Tragic Love Short Stories & Scumbag Cheating Novels

The day Ethan Pierce’s stepsister, who suffered from depression, threatened suicide for the ninety-ninth time, he abandoned me at the altar for the ninety-ninth time. "As a psychiatrist, I have a responsibility to my patient." And just like that, the system declared that I had failed my mission. My punishment was severe depression. Every last trace of my will to live was taken from me. From that day on, all I wanted was to die as quickly as possible so I could return to my original world. By the time Ethan finally realized that I truly wanted to die, he was desperate. He used everything he had learned in his entire career to try to cure me. To awaken even the slightest bit of love I had once felt for him. To force me to stay in this world. But I didn’t want him anymore. I hadn’t for a long time.

At my daughter Lily's first birthday, she reached for a paintbrush. The entire room went silent. Everyone looked at me carefully. My best friend, Nora, was afraid I might lose control and upset the baby, so she quickly picked Lily up and tried to calm me. "Jenna, today is Lily's first birthday. "Please don't get angry. "You were still bleeding months after the birth, and your body hasn't recovered. "And Ethan already blocked Summer Bell. "He hasn't gone back to that studio either. "He really does want to make this marriage work. "Stop hurting yourself over this, okay?" I closed my eyes. I remembered Lily's christening the year before, when Ethan stood in front of Summer and looked at me with open disgust. Even after six months of careful attention and constant attempts to make it up to me, I had never forgotten that day. I smiled faintly. When I opened my eyes again, my face had gone soft. I took Lily into my arms and gently touched her little cheek. "I'm not going to hurt myself anymore. "And I won't let any outsider damage what I have with my daughter. "From now on, she and I only have each other." When I looked up, I met Ethan's dark expression.

"Mrs. Sterling, are you sure you're ready to end this marriage of twenty years and give up the custody?" "Yes. File it. I’m done." I said calmly through the phone as I scrubbed at a stubborn grease stain on the granite island. For twenty years, I poured my entire being into this family. I managed the households, handled the children's education , and stood by my husband's side, supporting his rise in the syndicate without complaint. But my husband Alexander brought his young adopted sister Chloe to the interview, saying, "My success today is all thanks to my adopted sister." Even my own children looked down on me, calling me common and crude housewife. They had formed an alliance with his ever-present "auntie," the woman who seemed to think she was the true lady of the house. I signed the divorce papers and walked away, leaving them to become the "perfect family" they clearly wanted. But that when the family panicked…

I gave up the home my fiancé and I were supposed to buy together, and the realtor stares at me in surprise. "You've already paid the deposit. Don't you want to wait until your fiancé gets back before you make it official?" I smile and set the keys on the desk. "No. He's busy taking his first love skiing." Julian Harrow and I have been together for five years, and every winter, he goes to Valeria. He always calls it a business trip, but the photos he posts are of the snow-covered peak of Mount Veyra. Whenever I ask when he's finally going to take me there for our honeymoon, he always gives the same answer. "Next time." Then yesterday, I found the old camera he left at home. Inside were hundreds of photos of the same woman, captured in the same careful compositions against familiar backdrops of cherry blossoms, snow, and Mount Veyra. In five years, the only time Julian and I ever travel anywhere together is to the neighboring city to look at the house we're supposed to make our home. With my arm tucked through his, he tells me, "We don't need all that sentimental stuff. We're building a real life together." Now I stand inside the house I've spent months getting ready for us, and something inside me finally breaks. I burst into tears. The realtor cautiously holds out a pen. "Do you still want to back out?" "Yes." I wipe away my tears with a smile. My resignation has already been approved, and tonight is my last night in this city. Mount Veyra might not be coming to me. Even so, I can still walk away.

I canceled my ticket to Iceland. Even the customer service agent sounded confused. “There are only two seats left on this flight. Are you sure you want to cancel?” “Yes,” I said. “I’m sure.” We had been together for four years. Every February, he flew to Iceland. He always said it was for a photography project. On social media, he only posted glaciers and the northern lights. Whenever I said I wanted to see the aurora too, he would tell me, “It’s too cold there. You wouldn’t be able to handle it.” Then yesterday, I helped him organize an old hard drive. Inside was an encrypted folder named **February**. When I opened it, every photo was of the same girl standing beneath the same northern lights. The light was soft around her. Even the strands of her hair glowed clearly in the frame. The only photo he had ever taken of me was outside our apartment complex. Backlit. Out of focus. My eyes were squinting, and my entire face was blurred. At the time, he had even laughed and said, “As long as you can tell it’s you, it’s fine.” So it wasn’t that he didn’t know how to take good photos. He just never wanted to take them of me. For four years, he chased the northern lights. And every time, the same person stood beside him. The farthest light I had ever seen was nothing more than an Iceland photo he had posted carelessly online. While I was packing my things, he called me. His voice was rushed. “Weren’t you the one who kept saying you wanted to see the northern lights? Why did you cancel the ticket?” I hung up without answering. Iceland was too far. The aurora was too cold. Since he was never willing to come toward me, I would walk toward the light on my own.

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

We had been in love for five years and married for three. My husband had taken the whole “going Dutch” to an absurd extreme. A two-dollar bottle of water for the house? Split it in half. A $105 utility bill? He'd send me a Venmo request for my half. He called it “the spirit of equality in a modern marriage.” According to him, rules were rules. I gritted my teeth and put up with it. Until I found out I was pregnant. To save money on the prenatal appointments and nutritional expenses he insisted we split, I could barely afford anything more than plain boiled eggs every day. Even when I was heavily pregnant and caught in a downpour, if I tried to call a cab, he'd lecture me for lacking the independence a modern woman was supposed to have. Yet when another woman told him she was “having a bad day,” he didn't hesitate to spend hundreds of thousands of dollars on luxury goods for her. He even paid her expensive tuition to study abroad. I thought I'd already become numb to it all, so numb that I was prepared for whatever came next, even if it killed me. Then came the day when his disgusting penny-pinching calculations went too far. He tried to make me pay my “share” of the medication I needed to stay alive.

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.

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."

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.

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

Caleb Gallagher is still under the influence of anesthesia post-surgery when he calls out to his first love, Naomi Whitmore, while holding me. "I regret getting engaged to her, Naomi. It wasn't until after I left you that I realized I never stopped loving you. It's no big deal that I got stabbed while protecting you; I would have given up my life for you if you'd asked." A hush fills the room, and everyone looks at me with sympathy. I don't make a scene or throw a fit. Instead, I do Caleb a generous favor and call Naomi on the phone. "Come look after your husband. He is in surgery."

Six months after Ryan Holt returned to our marriage, he was still trying to quit Winnie Lowe. For his birthday, I made him a chocolate cake from scratch. The moment he saw it, he said without thinking, "Too bad she prefers matcha." I'd never been afraid of thunder. But one night, with lightning flashing and thunder crashing outside, he pulled me into his arms in his sleep and murmured, "Don't be afraid." On Winnie's birthday, I watched him enter a long string of numbers from memory. He tossed and turned all night, but somehow stopped himself from making the call. He even set our wedding photo as his lock screen. Across it, he'd written in red: "Remember, this is the woman you love." "You have a responsibility to this family." He had to constantly remind himself because although he'd come home physically, emotionally, he was still with Winnie. And suddenly, I realized there was no point in clinging to this marriage anymore. Maybe it was time to let go.

When my family fell into bankruptcy, I sold myself off for 500 million to pay off our debts and became the wife of Zack Landton—a man twelve years older than me. Everyone knew Zack as a lifelong celibate. They called him a pervert who could not get it up. I had already resigned myself to a sexless marriage, but he showed me a world beyond my wildest imagination. He went at it nearly ten times every night, and I cried and begged for him to spare me because it was too much. He spoiled me rotten but had two terms of his own. He forbade me from calling myself his wife, and he prohibited me from going to the monastery he visited every month. He explained, "I want to keep this a secret to protect you. The monastery is a boring place for a girl like you." I believed him, until I secretly followed him to the monastery this year. I wanted to write down the scriptures with my own hands and give them to him on his birthday. Instead, I saw him kneeling in front of another woman. She looked eerily similar to me. In his hand was the Diamond Star, the very same ring I had been wearing for years. "It's been five years, Eve, and my addiction is cured. I swear I'll never hurt you. You promised you'd marry me. Let's go to the city hall now." Eve. That was the same thing he called me. Tears spilled. Then again, five years had passed. And whatever promise had once held this ridiculous marriage together had clearly expired along with them. It was time for this mockery of a relationship to take its final bow.

Lena Fields was my best friend. When I found out her boyfriend had cheated on her, my mate and I rushed straight over to back her up. Lena and I clawed at that homewrecker’s face while my mate, Garrett Blackwood, held the cheating jerk down. On the way back to the pack, the three of us looked one another over. We were covered in claw marks, and we burst out laughing. Lena laughed until she started crying. “You two had better never break your mate bond. Otherwise, who am I supposed to tag along with?” Garrett rolled his eyes at her. “We’re fated mates chosen by the Moon Goddess. Only death can separate us.” After that, I helped Lena settle in the Windwolf pack. I stayed by her side through the pain of breaking her mate bond and encouraged her to start a new life. I was so busy helping her that I even neglected my mate. Every time Garrett got jealous, he’d pull me into his arms and complain, “Elise, do you even remember that I’m your mate?” Then Alpha Rowan Blackwood sent Garrett to the border for three months. When he came back, we couldn’t wait to throw our arms around each other. The moment I sank into his arms, I felt a sharp sting where he’d marked me. I also caught another werewolf’s scent on him. I shoved Garrett away, furious. “You cheated on me! I’m breaking our mate bond!” Then I grabbed Lena, who was standing behind Garrett. “Come on, Lena! You stayed in the Windwolf pack for me, so now you’re leaving with me!” But the second I said it, she shook me off. I turned around, stunned, and saw Lena step back to Garrett’s side, her eyes full of guilt.

Everyone believed Ethan Cross loved Isabella Winters to his core, but nobody knew he'd already found an Isabella look-alike to keep him company through the lonely nights. Even when Isabella recovered, he continued his affair. Little did he know that Isabella's recovery was temporary—within two months, she would lose every memory she'd ever made. After that, she would forget Ethan completely, and her love for him would be erased forever.

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.