Contos sobre Plot Twists e Romances com Scumbag e Cheating

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."

I stumbled across an encrypted folder on my husband's phone, filled with photos of a little girl I'd never seen before. From newborn to first steps, sorted by month—two full years' worth. But the child in those photos wasn't our daughter. When I confronted him, he said she was a girl named Rosie from the children's home I sponsored. The director sent growth updates, and he'd been saving them for me. I never imagined that my warm, thoughtful husband would use my charity to spin a lie. Because every single photo was geotagged to the apartment complex next to his office. And the children's home was on the other side of the city. I didn't call him out right then. Because I wanted to know whose child she really was.

I was the odd one out in the Chicago mob. Other men's women spent their time fighting for affection, clawing for power, watching out for the homewreckers. Not me. I spent mine cleaning up after my boyfriend, Don Vincent Maro. His political rivals — I squared away. His brother's messes — I handled overnight. The women he kept on the side — I dealt with personally. Last month it got worse. He asked me to go chase off a man who'd been hanging around Sofia, his new girl. Sofia pouted. "Elena really can do everything." Vincent said, "That's why I keep her around." Sofia asked, "Won't Elena be upset?" Vincent paused. "Her? She's used to it." Seven years. No title in the Maro family. No public acknowledgment. Just one function — fixing things. This time, I was tired. I slid the last stack of documents across to Vincent. He signed them one after another without looking up. When he was done, he asked: Anything else? I said: No. It's all handled. What he didn't know was that at the bottom of that stack was the document terminating every identity I held inside the Maro family. The moment his pen touched that page, I no longer belonged to the Maros. And I no longer belonged to him.

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…

At the company's year-end party, a colleague asks me teasingly about when exactly my boyfriend, Hayden Potter, and I will get married. Hayden's female buddy, Melissa Somers, instantly speaks up for him. "He's not in a rush. After all, Hayden's main priority is his career." At first, I don't think much about Melissa's response. But the next thing I know, I suddenly hear her internal thoughts. [Marriage? When Hayden was sleeping over at my place, he promised me that he'd marry me!] I freeze up on the spot before whirling around to stare at Hayden and Melissa. At the moment, Melissa is taking a sip from Hayden's drink through the same straw he just used. Hayden never once looks at me. In fact, he even has an arm wrapped around Melissa's shoulders.

I had always thought I was the happiest woman in the world. After all, my fiance was rich, handsome, and thoughtful. To everyone else, he was practically perfect. However, I found three divorce decrees and death certificates of his three ex-wives in his drawer the day before our wedding. Before I could even process the shock, a wall of floating comments appeared before my eyes. 'So, she's the next victim, huh?' 'The last three thought they could change Ivan and insist on marrying him, although they found his secret, and look where it got them. This one is even dumber, completely blinded by love. I bet she thinks he can still be redeemed. Little does she know, he doesn't love her at all.' 'We need more villainous male leads! I wonder how this woman would die this time. I can't wait to see it!' 'Great news, friends! The female lead, Cynthia, will appear soon! She's the only one who can free Ivan from his dark thoughts!' The next moment, a colleague dropped to her knees and grabbed my thigh. Tears spilled from her eyes in an instant as she accused me, "Please, give my man back to me! Being a homewrecker won't end well for you. He and I are soulmates. He needs me to pull him out of the abyss. Only I can give him what he truly wants!" My other colleagues circled me and echoed her accusations. I simply nodded. Then I tore the wedding invitations in half. 'Go ahead. He's all yours now,' I thought.

As soon as I get off the surgical table after my miscarriage, my husband, Presley Quinn, sends me a text message. "You were ten cents short when you paid your share of the power bill this month. Transfer the money to me immediately." I can only sit on the cold bench in the hospital on my own. The anesthesia has yet to wear out, but my belly is already hurting so much that I can practically feel it constricting on itself. The next thing I know, a new post appears on my social media homepage. It's a post made by Vivienne Ashford, the intern Presley is in charge of tutoring. In the photo, Vivienne can be seen holding a bouquet of flowers folded from money bills. A bright and radiant smile blooms on her face. The four-leaf clover necklace adorning her neck is the same necklace I've seen in Presley's purchase history two days ago. The caption of the photo writes, "I don't want a lot of money. I want a ton of love instead." Only then do I remember that today is Valentine's Day as well as my fifth-year anniversary with Presley. Over the past five years, Presley and I have been splitting every single bill, down to two decimal places. If I take a shower for more than 20 minutes, Presley demands that I pay extra for the water heater's power bill. When I cook myself some supper in the middle of the night, Presley wants me to split the gas bill generated by the stove. Even when my mom is hospitalized due to kidney failure and is waiting for her surgical bills to be settled, Presley refuses to lend me a single cent. Instead, he sends me a few links leading to web loans. As I stare at the social media feed, I chuckle all of a sudden. It turns out that Presley does know how to spend money. It's just that he doesn't have the heart to spend it on me. I smile once again as I leave a like on the post. Then, I transfer the ten cents to Presley. From now on, I don't owe him any single penny.

At the supermarket, a child slams into my pregnant belly. The pain is so intense that I collapse to the floor and cannot get back up. I groan, "My phone... Call my husband..." Only after giving the child a slap does the woman pick up my phone. Apologizing repeatedly, she searches my contacts for "Husband". She calls several times, but no one answers. "Don't panic. I'll have my husband come handle this," she says, taking out her own phone and calling her husband. He answers after the very first ring. "Honey, our son got into trouble again! Adjourn your meeting and get over here. He knocked into a pregnant woman!" Ten minutes later, Shawn Leake, who is supposed to be working in another city, arrives at the scene. The first thing he notices is the child's swollen cheek. A look of concern crosses his face as he frowns and searches the area. He grumbles, "Was it really necessary to hit him? Who exactly did he run into—" The moment our eyes meet, his voice cuts off abruptly.

On the day of our daughter's full-month celebration, Harvey McKinzie walked onto the stage holding the hand of his widowed, heavily pregnant sister-in-law. "Honey, to be honest with you—my sister-in-law's baby is mine." His parents followed behind, looking completely unapologetic. "We're the ones who made it happen. We drugged them. Our oldest son may be gone, but the family can't be without an heir. "Harvey is taking on the responsibility of carrying on both family lines—it hasn't been easy for him. From now on, you need to take good care of Lydia and the child she's carrying." The sister-in-law, now eight months pregnant, glanced at me shyly. "Jennifer, we're sister-wives now." I stood there frozen, holding my daughter, my voice trembling. "Why are you doing this to me?" Harvey frowned and let out a long sigh. "You're always saying how hard Lydia has it, right? Isn't it better if I just take care of her openly and properly? "I promise—you'll be the first wife, and she'll be the second. On paper, you're still my only legal wife." In that moment, my blood ran cold. Then, for the first time in a long while, I heard the system's alert in my head. [Host emotional fluctuation detected. Would you like to use all remaining points to exit the current world?]

My cheating husband, Steve Manson, gets hit by a car and suffers brain damage. After the accident, he can only say two words—"Yes" and "No". He can't say anything else. And somehow, every answer he gives has to be the truth. For once, it feels like heaven is finally on my side. I ask, "Is the woman you're having an affair with my best friend?" His face turns pale, but his mouth moves against his will. "Yes." "Did you transfer assets behind my back?" "Yes." "Is your bank account password your first love's birthday?" "Yes." Thanks to this bizarre ability of his, I successfully send the mistress to prison and walk away with all of his assets. Yet, he can't even curse me out no matter how much he wants it. Then one day, a handsome food delivery guy flirts with me. I turn to look at Steve, who stands there with the same dull expression as always. "Are you really my husband? Why aren't you even jealous?" Without hesitation, he blurts out, "No." I freeze instantly and stare into his eyes. After a long silence, I finally ask, "Then is my husband... dead?" He answers, "Yes and no."

My boyfriend of nine years suddenly changed his WhatsApp name to "Peanut Love." When I asked why, he wouldn't say. Then his secretary, going by the name "Peanut," sent me their intimate photos. I understood everything. I calmly saved the photos and opened my mom's chat. I sent a single message: [Mom, I've decided to come home for the arranged marriage.] Mom immediately video-called me. "Sweetheart, we'll set the wedding for the end of this month." Fifteen days. That's all that's left between Jason and me.

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.

I went to my best friend's place for her birthday, and out of nowhere, she started complaining. "I'm so jealous of you," she said. "Your boyfriend has basically no sex drive." "Mine's the complete opposite. He wanted it seven times last night. I was crying so hard I lost my voice, and he still wouldn't stop." I gave her a sympathetic smile. "That just means he's crazy about you. Unlike mine—he's practically celibate. Like a monk." She raised an eyebrow, casually stroking the two-million-dollar ruby bangle on her wrist. "He's not bad," she said, a hint of smugness in her voice. "He was with his ex for five years, but he still chose to marry me behind her back. He was so afraid she'd push for marriage that he faked going bankrupt and told her he had ALS. "The girl wouldn't let go, though. She sold her blood, her kidney—whatever it took—to scrape together money for his treatment. "She was working the graveyard shift at a factory, while he and I were fooling around in a twenty-million-dollar villa." I froze. To help my boyfriend Nathan Whitley pay for his ALS treatment, I had done all of those things. Before I could even process it, the door opened, and a tall, sharply dressed man walked in. "Babe," he said, "I got that strawberry flavor you like. How about wearing that silk nightie tonight?" Our eyes met. I stood there, frozen in shock, a chill running down my spine. It was Nathan Whitley—the man who was supposed to be broke, bedridden, and dying of ALS.

When I reach the underground parking lot, I find out that my husband, Victor Blake, has parked his car in a slanted manner. Great, his car has taken over my parking slot again. I call him and tell him to get his ass downstairs so that he can move the car out of my parking slot. While waiting for him, I come across a post on the Internet. "I'm screwing the brains out of my mistress right now. What should I do to avoid getting discovered by my wife, who might be home anytime soon?" The comment section goes nuts. Apparently, the original poster has left a like on one of the comments. "Park your car in a way that it eats into your wife's parking slot. That way, she'll have to call you every time she gets home. Not only do you have time to clean up the scene and protect your mistress, but you also get to tell your wife in a righteous manner that you're reserving a parking slot for her." I frown immediately. As soon as I tap on the WhatsApp chat, I hear someone knocking on my window. Victor can be seen jiggling his car keys outside the car. "What's with the rush? I did this just so I can reserve a parking slot for you, you know."

On the day of my third wedding anniversary, I wait for my husband, Jonathan Myers, in the heavy downpour for four hours even though I'm already nine months pregnant. I can feel the rain drenching me from head to toe. At the same time, I keep suffering from the irregular contractions. Jonathan sends me a voice message. I can hear a bell tolling and a woman's laughter in the background. "Honey, I'll be home late. Quinn told me that she's never admired the cityscape at night before." The moment I'm hoisted onto a stretcher, I glance at my phone. Coincidentally, Jonathan's social media feed has just refreshed, showing a grid of nine photos. Quinn Farris can be seen standing in front of a floor-to-ceiling window, where an array of the city lights stretch out behind her. The caption reads, "I'm admiring the world with my baby girl." Meanwhile, I've lost a lot of blood in the delivery room. On the surgical forms, the spot that's supposed to bear my husband's signature is left empty. At 3:00 am, Jonathan wakes up in Quinn's bed. He then transfers me 5000 dollars and leaves a note on the transaction history. "Thanks for your hard work." I reject the transaction before dialing a number. "Dad, I've thought things through. I want to leave the country."

The birthday gift I gave my husband was found in a doghouse by the side of the road. I spent the next five years as the butt of all jokes made by Cascade City's high society wives. Every year when Julian Carter's birthday came around, they would bring it up again, teasing that the gift I bought him was surely the most expensive one of all. "That's nouveau riche taste for you. She thinks the more expensive it is, the better." "Yeah, but I wonder where they'll find it this year. Another doghouse, maybe?" The women burst into laughter. Then, they realized something was different. This year, I had not given Julian anything at all. In fact, as his birthday drew to a close, I still had not shown up. "Laura, where's my birthday present? And what kind of behavior is this? You disappeared for the entire day. Do you have any idea how unhappy everyone in the family has been?" Julian's eyes were dark with irritation. I pushed back my sleep-mussed hair, only then remembering that it seemed to be Julian's birthday. "Oh, sorry. I forgot." After a brief pause, I added casually, "I'll have my assistant pick something out tomorrow and send it over." For a moment, he simply stared at me, as if he could not believe what he had just heard. "What did you just say?"

In the fifth year of my marriage with Lionel Kruger, I suddenly develop an ability to see everyone's ranking system. To my mom, I'm ranked first. To my best friend, I'm ranked second after her daughter. Even the owner of the breakfast cart in the neighborhood views me as his sixth favorite person in his life. Delighted, I rush off to see Lionel's ranking system. His mom ranks first, whereas Natalie Cooper is ranked second. That's me! I'm ranked second! That piece of news makes me smile throughout the day. That is, until I see an unfamiliar name taking up the sixth spot—Lindsay Sloan. I tell myself that it's fine. I'm ranked second, while she's ranked sixth. But the next few days, I witness Lindsey's name climbing slowly up the ranks to the point she's almost reaching my rank. That evening, Lionel comes home and hugs me as usual. "I missed you." As I stare at the ranking system above his head, I notice that Lindsay, who's now ranked third, is slowly climbing upward as he speaks. "Lionel, who's Lindsey Sloan?" At that moment, Lionel freezes up while hugging me.

My husband, Michael Grant's mistress, Lucy Lovelace, is demanding a break-up with him once again. Heartbroken, he drowns his sorrows with alcohol to the point that he has to get hospitalized due to stomach bleeding. Still, Michael keeps mumbling, "She's the only one who has the guts to treat me like this." Then, he grabs my hand and says, "Darling, you're a woman too. Tell me, how should I appease Lucy this time?" Well, Michael has cheated on me so many times. Lucy is the only one he's ever fallen for so far. My phone buzzes at that moment. It's a text from Lucy. "Mrs. Grant, please keep your husband in check! Don't you have any pride as a woman? Tell him to stop bothering me already!" I just smile mockingly. As always, I don't bother responding to Lucy. On the fifth day of Michael's hospitalization, he spams my phone with countless calls. When the latest call goes through, he questions me emotionally, "I'm hospitalized, you know! Why haven't you shown up at all? Do you even care about me as your husband?" I reply calmly, "I'm worried that if I do show up, you'll fall in love with me again."

When I'm pulling an overnight shift at midnight, I receive a text from my boyfriend of five years, Robert Howell. "I've already ended the rental agreement on our previous apartment. I'm sending you our new address now." After glancing at the address, realization dawns on me immediately. "Is this because of Daisy again?" Daisy Baldwin is the so-called delicate yet strong-willed young woman, whom Robert has mentioned to me. This is our third time moving apartments in just half a year. We've moved from a high-end apartment located in the boisterous city all the way to a residential area in the rural slums. All this… just so Robert can get closer to Daisy. I must have exposed Robert's true intentions, for he sounds quite humiliated and furious. "Can you stop being so petty? Dee Dee was stalked after she got off her overtime shift! You're a woman as well; how is it that you don't have any trace of empathy for her?" As I look out the window and see the night sky, I feel a wave of exhaustion hitting me all of a sudden. Honestly, I don't remember how many times Robert and I have argued over Daisy. At first, I was enraged and aggrieved. Now, I'm just speechless. "I can't be bothered to waste my breath on you. I'm going to pick Dee Dee up from work now." Robert ends the call before I can respond. The thing is, Robert has never asked me if I wanted to move right from the start. He also never asks me if I need a ride home since it's already this late at night. That's why I drop my signature on the overseas assignment agreement that has been left on my desk for a week without consulting Robert at all.

My CEO husband told me he had a last-minute job to handle. He said that because of it, he couldn't accompany me to retrieve the body. Then I went online and saw a photo my husband's secretary had posted as a birthday status update. [Thanks for the red velvet cake, Mr. Mitchell! Happy birthday to me!] I smiled and left a comment. [Happy birthday.] That single comment sparked a frenzy among my colleagues. They immediately began placing bets on how big of a scene I would make. Then he called. "Lucy is just celebrating her birthday, Brianna! Why do you have to ruin it by showing up in the comments?! Don't you know how sensitive she is? How is she supposed to feel comfortable at work now?! "She's only been here for two years. She doesn't even have any friends! What's wrong with me looking out for an employee and keeping her company on her birthday? A lucky girl who grew up in a wealthy family like you wouldn't understand! "If you want to talk about this, fine. Wait until I get back. But delete that comment right now! We can always wait another few days before retrieving his body. Where is your father going to go anyway? He's already dead!" I clenched my fist and replied, "That won't be necessary." By the time he returned, we would already be legally divorced.