Scumbag Cheating Short Stories & Novels

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.

My fiance, Adrian Hale, and I had planned to go snorkeling on Valentine's Day. The day we landed in the south of France, I discovered that his first love, Vivian Clarke, had come with us. They insisted on heading into unpatrolled waters. "But those waters are dangerous, shrouded in strange rumors..." Adrian frowned at me. "Sophie, do you have to ruin the mood right now?" Vivian smiled and hooked her arm through his. "With you here, nothing is going to happen to us." Once we were in the water, Vivian recklessly swam toward the deeper channel. A swell shoved half her body into a narrow opening. I swam over to pull her free, but she thrashed and drove her heel hard into my knee. Her elbow knocked my mask crooked. Before I could straighten it, Vivian kicked me into the opening. Adrian came up behind us, grabbed Vivian, and held her hand tight. The voices over my underwater headset were muffled, but I still heard Adrian's cold warning clearly. "Vivi doesn't know these waters. You do, don't you? "You led her into deeper water on purpose. Who exactly were you trying to hurt? "Figure your own way out. Consider it the lesson you've earned!" Briny seawater flooded my throat. My aching legs kicked uselessly. My body was wedged fast in the opening. I closed my eyes in despair. My last thought was this: if I died, they deserved to pay with their lives.

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.

Today was the day Quentin York had promised we'd finally go public. After five years of dating in secret, our relationship was finally going to see the light of day. I stayed up all night putting together a five-minute video from every photo we'd ever taken together. Then I posted it the moment the clock struck midnight on his birthday. But the second I hit send, I was suddenly kicked out of the account. By the time I logged back in, the video was gone. At the same time, a message from Quentin came through. "Your best friend just got dumped. Seeing your video will only make her feel worse. Be good, okay? Let's wait a little longer." Then a message from Lena Xavier popped up. "Can you please do something about him? I just got to the bar, and he suddenly showed up and forced me into his car. Seriously, he's unbelievable!" The two messages arrived one after the other. Just like every trip we'd ever taken together. They were always up front, while I trailed behind. This announcement was the last chance I was giving Quentin. Since he didn't want it, then forget it.

My mother-in-law and I were vacationing at our pack's resort. We had just arrived at the newly built Obsidian Peak hot springs and decided to hit the private healing pools on the top floor to relax. Out of nowhere, a glammed-up female covered her nose. She gagged like we reeked of rotting Rogues. "This pool is for high-ranking wolves only. How did trash like you sneak in? Ugh, I’ll need a Healer to scrub my skin raw after sharing this water." What a mood killer. I scoffed right back at her. "This is a public healing pool. Any pack member can use it. If you don't like it, leave." Her face twisted in pure disgust. "You dare talk to me like that? Do you know who I am? I’m your Alpha’s favorite. The future Luna of this pack! He’s marking me any day now. Get out, or my mate will tear you to shreds." Rowena and I exchanged a deadpan look. Ice cold. The Alpha of this territory was her biological son. And my fated mate. Since when did my Alpha get a new Luna?

Six years ago, when the Berlandi family accused Nico Valenti of leaking their financial records, I found the evidence that proved him innocent. When they still refused to take him back, I mortgaged my mother's restaurant and put everything I owned on the line for him. With my backing, Nico eventually became the person in charge of Saint Vito Port. He promised that at this year's council meeting, he would openly introduce me as his wife. But that night, I was stranded at Blackwater Docks. I called Nico for help twelve times. He never came. Instead, he was at the council giving my pin to my best friend, Bianca Rossi, and letting her take my seat as his wife. When Bianca finally answered my call, she smiled and turned the camera toward the crowded hall. "Alessia, you're good at handling things. I'm sure you'll figure it out." Then Nico accused me of being petty. "It's her first time at the council. Do you have to embarrass her in front of everyone?" I looked at the seven fresh stitches in my palm and laughed. Nico had built his career with my help. Bianca was enjoying a status she'd gotten through me. Yet somehow, I was still the one expected to step aside just because I could "handle it." I didn't argue. I called the registrar. "Strip them of everything tied to my name. Effective immediately." If Nico and Bianca truly believed they had gotten this far without me, it was time for me to take back everything I'd given them.

My name is Nina Brown. I've been married to Julian Hayes for seven years, ever since I left Sorrin for Capin. We can never eat the same meal. I love spicy food, but the second he smells spice, he slams his fork down. I made a spicy fish stew at home once. He smashed his plate and fork and gave me the cold shoulder for a month. After that, I quit making spicy food and learn to live on thin soup and bland food. Every day, for seven years, until my birthday. That day, I finish buying groceries and head home. Suddenly, the smell from a spicy stew shop stops me in my tracks. That is when I see Julian sitting beside a young woman. A pot of bright red chili stew sits in front of them. He's sweating from the heat, swallowing the food she feeds him like he's done it a hundred times. His lips are already swollen, but he still looks like he's enjoying it. I stand outside the glass window and breathe in the chili in the air. For the first time, it makes my stomach turn. It's not that he can't handle spicy food. He just won't eat it for me.

After she was intimate with her husband, Derrick Gladwin, Celine Clarkson headed to the bathroom to clean up. Then the closet door swung open. Jenny Dlay—Celine's best friend—popped out, laughing like crazy. "Wow, Cece. You act all innocent, but you still make that face when things get good? I'm dead." Jenny rolled her eyes and stuck out her tongue, mocking the way Celine had bitten her lip and trembled. Celine went pale and froze. Jenny didn't care. She strutted over, went up on her toes, and hooked an arm around Derrick's neck, her nails brushing through his Adam's apple. "Okay, Ricky. Didn't know you had that in you. You seriously wore her out." She smirked. "Almost feel bad for her." Derrick laughed and flicked her forehead. "Told you. You just didn't believe me." "Can you blame me? I thought you were all talk." Jenny grinned and tugged at his robe. "Guess I'll have to check for myself..."

In Kieran Chase's eyes, I was not his wife. I was a non-performing asset waiting to be liquidated. When I got sick and asked for help, he became impatient. He said, "This is a minor problem. You can handle it on your own. No need to tell anyone." When I broke down in tears, he reprimanded me. "Losing emotional control shows weakness. It exposes the fragility of our alliance. I'll have the PR team teach you emotional management." Even when I called for help after a car accident, he hung up. "Nothing about you is important enough to interrupt a transaction worth hundreds of millions." I spent seven days in the ICU fighting for my life. On my first day home, I found Kieran leaning over another woman, his voice suddenly soft and coaxing as he convinced her to take her medicine. He opened his mouth to explain. I smiled bitterly and handed him the papers I'd prepared long ago. My tone mirrored his perfectly. "Mr. Chase, regarding our marriage project, the return on investment is unacceptably low after comprehensive evaluation. I'm formally proposing we terminate our cooperation. "Here's the divorce agreement. Sign it."

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.

On Valentine's Day, by the time I hurry into the seafood restaurant, my boyfriend, Cody Sharp, and my best friend, Irene Thorne, are already halfway through their meal. I reach for a chair, only to realize there isn't an extra one. Cody glances up at me and says flatly, "Staff said they only have tables for two left. A table for three means a four-hour wait. Just find a table for one. It's all the same." Irene offers an apologetic look. "Besides, Serena, aren't you allergic to seafood? Maybe grab a bite somewhere else?" I freeze. We have eaten at this exact spot 30 times. I am allergic to seafood, but since they love it, this is always the place. Just to keep them company, I take allergy medication before every single visit. So they knew all along. They just didn't care. At the table, they laugh as they plan to come back a few more times before heading overseas next month. Thanks to their top grades, both earned fully funded spots in the study abroad program. My grades are average, but because I wanted to stay with them, I was ready to pay tens of thousands of dollars out of pocket to go along. Now, the heavy seafood stench in the room suddenly turns sickeningly sharp. I turn around, walk out, and step into the barbecue joint next door. Pulling out my phone, I cancel my self-funded study abroad application. That feels good. From now on, I get to eat whatever I actually want.

The sapphire bracelet my grandmother had left me, a flawless royal blue piece worth more than 4,000,000 dollars, turned up on Cecelia Swanson's social media. In the photo, the assistant, fresh out of college, raised a glass of champagne. Her smug caption made my skin crawl: [Thank you for spoiling me, Mr. Tavernier. The Professor said this bracelet alone could buy a few houses~] I sent Mason Tavernier a text. [Bring the bracelet back within two hours, or face the consequences.] He left me on Read. Two hours later, I sat staring at my phone, my finger hovering over the [Report to Police] button. Three seconds passed. Then the reception erupted into chaos. Through the venue's security cameras, I watched the police pin Cecelia against the champagne tower as spilled champagne soaked through her borrowed couture gown. They hadn't listened to reason. Thus, I would just have to teach them a lesson.

Max Siegel loved me deeply and promised me the grandest wedding anyone had ever seen. However, just three days before the big day, everything changed. The custom-made wedding dress he'd ordered for me was given to his stepsister, Fawn Lewis, and instead, he handed me a pill—one that could erase memories. “Kate,” he said, “I don’t want to hurt you, but Fawn has just been diagnosed with terminal cancer. She doesn’t have long. Her last wish is to marry me. I can’t have her leave this world with regrets. “This pill will make you forget everything about us for a few days. But don’t worry. After the wedding is over, I’ll give you the antidote, and you’ll remember everything again. Then, I’ll give you the wedding you deserve.” His tone left no room for negotiation. Without hesitation, I took the pill and swallowed it. However, what he didn’t know was that I developed that drug myself, and there was no antidote. Three days from now, I would forget the man I loved most—him. And once that happens, there’s no turning back and no chance to start over.

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.

I once believed meeting Charles was the final ray of comfort in my life. A sightless man and a terminally ill woman, leaning on each other to find warmth in the dark. I gave up chemotherapy, pushing through cancer pain to work, all just to leave behind every cent I had for my "blind" boyfriend and our unborn baby. I even signed an organ donor form, hoping that after my death, my eyes could finally bring him light. That belief shattered when I saw a photo in the hospital director's office. There he was, surfing under the bright sun. His eyes shone, with an arm wrapped around an heiress dripping in multi-million-dollar jewels. It turns out our whole love story was nothing more than a rich kid's bet, and my devotion was nothing more than entertainment for his wealthy friends. He trampled my father's hard-earned savings into the dirt and burned my late mother's legacy on a single night of fireworks just to make another woman smile. So, I shredded the donor agreement and lay on the operating table for an abortion with a smile. Since they wanted a game, I’d play along with them until the end.

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

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.

Seven years ago, it was love at first sight when I met Lucas Yates, who was still a nameless thug at the time. For him, I chose to leave my wealthy family. After seven years of dating, he throws me a grand wedding the day he finally becomes the head of Devil's Advocate, a mafia organization. On the day of our wedding, his childhood friend, Yelena Jackman, crashes the venue. She confesses her love for Lucas, but he rejects her without any hesitation, vowing he will only ever love me in this life. Just as we're exchanging rings, Lucas' enemies show up to cause trouble. When he sees the gun pointing at me, he lunges forward to protect me without a second thought. Yelena, who should have run, takes three bullets while protecting Lucas and falls into a coma due to severe blood loss. Overwhelmed by guilt, Lucas sends her to the best hospital in the world. I have the same blood type as Yelena, so in the attempt to save her life, I donate so much blood that I go into shock. Guilt leaves me with sleepless nights. Every day, I pray she'll wake up. I'm even willing to look after her for the rest of my life if I have to. Lucas keeps comforting me, saying that I don't need to feel so guilty, as Yelena did all of it of her own volition. He says he'll take up the responsibility of making it up to her. I'm extremely grateful to Yelena for saving Lucas and allowing me to have such a wonderful husband. However, on the day of our third wedding anniversary, I receive a mysterious message. "Lucille, you shameless homewrecker! I'm his lawfully wedded wife! If you know what's good for you, you'd better scram and go as far away as you can. If you don't believe me, you can always head to City Hall to see just who is registered as Lucas' lawful wife!"

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.

On the day of our wedding, my fiance's best friend, Penny Lynd, showed me a video, smiling as she said, "Hey, Lydia. I've already educated Aron for you. He's now a real stud, so enjoy!" I felt my breath leaving my lungs as they made love in the video, while Aron Quaker laughed, clapping her shoulder. "Where did you get that AI video? I only took your clothes off that one time." While he was laughing without a care, I felt like I'd just fallen into an abyss. Seeing me lose my cool, Penny laughed out loud too. "There! I knew it would upset Lydia! She's so dumb that she can't even tell that it's an AI video—and a bet's a bet! Starting today, we will be married for three days." It was only then that I understood. They made the AI video to bet if I would believe it, so that I would embarrass myself at my own wedding. And the wager was for Aron to be Penny's for three days! As the video continued, Aron turned to me, chuckling. "Don't worry. I lost the bet, but the wedding goes on as planned… Although you have to pick up your stuff from the bedroom and only come back three days later." He reached out to me, but I shook it off and took off my ring. "There's no 'later'. I'll get my stuff right now and let you guys have the wedding too. You're her husband now anyway, and you can't go without a wedding, can you?"