Scumbag Cheating 단편 소설 & 소설

At a party hosted at our house, my husband sang a soul-stirring rendition of “Missing You Tonight". He poured his heart into it, his eyes misty and his voice raspy with emotion. I secretly recorded a video and posted it online. To my surprise, the video blew up. Hundreds of thousands of likes poured in, with the comment section overflowing with sympathy. Laughing, I handed my phone to my husband. “Jacob, you went viral.” The top-voted comment read: [Girl, I’m not one to stir up drama, but your husband looks like he’s nursing a broken heart.] I thought he’d just laugh it off with a half-hearted smile. Instead, he took the phone and looked me straight in the eye with dead seriousness. “You’re right, I am heartbroken. I fell for a younger girl, but she refuses to be my lover and is trying to break up with me.” The room fell silent. I didn’t cry or make a scene. I just took my phone back and spoke in a flat, even tone. “That works out then. Let’s get a divorce. The young guy I’ve been seeing on the side has been throwing a fit, too, demanding I make things official with him.”

At the company’s annual dinner party, the front desk receptionist, Laila Nachtman, lost a game and had to randomly select a man to kiss as her penalty. She blushed and cautiously looked at Leonard Griffin. “Mr. Griffin, could you maybe—” Before she could finish, Leonard briefly said, “Scram.” The entire room erupted in laughter and mockery at her being so ridiculously oblivious. Everyone in their circle knew that he doted on me, his wife. Over the years, he had never given a second glance to anyone except me. His phone password had always been my birthday, and he reported his itinerary to me every time he traveled for work. He even kept a video call with me running while showering. Laila was foolish to throw herself at someone so untouchable. Just then, my phone rang. When I answered, the person on the other line claimed to be myself ten years in the future. She said while laughing mockingly, “Iris, the real fool here is you. That little nobody you look down on has been having an affair with Leonard for five years. “She used those pitiful tricks to steal everyone around you, leaving you with nothing and no one. “Fighting back destroyed your whole family. Leonard had you locked up in a psychiatric hospital, where you were imprisoned until your death.” When I heard the bitter laugh at the end of the line, a chill ran down my spine as my mind went blank. As I was about to hang up, that voice warned me again, saying, “Don’t believe me? Go ahead and open that private room door behind you and see for yourself.”

My fiancé, Jim Smith, had always been the kind of older brother who spoiled his younger sister. Harriet Smith, his adopted sister, was the first person he thought of whenever anything happened. When the craze for seasonal drinks swept through town, he was quick to buy Harriet the first one of the season. When he bought his first car outright, he saved the passenger seat for her to try first. Even when a fire broke out in our house in the middle of the night, his first instinct was to rush into Harriet's room and carry her downstairs. Only after he knew she was safe did he call to wake me. After I was injured in that fire, I finally lost my temper and demanded that he choose between Harriet and me. He looked genuinely confused. "Cecilia, Harriet and I have been through everything together since we were kids. She's just a kid. Why are you comparing yourself to her?" Then, as if he were offering me some perfectly reasonable solution, he added, "How about this? From now on, I promise I will treat you both equally. Okay?" I hesitated for a long time before finally agreeing. I had no idea that, later, the first wedding ring Jim had custom-made would go to Harriet. Even the wedding dress was no exception. Today was the day we had agreed to go to the county clerk's office and make our marriage official. Harriet came with us. The moment we arrived, she looked at Jim and said, "Jim, it's your first time doing this, so I wanna do it too."

My boyfriend, Emmett Carr, and I lived less than five miles apart in the same city. However, we never met more than twice a month. Whenever I asked when he was free, he always said he was busy with a recent work project. That continued until I accidentally discovered his travel records. He had purchased flight tickets for 48 out of the 52 weekends of the past year. He was flying to the country where his childhood friend, Cherry Lewis. was studying abroad. He would leave on Saturday morning and return late Sunday night, rain or shine. He flew there like clockwork, even more disciplined than when he was going to the office. The most recent date we went on was yesterday, at a cafe below his office. He had gulped down his coffee quickly and checked his watch three times, claiming that he had to leave for a meeting. I smiled and did not expose him. It was his 49th time leaving to see his junior, but I did not call or text him. All I did was sign the lease agreement to transfer the house to someone else and buy a one-way ticket to another city. Emmett had willingly flown a few thousand miles to be someone else's backup boyfriend. All I wanted now was to leave for another city. I no longer wanted to wait on his promises to take me out 'next week' that never came true.

My avoidant fiance refused to talk to me about anything. Every time we fought, he would put on his earphones and turn the volume all the way up. This time, we were arguing over laundry detergent again. He impatiently slammed the earphones on me. "Are you seriously going to do this again, Jessica? You fight because of bad photos. You start a fight because I didn't take out the trash in time, and you start fights because I forgot our anniversaries. And now I can't even choose which detergent I use?" I stared at the red mark on my thigh and the broken earphones on the ground. I saved up most of my salary for that. It was a present, but now he was using it to vent. Yet he had kept the laundry detergent his childhood friend gave him for six whole years. Every time an important date was coming up, he would use a bit of it to wash all his clothes. The sickly sweet scent of that detergent filled the room. I looked up and held back my tears. "Let's break up, Zack."

The night Justin Lane proposed to his first love, I stood on the terrace of the thirty-third floor, holding a report that diagnosed me with late-stage stomach cancer. Through the windows, I watched him kneel and slide the pink diamond ring that had once belonged to me onto another woman's finger. I endured the excruciating pain and stayed out on the terrace beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows so I wouldn't disturb their beautiful moment. Then Justin saw me. There was no panic or guilt in his eyes. There was only disgust. From the other side of the glass, he sneered and pointed toward the edge of the terrace. Then, he mouthed the words to me. "If you want to jump, then jump. Enough with the disgusting act already. "If you really have the nerve to die, I'll believe that you weren't lying." At that moment, the last spark of my will to live was finally extinguished. I looked at him, at the man I had loved for a decade… And I finally smiled. It was the smile of someone who had finally found peace. I turned around and climbed onto the railing. You're free, my dear Justin. Get ready to accept this last gift of mine.

My husband, Ethan Caldwell, has three mistresses who have no idea the others even exist. That is because I always make sure to plan his schedule. "On the 15th, you're going skiing with Lydia Bennett. On the 18th, you're taking Vivian Sinclair house hunting. On the 25th, you're flying to Derbin Isle with Jennifer Harrington to see the Northern Lights. I've already booked the tickets." After checking the three conversations he has pinned to the top of his phone, I recited his schedule to him as calmly as if I were discussing an ordinary business meeting. Without even looking up, Ethan says, "Add one more thing on the 20th. It's Vivi's dog's third birthday." I freeze for a moment but eventually add it to his schedule. The 20th is supposed to be the day he finally keeps his promise to give me the wedding we've never had. He has already postponed it 99 times, all for the sake of those three women. When I fall silent, Ethan pulls a silk scarf from one of the mountains of gift bags piled beside him and hands it to me. "Be good, Sienna. I promise this is the last time I'll postpone it." The scarf is actually part of Jennifer's gift package. I'm the one who goes to the boutique and places the order for him. I don't make a scene. I simply accept the scarf, then pull out the contract I've already reviewed and hand it to him to sign. Ethan seems pleased by my reaction. "You're finally starting to act like a proper wife from a wealthy family. Everyone in our circle envies me for having a fabulous wife like you. If you'd come to your senses two years ago, we wouldn't have had to keep postponing the wedding." I say nothing. I just watch as he signs his name. What he doesn't know is that I've slipped a divorce agreement into the stack of documents. The wedding I've been waiting for all these years is never going to happen. Someone else has already promised me the wedding I never get to have.

My husband's long-distance girlfriend is coming to check up on him again. I hear she'll be here in 20 minutes. Before my husband can say anything, I head to the master bedroom and grab my suitcase, as I always do. Thankfully, after her last visit a month ago, I never bother putting my clothes or toiletries back where they belong. So, this time, I don't have to pack in a panic. It's also thanks to her frequent visits that I'm able to go from hysterical and heartbroken in the beginning to completely numb and unfazed now. Seeing how efficiently I'm making my exit, Isaac Jones actually follows me out for once. He reaches out and ruffles my hair. "Once Candy leaves, we'll get remarried. She's always been proud and would never agree to be the other woman. So, you'll just have to put up with this a little longer. Once I'm done with her, I'll settle down. I won't keep messing around like all the other guys in my circle." As he speaks, I receive a bank transfer of one million dollars as compensation. This time, I don't send it back. I simply pull the car door shut. What Isaac doesn't know is that after eight marriages and eight divorces, I've finally broken free from him. This time, I'm not coming back.

Adam Locke made it his mission to control our marital finances. Every time I needed money, he subjected me to an interrogation. All I was allowed was 300 dollars a month, no more, no less. "Asking for money again?" Adam asked, shoving his ledger in my face. "You've already reached your withdrawal limit for this month!" I stared at the ledger. That 300-dollar budget was supposed to cover our children's medical bills, our daily household expenses, and even the money Adam owed restaurants or colleagues whenever he got drunk at one of his "business events." Not a single one of those expenses had been for me. Suddenly, his phone rang. He picked it up from the table, and his tone softened almost instantly. "Oh no. Did Zack get into another fight? How much do you need to settle it? I'll send you the money right away." "They said 15,000 dollars, or Zack's getting locked up at the station," replied his secretary, Yolanda Sharpe. Adam did not need to be asked twice. He hung up and immediately wired Yolanda the full amount so her little brother could stay out of trouble. It was as if Zack mattered more to him than his own wife did. I waited until he finished, then calmly said, "Mom was in a car accident. I need money for her medical bills. Please, anything would help." He tossed the ledger in front of me. "I told you, you've reached your withdrawal limit for this month!" he grumbled. "Can't she wait until next month to take care of whatever business she needs to handle?" This time, I did not argue or insist that he give me the money. I simply nodded and said, "Sure." Then I turned away from him and called my mother-in-law, who was lying on an operating table in the ER. "Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but it seems your son has refused to pay to save your life."

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.]

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!

At a gathering with friends, my boyfriend, Donovan McPherson, suggested we play a game of “I Have, Have You?” The winner would get to make one request of him. Everyone there knew I had been trying to get him to make me, Celeste Campbell, Mrs. McPherson for five years, and for as long he had not obliged. Now they all assumed he was giving me a chance. So, tacitly aligned, everyone held back to let me win. But his childhood sweetheart, Lily Kensington, would not relent. “Donovan watched the first snowfall with me. “He gave me a scarf he knitted with his own hands. “The tattoo on his wrist is my initials. “His passenger seat is permanently adjusted to fit my height.” After those four, I had only one finger up. Yet she was not done. Tilting her head, she flashed a smirk at me. “Donovan only started this game to make me happy.” My heart dropped, while my eyes darted instinctively to Donovan. He wore a doting smile, choosing to side with her, just as he had every single time over the past five years. I slowly dropped my finger down. “I lost.” In that split second, something dawned on me. There was nothing left in this relationship worth holding onto.

I had been able to see the labels above people's heads ever since I was little. When I was three, my grandpa held a family dinner at his house. Dad showed up with his secretary, Vivian Clarke. The moment she walked through the door, she went straight to Mom's seat. She rubbed her lower back and smiled sweetly. "Mrs. Lincoln, I hope you don't mind. Mr. Lincoln and I have been working on a project all day, and we're exhausted." I looked around the room. Above Eric's head was a glaring label. "Cheater." Above Mom's head was a dull gray label. "Loser." And above Vivian's head was a brightly shining label. "Ultimate gold digger." I immediately tugged on Eric's sleeve and asked loudly, "Dad, what do ‘cheater’ and ‘gold digger’ mean?"

On the day I returned to my alma mater for its centennial celebration, my assistant sent me a screenshot of a social media post. "I hope my girl's first time performing onstage at eighteen goes perfectly." In the photo, an unfamiliar girl stood backstage in my custom-made gown, looking as graceful as a white swan. The post was made by my husband, and he had hidden it from me alone. I was staring at the photo, about to message him and demand an explanation, when the girl appeared onstage at the celebration. I was seated in the front row. She looked exactly as she did in the photo, singing the song my husband had composed for me. After a moment's thought, I took out my phone, recorded her performance, and sent it straight to him. "Honey, what a coincidence. I just found my missing gown and necklace here at the school. "This girl is even singing the song you wrote for me. Anyone who didn't know better might think she was some obsessed fan trying to be me. "Tell me, if I call the police right now, how many years do you think she'd get?" The moment my message went through, a spotlight swept across the audience and landed squarely on my husband's face. He appeared on the big screen holding a banner covered with messages cheering the girl on. Without hesitation, I rose from my seat, turned to him, and smiled. "Fancy seeing you here, Honey."

My CEO husband, Martin Gentry, finds out I volunteered to donate some of my brainstem tissue to wake Evelyn Stout, the woman he's never gotten over. He finally leaves the monastery where he's spent the past seven years praying for her. For the first time, he comes to see me at the office and asks what I want in return. Everyone assumes I'll use the opportunity to ask him for a baby and secure my place as his wife. Instead, I hand him divorce papers. Everyone thinks I'm just playing hard to get. Martin's expression turns cold. He removes me from every position I hold at the company. Then he promotes Evelyn, gives her a raise, and tells me to think long and hard about what I've done. What Martin doesn't know is that the surgery wiped out seven years of my memories. I'm no longer the wife who put up with everything just to keep the peace. I'm the woman I was seven years ago, full of dreams and never afraid to stand up for myself. And this time, I'm done putting myself last for anyone.

The night before the Fourth of July holiday, my husband gathered the entire company for what I thought would finally be our long-awaited public announcement. Instead, his clueless assistant burst into the room wearing a wedding dress. "Cameron, I'm here to marry you." He didn't turn her down. If anything, his eyes softened with unmistakable affection as he promoted her to vice president on the spot. The entire company erupted in cheers for their love story. When my coworkers noticed me standing frozen off to the side, one of them couldn't resist reminding me. "Stephanie, you've been with Mr. Cox for nine years. You can't let a moment this special pass without saying something!" I smiled, walked onto the stage, slipped off my wedding ring, and tossed it to Poppy Campbell. "What kind of wedding doesn't come with a ring? Here, take it."

Because my older sister, Zara Gomez, dreamed of becoming a psychologist, I became her favorite test subject simply because I had been highly sensitive since birth. She said children should not be given too much security, so my parents missed every important moment in my life for years. She said people at their lowest should not be coddled, so when I was critically injured in a car accident, they turned around and went on vacation to Coral Isle. Only Aaron Shaw ever stood up to them. He would tell me gently, "Cry if you need to. I'm here." Then came the wedding by the beach. I waited and waited, but he never showed. Holding up the hem of my wedding dress, I searched the beach anxiously all night. In the end, all I got was his latest update on social media. [Celebrating the successful completion of Zara's ten-year experiment.] A second later, he called me on video. When he saw my red eyes, he sounded almost delighted. "Zara said the training works best when the thing you're looking forward to most falls apart. Look at you. You didn't even cry this time." Zara held his arms with a shy look on her face. "Thanks to you serving as the control subject all these years, I've finally finished the last part of my project." I looked down at my bleeding feet, and I let the ocean wind dry the last of my tears. So… All the warmth I had treasured had only been part of Zara's control experiment. Now that the final experiment was over, it was also time for the test subject to quietly leave the stage.

The day I find out I'm pregnant, I also discover my husband is cheating on me. To think that Brock Emerson, a celebrated OB-GYN, is sleeping with his own protegee, Wendy Blair! I strip Wendy's clothes off in front of the entire hospital, humiliating her for everyone to see. After that, the staff group chat turns into a daily betting pool on whether I'll show up to cause another scene. When Brock pulls me off the balcony railing yet again, he drops to his knees. "I've already had Wendy transferred. What happened that day was just an accident. You're all I care about." I give Brock two choices—either he sends Wendy to prison, or he signs the divorce papers. He personally submits evidence of Wendy's medical malpractice and chooses to stay. From then on, every year on the anniversary, I visit Wendy in prison to ease my grief over losing my child. On one of those visits, as I sign the log on my way out, I overhear two janitors talking. "That poor woman still hasn't figured out it's not really Wendy in there. It's just some actress they hired as a look-alike." "Dr. Emerson was scared she'd lose it again and hurt Dr. Blair, so he paid to build a whole fake prison wing just to keep her fooled. He and Dr. Blair are the real thing." "I heard their baby turned one today, and the whole family's celebrating together. They couldn't be happier." My blood runs cold. I can't believe what I'm hearing. The whole time I think we're starting fresh, Brock already has another family.

When I walked out of the funeral home, the Perfect Wife app my boyfriend, Ryan Keller, developed popped up with its 99th penalty notification. [Perfect Wife Score: -3. Reason: Too many calls.] I opened the app. Three years' worth of deductions filled the screen. I lost a point for asking him to pick me up from work in the pouring rain. Apparently, that made me too dependent. Three more disappeared after a fight because I refused to admit I was wrong. According to the app, that made me dishonest. Then there were the ten points I lost because I once asked Mom to pretend she was sick for me. Apparently, that meant she had raised me badly. I scrolled through the list without feeling much of anything until I reached the one name that had always mattered more than mine. Claire Snyder. Ryan's ex-girlfriend, who apparently couldn't handle anything on her own. A pipe burst in her apartment, so Ryan rushed over to fix it. Her neighborhood lost power at night, so she needed him to stay with her. Even today, when Claire's mom twisted her ankle during a dance class, Claire called Ryan to drive them to the hospital. Meanwhile, Mom suffered a sudden brain hemorrhage. I called Ryan 58 times. Every call went straight to a busy signal. By the time I stopped calling, Mom's hand had already gone cold. Not long after, she was wheeled out of the hospital and into the funeral home. I flexed my stiff fingers and tapped "No Objection" for the first time. Claire's cloying prerecorded voice immediately played through my phone. "Congratulations! Looks like you've finally learned how to be understanding. That puts your Perfect Wife Score at 60, which means you're officially eligible to get married! Better make it to the courthouse within three days, though, or you'll lose your chance!" I stared at the screen for a second, then deleted the app. Three days from now, I really was going to the courthouse to get married. Just not with Ryan.

The eighth time I catch Philip Mumford cheating on me, he pours a bottle of concentrated disinfectant over his groin. "Happy now?" Amid the wreckage, his face is deathly pale as he looks at me like I'm the one who has lost my mind. It's the first time he's ever backed down. I stand frozen, clutching a piece of broken porcelain, suddenly feeling completely lost. During our worst fight, I strap dynamite to myself and his mistress, forcing him to choose between us. In response, he has himself and my parents tied to five semitrucks chained together, then smiles and asks if I still want him to choose. That's how we spent ten years torturing each other, neither of us willing to give in, back down, or walk away. Now, he looks at me with something close to pity. "Leave Vivian alone," he says. "She's normal, not crazy like you. Punish me all you want—just leave her out of it." I stare at him. "What do you mean?" A faint, tired smile touches his lips. "It means I'm giving up. Happy now? Isn't this what you wanted all along?" Yes, he's giving up. But it's obvious who he's doing it for. The hatred burning in his eyes makes the past ten years feel like a cruel joke I played on myself. At that moment, a wave of helplessness washes over me. Suddenly, I just want us to let each other go.