Bedwetting Story Novels & Stories

A week after my engagement, I was delivered an unusual engagement gift. My phone chimed. I glanced down and saw a push notification from a social app. [Fell in love with a female livestreamer right before my engagement. I feel guilty toward my older girlfriend who's about to become my fiancée—how should I deal with this?] The user ID was "SimonLovesClaire." The profile picture showed a melancholy side view of a man wrapped in a gray scarf. I recognized him instantly. It was my fiancé, Simon Aldrich. That limited-edition scarf was the birthday gift I had given him last year.

I did three years in prison for my wife, Lilian Parson. The day I got out, she handed me an envelope for her company's grand opening. Inside was a single dollar bill. For a second, I thought it was a mistake. Then I saw her colleague, Nathan Ramsey, holding his envelope—his also contained a single dollar. Relieved, I pushed my doubts aside. I smiled, stood by Lilian's side through the entire ceremony, the picture of a proud, supportive husband. That night, scrolling through Instagram, I saw Nathan's latest post. A photo of a check. [Congratulations to Lilian Parson on the grand opening! So generous—100 million as a gift!] The comments section exploded with envy and blessings, congratulating him and "the boss" on finally becoming a couple. Lilian offered no explanation. Instead, she hurried to draw a line between us. "You just got out of prison," she said coolly. "It's not a good look to go public right now. Let's keep our marriage a secret. In front of others, just call me your boss." Then she turned around and liked Nathan's post. I wiped the tears from my eyes, picked up my phone, and dialed the number of her greatest rival. "From now on, I work for you," I said.

On the day we receive our bonus, one of the staff members of the finance department gives me 500 dollars worth of vouchers for the fast food restaurant downstairs. He tells me that my wife, Jillian Dunn, who is also the company's president, specifically ordered him to do so. In utter disbelief, I seek out Jillian and question her. "Didn't we agree that whoever secures the project will get a 50,000-dollar bonus? Stop messing around! I still need to pay for Freya's cochlear implant!" "I'm not messing around with you," Jillian answers seriously. "These vouchers can last you for a whole month. I wouldn't even give them to you if you were anyone else. "Money is tight right now at the company. Besides, Freya has been deaf for more than a decade now. She can survive being deaf for another decade." The next day, Jillian gives one of the interns a sports car that's worth 50,000 dollars. I look at the photo she uploads of her and the intern grinning widely as they sit in the car and give it a like. Jillian must assume that everything is proceeding smoothly since she has signed the contract. However, she misses the additional condition that's printed on the last page of the contract. I dial her rival's number, asking, "Ms. Swan, are you interested in Project Charlie?"

Five years after our breakup, I saw my ex-fiancé, Nico Luciano, showing off his newborn on social media. The next day, he cornered me at a private club and slid a black card across the table. “Lena, Sophia finally had a boy, the heir to the Luciano family. Now I can marry you.” He tried to soften his tone. “Having been widowed to my late brother for five years, she just wanted a child to care for her. I had no choice after the first two were girls. “Thank you for waiting these extra two years. The wedding is set for next Monday, and the invitations are ready.” What he didn’t know was that I was already married. I am now the lawful wife of Vincent Moretti, the don of the North Alumcian Mafia Commission, and a core decision-maker of the Moretti family’s financial empire. Watching Nico’s confident smile, I sent a message to my underboss. “Notify the elders of the five major mafia families. Next Monday, I’m removing the Luciano family from power.” Then I looked up and smiled at him. “Marry me? Save your own career first.”

In my previous life, everything I do to care for myself somehow ends up benefiting my new housekeeper instead. I apply expensive skincare, yet dark spots and fine lines spread across my face, whereas the 45-year-old housekeeper's face becomes silkier. I jog every morning, yet my body only grows heavier and bulkier, while hers becomes slender and toned. When my husband notices the stretch marks on my abdomen, his face twists with disgust, and he never touches me again. "I genuinely can't bring myself to touch you. How can you look worse than Mirabelle when you take such good care of yourself?" My housekeeper looks at me with a sinister smile. A chill crawls up my spine, and the strange feeling makes me fire her on the spot. Yet, as soon as she leaves, I start aging at lightning speed, entering menopause 20 years early and developing diabetes and high blood pressure. I see every doctor I can, but after hanging on for a week, I die from a stroke. When I open my eyes again, I'm back on the day she first reports to work. This time, I push away the royal jelly she sets in front of me with a pleasant smile. "I've been avoiding certain foods lately. You can have it instead."

On the day I'm about to quit the game, I see countless live comments flashing across my vision. "Yay! The male supporting lead is about to quit the game!" "Now, the male lead won't have to worry about getting exposed for using the male supporting lead's game account to get into online relationships with others!" "Our darling male lead is too smart, after all! Whenever he goes on dates, he often uses the voice chat function in the game. That's why the male supporting lead is still kept in the dark!" "Holy shit, Henry really is lucky!" "To think that he used Vincent's max-level account to flirt with the four richest female players on the server!" "Later at 2:00 pm, he'll be meeting his first date partner, Yvonne Johnson the cold and aloof campus belle, at Cosmic Coffee!" "Tomorrow, he'll be meeting up with the top assassin in-game! The day after that, he'll go on a date with the second-highest paying player of the game! Wow, his time management skills really are amazing!" The "Henry" whom the live comments are referring to is Henry Luster, my roommate. So, he's been flirting with four of the top-tier rich female players while impersonating me, huh? More live comments streak past my eyes at that moment. "Why isn't the male supporting lead leaving? Yvonne is already waiting for the male lead right now!" "This is their first romantic date as the leads of this story! I can't wait to watch it unfold!" As I turn to look at Henry, who's styling his hair before the mirror, I suddenly realize that I'm the supporting male lead whom the live comments are referring to. My lips curl into a small smile. Since Henry has been using my identity to become a virtual casanova, then it's not wrong of me to attend each date in person on his behalf, right?

I was the top repair specialist at a luxury goods store. Ninety percent of the shop's revenue came from my work alone. In three years, I turned a run-down little shop on the brink of closing into a nationwide chain. All because I clocked in two minutes late one morning, the newly appointed supervisor, Tom Menzie, locked the front doors and announced he was taking everyone on a company trip. I asked why no one bothered to tell me. Tom sneered, "Well, those who can do more are trusted with more. We're going on vacation. You stay and work overtime. If you can't handle it, then get the hell out!" I was so mad that I laughed. I called the owner directly. "I heard you're firing me."

My dormmate falls in the dorm and sends the rest of us the hospital bill. She wants us to compensate her. "I only fell because you guys left a puddle of water at the door. It's only right that you compensate me, don't you think? It's not much—you each just have to give me a thousand dollars to cover the checkup, medication, transport, the classes I missed, and the mental distress I suffered." I exchange looks with my two other dormmates. All three of us politely decline. That's when she goes berserk. She screeches threateningly, "Do you know who my father is? I'll make sure you guys can't graduate if you don't compensate me!"

After my daughter, Mia Powell, was declared brain-dead, my husband, Liam Powell, urged me to sign the organ donation consent form. I was drowning in grief and my mind was on the verge of collapse. That was when I accidentally discovered that her attending doctor, Blair Lincoln, was Liam’s old flame. They had lied about Mia’s brain death, just to trick me into signing the form and steal her heart to save Blair’s daughter, Sophia. I watched as Liam picked Sophia up from the hospital. The three of them smiled together, like a perfect, happy family. When I confronted them, they pushed me off a building, and I died from the fall. Given a second chance, I had returned to the day I was supposed to sign the organ donation form. As I stared at Mia lying in that hospital bed, I silently vowed. This time, that scumbag and that wretch would pay with their lives for what they did to Mia.

Trevor Farren cheated on me—with a hostess, no less. He bought her a villa, handbags, necklaces, and even whisked her away to the Maldives. Everything I had, she had too. In my fury, I resolved to retaliate. I found myself in the smoky halls of a nightclub, learning shameful, provocative moves from the women there. I would seduce him and make him fall for me all over again. I vowed to crush him in the end. I'd ruin him. Strip him of everything he held dear until he tasted the bitterness of despair, the way I had. Standing before the mirror, I traced my curves with a sly smile. "Trevor, do you like what you see?"