I walked over to Zeke Lawson, ready to take this chance to finally tell everyone that we were together. But Zeke took a step back and pointed toward his childhood friend, who had just returned from overseas. “No, thanks. I already have feelings for someone else.” He kept his distance and made sure no one would suspect anything between us. “If you’re looking to get married, I can introduce you to someone. I think you’d be a great match.” I let out an awkward laugh as I looked at Zeke, who was keeping a good ten feet between us. We had been secretly dating for five years, yet Zeke always made sure everyone thought he was single. He always kept his distance from me. I had waited five years for him to make our relationship public. I was not going to wait anymore. “Sure. Introduce him to me.”

Sebastian Morrison was the most famous fireworks designer in the world. We'd been together for seven years, and countless times, I'd hinted that I wanted a fireworks show that belonged only to me. Every time, he just ruffled my hair. "Next time it's your birthday," he'd say, "I'll design you the most beautiful one yet." The night of my birthday, I rushed to the beach, my heart full of anticipation. Instead, I found Sebastian standing under a sky full of fireworks, his arms wrapped around Victoria Grey. The fireworks burst over the water, dazzling, like a dream. Just not one that belonged to me. I stood frozen at the edge of the crowd. Someone nearby laughed and said, "I heard this designer puts on a show here every year for his old flame. A single show costs a few million. Now that's devotion." I stayed at the very back of the crowd, watching the two of them swallowed up in that river of light. A sudden, aching pain settled into my chest. When we got home, Sebastian handed me a beautifully wrapped box. "Happy birthday. I got you a robot vacuum. Leave the housework to it from now on. Your back won't hurt anymore." I looked down at the vacuum in my hands and smiled, calm and steady. So that was it. Seven years of loving Sebastian Morrison. And letting him go only took a second.