Cheating Smut Novels & Stories

My three-year-old son looked nothing like my husband. Suspicious, my father-in-law secretly took my son for a paternity test. The results showed that there was no biological relationship between them. Furious and humiliated, my father-in-law erupted in anger, hurling insults at me and even threatening to kill us. My husband, just as enraged, slapped me hard across the face. "You shameless wrench! You've made me raise another man's child for three years!" As I stared at their accusing faces, I calmly produced another report—the paternity test between my husband and his father. It confirmed they weren't biologically related either. Their expressions froze in shock. With a faint smile, I said, "Looks like we don't know for sure who isn't part of this family, do we?"

There's an earthquake. My husband, the captain of the rescue team, abandons me to save Wendy Smith, his true love. I don't stop him. I let him go. Why? Because when he was faced with the same choice in my past life, he saved me because I was eight months pregnant. Meanwhile, Wendy remained trapped under the rubble. She ultimately died due to a lack of oxygen after the delayed rescue. Later, on the day I went into labor, my husband brought me to Wendy's grave. He watched me coldly as I collapsed on the ground from the searing pain. He ignored my pleas. "Does it hurt, Yelena? Wendy's pain was a thousand times worse when she was trapped under the rubble!" I stared at him in disbelief as he descended into insanity. "You were safe that night—you were in the safe triangle zone! Wendy would never have missed the best time for rescue if not for you using your pregnancy to threaten me! I want you to experience all the pain she went through!" He forced me down on my knees and bumped my head on the ground before Wendy's grave. He ignored the blood that flowed down my legs. Ultimately, I died after major blood loss from a difficult labor. When I open my eyes again, I'm back to the day the earthquake happened. This time, neither I nor my child will wait for him.

It started with a sudden downpour. I turned around to buy an umbrella. By the time I got back, Winston Sterling had already draped his overcoat across Sera Thorne’s shoulders. He pulled me under the umbrella, his tone gentle, as if soothing a spoiled child. "Sera can't handle the cold. Just let her have it this once, Nat. Be a good girl. Don't make a fuss." I looked down at my own shoulder, which was already completely soaked through. I didn't say a word. We had been building our startup for five years. Everyone always said Winston and Sera were the dual heart and soul of Sterling Tech. One wrote the code, while the other pitched the product. Meanwhile, I was the one managing the budgets, chasing down clients, advancing money for our office rent, and pulling all-nighters to grind out business proposals. Yet, all I ever got from him was a single, offhand sentence. "Nat, you're always the reasonable one." But I finally understood. It was always the reasonable one who got pushed out into the rain, time and time again. When the car door opened, Winston practiced an all-too-familiar routine, adjusting the passenger seat cushion for Sera. That was a lumbar support cushion I had bought for myself after injuring my waist. I threw the newly purchased umbrella straight into the trash can. Then, I pulled up my phone and clicked send on the equity exit agreement I had prepared long ago. Three minutes later, his reply came back as a brief, three-word text. "Don't be silly." What he didn't know was that at that exact same moment, I had also opened another email.

One day, after getting rear-ended outside my office, I, Maeve Dahlman, call out for help, but Austin Cooper, who is simply passing by with Carmen Holt, merely glances at me impatiently, annoyed that I've disrupted their lunch plans. Instead of helping, he has his assistant take me to his private club and lock me in a room, accusing me of being paranoid and dramatic. "I'll give you three days to calm down," he says before walking away and leaving me in isolation. Eventually, I escape and call the police. An ambulance rushes me to the hospital, where doctors diagnose me with a brain injury that requires immediate surgery. I keep calling Austin, only to realize that he has blocked my number. Then, I see Carmen's latest post online, gushing about a romantic luxurious dinner with him. After I'm discharged, I cancel the wedding, destroy all the invitations, and finally call my mother. "Mom," I say, "I've made up my mind. I'm ready to meet him."

A group of unexpected guests suddenly barged into my relative’s funeral. The woman, Xena Carter, leading them claimed to be my husband’s girlfriend and declared that she was here to punish me, the supposed mistress. Out of respect for the funeral, I did not want to make a scene, so I calmly suggested she wait until it was over. But out of nowhere, she lashed out and ordered her group to shred all of my clothes. My relatives around us did nothing and watched coldly as it happened. I calmly dusted myself off, stood up, and led her over to the urn. "This urn for my mother was bought by your boyfriend. It cost nearly a million!" As expected, the mistress flew into a rage, smashing the urn to pieces. "You shameless family of lowlifes! Don’t think you’ll get a single cent from my boyfriend, even in death!" What she did not know was that when I said "mother," I was referring to my husband’s mother, my mother-in-law. She was causing a scene at my mother-in-law’s funeral, and she had just smashed her urn to pieces.

When Roxy showed up at my engagement party to Ian, wearing a dress from the same collection as mine, I knew the marriage wasn’t going anywhere.  The daughter of a homewrecker, Roxy would steal Ian from me just like how her mother took my dad from my mother. However, I'm not letting her get away with it.  Before anybody knew, I trashed my own engagement party and skipped town. I was done playing games.

Jack Ingleton uses a business trip as an excuse to rendezvous with his lover again. Before I can process this, the private investigator I hired gives me an update—Jack's lover is pregnant! I want to wreak havoc and leave them to die, but it turns out Jack's scheming to kill me so he can marry his lover! Now that I know everything, I prepare a counterattack. Sorry, but my plan will be put into action before yours!

When Alexander Smith stands in front of me and says he's going to marry someone else, that's when I realize he's been reborn too. I remember our 20 years of love in our past life. A plane crash. And then, rebirth. "This is to save Sophia," he says. "In our past life, she was sold to a Vostmark oligarch after her father's political scandal. Not long after, she took her own life due to abuse. I can't let that tragedy happen again, so I need to get engaged to her." As he speaks, he hands me an orange prescription bottle. "If you take this, you'll forget me for a little while. You won't feel the pain. It's just seven days. Once her father's scandal blows over, you'll stop the medication and your memory will return. Then I'll end the engagement and officially propose to you." I stare at the bottle, knowing it's a lie. Not the part about Sophia's suicide. The lie is about the drug. He thinks it only causes temporary memory loss. But I know better. The suppressant causes permanent damage to emotional memory. The seven-day countdown isn't the time it takes for my memories to return. It's the time it takes for my love for him to die.

Adrian Quirrel, the heir to the Quirrel family, had been in poor health since childhood. Guided by the old superstition that marriage could restore his health, his family had taken in four young women, with only one to be chosen as his bride. On the selection day, they invited a renowned astrologer to read our birth charts. As soon as he said I carried a healing energy and could bear healthy heirs, the Quirrels decided on the spot that I would be Adrian's bride. Three months later, his health miraculously improved, and I soon found myself pregnant with twins—a boy and a girl. The family elders were ecstatic and even promised that my son would become the Quirrels' future heir. But on the night of the christening, Adrian locked me and the babies in the basement. I broke down and demanded an explanation. He sneered and replied, "If it weren't for your so-called 'healing energy,' Emily would've been my wife. "She wouldn't have jumped to her death at such a young age if she hadn't been pushed to that point. Tonight, I want you and your children to accompany her in death." He grabbed a nearby iron rod and savagely brought it down onto our babies. I threw myself over the babies, but Adrian kicked me aside. Blood splattered across the walls and floor, and my babies' breathing gradually weakened until it stopped. When I opened my eyes again, I found myself back on the day Adrian chose his bride.

Alice Long and I were caught in the crossfire. When my boyfriend—a combat medic responsible for saving the wounded—came to our rescue, he pushed me aside. Gently cradling Alice, the girl I had shielded, he shot me a cold glance and said, "Crystal, I'm deeply disappointed in you. She needs immediate care to avoid infection!" What about me? Was I meant to die instead? When my flag-draped coffin arrived home, he had the nerve to weep openly at my memorial. This once-renowned combat medic, celebrated around the globe, never set foot outside his room again.