Scumbag Novels & Stories

Married three years. Stood up three years. Today was the last time I bothered showing up. Surprise—he bailed again. Still clinging to hope like a total idiot, I called. One last shot. "A-Aurora, I'm busy. Just wait," he muttered. And then her voice cut in. All breathy and smug: "That old woman can't satisfy you, huh? Paolo, be gentle." Click. Right on cue, Marco Medici—loyal, patient, saint-like Marco—sent his 99th proposal. This time, I didn't leave him hanging. [Want to come over for bollito misto?]

I'm reincarnated a week before the college entrance exam. Despite being the soon-to-be top scorer, I stab my eye with a syringe. In my past life, Marianne Quentin, my boyfriend Lance Russell's childhood friend, reported me for cheating off her during the final mock exam. The teacher compared our papers and found that my essay was identical to hers. He harshly criticized me and warned me not to repeat my mistake. However, Marianne reported me for copying her answers again during the math exam. Once again, my answers were found to be identical to hers. The teacher scolded me for being incorrigible and sent me home to reflect on my actions. I couldn't understand what had happened. Clearly, I'd never cheated, but my answers were nearly identical to Marianne's, whether in writing and language or in math. As the SAT exam loomed over me, I could only suppress my doubts as I stepped into the exam hall. I finished the writing paper and thought I was safe. However, Marianne stepped out and accused me of cheating again. I tried to defend myself, yet the answers on my paper were identical to hers. In the end, I was disqualified, kicked out of the exam hall, and banned from taking any exams in the next two years—just because I "cheated". I succumbed to despair and leaped from the rooftop. When I open my eyes again, I'm back to one week before the SAT.

My son is dead. He dies in a cramped toilet cubicle after having his skull smashed in. My husband, the school principal, arrives on the scene. The first thing he does is carry his true love's son, the one who killed my son, into an ambulance. They hurriedly leave. Before his death, my son tells me, "Don't cry, Mom. I'm not sad that Dad doesn't believe me. It's enough that you do…" I call Joshua Tucker during my son's funeral. He roars angrily, "Kenny had to get two stitches on his arm because of your son! If you keep pestering me like this, I'll beat him up when I get home!" My son? I look at the gaping hole in my son's head, the one that won't ever bleed anymore. I shut my eyes. Yes, he's my son. My son is dead, Joshua. From now on, there's nothing between us.

My husband has asthenospermia, so we decide to try IVF. Before the embryos are combined, I catch my husband switching my ovum out for his true love's. I don't say anything and switch them back. At the same time, I switch my husband's sample out for my ex-boyfriend's. 25 years later, my husband's true love comes knocking. She holds my daughter's hands and weeps while saying, "I'm your mother, my darling!"

My mom was born with a silver spoon in her mouth. Her life is smooth-sailing most of the time. The only mistake she's ever made is falling for my dad. That's why she insists on finding me a husband who's the complete opposite of my dad. My dad is tall and intimidating-looking, so Mom wants someone who's short and perverted-looking. My dad is a knowledgeable and well-read man, so Mom wants a guy who has only graduated from elementary school. My dad prioritizes his moral integrity more than anything else, so Mom prefers a guy who drinks, gambles, and sleeps around. She tells me, "This type of man is easy to manipulate, unlike your father, who just divorced me out of nowhere!" It's true that the man Mom has chosen for me won't divorce me. After all, he leeches from me on top of beating me up. It's not enough to leech my money from me, it seems—he just has to take everything from me. My mom says in a righteous tone, "This is the only way that proves you're valuable to him. He won't divorce you at all." I've fought back and escaped from my husband many times. Every time I do, my mom will trick me into returning to him by hurting herself. As always, I'm greeted with another round of beating whenever I do return to him. Mom will take me to the hospital to get my injuries treated. Then, she'll say, "Hurry up and give birth to a son for him. Once you have a son, you'll be extremely valuable to your husband. He won't beat you up anymore." Today is supposed to be the day Mom takes me to the hospital to check my ovulation timing. She spends a long time calling me on the phone, yet I never pick up. After that, she sends me a few audio messages that last for 60 seconds each just to lecture me. "Beatrice Anderson, what makes you think you can just ignore my calls? The hospital check-up is for your own good! As long as you can get pregnant with a son, your husband will be wrapped around your finger! He won't divorce you after this! Why can't you understand how much I care for you?" I seriously can't understand at all. After all, I've gotten beaten to death yesterday. My corpse is cut into 28 chunks, and they are being frozen in the fridge as I speak.

My husband, once a powerful CEO, had become bankrupt and sank into depression. Overnight, I went from being the wife of a CEO to a lowly worker. To help him pay off his debts and cover the costs of his depression treatment, I took a job as a hostess at an auction house. However, I never expected to see my husband there, who should've been in the hospital undergoing therapy, sitting in the VIP section. Without any hesitation, he bid on an exorbitantly priced necklace and gave it to the woman beside him. That necklace—the one I had pawned to pay off his debts—was my grandmother's heirloom.

After a car accident left Vincent Holt, head of the powerful Holt family, disabled, he stunned high society by publicly seeking a wife. My father immediately submitted my profile. “Since you’re so determined to break up with Cole, let’s see if you can land someone from the Holt family instead.” I refused, only to get slapped hard across the face as I tried to grab his phone. “You have no choice in this.” With nowhere else to turn, I went to ask Cole Brody for help. He was the only one who could change my father’s mind. However, I overheard their conversation. “Don’t worry, Mr. Brody. Vincent Holt is just a cripple. Bethany’s too proud to accept him. Just give it some time. She’ll come crawling back to you.” Cole chuckled. “Lulu wants a baby. I’m just helping her out by sleeping with her a few times. It’s not a big deal, yet Bethany just won’t leave it alone. I knew you got a way to keep her in check.” My body went cold. It turned out that I had been standing alone in a ruin of lies all along. However, when the Holt family really picked me, they panicked.

I was framed by my boyfriend's childhood sweetheart and spent five years in prison. While I was locked away, he moved her into my home, seized my property, and built a perfect life, thriving off everything I worked for. However, I would take back everything that they stole from me.

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.

Leah, Logan’s adopted sister, threw a tantrum at our first engagement party, an episode of her pup dependency anxiety. But after that night, I gave him an ultimatum: if he couldn’t bond me before I turned thirty, he’d have to choose—me or Leah. Logan believed I’d never walk away. After all, I was bonded by my dying mother’s last wish: to be bonded with the werewolf warrior who’d loved me for ten years. Ten years together. Twelve promises that he’d keep Leah in line. And then came my twenty-ninth birthday—our thirteenth engagement party. Leah locked me in a restroom, stole my gown, and stood beside Logan in my place. She was smiling, glowing, claiming everything that was mine. When I finally stepped out, my gown was tattered. I confronted Logan, but he only said, “Alison, forgive her. I promise, this is the last time.” I looked at the torn gown my mother had sewn through sickness and pain… and I laughed. Logan sighed in relief, thinking I’d let it slide again. But I didn’t. I turned and walked away without a word. After a decade together, he thought I belonged to him. Well, he was wrong. He didn’t know that there was someone else who could give me happiness and fulfill my mother’s wish.