Cheating

As the upcoming tour approached, the dance troupe suddenly revoked my position as the lead dancer. Anxious to get an explanation in person, I lost my footing due to my distracted state and tumbled down the stairs. While enduring the sharp pain and preparing to call for emergency services, a notification popped up on my phone screen: “Redwood Dance Troupe: Welcome our new lead dancer, Averil Wells, and our generous sponsor, Julian Ford." The accompanying photo featured two smiling faces—my husband of seven years, whom I had secretly married, and his pampered mistress. Julian had his arm wrapped around Averil's waist as he placed a gentle kiss on her cheek. Meanwhile, Averil clung to Julian's neck, her face radiating shyness and delight.

My daughter hid inside the cabinet, her trembling hands dialing her father—James, the Alpha of our pack. "Mommy's bleeding a lot. Please, come back and save her," she pleaded. "I'm busy. Don't bother me," James said coldly. "If she's going to die, make sure she does it far away." As he wished, I never bothered him again. Because I really did die, right in front of our wedding photo. When he found out, he went mad, completely mad.

I go ice fishing with my husband, and we encounter a snowstorm and hailstorm. The mountainside villa has no sustenance and power, and he takes my down jacket to keep his former superior warm. I'm three months pregnant, and my daughter is having a high fever. However, he pushes us out of the villa to look for wild vegetables. Why? Because his former superior wants to eat them. He probably has no idea that I've come to this villa countless times to prepare his anniversary gift. Later, my daughter ends up mentally disabled from the high fever. I finally get my hands on proof of his under-the-table dealings with his former superior. I destroy him before he's promoted!

On the bed in a train's compartment, I find myself getting pinned beneath my best friend's boyfriend, Gaston Walters. Our bodies are firmly glued to each other. I don't have any strength left in me, so I can only let Gaston do whatever he wants to me. Soon, I feel him turning me on. My husband, Stevie Murray's loud snores drift from the bunk bed above our heads. That's when Gaston slowly slides his hand beneath my blanket before hiking my nightgown upward. "Wow, you're so wet…"

I’m getting married, but my CEO fiancé, whom I had been engaged to for ten years, had no idea. Thanks to his new personal maid, the man has no time to spare for me. The two of them always shadowed one another, and they might as well be sleeping in the same bed. My fiancé even bought a yacht and brought her to the Arctic to see the aurora when she was in a bad mood, completely forgetting that we were supposed to be picking out wedding gowns that day. I spent the entire day waiting in that bridal shop, waiting for a man who would never show up. So I called my dad, “I’m marrying someone else.”

Out of the blue, my younger sister posted the result of her pregnancy test. The caption? "Thank you my dear brother-in-law for helping me when I needed help the most and fulfilling my dreams of becoming a mother!" Shocked and furious, I couldn't resist leaving a snide comment. "Congratulations. Maybe you can keep my husband too?" My husband's reaction? He blew up and dismissed me. "I just donated my seed to Cara! Don't make a scene, Barb!" Oh, I'll make a scene.

Maisie Stone has known Ethan Ford for 15 years. She's gone from being a young woman to a married one. She's also gone from being Ethan's true love to an old flame. He cheats on her repeatedly, and she forgives him every time. After a suicide attempt, Maisie finally sees the light. This rotten world is just a competition to see who can be more shameless than others. In an open relationship, both parties live their own lives. Since he's messing around with her sister, she can mess around with his friends and brothers.

My husband's first love had been trapped in a car for an hour. After they pulled her out, his rage shifted onto me. “It’s your fault she got hurt,” he spat, his eyes blazing as he grabbed me. Before I could make sense of what was happening, he forced me into a wooden box, slamming the lid down with a deafening crack. “You’re going to feel every ounce of the pain she went through,” he hissed, nailing it shut. I pounded on the walls, my screams tearing through the air. “Please, I didn’t do anything! Let me out!” My throat burned with the effort, my fists aching, but nothing stopped him. “Stay in there until you’ve figured out how to act like a decent human being,” he said, his voice cold, dripping with contempt. Hours passed. My body twisted unnaturally in the tight space, bones throbbing as blood smeared the wood beneath me. I whispered into the dark, the pain unbearable. "Please… just let me out…" But he didn’t care. A week later, he returned, his laughter echoing with hers as they entered the house, carefree from their trip. He finally opened the box. But by then, I was already gone. The woman he locked away was no longer breathing, no longer pleading. Just a cold, silent corpse.

I was married to Gideon Strathmore for eight years, but he was unfaithful, bringing home different women. The 100th, Vesper Quinn, smirked at me and turned to him, saying, "This is your useless wife, huh?" Gideon leaned back in his chair and lazily nodded. Emboldened by his attitude, she strutted over and patted my cheek. "Listen closely to what a real woman sounds like." That night, moans filled the living room. I couldn't escape them. The next morning, Gideon ordered me to breakfast as usual. I refused, unwilling to be his puppet any longer. He forgot our marriage was based on a contract, and it was due in three days.

My boyfriend said that art held no restrictions, so he used my provocative paintings to enter a competition. Amidst a row of classic ceramic figurines, I became famous. He shot to fame, landing in the top ten of trending searches, while I was humiliated by the entire internet and mocked as a “ceramic influencer.” When I confronted him, he looked at me with disappointment. “They don’t understand art, and neither do you? I thought you would support my work, but I didn’t expect you to stir trouble! You’re so immature!”