Kalina Ryu Cheating Mga Nobela at Kwento

I had been secretly in love with my childhood friend for nine long years. When we finally got married, my family and friends thought I was the happiest person in the world. After I became pregnant, he used the excuse of "helping an old classmate" and invited the most beautiful girl from our class into our home. During the worst of my pregnancy, when nausea and exhaustion hit hardest, he took her to the hospital, made crafts with her, and watched sunsets with her. He even had the guts to accuse me of being small-minded and petty and acting like a bitter, jealous wife. Only then did I realize that it was just my foolish fantasy that I lived my dream of marrying my childhood sweetheart and had a happy life. I let go of the love I had for him and of the future I thought we would share. Now, however, he was the one who regretted it.

My best friend, Patrick Morris, always pops my fiancee's cherry before my wedding in order to ensure that I have an amazing wedding night with her. Every time, he will record them going at it before sending it to me. "I've taught your fiancee 1000 positions in bed. You're really lucky to be with her on your wedding night!" After Patrick has snatched 99 fiancees from me, I suffer from a mental breakdown. Then, I sell my apartment and leave the city. Finally, I get to meet my true love, Ariel Booker. But on my wedding day, Patrick shows up in front of me, disguised as a makeup artist. "Caleb, you can get married once I'm done grooming your fiancee for you!" After that, he drugs me before climbing into Ariel's bed. Thank goodness I'm able to wake up on time and rush into the bedroom with a group of people flocking behind me. Later on, I have Patrick locked up behind bars. But Ariel decides to run over my legs with her car, effectively crushing them. When I'm stuck in bed as a cripple, she throws my mom, who's severely ill, into a meat grinder. "I'm free to give my virginity to whoever I want. Why the hell are you meddling with my business? Since you're the reason behind Patrick's imprisonment and suicide, you and your mom should pay the price with your lives!" When I open my eyes, I've returned to the day of my wedding. At the moment, Patrick is dressed as a makeup artist while stamping my face with a meat-grading stamp.

Three years into my marriage with Shawn, I found out I was pregnant. I nervously but joyfully prepared to surprise him with the news. Yet what I received was the news of Shawn’s accidental death. Devastated by the blow, I miscarried the child and killed myself in despair. However, after death, I saw him drinking and mocking me with his rowdy friends. “Samantha is so dumb. I can’t believe she really fell for that prank. Does she really think I’d be fooled by her? I’m not an idiot like her. What, she’s pregnant? If she was going to make up something to fool me, she should have at least made it more believable.” But our child really was gone, and I had really died.

I was getting married, but my boyfriend of five years did not know it yet. Lately, he had been driving a female coworker home every night and coming back late. She had a terrible memory and was always leaving things behind in his car. First it was earrings. Then adhesive bra inserts. Then intimate photos. One night, at midnight, she called to say she had left her allergy medication in his car. My boyfriend pulled his pants back on and rushed out the door to deliver it to her. Because of her, our wedding had already been postponed 19 times. After five years together, I decided to give him one last chance. "Either stop driving her home, or the wedding is off." He stayed silent all night. After that, he actually started coming home on time. I thought things were finally getting better. Then, one week before the wedding, I opened the front door and found half the furniture in our living room gone. The woman next door poked her head out and ran a hand over my washing machine with a smile. "Amanda, we're neighbors now. Ignatius loaned me the money to buy a house. He said I could use some of these old appliances until I get settled." My hands trembled as I opened my banking app. The $300,000 wedding fund we had spent five years saving was gone. Every last cent. This time, I did not even have the strength to argue. Then my mother called. "Sweetheart, how would you feel about moving the wedding to Rose Garden? I think your current venue doesn't do you justice." I looked around the half-empty living room and laughed. "Sure. And while we're at it, let's replace the groom too." After all, my mother had remarried into one of the wealthiest families in the country. My five stepbrothers had been waiting years for me to come home. And among the men around them who wanted to marry me? There was no shortage of candidates.

I'd been engaged to Ivan since we were kids. When he went off to the military, I stayed behind—ten years of caring for his paralyzed mom, putting my whole life on pause. By the time he came back, I was at the age where most women were settling down. And he showed up with someone else. Ivan laid it out, stone cold: "Nadia's my comrade's widow. If you want to marry me, you'll have to accept her too. Most of my pay goes to her. I promised I'd take care of her. She gets first pick of everything in the house. Don't like it? Then forget about getting married." I looked past him. Nadia stood there, tears dripping down her cheeks, playing the poor little victim. Right then, I ended it. No drama. No regrets. Signed up for the Rural Teaching Support Program the same day. Left love behind. Threw everything I had into teaching.

By the time I got home from my business trip, it was already past midnight—and my husband wasn't there. A woman's blouse lay on the sofa. It wasn't mine. I called him. He said he was working late at the office. I didn't bother with pretense. "Whose blouse is on the sofa?" His tone was light and casual. "Who else would it be? It's obviously a gift for you. Try it on." Suspicious, I picked it up and held it against myself. The blouse was clearly one size too small. "Honey, this is a size S. I always wear M." My husband owns a clothing company. He handles all my clothes. He's even used my measurements to design women's wear. There's no way he doesn't know my size. On the phone, he froze for half a second, then spoke as if piecing something together. "This is a new women's line I'm launching. I ordered custom pieces for you and my sister. I must've grabbed the wrong one. I'll switch it tomorrow." A moment later, his voice softened with exhaustion. "Babe, you've been gone for days. Without you, I feel so tired… I miss you so much…" It was already late into the night. Hearing him sound vulnerable—something he rarely did—made my chest tighten. I blamed myself for overthinking. But the moment I hung up, realization struck. His sister has the same build as me. She always wears size M.

For twenty years, Kyle and I were each other’s salvation. On the day he confessed his feelings, he promised to give me a warm and loving home. However, everything changed when the Gill family found him and brought him back, naming him the Crown Prince of High Society. Overnight, I went from being his proud fiancée to nothing more than his hidden canary in a gilded cage. With another woman in his arms, his voice was cold and distant, “The eldest young master of the Gill family can’t marry an orphan.” At that moment, my heart shattered completely. I left the capital that very night. Later, I heard I had become the Gill family’s unspoken taboo. That once-proud Young Master Gill ended up confined to a mental institution, clinging to a doll and whispering my name day after day.

My sister's husband took her kidney and put her on regular blood extraction for three years. By the time she finally escaped from that hellhole, she was already at death's door. As she lay in the clinic's sick bay, she held my hand in a feeble grip. "Don't go after them. The Lawsons aren't an entity you can take on." My sister died in my arms three days later. I buried her underneath her favorite tree in the hill behind our town. Seven days went by when a black Maybach darkened the entrance of our town, and out came Charles Lawson, my sister's husband. There was a frail-looking woman standing behind him. She looked as though a soft gust of wind could probably blow her away. That man was standing outside my house, looking at me like I was a peasant. "Where's your sister, Helen? Summon her. Rachel needs her bone marrow." I wiped the soil off my hand and smiled meanly at him. "You want my sister? Sure, but you'll have to dig her out."

The day my mother brought her childhood sweetheart back to the villa, my father—who had already quit smoking—stood on the balcony and smoked through the entire night. Back then, his colleagues at the research institute all envied him for having a wife who was a CEO. They said he should have stayed home and enjoyed life—why work so hard outside when all he needed to do was keep a firm grip on the household finances? But my father never agreed. "Those things are all external," he would say. "As long as the feelings are still there, we'll be fine whether we're rich or poor. And if one day she no longer loves me, I'll leave with nothing and walk away alone." He never expected his words to become prophecy. My mother truly did stop loving him. Later, when she appeared before the media, arm in arm with that man, my father didn't look back. He boarded a flight overseas and disappeared from our lives. And as I stared at the photo in my social feed—my fiancée's hand entwined with someone else's—I knew it was time for me to leave too, just like my father had.

I married the same man nine times. And each time, he left me for his first love, divorcing me nine times as well. The first time we parted, I lost control and threw all his belongings out the door. By the fourth divorce, I begged him to leave his luggage behind out of fear he might never return. The eighth time, I had learned to obediently pack his things, careful not to upset him. My breakdowns, my pleas, and my obedience always brought him back to me. Each time, he honored his promises. And each time, we divorced again, just like before. Until this time. This time, I packed my own things and left without telling him. A month from now, I will be gone for good.