Scumbag Cheating Short Stories & Novels

My mate and I have been together for five years, but he always said he wanted to save up $500,000 before marrying me. To help him reach that number faster, I secretly became the most sought-after fidelity tester in the city. One day, I landed a big case. The client complained to me, "We've been together for four years, and he's very generous. He's even planning to propose because he's worried I feel insecure, and he bought me a house." "But I heard he had a mate before me, so just want to make sure he really loves me." She was complaining, sure, but the happiness on her face was impossible to hide. She even showed me photos from their date last month. The moment I saw the photos, I froze. The couple in the pictures were vacationing at the most popular resort in pack territory, their faces pressed close together. They looked blissful and sweet. If only the man in the photo hadn't been Alexander.

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.

With 30 days left until our wedding, Derrick Holmes suddenly decides to quit smoking and drinking. He tells me he doesn't want our future children picking up any of his bad habits. The following day, he checks himself into a rehab center in the suburbs and refuses all visitors. Worried about him, I make soup every day and bring it over, but Derrick insists that seeing me would make it harder for him to keep going. Instead, I leave the thermos at the reception desk. I make the trip for 23 days straight without missing a single one. Then, the results of my pre-wedding physical come back, and I discover that I'm pregnant. I buy the smallest pair of baby shoes I can find and head to the rehab center, planning to surprise him. After searching through the entire guest registry, the receptionist looks up at me. "Ma'am, no one named Derrick Holmes is staying here." I check the location on my phone. The blue dot isn't in the suburbs at all. It's at the Luna Confinement Centre, a postpartum recovery facility. I take a cab there and find Derrick cradling a newborn in his arms. "Daddy's right here. You're okay," he murmurs patiently. A nurse standing nearby smiles at him. "Mr. Holmes, you're one devoted dad." He grins. "What can I say? The baby and his mother both need me." I touch the pregnancy report in my pocket and remain outside the room for ten seconds without going in. At that moment, I finally realize that Derrick didn't refuse to see me because he's afraid he'll lose his resolve. He's simply too busy being a father to another woman's child. I leave the baby shoes by the door, turn around, and schedule an abortion.

One of Ethan Sterling's closest friends got drunk and humiliated me. Called me a nobody orphan who married above her station, said I'd never be accepted by the Sterlings, that I wasn't fit to sit at their table. Ethan smashed a bottle over the man's head. He announced in front of everyone that if anyone ever disrespected me again, he'd make them pay. When I was pregnant and the morning sickness was so brutal I couldn't keep anything down, he went and scheduled a vasectomy. He didn't want me to suffer through another pregnancy. This was a man who loved me like I was his whole world. And yet — when I was lying on the operating table about to give birth, he was standing right in front of me with his arms around Iris, putting on a show for anyone watching. Iris was the daughter of another old-money family and she'd donated bone marrow to save Ethan's mother's life. The night before her own engagement, her fiance betrayed her, and the trauma wiped her memory clean. Now the only thing she knew for certain was that Ethan Sterling was her husband. In her world, I was the homewrecker — the scheming woman using the bastard in her belly to force her husband into a divorce. Ethan promised me it was all an act. Just repaying the debt for his mother's life. Once Iris recovered, he'd walk away from her immediately. But when I picked up the surgical consent form for him to sign, and his first instinct was to pull Iris behind him — to shield her — I knew. His heart had already drifted off course. The fairy tale of a Cinderella marrying into high society was over. Time to wake up.

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."

Three years after my death, Samuel Terrason came to visit my grave. When he saw the lilies blooming around it, his expression darkened. "What is this?" "If the stories are true, then these lilies mean she has found her partner in the afterlife." "Pull them out," Samuel said coldly. "Pull what out, sir?" "The lilies! All of them!" Then, Samuel bought the entire graveyard and ordered that every male be relocated. Yes, males. Even the dogs. "You're not seeing anyone else, even in death, Rachel!" he swore. "And if you try, I'll come find you when I'm dead, too! Not even death can separate us. Just wait for me!"

At our engagement party, the men of my Mafia fiancé, Daniel Rizzo, egged everyone into an old family game: Secret Truths. When it was Nikki's turn, his childhood sweetheart spoke in French. "The groom likes me far more than his dull, wooden bride-to-be." The whole room erupted in laughter. Glasses clinked all around us. Daniel rolled his wineglass between his fingers and replied with an amused smile, also in French. "Who doesn't enjoy a fresher, juicier peach?" The laughter nearly brought down the roof. Nikki swatted his arm flirtatiously. "You're awful. Aren't you afraid she'll find out?" Daniel turned to me and smiled. "She doesn't understand." Without missing a beat, he drew me against his broad chest. I let him hold me while something inside me turned to ice. What none of them knew was that I had been born in Paris. French was the first language I ever learned. I fought down the ache in my throat, kept a polite smile fixed on my face, and quietly slipped my engagement ring off my trembling finger. I'd made a bet with my family that Daniel would love me for who I was, without knowing my wealth or my family name. I'd lost. It was time to go home.

Alyssa Lambert, the only daughter of the world's wealthiest family, falls in love with Justin Fuller, a poor man whose company went bankrupt and is burdened with billions in debt. In the third year of concealing her identity to stay by his side, Justin finally pays off all his debts, starts a new company, and makes his debut on the Nova Exchange. As Alyssa watches his confident figure on stage, she thinks it's time to reveal her true identity. When she arrives outside the private room booked for the celebratory banquet, she happens to overhear the lively chatter inside. "Justin, Alyssa has faithfully stayed by your side for three years and was even willing to live in a basement with you. Now that you've paid off your debts and the company is publicly listed, isn't it time to propose to her?" "Yeah! When the company was just starting up, and you had no money to hire people, Alyssa practically split herself into three and only slept four hours a day. She even took the initiative with every difficult deal. Where else would you be able to find such a great girlfriend? You'd better marry her soon!" Alyssa's hand freezes on the doorknob, and she feels a wave of unease creep over her. She had hinted about marriage before, but each time, Justin dodged the question by saying he still couldn't provide her with a good life. Now that the company went public, would he… finally bring up the topic of marriage? "I haven't forgotten the kindness Aly has shown me these past three years. I also believed she was the one for me, but…" Justin leans back on the couch with a glowing cigarette between his fingers. Everyone's gaze is fixed on him, while outside the door, Alyssa feels her heart skip a beat. "Claudia is back."

On my wedding day, the officiant had just asked me whether I would take this man as my husband. Then my fiancé's secretary shoved her way onto the stage, heavily pregnant, sobbing that her baby couldn't grow up without a father. The whole audience was in an uproar. Adrian grasped both of her hands, turned to look at me, and kept his voice mild. "Vivian, she's stood by me for five years. That has to count for something." "The baby's already seven months along. I can't let him come into this world without a name." "You'll remain Mrs. Locke and we can treat her as part of our family. The three of us will build a harmonious life together." I looked at the big backdrop screen behind him, emblazoned with both our names side by side, and I started to laugh. "Adrian, did you forget?" "For this wedding, the hotel is mine and the guests are all those I invited." "Even that tux you're wearing was paid for with the card I gave you." I pulled off my wedding veil and dropped it onto the floor at his feet. "You want to give her a name? Fine." "First, cough up every last cent you owe me."

Graham Whitlock was leaving for the remote Northreach Research Station to work on a long-term research project. Before he left, he told me: “Audrey, the conditions out there are harsh, and the regulations don’t allow family members to come along. Our family needs you here, too. Please wait for me for three years. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” But three years became another three years. I waited for Graham for seven years. He still never came home. One phone call every five days. One video call a month. We saw each other only during the few precious days of leave he was allowed each year. Yet I never complained, not even once. I was afraid of getting in the way of his career. Then I became pregnant. Only then was my emergency family-visit request finally approved. After a grueling journey of thousands of miles, I arrived at the station and excitedly knocked on the door of his residence. A little girl answered. “Daddy, someone’s here! I don’t know her!” I thought I had the wrong room. But the next second, Graham’s indulgent voice came from inside. “Sweetheart, Daddy’s busy right now. I’ll have Mommy go see who it is.” His assistant, Mara Collins, came to answer the door. The moment she saw me, she froze, too shocked to speak. “Mrs. Whitlock, why are you here...?” I held a hand over my pregnant belly. After seven years of waiting, the heart I had kept suspended all this time finally died. It turned out Graham Whitlock hadn’t stopped caring about his family. He simply wasn’t caring about our family.

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.

On the day of my wedding, I accidentally oversleep by six hours. By the time I rush to the venue, my fiance, Jared Marshall, has already gone through the entire ceremony with his first love. He looks at my sweat-drenched face and just smiles and comes clean. "I'm the one who drugged you. Amber wanted a wedding, and it's no big deal, so I gave her one." As if worried I might cause a scene, he adds casually, "Be good, and I'll take you to get our marriage license next week. Besides, making a fuss now won't change anything. "Look, the wedding dress isn't even your size." My gaze settles calmly on the bride, who is wearing the gown I've spent nearly half a year choosing. Everyone holds their breath, expecting me to lose it. But I actually feel nothing but relief. He should've just said so sooner. I've been regretting this engagement for a while now. My ex has proposed with a 10-carat diamond ring, and now I don't have to return it.

For the five years I was married to my mafia husband, Dante, I never once showed my face to the Moretti family. I thought it was Dante’s way of protecting me. Until a family meeting record landed in my hands by mistake. It said Dante Moretti had formally married Gianna Romano. The date was five years ago. When I saw that name, I froze. She was Dante’s most trusted capo. She’d saved his life. She was also in love with him. Five years ago, she’d been against Dante marrying me. While I was performing on stage, she deliberately sent a spotlight crashing down and destroyed my career as a pianist. Afterward, she cried and said she hadn’t meant to. Dante believed her. He couldn’t send her to prison, but he swore that from then on, he’d never let Gianna appear in front of me again. I didn’t trust Gianna, but I trusted Dante. Now I’d found out that on the very day my husband made that promise to me, he married her. I clutched that thin sheet of paper as the warmth slowly drained from my body. I didn’t go into hysterics or demand answers. Instead, I took out my phone and opened an email I’d received three days earlier—an invitation from the Aurellian Ministry of Culture to apply for citizenship through its exceptional talent program. I tapped “Accept.” Seven days from now, my name would vanish from this country without a trace.

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.”

On graduation photo day, my boyfriend, Ethan Jones, takes more than 200 photos of Chloe Lloyd, the prettiest girl in our class. As president of the photography club, he knows better than anyone how to find the most flattering angles. Chloe stands beneath a tree and smiles at him. "Are you sure this isn't too much trouble?" Ethan looks down and flips through the photos on his camera. "Not at all. You look good no matter how I photograph you," he says gently. When my turn comes, I clutch the hem of my skirt and walk over. Ethan casually presses the shutter twice. "Done." I stare at him. "That's it?" He frowns at me. "You never look good in pictures anyway. Don't hold everyone else up." I look at the two photos on his camera. My eyes are closed in one, and half my face is hidden in the tree's shadow in the other. I ask him to take a few more, but instead, he puts up a post on the campus forum. "Photographer wanted. 20 dollars to snap a few graduation photos of my girlfriend." Half an hour later, I receive a private message from an unfamiliar profile. I send over my location, then say quietly, "Just so you know, I'm not photogenic." The reply comes almost immediately. "Your photographer didn't know how to work with you." After the shoot, he sends me the unedited photos. I'm stunned when I see the photos. I never knew I could look this good on camera. Even crazier, the photographer who took the job for 20 dollars seems to know what he's doing better than the president of the photography club.

Liam Jordan and I had spent six months planning our wedding. Then, on the day of my bridal fitting, no one even bothered to tell me they were going without me. When I called, Sophie Lawson answered with a laugh. "Hey, Yara! I tried on your wedding dresses for you! This bridal boutique downtown is amazing. Every single dress looks incredible in photos." Liam's voice came from beside her, casual as ever. "They look good on your sister, so they'll probably look good on you too. No point making a separate trip." I was about to say something when my mother, Diane Lawson's voice, cut in. "Honey, what about this rhinestone one for your bridesmaid dress? You'll be the center of attention." Sophie happily agreed. Everyone on the other end sounded like they were having a wonderful time. Meanwhile, I was the bride, yet somehow I felt more like an outsider to my own wedding than anyone else. Then Sophie spoke again. "Liam, this one's a little tight around the waist. Come help me loosen it." He didn't refuse. He even laughed and teased her for being hopeless. Something inside me simply gave out. After I hung up, I went straight to the hotel and canceled the reception, asking for my deposit back. The woman at the front desk couldn't help asking, "Ma'am, you waited more than six months to get this venue. How can you just give it up now?" I quietly slipped the engagement ring off my finger. "Let someone else have the wedding," I said calmly. "They might need it more than I do."

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.”

I had a secret ability I never told anyone about. Whenever I was intimate with my boyfriend, I saw what he had been doing exactly one hour earlier. In the past, the glimpses had always been filled with love. I saw him standing in the rain, patiently waiting in line to buy my favorite muffins. I saw him gripping a small ring box with sweaty hands, nervously rehearsing his proposal again and again. Because of those moments, I believed that Eugene Shaw loved me with all his heart. Three days before our wedding, everything changed. The instant his lips met mine, a vision flashed before my eyes. In a dim lounge, he had Jeannie Rogers, my best friend, pressed against the door. Tears streamed down Jeannie’s face as she pushed weakly against his chest. "We cannot keep doing this. "Melissa paid for my education. She did everything for me. She has been nothing but good to me. "If she ever finds out, it will destroy her." Eugene did not answer. He lowered his head and kissed her. His voice sounded rough and unfamiliar. "She will never know. "And I am marrying her in three days. "Think of this as one last mistake." The vision vanished as quickly as it appeared. Back in reality, Eugene still held me in his arms. He brushed his hand across my cheek, his eyes warm with affection. "Melissa, we are almost married. "Are you happy?" I looked into his loving eyes and smiled faintly. The love I had seen in those visions had been real. His betrayal had been real as well. After seven years together, our story ended here.

My boyfriend, Simon Hepworth, gets down on one knee for the 66th time. Moved by his persistence, I finally say yes. But on the eve of our wedding, he drops a bombshell on me. He tells me he wants to have a child with his stepsister, Fiona Hepworth. I find it ridiculous and get into a huge fight with him. But I never could've imagined what would come next. On our wedding day, I wait at the altar for three hours, bouquet in my hands, only for him to dismissively tell me that the wedding is postponed. All because he and Fiona have an IVF appointment that very day. "Fiona was abused by her father growing up. She'll never be able to marry," he explains. "I just want to help her fulfill her dream of being a mother. It's just IVF. It's not like we're actually sleeping together. Stop being so sensitive." He then hangs up, leaving me alone at the wedding under the gaze of countless guests and flashing media cameras. The shock sends my father into the ICU. Standing by his bedside, I make a vow. "Dad, you were right. I won't marry Simon. Next week, I'll come home and take over the family business."

The stray cat I adopted had recently started looking at my boyfriend, Logan Bennett, and his female best friend, Chloe Dawson, like they were complete idiots. Then one day, Chloe climbed into the passenger seat of Logan’s car again and shot me a provocative smile. A fierce little voice suddenly rang out in my head: “Human, that woman is calling you an idiot in her head! She’s also planning to get your man drunk tonight! Hurry up and slap her! If you do, I’ll make sure you find money on the street when you leave!” I froze and stared down at Mochi in my arms. So my cat could not only talk, but also read minds and predict the future? Fine. From today on, Mochi and I would make these two shameless cheaters pay—and make sure everyone knew exactly who they were!