Cerita Pendek Tragic Love & Novel Scumbag Cheating

George Matthews had a peculiar habit of arranging tasks according to his priority. I jokingly asked him, "The wedding is a huge thing. That's probably first on the list, huh?" But he merely replied, "I have something else to handle first." I never understood what could possibly be more important than our wedding. Not until I came down with appendicitis. George was sending me to the hospital when he suddenly made a sharp turn. He casually explained, "Kayley cut her hand. She faints at the sight of blood. I need to go get her." Kayley Greene was my best friend and his assistant. I was in so much pain that I could barely sit upright, yet George still left me alone in the car. Just then, his laptop beeped. I found a to-do folder on the screen. "Prioritize things Kayley asked for help with." "See the Northern Lights with Kayley in Ebrax." "Help pay off Kayley's debt." A whopping 208 tasks related to her. I scrolled all the way to the bottom. Only then did I finally see the word—wedding. So the thing that mattered most to me had always been last on his list. I moved the mouse. Then I deleted it. Since the wedding was not important, he could forget about it.

I come across an announcement while scrolling through my social media feed. The suspense thriller that my boyfriend, Thomas Sheridan, and I didn't get to watch in the movie theaters is now available for streaming. Remembering that Thomas has a subscription to the streaming service, I ask him for his login details. However, Thomas rejects my request. "I don't like sharing my streaming history. Besides, you're always watching those brainless romance flicks. I don't want the app to recommend those movies to me." My heart twists painfully upon hearing his words. I silently fork out 100 dollars to pay for my own annual subscription. When the afternoon rolls around, I stop by my best friend, Lydia Wakeford's place to grab some things. She's curled up on the couch, watching a show on her tablet when I arrive. A notification suddenly pops up on the screen. "Your progress is being synced with the main account, 'Tom.'" I'm briefly stunned before I ask, "Are you using Thomas' account?" "That's right. He gave me his login details when I asked. He must have agreed to my request because of you. I'm so lucky." Their lists of recommendations and streaming histories are neatly displayed on the tablet. Thomas isn't willing to share his personal sanctuary with me, but he has already welcomed another into it with open arms. During dinner, I'm just about to tell Thomas and Lydia how I want to spend my birthday tomorrow when I hear them talking about movies. "The movie that we watched a few days ago is still playing in the movie theaters, Tom," Lydia says. "Why don't the three of us watch it together? What do you think?" Thomas places his fork down and nods. "Sure. But Riley's scared of horror movies. It'll be better if it's just the two of us." "Alright then," Lydia says, sounding a little regretful. "I'll watch a romance movie with you next time, Riley." I nod silently. Thomas and Lydia continue to discuss movies as they sit at the dining table. Neither of them remembers that it's my birthday tomorrow. I suddenly feel like I'm the onlooker who's watching their romance unfold.

My fiancé, Everett Prescott, spent five whole years designing my wedding dress, and it finally arrived today. Except I couldn't zip it up. It stayed wide open until my best friend, Sienna Hart, slipped into the dress perfectly. The fabric hugged her curves like a second skin. She turned to my fiancé with an exasperated sigh. "Everett, are you serious? You got Leah’s size wrong. Again." My blood ran cold. Over the five years Everett and I had been together, this wasn't the first time he'd conveniently forgotten my measurements. When he bought me pajamas that were a size too small, he just blinked, flashing that easy grin of his. "Oh, wait. I think this is Sienna's size, right? Let's just give it to her. I'll buy you another set." When my engagement ring turned out to be too small, he scratched the back of his neck and shrugged. "My bad. Well, we already bought it, so we might as well give it to Sienna. Lucky her." Our wedding was in two days, and once again, he got the measurements dead wrong. Everett rubbed his nose, giving a weak laugh. "Totally my fault, babe. My bad. I'll just take it back to the shop and get it altered." "Everett, altering a custom wedding dress takes at least six months," I said, my voice barely a whisper. He offered a helpless smile. "Well, you can't exactly walk down the aisle without a dress, right? Don't worry about it. As soon as the dress is altered, we'll have the wedding immediately. We've already waited five years. What's another six months?" Right then, my phone buzzed in my palm. [Sweetheart, the guy you have an arranged marriage with is flying back into the country in two days. I don't care what excuse you have this time. You’re coming home and marrying him!] I stared at the screen for a long time before replying: [Got it. I'll be there.] I spent five long years waiting around for this wedding. I'm not waiting another six months.

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.

At a Halloween costume parade, I suddenly spotted a familiar figure. I watched him with a she-wolf. They couldn't keep their hands off each other. The she-wolf was draped against him in a succubus costume that showed off her curves. The male wolf was dressed as a lord of Hell. His face was flushed, his body tense, and his hands gripped the she-wolf's waist tightly. The people around them laughed good-naturedly. I froze. That was my father, Elias Thorne, the stiff, conservative man who had rushed off to work late even on Halloween. I called him right away and kept my tone casual. "Dad, can you come pick me up in a little while?" His voice faltered for a moment, then returned to its usual warmth. "Sorry, sweetheart, I'm at the office working late. I can't come get you. When I get home tonight, I'll make you the apple pie you love." I didn't argue. I said yes like a good daughter and smiled into the phone. When the call ended, I let out a breath and walked toward the couple who should never have been together.

My husband, Jonathan Rivers, was a notorious playboy in Polesburg's elite circles. Beautiful women surrounded him constantly, yet he claimed to have fallen for me at first sight, saying it was a love that would last forever. He dismissed all the other women around him for my sake. Everyone said I was his destined soulmate. Seven years into our marriage, I had seven abortions for him, simply because he said he did not like children. Then on Father's Day, I saw him on his secretary's social media feed. The same man who claimed to be away on business was there with a child beside him, calling him "Daddy" loudly. It turned out that when he said he did not like children, he meant that he did not like children with me. I dialed his number through tears. "Do you want another wife?"

At my son's kindergarten awards ceremony, the teacher invited the parents onstage to share their parenting experiences. I was about to stand when Julian stopped me and motioned for my best friend, Wendy Morgan, to go up instead. "Nathan is actually Wendy's and my son," Julian Cole said so calmly that he might as well have been discussing something that had nothing to do with me. "Wendy has known for five years that Nathan is her son, but she hasn't been able to acknowledge him as her own. I don't want her to keep suffering in silence," he added. I was almost certain I'd misheard him, but the question slipped out before I could stop it. "Then what about my son?" "Your son died the moment he was born. Wendy couldn't bear to see you suffer the pain of losing your child, so she gave you hers," he answered just as casually, as though he were talking about someone else's family. When he saw the color drain from my face, he let out a cold scoff. "You never even saw him. Why are you taking this so hard? Survival of the fittest. Isn't it perfectly normal for an unhealthy embryo to be eliminated?" A deafening roar filled my head. Julian tightened his grip on my hand. "Don't worry. Nothing is going to change. I won't divorce you. Nathan just has another mother now. That's all." I pulled my hand stiffly from his grasp and stared at him in disbelief. "Where are my son's ashes?" Julian froze for a moment. "Ashes? I gave his body to the hospital for disposal. What ashes? He was probably thrown into some trash can somewhere." I shot to my feet, my voice trembling beyond my control. "Julian, you're an animal!"

On the last day before the college application portal closed, Juliette Larkin watched Colton Hayes reach for the mouse, delete the university choice they had agreed on together, and enter a completely different school. The school he picked was the one her best friend, Kelsey Tyndall, had been dreaming about for three years. Juliette's fingers went stiff over her keyboard. She could not process what she had just seen. "Colton, did you put in the wrong school? Why'd you suddenly pick Lakewood?" Colton closed the browser tab without so much as a glance her way. "It's not wrong. I'm not going to Stanmore anymore, Juliette. I'm going to Lakewood with Kelsey." "Why?" Juliette stared at him, unable to believe what she was hearing. "We said we'd go to Stanmore together. You promised me." "It hit me that Kelsey's always loved the sycamore trees at Lakewood, so I'm going with her. You can just pick whatever school's nearby. It's not like your scores could get you into Lakewood anyway." His profile was calm and indifferent, while she was close to tears. The day their college entrance exam results came out, Colton had scored 650. When he asked about hers, Juliette had only smiled and said, "It's about the same as yours. We can go to Stanmore together, Colton." The truth was that she had scored 705, a full 55 points more. And the full score for this exam is 750. Even so, she had never once considered changing her plans. However, he was choosing Kelsey over her. In that case, she would choose her future over him. Juliette took a deep breath, turned to her computer, and changed her application. She was not going to Stanmore or Lakewood anymore. She was going to Kensington University, one of the country’s top-ranked schools, far away in the north.

Whitney Westbrook clutches her pregnancy test results, her heart brimming with joy as she imagines how thrilled Lennox Graham will be when he finds out she's pregnant. But a little girl suddenly rushes out from around the corner, startling her. "Mommy, hurry up and divorce Daddy! He's going to get you killed!" Whitney's first thought is: Whose kid is pulling a prank on me? She manages a strained smile, then crouches down to meet Nola at eye level. "Sweetie, you've got the wrong person." "No, I don't!" Nola suddenly raises her voice. "Mommy, Daddy doesn't love you at all! He's always been in love with Winona!" Whitney's expression freezes. People in their social circle occasionally mention that Winona Sterling is the only woman Lennox ever loved in his youth. Yet everyone insists it's nothing more than a youthful infatuation, something that no longer matters. "Who are you, exactly?" Whitney's voice trembles. "My name is Nola Graham." Nola sobs so hard she can barely catch her breath. "You just found out you were pregnant when Winona got divorced. After that, Daddy devoted himself entirely to her. After you gave birth to me, your health never recovered. When I was five, you closed your eyes in your hospital bed and never opened them again." Nola throws her arms around Whitney's legs. "I made a wish at your funeral, and that's how I got here—to stop this from happening to you." Whitney takes a sudden step backward. Her rational mind tells her that none of this makes sense. A little girl suddenly shows up claiming to be your future daughter and telling you that your own husband will be the death of you. Even a novel wouldn't dare come up with a plot like that.

For five years of marriage, my husband, Caleb Sullivan, had only one rule when it came to buying household appliances: if he could get it secondhand, he would never buy it new. He had found our refrigerator on an online marketplace, picked up our washing machine from a local seller, and even complained that the robot vacuum I had spent six months waiting for at a discounted price of 300 dollars was too expensive. "We're not putting our lives on display for other people. What matters is that the machine works." I had always assumed he had grown up poor and was simply afraid of going back to those days. That was until my best friend, Yasmine Owens, moved into her new home and Caleb asked me to help her unpack her deliveries. A 500 dollars robot vacuum, a 2,000 dollars washer-dryer set, and even the coffee machine I had wanted to buy last year but could not bring myself to splurge on were all sitting in her kitchen. I stood there, stunned for a long moment. "Did you strike it rich or something?" Yasmine laughed as she unwrapped another package. "Caleb bought them for me." Caleb did not even look up. "She lives alone, so it's safer to have new appliances. You and I both know how to find good secondhand deals. There's no need to waste money." When I got home, our old washing machine, which had been leaking for a while, broke down again. I took our shared tablet to list it on the online marketplace, but when I opened the app, I discovered Caleb had forgotten to log out of his account. I tapped on his purchase history and found a total of 47 orders—every single one had been delivered to Yasmine's address. The sideboard, the floor lamp, the juicer, the old television… The first dozen or so purchases were all things Caleb had told me he had found at a bargain over the years. Things we had been using in our own home all along. As I stared at our leaking, battered washing machine, it finally dawned on me—it was not that he knew how to find good secondhand deals. He had simply been waiting for Yasmine to wear things out first.

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.

All because I opened a window to air out the room, my husband’s childhood sweetheart, Celine Ashcroft, caught a cold. In a fit of rage, my husband, Ronan Blackwood, had his men bind me and drag me down to the ice cellar despite my being five months pregnant. "Don’t think that just because you’re carrying my child, you can bully Celine. If even a single hair on her head is harmed, I’ll make you repay it a hundredfold!" Shivering violently from the cold, I knelt through tears, begging for forgiveness. I promised that from now on I would serve his precious sweetheart well to atone, that I would never again let her suffer even the slightest harm. He only gave a cold order to seal the cellar, saying I needed to be taught a lesson so it would be burned into my memory. A week later, when Celine finally recovered from her cold, he finally remembered me in the cellar. "Vesper, have you truly realized your mistake? As long as you agree to kneel and apologize to Celine immediately, I’ll spare you." What he didn’t know was that by then, I had already frozen stiff in that ice cellar. And the child he had treasured so dearly no longer showed even the faintest sign of life.

We played a game of 'Guess the Person' during my son's birthday party, and when my seven-year-old son, Micah Grant, picked a card, he said, "This person is very old, ugly, and has a bad temper." My husband, Emery Grant, gave this some thought and added, "This person is also possessive, and it's suffocating to be with this person." My mother-in-law nodded. "This person is unpresentable and always ruins the mood." I kept trying to guess who it could be. "Is it a villain from a television show? Or an annoying relative from someone's family?" Micah burst out laughing and shouted the answer, "Mom is so stupid! We were describing you!" Everyone laughed, and I was the first person eliminated from the game. They continued playing the next round, and Micah picked another card. His eyes brightened at the name on the card. "It's someone who is pretty, and very charming. Dad likes this person a lot and I'd like this person to be my Mom." At this point, everyone turned to look at Winnie Linberg, who was sitting at the side. She was Emery's ex-girlfriend, and she blushed at Micah's words. That was when I realized the name on the second card was hers. I suddenly felt everything was meaningless when I saw the looks of approval Emery and my mother-in-law were giving Micah. We were married for eight years and had a seven-year-old son, and I suddenly realized there was no place for me in this house. If I could not be part of this little family, there was no need for me to force myself into it.

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."

My sister's husband took her kidney and put her on regular blood extraction for three years. By the time she finally escaped from that hellhole, she was already at death's door. As she lay in the clinic's sick bay, she held my hand in a feeble grip. "Don't go after them. The Lawsons aren't an entity you can take on." My sister died in my arms three days later. I buried her underneath her favorite tree in the hill behind our town. Seven days went by when a black Maybach darkened the entrance of our town, and out came Charles Lawson, my sister's husband. There was a frail-looking woman standing behind him. She looked as though a soft gust of wind could probably blow her away. That man was standing outside my house, looking at me like I was a peasant. "Where's your sister, Helen? Summon her. Rachel needs her bone marrow." I wiped the soil off my hand and smiled meanly at him. "You want my sister? Sure, but you'll have to dig her out."

My best friend, Jolyn Jones, called me while I was at work. "Help! S-Someone's about to v-violate me! Petra, please help me!" Panic shot through me. I immediately dropped a crucial project and called the police. Then, with an officer close beside me, I raced to the address Jolyn had sent, nearly tripping over my own feet along the way. Suddenly, two loud pops erupted behind us, and confetti rained down. Jolyn jumped out from around the corner with my boyfriend, Will Curry. "Surprise! That's the hundredth time we've managed to prank you, P!" I stared at them in disbelief. "What the hell? You thought sexual violence was appropriate material for a prank?!" The officer looked equally furious. "How dare you waste police time with something like this? You can be charged for making a false report! You're both coming to the station!" A lot happened after that. By the time we were finally released from the station, dusk had already fallen. "You planned this, didn't you? You wanted Jolyn and me to have a criminal record!" Will thundered. "How could you? It was just a joke! You're such a prick!" Rage surged through me. "Excuse me for thinking my best friend was in serious danger and calling the police!" I shot back. "I had to cancel a meeting with a client I'd spent three months negotiating with. Now that contract is gone!" "Shouldn't you be happy it was all just a joke?!" Jolyn sobbed. "Or did you wish I'd actually been violated like you were?!" Whatever reply I might have made died in my throat. My limbs went numb. Will wrapped an arm around Jolyn's waist. "Petra's so damaged that she's started wishing the worst on everyone else! It's best to ignore her when she's in one of these moods." I watched them walk away before sinking to the ground. My strength deserted me as my heart sank. Then a message from HR appeared on my phone. I'd been fired for canceling the meeting. Maybe that was for the best. The only reason I'd stayed in this city and worked at this company was so I could remain close to my best friend and boyfriend. But now, I didn't want any of it anymore.

Graduation season arrived, and my boyfriend's childhood friend, an influencer, posted a video titled "The Four of Us Through the Years." It went viral overnight. Viewers envied the friendship the four of them had maintained for ten years, and many began shipping her with my boyfriend as childhood sweethearts. What no one knew was that I had filmed every piece of footage and written every word. The video was twenty minutes long, yet my name never appeared, and neither did my face. When I asked my boyfriend why, he replied flatly, "You didn't come along until college. You weren't part of those years." Later, I found a folder on his childhood friend's computer. Every clip that included me had been cut out and placed inside. The folder was labeled: [Outsider in Frame.] My boyfriend had even reminded them in their private group chat: [Make sure you get every last bit. Don't spoil the whole 'four of us' thing.] I didn't argue. I simply revoked their permission to use any of my footage. If there was no room for me in their memories, then they could stop using my footage to relive them.

On my wedding day, my fiancé bailed. Sabina—his ex—had sent him a diary listing 77 things she'd done for him. Turns out she only dumped him because his family pushed her to. So, he ran back to her. While I was still reeling, Jacob—my fiancé's best friend—showed up. He got down on one knee, flashed a ring he'd clearly had ready, and said, "Yuna Auclair, I've liked you for a long time. Will you marry me?" I thought he was my person. But after the wedding, Jacob turned distant. Hot one second, ice-cold the next. Then I found a diary in his study. Just like the one Sabina had sent my ex. Page one hit like a truck: [Hurt Yuna Auclair seventy-seven times, and I'll break up with Gabriel and be with you.] Oh—and Gabriel? He was my ex.

After I got pregnant, Severin Voss went from a ruthless Don to a devoted husband who cooked for me. He cut off all contact with Vivian Lane and banished her from Voss territory. He had never liked children, yet now he shadowed the estate's most experienced housekeeper every day, learning how to care for a baby. He even learned how to cook for an expectant mother. He had a prenatal meal plan tailored to my needs and prepared every dish himself. It was as if he'd never had anything to do with Vivian, as if we were still as close as ever. When my mother came to visit, she marveled, "There's never been a Don in all of Sicily who's such a family man. "You should consider yourself lucky to have married him. Stop dwelling on his past mistakes." I smiled and agreed, then ate the lunch Severin had made just for me. An hour later, I was rushed to a private hospital, doubled over in pain. By the time I came out of surgery, my baby was gone. Three days later, Severin returned from a business trip, looking exhausted and travel-worn. A blissful smile still lingered on his face. "Honey, I learned some new pregnancy-friendly recipes. They're even more nutritious than the old ones. If you stick to them, I know your delivery will go smoothly. "I'll start making them for you tomorrow, okay?" When I didn't respond, Severin's gaze finally dropped from my pale face to my flat stomach. In that instant, his smile vanished.

I had been dating my boyfriend, Julian Hayes, for four years, yet my best friend Fiona Blake still looked more like his girlfriend than I did. Whenever the three of us went furniture shopping, the sales associate would hand Julian and Fiona a catalog for couples. Whenever we went out for fondue, the server would ask if Julian and Fiona wanted a photo together. At the beach, a stranger once handed me her phone and asked, "Would you mind taking a picture of your friend and his girlfriend?" I smiled, took her phone, and raised it to take the picture. On the screen, Julian and Fiona looked every bit like a couple. Fiona always brushed it off. "We just have similar face shapes. It's a coincidence." Julian always reassured me. "It doesn't matter what anyone else thinks. You're my only girlfriend." And year after year, I believed him. By our fourth year together, I started pushing him to finally set a wedding date. He said he was too busy and promised we'd set the date the following month. But when the next month came, he had another excuse. Fiona's visa was about to expire. She wanted to stay in the United States, and the easiest way to get a green card was through marriage. I stared at him. "And so?" He was silent for a long moment before finally answering. "I'll marry her first and sponsor her application. It's only a formality. Once she gets her green card, we'll get divorced." For a moment, I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "And what about me?" He answered without hesitation. "Just give me a few years. It'll be over before you know it." A week later, Fiona posted a photo on Instagram. She held up their marriage certificate and leaned against Julian's shoulder, smiling so widely that her eyes crinkled. The caption read, "As of today, it isn't a coincidence. It's fate." I went back through years of messages. That was when I finally realized the truth. Julian had never once told anyone I was his girlfriend. Whenever strangers mistook Fiona for his girlfrien