Melodramatic Short Stories & Scumbag Cheating Novels

After Jacob Locke brings up breaking up with me once again, I don't wait for him to say anything else. I pack up my things and move out on my own, then quietly cut ties with our past. On the first day, I cancel the wedding planner I booked three years ago but kept delaying. On the second day, I turn off the automatic payments for his mother's treatment. I also politely refuse his sister when she reaches out for money. On the third day, I accept my superior's transfer proposal and get ready to settle down in a southern city. The moment I board the plane, I suddenly get curious. Without me, the free housekeeper who hasn't taken a break in the past decade and the always-on ATM, how will Jacob fare? How will he care for his paralyzed mother, deal with his vain sister, and face his precious junior who's the apple of his eye?

Two months into my cold war with Sean, the lover he’d been keeping finally danced her way right up to me, the real deal. Everyone expected me to react the same way I always had before, kicking up a huge scene to stake my claim. Instead, I looked at the intimate photos of Sean and her in the group chat, smiled, and sent them my blessing. [Looking good. Wishing you two a long and happy life.] The chat went dead silent. Sean must’ve sobered up from his little paradise because in the middle of the night, he drove home and pounded on my door. He was furious. “Do you think this is funny?” However, I only met his gaze calmly. “Honestly, after all these years, none of it is.”

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.'

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.

During a gathering with friends, my husband, Kevin Graham, was asked a question by his buddy in Froise. "What are you going to do with your lover, who's two months pregnant with your baby?" Kevin smiled while helping me cut up my steak, and he replied in Froise, "Evie doesn't like children. I'll get Kandi Chutnam to give birth to the baby and send them overseas after that. At least I'll have a child of my own." Tears streamed down my cheek as I ate my steak, and Kevin asked nervously, "What's wrong, Evie?" I wiped away my tears and replied with a smile, "I must've used too much hot sauce." However, there was no hot sauce on the table. I was crying because I understood Froise.

A day before our wedding, my fiancé, Vincent Anderson's friends egged everyone on. They wanted to play a "bride challenge" game. My best friend, Anna Reid, and I were answering the questions about Vincent at the same time. Every time I lost a question, I was to hand out one thing that belonged to the bride. The first question was on Vincent's favorite color. I answered black, and Anna answered blue. Even though Vincent did not own a single piece of blue clothing, everyone shouted in unison, "Anna's right!" I had no choice but to take off my wedding shoes. The next question was Vincent's what he most wanted to eat when his stomach hurt. I answered oatmeal porridge, and Anna answered chicken noodle soup. Once he ended up in the emergency room after eating chicken noodle soup when he had gastritis. All these years, I was the one who woke up in the middle of the night to make him oatmeal porridge. I was about to protest when Vincent's face fell. "Do you really need to prove that you know me the most?" I handed over my bridal bouquet. It continued until we reached the very last question. "Who does Vincent want to marry the most tomorrow?" I clenched my wedding ring in my hand as Anna smiled and pointed at herself. The next second, Vincent walked past me and held Anna's hand. The whole room erupted in cheers and teasing shouts. "That's correct!" Following the rules, I lost my ring, and I lost my groom too. Vincent forcefully took my wedding ring off and put it on Anna's finger. Then, he turned to me. "It's only one rehearsal. "Don't be a sore loser!" I looked at everyone as they laughed, and I suddenly realized something. The answers did not matter. They had never intended to let me win from the very beginning. I took off my veil and placed it in Anna's arms. "Alright then. "Then tomorrow's wedding can be her reward too."

In my third year as an online relationship-advice streamer, I finally saved up enough in viewer tips to cover my boyfriend's share of our wedding funds. I went live one last time, planning to announce that I was quitting streaming for good, when a young woman sent over a hundred thousand dollars' worth of gifts to request a live call with me. "My husband is just too perfect. There are always women trying to take my place. What do I do?" The chat burst out laughing at how dramatic she sounded. I was the only one quietly celebrating. With that kind of money, Gary Litt would never have to stress over our wedding funds, a car, or a house again. She ignored the skeptics in the chat and kept pouring out her troubles. "Yesterday, I found out some woman's been sending him money. And get this — it was 362.56 dollars! Down to the penny! "That's not even enough to cover one of my meals. You don't think some broke woman has her hooks in my husband, do you?" I froze. Just last night, I'd cashed out my tips and transferred money to Gary for our wedding fund. It was that exact amount. Just then, another voice cut in on her end. "Babe, are you imagining things again? Which one of your girlfriends are you badmouthing me to this time?" His teasing complaint was laced with affection. But I felt a chill creep through me, inch by inch. The "perfect" husband she was talking about and my boyfriend — who couldn't even scrape together anything for our wedding fund — were the same man.

At the wedding reception, every place card at the last table bore an online username instead of a real name. I turned to my husband and quietly asked who these people were. Before he could answer, a young woman at the table blinked at me and said playfully, "Hey, we're not strangers. I've been hiking with Zane for three years. Every time we go out, we sleep in the same tent." The others at the table burst out laughing. "Say it. Does Zane snore in his sleep?" I stood there frozen, wineglass in hand, utterly humiliated. To my surprise, Zane laughed along with them. "They're all my friends. I bought you tickets to Caldera Bay for our honeymoon, but I'm not going. I finally have some time off after the wedding, so I'm planning to hike the Blackridge Trail with them." I was about to demand an explanation, but the young woman had already pulled Zane into the seat beside her and started drinking with him. She playfully punched him in the chest as she laughed, her tone half teasing and half annoyed. I thought about all the times over the years he'd left me behind just to go hiking, and my heart went cold. I turned and walked away, leaving Zane with a single message. [Our honeymoon is supposed to be something we share as a couple. Since you're unwilling to go, I'll just find somebody willing to.]

My husband, Samuel Sullivan, has listed his home appliance repair services on a secondhand marketplace for five years. He charges one cent per job, and his service range is strictly limited to a single city, a single residential complex, and one specific address. His only customer is his ex-girlfriend, Willow Emerson. When her air conditioner filter needs replacing, he travels across half the city to disassemble and install it. When her bathroom lightbulb burns out, he heads out late at night, claiming he's going to buy cigarettes. I asked him about it once. He tells me a man must keep his word. He promised to look after her, and just because they broke up doesn't mean he can go back on his word. I hold my tongue, thinking I should be the bigger person. That is until Mom's heart bypass surgery, when I wait outside the ICU for nine hours. He tells me he has to go on a last-minute business trip and can't make it back in time. I reassure him that it's fine. However, moments later, I chance upon a short video on the local trending list with over 200 thousand views. Samuel crouches on Willow's balcony in the video, assembling the swing chair she has wanted for a long time. The comments section is flooded with people calling him the "perfect ex-boyfriend". The location tag shows he's only two miles from the hospital. I take all the times I've bitten my tongue and said "It's fine" in the last five years and write them into the divorce agreement.

My husband, Lawrence Schwartz, and I were both liars. He lied to me, saying he would forget his first love, yet his phone is filled with photos of her. I lied to him, saying I would never leave, while secretly planning a future without him. A month ago, I tricked Lawrence into signing the divorce papers. Today was the final day to complete the entire divorce process.. Three hours left. I packed all my luggage and bought a plane ticket for the next day. Two hours left. I cut up every photo of us together, leaving only myself in the album. Last hour. I thought about leaving a message, then decided against it. Today marked the tenth year I had loved him and the first day I left him.

On my thirty-eighth birthday, my husband, Hugh Shaw, nearly forty, found the love of his life. He asked me for a divorce. "Mina’s only twenty. She’s sweet and kind, while you’re old and boring." I nodded at my own reflection, looking worn and lifeless. That explained Hugh’s strange behavior lately. He’d started caring about his appearance. He never left the house without putting on cologne, and he bought a bouquet of flowers every day. No matter how busy he was, the first thing he did when he got home was work out at the gym. Before the divorce, Hugh asked me, "Maya, you’ve been a housewife for seven years. Can you really bring yourself to divorce me? Don’t come crying to me later!" I smiled. "I won’t." Because that girl he fell in love with was me at twenty.

My best friend, Jolyn Jones, called me while I was at work. "Help! S-Someone's about to v-violate me! Petra, please help me!" Panic shot through me. I immediately dropped a crucial project and called the police. Then, with an officer close beside me, I raced to the address Jolyn had sent, nearly tripping over my own feet along the way. Suddenly, two loud pops erupted behind us, and confetti rained down. Jolyn jumped out from around the corner with my boyfriend, Will Curry. "Surprise! That's the hundredth time we've managed to prank you, P!" I stared at them in disbelief. "What the hell? You thought sexual violence was appropriate material for a prank?!" The officer looked equally furious. "How dare you waste police time with something like this? You can be charged for making a false report! You're both coming to the station!" A lot happened after that. By the time we were finally released from the station, dusk had already fallen. "You planned this, didn't you? You wanted Jolyn and me to have a criminal record!" Will thundered. "How could you? It was just a joke! You're such a prick!" Rage surged through me. "Excuse me for thinking my best friend was in serious danger and calling the police!" I shot back. "I had to cancel a meeting with a client I'd spent three months negotiating with. Now that contract is gone!" "Shouldn't you be happy it was all just a joke?!" Jolyn sobbed. "Or did you wish I'd actually been violated like you were?!" Whatever reply I might have made died in my throat. My limbs went numb. Will wrapped an arm around Jolyn's waist. "Petra's so damaged that she's started wishing the worst on everyone else! It's best to ignore her when she's in one of these moods." I watched them walk away before sinking to the ground. My strength deserted me as my heart sank. Then a message from HR appeared on my phone. I'd been fired for canceling the meeting. Maybe that was for the best. The only reason I'd stayed in this city and worked at this company was so I could remain close to my best friend and boyfriend. But now, I didn't want any of it anymore.

The pair of pink diamonds I've had my eye on for the longest time is finally auctioned off for a staggering price. Outside the auction hall, the young woman who won the bid is talking sweetly to someone on the phone. "Babe, you really don't have to come all the way here. Margot will be with me, so I'm good… Okay, fine. Love you!" I watch her with slight envy. Those pink diamonds are supposed to be my fifth-anniversary wedding gift. Before the auction, I've called my husband, Gabriel Hudson, and asked if he could come with me. But he said it was a trivial matter and that I could handle the bidding myself. The woman was on the phone earlier, and from what I could make out, they're planning to have dinner together to celebrate. My rideshare arrives. I'm about to leave when the woman suddenly shouts excitedly, "Margot, over here!" I follow her gaze. The person approaching is none other than my housekeeper, Margot Lawrence.

I'd been married to Dante Vitale, the Don of the Sicilian Mafia, for three years. Everyone knew it. I was the woman he'd carefully protected and cherished since we were young. When I was fifteen, a group of thugs cornered me. Dante stepped in to protect me and ended up with several broken ribs. Three years ago, in front of the entire Mafia, he swore before my late father's portrait that he would love me and take care of me for the rest of our lives. Then I accidentally spilled coffee on our marriage certificate. When I took our marriage certificate to get it reissued, the clerk told me it was fake. Isabella was his real wife. And Dante didn't even seem to think it was a big deal. "Dante says you're as pure as the moon, meant to shine where everyone can see you. I'm the blade he keeps close to his side. He wants us both. But, Marie, I'm the one who's actually his wife, aren't I?" I closed the message without responding to Isabella's taunt and replied to my friend's email instead. "Book me a flight to Paris for next week."

The night before the design competition, my husband took my design draft, promising to secure a patent to protect my work. In the intense competition, my work stood out and won first place. During the award ceremony, I walked on stage wearing the necklace that my daughter and I had made together. Suddenly, my seven-year-old daughter rushed up to the stage, screaming, "Mom, how could you steal Veronica's necklace? That's horrible and embarrassing. Just come down and go home with me."

One day, after getting rear-ended outside my office, I, Maeve Dahlman, call out for help, but Austin Cooper, who is simply passing by with Carmen Holt, merely glances at me impatiently, annoyed that I've disrupted their lunch plans. Instead of helping, he has his assistant take me to his private club and lock me in a room, accusing me of being paranoid and dramatic. "I'll give you three days to calm down," he says before walking away and leaving me in isolation. Eventually, I escape and call the police. An ambulance rushes me to the hospital, where doctors diagnose me with a brain injury that requires immediate surgery. I keep calling Austin, only to realize that he has blocked my number. Then, I see Carmen's latest post online, gushing about a romantic luxurious dinner with him. After I'm discharged, I cancel the wedding, destroy all the invitations, and finally call my mother. "Mom," I say, "I've made up my mind. I'm ready to meet him."

Two years after the death of my husband, John Foster, I get a video call from him—except it's him from five years in the future. "John! You're still alive! Tell me where you are. I'm coming now to bring you home!" Crying tears of joy, I scramble to pick up the car keys I dropped, only to hear him say, "Actually, I faked my death to be with your friend…" As my mind goes blank, he continues to tell me everything as if none of it is a big deal. "I attended my funeral. The whole time you were crying beside my casket, I was in the back room with Adaline, getting it on with her. You thought her eyes were red because she was crying in grief. "Oh, my mother and our son know that I faked my death, too. Every year, they've found all kinds of excuses to come spend time with us instead…" My blood turns cold. My hand shakes as I clutch the phone. Meanwhile, John exhales, looking like he has taken a load off his chest. "I've already told you the truth about everything now, Cecilia, so it's up to you whether you want to continue living like a widow."

[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.

On the day of our wedding, Henry Tate tells me, "I slept with Rebecca." He points at the big screen with a grin. "When Yves left you because of Rebecca, I swore I would make him pay and let him know what it feels like to be betrayed. So I slept with his woman." I stare at him in disbelief and suddenly realize that the screen isn't displaying our wedding photos, but photos of a man and a woman being intimate. The man is Henry, and the woman is Rebecca Litt. Three years ago, I caught my fiance, Yves Sullivan, and Rebecca, the student I support financially, in bed together. I'm devastated, and Henry is the one who helps me get through it. But now, he's using the same way to stab me where it hurts most. Tears roll down my face. Henry frowns. "Why are you crying? I got back at him for you. You should be happy."

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.