Tragic Love-Kurzgeschichten & Scumbag Cheating-Kurzromane

After our engagement, my fiance, Justin Ford, has someone bring a child back from Verdanne and hand him over to me. An email arrives along with the boy. "Nora, I got bored out of my mind in Verdanne and accidentally knocked Cindy up. Since you've always been sweet and obedient, I'm leaving my son with you. Consider it practice. When we come home, you'll be all set to work as our nanny." Without a word, I hand the child over to the butler. Seven years later, all the CEOs stationed overseas return to headquarters to report in. Justin pulls up in a Maybach with a whole entourage, blocking the entrance to the Ford estate where I live. With a cigarette dangling from his lips, he tilts his head and takes off his sunglasses. "Did you miss me that badly? Is that why you're waiting out here?" He takes a drag from his cigarette before continuing, "By the way, Cindy and I got married in Verdanne so we could get our son registered. From now on, you two can treat each other like sisters. Whatever she gets, you'll get too. "The Shaws and the Fords are practically family anyway. You don't care about a piece of paper, do you?" With that, he blows smoke ring after smoke ring into my face, leaving me choking with tears streaming from my eyes. I quickly step back and wipe away the tears. My son's dad is an extremely jealous man who warned me long ago to keep my distance from the younger men in the Ford family. If my husband catches his nephew harassing his wife, all hell will break loose in the Ford family.

When Jase Conley's rivals came after him, I took the blow meant for him and lost a leg. Kneeling before me with bloodshot eyes, he swore, "Francesca, one day I'll rise to the top. I'll make sure no one ever hurts you again." Seven years later, he shoved me out of my wheelchair over a single glass of wine I'd thrown in another woman's face. "Francesca, I warned you. Don't touch her. If you're tired of being Mrs. Conley, then get out of that seat and let her have it." He threw a divorce agreement at me. "A billion dollars. That's what your leg cost me. From this day on, no one gets to lay a finger on her." I tore the agreement in half and flung it back in his face. "You owe me far more than a leg, Jase. You want to wipe the slate clean between us? Then you and your little girlfriend can pay with your lives."

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.

For the national championship final, I took time off work and flew halfway across the country to surprise my boyfriend. I'd barely settled into my seat when the girl beside me started gushing to her friend. "See his tie? I picked it out for him last night. Good taste, right? He even said I was the inspiration behind his entire Human Emotion Thesis for this tournament." Her friend gave her a knowing smile. "You actually landed Lucien Grant, the debate star. You should be thrilled." I froze. My boyfriend's name was Lucien Grant too. And the Human Emotion Thesis she claimed to have inspired? It had been born from seven years of pillow talk between Lucien and me.

My fiancé sent me overseas and immediately burned my wallet, threw away my phone, and tore up my visa. He did it all to make sure I couldn't return home and ruin his wedding to his first love. His friends tried to warn him. "Don't go too far. What if your fiancée really gets angry?" But my fiancé didn't care at all. "She's gotten too spoiled because I've always treated her too well. I'm just teaching her to be more understanding. Besides, Yvonne and I aren't really getting married. I'm only doing this so her dying grandmother can pass away without regrets. Nothing will happen between us. Once the wedding is over, I'll make it up to Winnie." The moment his wedding ended, he rushed to find me and apologize. But he never got the chance to see me. Later, he even took my documents and planned to register our marriage first as a way to make it up to me. It seemed he truly had no idea that I had already died the night he sent me overseas.

My fingerprint had never been given a permanent place in Haiden Buckley's smart lock. He always registered it as temporary access. Whenever he set it up again, he gave me the same reassuring promise. "Come by whenever you want. You're always welcome here." His words sounded generous, yet the result never changed. Whenever I returned to his house, the scanner rejected me with the same message—fingerprint not registered. That day was no different. I stood outside Haiden's front door, watching the scanner flash red after rejecting my fingerprint once again. After staring at it for a moment, I pulled out my phone and called him. Haiden answered almost immediately. His apology came easily, as though this were nothing more than a minor inconvenience. "Sorry. My friend was playing around with the lock yesterday and accidentally removed your fingerprint." He continued before I could respond. "Wait there for now. I'll register it again the next time I'm home." There it was again. Another promise for next time. My fingers tightened around my phone as memories of all the previous incidents returned. Two times ago, Haiden had blamed a system update for wiping out my access. Somehow, Kendall Hatfield's fingerprint had remained perfectly intact. Last time, he claimed the lock was faulty and that he needed to replace the entire control panel. But the truth had been much simpler. Kendall had casually remarked, "Keeping too many fingerprints in the system isn't safe." Soon afterward, mine had been removed. Haiden always had an explanation that sounded reasonable enough on the surface. Somehow, every convenient accident ended the same way. He gave Kendall exactly what she wanted, leaving her as the only woman with unquestioned access to his home. Haiden was still trying to reassure me over the phone. "Just stay there. I'll open the door for you when I get back." The call ended. A second later, a sharp click came from the other side of the door. I knew that sound. Someone inside had turned the deadbolt. Kendall knew I was right outside, yet she had deliberately locked the door anyway. I remained still for a few seconds before slowly getting to my feet. I brushed the dust from my pants and looked at the door one last time. 'Forget it. I don't want to go inside anymore.'

After divorcing my unfaithful husband, Yale Gibson, I end up completely miserable. So when we remarry, I become the perfect wife he always wanted. When rumors swirl about him and Willow Leeds, I step forward to clear his name. When Willow falsely accuses me, he turns a blind eye while I immediately take the blame and apologize. Even when I'm set up and brought to the police station, I refuse to call him to bail me out. I simply tell the officers I have no family, letting them lock me up for an entire week. Seven days later, the heavy gates of the police station clang open at dusk. A sleek black Cullinan screeches to a halt right in front of me. Yale strides over, his brow furrowed slightly. "Sarah, why didn't you call me when you ran into trouble?" he asked. I give a faint, distant smile. "It's nothing serious. I didn't want to bother you." A flicker of unease crosses Yale's eyes. He replies, "I was overseas with Willow the past couple of days and didn't check my messages." He pauses, then lowers his voice. "I'm sorry." "It's fine," I say smoothly. "I wasn't expecting you to come anyway. Just focus on what you have to do." Yale stares at me for a moment before suddenly grabbing my wrist. "Why aren't you upset?" he asks. He keeps his eyes on me, confusion flickering in them, along with a hint of unease. I find it almost funny and reply, "Why would I be upset? You gave me an explanation, and I accepted it. There's nothing to be upset about." "Yale…" I look at the man in front of me, completely confused. "Isn't this exactly what you wanted?"

On the day Evan Carter was supposed to meet my adoptive parents, his phone was turned off all day. As my future husband, he had confidently promised me the night before that he would win my parents over. Yet even after the server had refilled our glasses for the sixth time, I still couldn’t reach him. A few hours later, I came across a post from Evan’s assistant, Maya Collins. In the photos, Evan was sitting on her family’s couch with bags of expensive gifts around him, keeping her parents company. The caption read: “My family has been pressuring me to get married nonstop. Thank you to my amazing boss for stepping in and pretending to be my boyfriend so I could get through this!” Evan finally arrived at the restaurant that evening. “Tessa, I’m sorry I’m late. Something urgent came up at work, so I had to deal with it.” He took my cold hand and gently tried to reassure me. “I was so nervous about meeting your parents today that I forgot to charge my phone last night. It died, and I couldn’t turn it back on all day. “Could you arrange another time for me to meet your parents? Please?” After seven years together, he still wasn’t willing to tell me a single honest word. His so-called work emergency was actually nothing more than pretending to be his assistant’s boyfriend to help her deal with her parents’ pressure to get married. Years of disappointment finally reached their breaking point. I gently pulled my hand away and slipped off my engagement ring. “We’re not getting married. Go ahead and play boyfriend for her for the rest of your life.”

The college girl I was sponsoring, Yasmine Reed, texted me that she was pregnant. She asked me what to do. She was only a sophomore. I told her to focus on her degree. Before my message was even sent, she blocked me. A few weeks later, I twisted my ankle. My best friend, Clara Barnes, brought me to the clinic. Clara pointed at a young couple standing outside the maternity ward. "If your husband were in town, he would pamper you just like that," Clara sighed. "I still don't get why he insisted on taking that project that faraway." I stared down at my phone. "Julian is doing it for our future. As long as he loves me, I don't mind." As we walked out, the couple turned the corner. The man held the girl close, kissing her forehead. "Be good, Yasmine. Right after this ultrasound, I'll buy you that designer purse." My blood ran cold. My feet froze to the floor. The man holding her was the same man that was supposed to be faraway. He was standing right in front of me. It was my husband, Julian Drake. And the girl in his arms was Yasmine Reed, the student I was funding.

Mason Chapman has lost his memories. He has forgotten everything about me. His memories are stuck in the year he was most in love with his ex-wife, Tiffany Auburn. No matter how much the people around him try to talk sense into him, he remains convinced I'm the other woman who has come between him and Tiffany. The doctor says there's a chance he might recover his memories, so I cling to that hope and refuse to let go. Within three years, we divorce and remarry many times. We become the biggest joke in the city's social circles. People even start placing bets on when I'll finally give up and when Mason will regain his memories. Then, news of our eighth divorce makes the trending searches again. Reporters storm into the law firm I work at with cameras on their shoulders. They shove microphones in my face, their questions dripping with provocation. "Ms. Gardner, as a divorce lawyer, what do you have to say about getting divorced eight times yourself?" Someone smashes the firm's sign. My personal award banner is trampled underfoot. Before I can even respond, my boss fires me for ruining the profession's reputation. "Take my advice, Isabel. Have some dignity, and stop chasing after Mr. Chapman." I clench my trembling hands and suddenly feel depleted. They're right. Maybe this time, I should just give up.

Ten years into my marriage to Joshua Ford, heir to the largest fortune in Kingsbury, I receive a video. The footage is shot inside a car. The video is shaky, and the sounds coming from it are vile. When I hold up my phone to confront him, the moaning is still echoing through the living room. Joshua's expression remains calm. He just shrugs like it's nothing. "Younger women are just fresher. Your health isn't great, so I wouldn't dare push you to try anything wild. But everyone craves a little excitement, right?" I freeze in place, my arm going numb from holding up the phone. "That's your explanation?" Joshua doesn't answer me. His gaze drifts over me with casual indifference. "The truth is, all these years, you've never exactly been someone I could take out in public." I look at him, and my heart goes cold. So, the forever we promised each other turns out to be just ten short years.

The day after my twin sister died in an accident, I married her fiancé, the man who was supposed to be my brother-in-law. That very day, Mark Zeller printed thousands of copies of my sister's death report and told everyone I was the real murderer. Because of this, everyone despised me, and my parents immediately disowned me. After we got married, he was constantly in the tabloids with his flings and brought countless women home. He'd make me stand by the bedroom door, listening to them making love. Then, after he was done, he'd make me take photos of him and his lovers in bed. I silently endured it all. My only request was to have a baby with him. Mark scoffed. "Gloria Hale, how can you be so shameless? If you're so desperate to sleep with a man, just go out and find one. Instead, you're begging for it at my feet like an animal. Aren't you disgusted with yourself? "You think having my baby will make me change my ways? Let me tell you, never!" To crush my hopes, he went even further and spent a fortune to build a castle in the suburbs. Every single room in that castle housed one of his lovers. The people in our social circle said, "Mark's mistresses are way lovelier than his wife at home who only knows how to wag her tail like a dog." Three years later, Mark's mother sent me a text to remind me: "Gloria, remember our agreement. Three years are almost up. You have one more week to sort everything out."

When I was 14, my father beat me so badly that my ears rang. It was my sister and Micheal Lane who stood in front of me with knives in hand, protecting me. When I was 18, they had fought their way into the court, determined to put our father behind bars and take me away from him. When I was 21, on my wedding day to Micheal, my sister forced him to kneel before me and said, “You will never betray Chloe. If you do, I’ll make sure you leave with nothing, and I’ll kill you myself.” In our eight years of marriage, he truly was the perfect husband. He did not have late-night business dinners, he was never home late, and his phone password was my birthday. Even our son, Tristan, said his dad loved me the most in the world. However, on Tristan’s seventh birthday, he made a wish with his eyes closed, “I hope Daddy stops going to his other home. Daddy sneaks out every night after Mommy falls asleep. I don’t want to lie anymore.” I thought he was joking, so I crouched down and asked, “Who lives at your daddy's other home?” Tristan hid behind me and pointed into the distance. I followed his gaze. The cake knife slipped from my hand and clattered to the floor. Standing there was the woman I loved most in the world—my sister. Yet beneath the table, I could clearly see her hand intertwined tightly with Micheal’s.

Jordan Ford lost a bet, and I was forced to remove my makeup in front of everyone. The whole crowd goaded me on while his friends laughed especially loudly. “Don’t be a buzzkill. Eira already did it. “Come on, Clara! You’re not chickening out, are you?” Three years prior, I had saved Jordan from a car accident. Glass shards cut my face and left a scar that could barely be concealed with makeup. “Go on, remove it.” Through the smoke, his gaze met mine with nothing but casual indifference. I dragged a makeup-removing wipe across my face, again and again, revealing the ugly scar. “It’s just makeup. Quit being so dramatic. “You killed my mother back then. That scar is just a light price to pay for it.”

At a class reunion, someone introduced me to the man I had secretly dated for five years. “Mr. Lawson, Mia works on your research team too. Why don’t you two give it a try?” I walked over to Zeke Lawson, ready to take this chance to finally tell everyone that we were together. But Zeke took a step back and pointed toward his childhood friend, who had just returned from overseas. “No, thanks. I already have feelings for someone else.” He kept his distance and made sure no one would suspect anything between us. “If you’re looking to get married, I can introduce you to someone. I think you’d be a great match.” I let out an awkward laugh as I looked at Zeke, who was keeping a good ten feet between us. We had been secretly dating for five years, yet Zeke always made sure everyone thought he was single. He always kept his distance from me. I had waited five years for him to make our relationship public. I was not going to wait anymore. “Sure. Introduce him to me.”

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.

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."