Cerita Pendek & Novel Scumbag Cheating

When I arrived at my wedding in my bridal gown, I found an octagonal fighting ring set up in the center of the stage. My fiance, Derek Hale, was holding the hand of his "girl bro," Chloe Shaw. With a smile, he handed me a pair of boxing gloves and explained, "Vivian, this is a tradition from my hometown. The bride has to get into the ring and wrestle one of the groomsmen for good luck. I asked Chloe to go up. Just play along for a minute." Looking at Chloe, who was always acting frail and sickly, I did not think much of it and stepped straight into the ring. But the next second, she threw an extremely professional spinning kick and knocked me unconscious with a severe concussion on the spot. When I woke up, I was paralyzed in a hospital bed. Derek stood there holding Chloe's hand and said to me, "Our relatives and friends gave us so much wedding money. The wedding can't go on without a bride. Chloe is willing to take care of me in your place. You're so kind, Vivian. You won't mind, right?" Under the torture of humiliation and severe depression, I pushed my wheelchair off the rooftop of our wedding home. When I opened my eyes again, I was back one month before the wedding. I turned around and knocked on the door of a national-level kickboxing champion training base. "Coach, if I trained for a month, can I punch someone's head open?"

Three days before the wedding, the Lawsons held a bride appraisal event for me. The full mark was 100, and I scored 89. Yves Lawson, my fiancé, sighed in front of the guests. "Rules are rules, Emilia. You scored less than 90. So, the wedding will be delayed by a year." My best friend, Wendy Shaw, stood right beside him, begging with tears in her eyes. "She's already great enough. Can’t she have another shot?" In my previous life, I thought they were actually defending me. So, I held back my dissatisfaction and waited for a year. Over that year, the Lawsons' estate project made money, Yves changed the prenup's terms, and Wendy eventually became the one to marry Yves. My eyes snapped open, and I was back to that appraisal event. I looked at the score on the screen, and I took the mic. "I accept the delay, but before that, I'd like to find out who graded me a one."

[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 my third wedding anniversary with Logan Archer, our housekeeper, Bianca Martinez, calls to tell us that she has to have both her legs amputated after saving Logan's grandmother from being hit by a truck. From that day on, Logan vows to take care of her. When she trembles from the excruciating pain, he shoves his arm into her mouth for her to bite on and stays by her side until she falls asleep. When she pounds her legs and berates herself for being so useless that she can't even go to the bathroom on her own, he rushes home from work, no matter how busy he is, to help her relieve herself. One day, when I tell Logan I'm pregnant, he looks at me wearily. "Get rid of it. Our main priority right now is to take good care of Bianca. We don't have time to raise a child." No matter how desperately I beg him, he still forces me to go to the hospital for an abortion. After lulling Bianca to sleep, he slips into my room and rasps out, "Honey, we owe Bee too much. Once she's all better, I'll definitely give you a child." Little does he know that, in my heart, he already belongs to my past, not my future.

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."

In Grovefield, wedding cars never doubled back. But on my wedding day, my fiance, Wade Chesney, backed our convoy up for twelve miles just to make way for another wedding convoy. I was about to roll down the window and ask what was happening when I overheard Wade talking to his best man, Tyler Krause. “You took a detour of more than seventy miles just to see Hayley off at her wedding. You’re really going all out for her. “Are you still planning to back us up even more? Aren’t you worried Mila’s going to lose it?” Wade motioned for the convoy to keep backing up. “Relax. She’s waited ten years for me. No matter how much of a fuss she makes, she’d never get out and run away from her own wedding. “If my family hadn’t pressured me so hard, I never would’ve said yes to her so easily. “Hayley can’t marry me, so the least I can do is back up and see her off for part of the journey. It’s my way of making up for all the years she spent with me.” My bouquet fell beneath the seat, and I let out a bitter, self-deprecating laugh. “So much for believing that all those years of hardship would eventually lead to a happy ending. It had all been wishful thinking on my part,” I thought. I opened my messages and sent my location to someone. I texted, [Do you still want to marry me? Hurry over.]

When my husband, Hugo Clarkson, is rubbing lotion onto my belly, I come across a post online. "My wife's in the late stages of pregnancy and needs me around constantly, but my girlfriend's getting increasingly demanding. What should I do?" The comments are flooded with people tearing the original poster apart. A few, however, offer some rather helpful advice. "Just tell your wife you're going to work out." "Go see your mistress at eight, then come home at ten and carry on playing the perfect husband." "Women become dumb as rocks when they're pregnant. She'll never figure it out." I can't help feeling sorry for the man's wife. Pregnancy already leaves women physically and emotionally vulnerable enough. To be betrayed by their husbands on top of everything else is just cruel. I'm about to complain to Hugo about the post when he suddenly appears in a change of workout clothes. "Honey, I'm going to start going for a run every evening from now on."

Seven years into dating, Kirk came to pick me up from work in the pouring rain. I opened the door to the front passenger seat, finding the fabric soaked and a single strand of hair stuck to it. Kirk kept both hands on the wheel, not even glancing at me. “I dropped an intern from the project department off at home. She was drenched since she didn’t have an umbrella with her.” I sat on the damp seat, my heart sinking. “Kirk, you, of all people, should know I have anxiety about certain things.” “It’s just a seat. She’s younger and more interesting than you. Heck, she looks prettier even when she’s drenched. “I’ve been with her, and honestly, she’s a lot more fun. “I’ll still propose to you, but you need to stay oblivious for us to carry on.” The rain battered the windows, yet it was the tension inside the car that left me struggling to breathe.

During those seven years, I helped Michael Spencer pay off his debts and worked alongside him until he became the company’s general manager. Almost all of my daily necessities were “secondhand.” I picked up a decade-old flip phone to use, and mended an old coat with the padding falling out to wear. Even our dishcloth was something I had salvaged from the old rags that the neighbors discarded when they moved. Back then, Michael would always hold me close. His eyes were filled with tenderness. “Nancy, just wait a little longer. “Once things get better, I’ll definitely throw you the wedding of a lifetime.” I believed him. That was until the seventh year, at the wedding rehearsal, when he walked into the backstage area and tossed me a “secondhand” wedding dress. “This is the one my cousin, Joanne, wore when she got married ten years ago. “You’re used to living frugally. A haute couture wedding dress doesn’t suit your style. You’re better off with this vintage one.” Before I had a chance to react, I saw the suit I had picked out replaced by a tattered jacket. It was on my father, Dan Norman’s back. “Your father comes from the countryside. He doesn’t understand suits and etiquette.” “This one from Joanne’s husband fits him perfectly.” Joanne was Michael’s first love. She had just returned home after her divorce last month and was standing beside Michael. I looked down at the frayed wedding dress in my hands. Then, I looked up at my father’s awkward smile. Suddenly, I realized something. This wedding, which I had waited seven years for, was no longer necessary. “Order me the most expensive wedding dress you can find,” I said over the phone. I was going to wear it to marry someone else.

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."

To save Hugh, I took the hit—literally. The kidnappers beat me so bad I ended up with a brain hemorrhage. My mind? Stuck at thirteen. Hugh, all guilt and promises, said, "Wenna, I'll protect you forever." And he did. He watched over me. When the house caught fire, he threw himself over me, took the burns, didn't flinch. Then came his oh-so-perfect foster sister. "Mia's not into... slow people. Maybe you should live next door," he said. And my son? The one I nearly died bringing into the world? "Stupid woman! You embarrass me and Dad. You're nothing like Aunt Mia—she's smart and pretty. If it weren't for you, she could've been my mom. You should just die!" To play hero for Mia, my son shoved me into the street. A truck did the rest. When I opened my eyes, I was back on the day Hugh proposed. This time? I wasn't here for his pity. And I sure as hell wasn't marrying him.

Lately, Chloe Dunham has been posting photos on social media of late-night meals sent by an anonymous admirer. She was the only single one in our trio of best friends, so I was always the first to like her posts. But whenever I saw the hand-drawn doodles on the meal boxes, I couldn't shake the feeling that they looked exactly like the work of my boyfriend, Jacob Aniston. Chloe once flicked me on the forehead and teased me. "You jealous little thing. Don't go making up stories. The three of us have been friends since we were kids. If Jacob and I were ever going to fall for each other, we'd have gotten together ages ago." I rubbed my forehead and laughed, then let the matter go. That was until the station assigned Jacob and me to cover a typhoon from the front lines, and Chloe insisted on coming along to deliver supplies. Then the levee breached. The three of us ended up stranded atop a swaying communications tower as the floodwaters rose around us. When the water reached our waists, Jacob raised his microphone and faced the camera. He told viewers across the country that this might be his last broadcast. Then he reached out, pulled Chloe in front of the camera, and wrapped the only raincoat around her. "If I have to die, I have no regrets as long as I'm with you. Everyone, you don't need to wait for the next report. Right now, I want to protect the person I care about most." The livestream flooded with messages of congratulations as they held each other and cried. Meanwhile, I huddled in the corner, my lips purple from the cold. I didn't even have the strength to say another word. After the water level finally dropped and the rescue team pulled us to safety, I shook the mud from my clothes and opened the back door of the rescue vehicle. "Don't overthink it. Chloe's physically weaker than you. I was just afraid she'd get hurt," Jacob said.

I was a real estate agent. My mother, Jenna Bennett, approached me privately and asked me to sell her property. "Your dad is having a hard time with his business. I want to help him out." The property had been left to Mom by my grandmother, Renna Patterson, so she'd always have a small refuge of her own, a place where she could feel safe and secure. Now, for my father's sake, Mom was selling that refuge at a bargain price. It didn't take long for a buyer to contact me. The woman asked, "Hi, could you hold the property for me until next week? I'd like my partner to give it to me for my birthday." I caught sight of a photo of her and her "partner" on her phone screen, and froze. It was Dad. I smiled and nodded at the woman. "Of course. I look forward to seeing your partner next week."

While my husband, Don Raffaele Borgia, is away on a business trip, I drive out to a warehouse on the outskirts of the city to take care of some business. I log into the car's navigation system and enter my destination, but the familiar mechanical voice is nowhere to be heard. Instead, a sweet, soft female voice comes through. "Amore mio, Alice will be your navigator today. Hearing my voice will be just like having me right by your side. You'll reach your destination in ten minutes." The car falls silent. I freeze in the driver's seat. Who the hell is Alice? I tighten my grip on the steering wheel and immediately call Raffaele. "When did you change the voice on your car's navigation system to some woman named Alice?" There's a noticeable pause in his breathing on the other end. Then he chuckles. "Oh, Alice Conti, my secretary. She borrowed my car to run an errand a while back. She probably changed it herself. What's wrong? Is the voice bothering you?" He sounds a little too casual. "I'll delete the voice pack when I get back. Don't overthink it. Alice and I are strictly business." Without asking more questions, I hang up and open the navigation history, only to notice the same address appears more than ten times. I start the car and follow the directions. Eventually, I pull up outside a familiar villa. My heart sinks when I look up and recognize the place.

At her lavish engagement party, Charlotte Ashford learns that her fiancé Connor has been cheating for three years with Sophia, the sister she loved most. When their betrayal unearths old lies, stolen memories, and the truth behind her parents' final moments, Charlotte cuts them out, rebuilds her life, and leaves Connor to face the regret he thought she would never make him feel.

The day I caught Joel Kemper in bed with another woman, she slashed up her own face. Joel pulled her tightly into his arms, refusing to let me see her no matter how hysterical I got. His eyes were bloodshot as he looked at me. "This is all my fault, Valerie. I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to you. I'm begging you. Don't go after her." After that day, Joel gave up every shred of privacy. He handed over his phone every day and even installed hidden cameras throughout his car. If a female patient so much as texted him, I would question him over and over, and he never once complained. He went along with everything, asking only that I take him back. Then, three days before our wedding, I went to pick up my dress, only for the sales associate to stare at me in confusion. "Ms. Clayton, you already picked up your wedding dress this morning. I actually just saw a video from your ceremony online." She pulled up the clip. The same friends of Joel's, who had still been acting like I was the one he was going to marry yesterday were now handing the rings to the bride and groom, with several of our mutual friends standing nearby. Joel leaned toward the bride with a smile and murmured tenderly, "I love you, Daphne." The name, and the face that looked exactly like mine, left me frozen in place.

A year ago, when Bailey Knight's side girl, Lucy Day, showed up in front of me, causing a scene, he had his people beat her until she lost the baby and tossed her out. Then he groveled before me for three straight hours, begging me to forgive him. Looking at the man I'd loved for ten years, looking so pitiful and broken, I eventually caved. Later, I caught Lucy sneaking around Bailey's villa in the suburbs, so I had her thrown out again. Three days before our wedding, Bailey grabbed me by the neck and shoved me up against the railing on the second-floor balcony, yelling so hard that his voice broke. "We already took Lucy's baby once! She can't handle it happening again. She's fragile. You're a woman—how can you not understand that? "I've given you the title of Mrs. Knight. I'd give you my life. Isn't that enough? Why can't you just accept her?" The next second, his secretary ran up to say they'd found Lucy. He shoved me down the stairs. The pain when my arm snapped made me feel like my whole body was being torn apart. But he didn't even look back. Staring at the cold, heartless man in front of me, I felt something inside me go completely dead. I picked up my phone and called Arnold Greenwood. "I don't wanna marry him anymore. Come get me."

Our seventh wedding anniversary. I sat at the dining table—alone. My phone buzzed, lighting up with two messages. First, from Tom: [Working late at the office tonight.] Second, anonymous: [Tom is incredible. Can you even keep up?] Attached was a picture of him, lips locked with a woman I didn't recognize. I blew out the candles on the anniversary cake. Eyes shut, I typed back: [Let's divorce.]

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 night I found out I was pregnant, my six-year-old pointed at a child influencer on his tablet and said, perfectly calm, "She's my little sister." I didn't know whether to laugh, so I flicked him on the forehead. The girl posted from Harborcrest, halfway across the country from us. Caleb had never so much as met her. "She's got millions of followers. Don't make things up. "You want a sister that badly? Should Mommy have one for you?" I watched him, nervous and hopeful at once, afraid I'd miss whatever crossed his face. Instead he pulled up one of her older posts, no expression on him at all. "The purse in this picture, that was from me. Dad says she's the only sister I'm getting, so I have to take care of her." My stomach dropped, and the smile set on my face. "Mom. Dad and I are tired of pretending." He put a hand on my belly and looked up at me with flat black eyes, nothing behind them. "I promised Dad I'd protect her. So you can't have another annoying baby. "You'll do what I say. Right?"