Danny D Cheating Mga Nobela at Kwento

When the earthquake struck, Pierse Jones instinctively shielded me with his body, taking the full brunt of the impact and suffering multiple fractures. In the hospital room, the girl in the next bed looked at me with envy and said, “Your husband didn’t even care about his own life to save you. He really loves you.” I forced a smile. “Yeah.” But just last night, after I had fallen asleep, he slipped into the bathroom, his voice soft and soothing as he spoke to someone else—his little mistress, “I’m fine, don’t cry. Be good.” “As long as I think of you, I’m not afraid of anything.” Pierse and I grew up together, from childhood sweethearts to each other’s first love. We had been together for ten years, admired by everyone as the perfect couple. No one knew he had a mistress on the side, a girl who looked just like me when I was eighteen.

After my wife had a miscarriage, the doctor said she could never have children again. She cried and told me to find another woman and to forget about her. I held her in my arms and told her I didn't care about having any children. However, I was smiling when she wasn't looking. The abortion remedy I bought in the countryside had worked much faster than I expected. After all, that child wasn't mine to begin with.

Carl Anderson doesn't show up for our engagement party. I finally find him in a bar's private room after night has fallen. "I only think of her as a sister. Who would've expected her to want to latch onto me like that? There's no way I'll marry her in this lifetime!" He downs his drink. Later, when he and Angela Moran get married, he tells his friends to stop me at the entrance. He's afraid I'll crash his wedding and ruin it. "Keep an eye on Iris, guys. Don't let her crash the wedding!" he says. As soon as the words are out of his mouth, I show up with Henry Moran. "Don't even dream of stepping in there, Iris!" Carl looks at me warily. "You're so rude! You have to call her Aunt Iris now!" Angela greets me warmly and leads me inside.

My wife, Sandra Wren, had suggested taking our daughter, Annie, to a childcare center, saying that it would be better for our daughter. I didn't think much of it and handed her a card. I went on a business trip for half a month. Watching the daily charges on my card, I felt nothing but satisfaction. Until my best friend suddenly sent me a video. The location tag was at the childcare center. "Dude. Why is your wife staying after class for 'extra lessons'? Is it more exciting in the classroom?" In the video, Sandra's lace underwear hung around her ankles. The floor was littered with used condoms. The tables in the childcare classroom creaked noisily. I immediately called her. On the phone, I could faintly hear her suppressed yet excited breathing. She said, slightly panting, "Honey, I'm flying a kite with Annie. Did you miss us?" I let out a cold laugh. "Yes. I missed you so much, I came back overnight. Which classroom are you in? I'll bring you condoms."

Everyone knew I was hopelessly in love with Hendrick Sam, willing to sacrifice my dignity for him. In the two years we were together, he would drop everything and leave me in the hospital whenever his “one true love” called. People mocked me, saying, “Chloe, you must really enjoy being a doormat.” I just smiled and stayed silent. Later, when he was on his deathbed, he asked, “Chloe, did you ever really love me?” I turned my back on him. Because it was never him I loved, it was his heart.

I died just before my husband Drake's wedding to his mate. Ten days before my death, Drake's former mate returned. Drake abandoned me to spend the night with his mate even though I was attacked by rogues and was severely injured. He came back directly the next day, not to see me but to give me the news. “I want to sever the mate bond with you.” “I’ve been poisoned by wolfsbane.” “You’re lying again. Regardless, I must reject you today.” He didn’t know that his rejection would hasten my death. I thought that after this stumbling block—me—was gone, he could finally live happily with his mate. But to my surprise, he abandoned his bride at the wedding and ran to my gravestone, weeping. “Lyra, you are my wife. I forbid you to die!”

One week before our wedding, my fiance, Ashton Fraser, suddenly cancels the world-tour wedding trip that I've been preparing for the past two years. Thinking that he's misclicked something, I turn on my tablet and am about to ask the wedding planner what's going on when I see the WhatsApp on the tablet syncing with the version Ashton has on his phone. That's when numerous text messages from one of Ashton's friends begin popping up. "Wait, did you seriously cancel your fiancee's world-tour wedding trip just because you wanted to fulfill Mariah's wish? You even entrusted the authority to organize your wedding to Mariah? "I'm not exaggerating when I say this wedding is practically your fiancee's life's work! Everyone knows that she went so far as to force herself to continue planning the wedding even when she relapsed from her cardiac arrest! Aren't you worried that she might not marry you at all once she finds out about this?" With a trembling finger, I tap on the notification. Ashton replies to the friend nonchalantly, "Laura has already given her life to me; why would she care about how her wedding goes? Mariah wants to try her hand at organizing a wedding. This is her dream. "Don't worry. Laura cares more about this wedding than anyone else in this world. She's even willing to cut half of her heart just for me. Clearly, she loves me to the moon and back. Even if she finds out about this matter, she will never have the heart to leave me. At most, she'll only throw a tantrum that lasts for a few days. I'll make sure to coax her properly when the time comes." I take a deep breath to suppress the irregular rate at which my heart is beating at the moment. Then, I tell another man, "Are you interested in getting married? I still need a groom for my wedding."

A week after I gave birth via C-section, Mark Whitman invited his friends over to celebrate the birth of our son. The crowd was boisterous—more than a dozen people. Not one of them bothered to remove their dirty shoes. The wooden floor was soon covered in muddy footprints. Mark came into the room and, without a hint of concern, ordered me out of bed. "Everyone's waiting outside. Don't just hide here and rest—you're embarrassing me in front of our guests." I had no choice but to push through the pain, forcing my body to prepare a huge meal for the large crowd, all on my own. When I carried the final bowl of steaming soup to the table, Lily Hoyte—whether intentionally or not—jabbed her hand against the wound on my abdomen. My hand trembled from the sudden pain, and the bowl slipped slightly, spilling the hot soup onto Lily's shoes. Mark's face darkened instantly. "What the heck did you do, Cammy? Lily rushed here right after her plane landed from overseas to see our son, and this is how you treat her?" The crowd quickly chimed in. "Come on, Cammy, no need to be so petty." "Mark and Lily grew up together. If there was really something between them, do you think you'd even be here now?" "Do you even know how much those shoes cost? They're limited edition—easily over ten thousand dollars. And you just ruined them." Lily stood up awkwardly, her eyes misting with tears. "If Cammy doesn't like me," she said softly, "then I'll leave. I don't want to be a bother." But Mark grabbed her hand in an exaggerated display of protection, his voice harsh as he turned to me. "Wipe Lily's shoes clean. Right now." His partiality for Lily made something sharp twist in my chest. My lips quivered as I fought back tears. "The wound on my stomach hasn't healed yet. I can't bend over." At that, his expression grew colder. "Don't use childbirth as an excuse. If you can't bend over, then kneel and wipe them. And if you won't, get out of my house!"

I had just returned from a business trip. The moment I stepped through the door, I scooped my wife into my arms and rushed her straight to the bathroom for a steamy shower together. We were kissing passionately when, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed something: the toilet seat was flipped up. I froze. Seven years ago, my wife had read a post online claiming that when men pee standing up, bacteria splash onto the seat. She begged me to sit down to pee for the sake of her health. I have kept that promise. For seven years of marriage, that seat has never been up. A knot formed in my stomach, but the bathroom was spotless, so clean it looked staged, not a single stray hair anywhere. Then I noticed the shower temperature. It was set five degrees lower than her usual 43°C. Men like cooler showers. Women like them hotter… At that moment, I knew, Ruby Lynch had cheated on me.

I was the fiancee of Lucian Veris, the celebrated Swan Prince, who had offered up the principal role in exchange for my hand. On stage, he was proud and untouchable, yet he surrendered completely to the choreography I created for "Eternal Crown." When I came back after three years in Valmont, I discovered that the understudy who mirrored me had already claimed our private rehearsal hall. At the company's welcome gala, Lucian abandoned a room full of sponsors just to chase after the crying understudy. From behind the velvet curtain, I overheard words he had never spoken to me. "Elara, I chose you only because you reminded me of her. I was looking for a replacement. But you were different. Your choreography captivated me—more than she ever could. Just make sure she never finds out until the closing night of 'Eternal Crown.'" Then came the muffled sounds of their entanglement, followed by his whispered vow. "I'll give you the principal's place." Right there, in that same room, he had once held my hand and sworn that I, Astraea Lynelle, would be his only soulmate in this lifetime. I turned and walked away, the sharp echo of my pointe shoes striking with finality. Back in the dressing room, I dialed his greatest rival, Caelan Thorne. "Mr. Thorne," I said evenly, "I accept your offer to join your company. And one more thing—prepare a gift for me. I intend to turn Lucian's grand finale into the most spectacular downfall the art world has ever seen."