Novels About Cheating Novels & Stories

At the end of the day, my colleague, Melody Christie, came to find me. She wanted me to cover her night shift. I turned her down because I had commitments after work. That night, she was caught abandoning her shift and she got fired. Melody blamed me for it. Just when I was almost going into labor, she pushed me down the stairs. "Do you know how hard I worked to get this job? If it was not for you, I wouldn't have been fired! If I'm going down, I'm taking you down with me!" I died, and my baby did not survive either. When I opened my eyes once more, I was back to the same day when Melody asked me to cover her shift. Only this time, I knew the truth. Turns out, she had left her shift for a rendezvous with my husband.

My mother-in-law, Eleanor, was having a heart attack, and my husband, Ben Dover—a heart surgeon—was the only one who could save her. Did I call him? Nope. I just stood there, watching her gasp like a fish out of water. In my last life, I'd begged Ben to come save her. He brushed me off, accusing me of interrupting his time with his mistress, Ima Schit. No matter how much I pleaded, he wouldn't come. Eleanor had died in the hospital. And when Johnny, my father-in-law, demanded answers, Ben flipped the script, saying I'd never even called. He made Eleanor's death my fault. Johnny, blinded by grief and fury, killed me. But plot twist—I woke up. Right back to the day this circus started.

My husband, Ethan Parker, brought our daughter on a trip to the countryside with his first love, Mandy Sanchez. Halfway through, he abandoned our little girl and left with Mandy. When our daughter was surrounded by wolves, I could not reach him. By the time I arrived, the car was empty—the only thing left behind was a bloodstained piece of pumpkin pie. As I was dealing with my grief, Ethan finally answered his phone. "We're celebrating Thanksgiving. Why are you ruining the mood?" I internally scoffed at that man's audacity. Well, happy holidays indeed! Let me deliver a bloody pumpkin pie for you to really get into the spirit.

I finally conceive after being married for five years. It's then that my junior comes to me, her belly swollen as she tells me she's pregnant with my husband's child. She begs me to let her have the child. I laugh. Later, I show my husband a medical report, which clearly indicates he has a secret dysfunction.

Just three days after we got engaged, I stumbled across a private story posted by the girl he had grown up with. 'Too bad the boy who confessed to me ninety-nine times is marrying someone else in ten days.' In the photo, he trailed behind her through a crowded mall, his arms loaded with shopping bags, looking as if he had rehearsed the scene a hundred times. Curious, I scrolled down to read the comments. 'No way. The childhood-best-friend and first-love storyline still lost? Girl, that hurts.' 'Lost? He's getting married and still spending the whole day shopping with her. She didn't lose anything.' 'I feel bad for the bride. I'm seriously waiting for confession number one hundred to happen at the wedding, followed by a runaway groom scene.' Watching strangers bicker in the comments, I quietly pressed the like button, blending into their chaos. None of them knew that in just ten days, I would be the one stepping away from the altar. The fake-death package I'd ordered was already in motion. While my fiance and his childhood sweetheart mourned the love they claimed was out of reach, I quietly counted down the days until I could disappear for good.

I have been in a long-distance relationship with my boyfriend, Eugene Walsh, for three years. I finally have enough leave time to visit him after working overtime for an entire month. But when I arrive, I can't reach him. I wait alone in an unfamiliar city for ten full hours before he finally replies. When the call connects, my best friend, Haley Woodward, greets me with a cheerful laugh. "Surprise! I explored Oakhaven for you in advance. It's so much fun! Eugene is an amazing tour guide!" She chatters nonstop about all the fun they've had, as if she never notices the 30 missed calls displayed on Eugene's phone. I listen quietly. Only when she says she's cold does Eugene finally take the phone from her and say to me, "I'll take her back to the hotel first. Wait for me a little while more." The moment he is done speaking, I ask, "Do you know how long I've been waiting?" Eugene pauses for a second before saying icily, "She's your best friend. Do you really have to compete with her over this?" The unmistakable accusation drains away any desire I have to keep talking. I hung up. Just then, the cab that will take me back to Centuria arrives. The driver takes one look at me and can't help but comment, "Miss, it's already past midnight. This area isn't very safe. How can your family leave you here all alone?" I look down at my shoes that are soaked through by snow and slush. In a soft voice, I say, "Yeah." Then, I smile and add, "They won't. Not anymore."

Valentine's Day. I was stuck on ER duty at Brighton City Hospital. Theodore Madoff, who was supposed to be working late, strolled in carrying his student—Cecilia Kuntzer. She had red marks everywhere and that smug little smirk. "Relax, Mrs. Madoff. Just stomach pain. Lucky me, Prof. Madoff rushed me here." Theo pushed me to treat her. Turns out? She was pregnant. From rough intercourse. And the dad? Theo. My husband. The same guy who'd sworn off kids with me for ten years. Felt like a punch to the gut. But I still saved her baby. Next day, she uploaded a video—ID in hand, cheesy PowerPoint, accusing me of malpractice. Claimed I killed her kid. Then Theo asked for a divorce. Priscilla—his mom—stormed the hospital, shrieking about her dead grandbaby. She brought a mob. All these "righteous" strangers who stabbed me to death. Right there in the ER. I died with my eyes wide open. Then—bam—I woke up. Valentine's Day. Again.

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 had an apartment at Westbridge Residences that had been empty since I got married. That day, the management called me. "Ms. Irwing, can you ask your tenant to be more careful when hanging laundry? Water dripped from their clothes and soaked a blanket downstairs." Then, they sent me a photo. Wet sexy lingerie hung on the balcony, with a pair of familiar men's underwear next to it. My heart sank, and I called my husband immediately. "Did you rent out the apartment at Westbridge Residences?" My husband went quiet for two seconds, then laughed. "Whoops! I was going to surprise you, but I guess you found out. I'll give you the rent when I get home." I pretended to be happy about it and praised him for helping bring in more money for the family. After hanging up, I turned around and went straight to the Westbridge Residences.  

I'm the Moonlight pack's Luna. Today is my tenth wedding anniversary with my Alpha, Aaron Renfield. To my surprise, I find out he has a pair of twin pups. He says to me matter-of-factly, "Don't overthink this, Ruth. I'm an Alpha, so I need an heir. With this, the elders won't keep complaining about you failing to give birth to an Alpha heir. You'll still be my Luna forever." I can't believe my ears. As the pack's Luna, I've given it my all for the past decade. My uterus was permanently damaged by a knife covered in wolfsbane when trying to save Aaron, and the healer diagnosed that I would never be able to have my own pups. Yet now, the elders are using that to reprimand me. I turn to leave this wolf I've loved for years—I reject our mate bond. But later, Aaron begs me not to go.