Are Online Dating Horror Stories Based On True Events?

My boss was my online boyfriend. But he didn't know that. He kept asking to meet in person. Gee. If we met, I might become a wall decoration the next day. Hence, I made a quick decision to break up with him. He got upset, and the whole company ended up working overtime. Hmm, how should I put this? For the sake of my mental and physical health, maybe getting back together with him wouldn't be such a bad idea.

We had been married for 24 years. Twenty-four years of what I thought was happy. He got everything he wanted. The house he chose. The truck he loved. The vacations he picked. I made sure life ran smoothly so he never had to question comfort. And apparently, comfort made him bored. That’s how I met Vincent. Not in person. On Tinder. Same smile. Same scar on his chin. Same wedding ring conveniently missing.

I go to the city where my online boyfriend, Logan Wright, lives to surprise him without telling him first. Instead, I overhear him talking with his friends. "So what if her voice is nice? She's probably ugly as hell if she's reluctant to even send a picture. If the hottest girl on campus hadn't turned me down, I wouldn't even bother messing around with someone like her. "Not only is she ugly, but she's also horny as hell. She keeps saying she has to see what I'm packing down there before we even meet." One of his friends snickers. "So did you show her?" Logan let out a low grunt in agreement. "But it wasn't mine. It was Troy's." His friend blurts, "What the hell? Troy Levine? Your roommate? You said he was at least eight inches. Were you serious?" "Of course. Why would I lie to you? Troy is a real bro. Seeing that I didn't want to send that kind of picture, he offered to do it for me." They freeze for a second, then all burst out laughing. I laugh too. I've heard of body doubles in Showbiz. This is the first time I've seen a body double in online romance. I want every detail on Troy, and I want them in the next three minutes!

In real life, I had been pushed to the brink by an online romance scam. Just when everything fell apart, I awakened something called the Devotion System, and before I could make sense of it, I found myself thrown into a horror game. Among all the players, I was the weakest, barely able to take care of myself. If I wanted to survive, I had only one option—find someone stronger and cling to them, no matter what it took. However, things did not go the way I expected. Every player avoided me like the plague. Not a single one was willing to team up. With nowhere left to turn, I made a desperate decision. I chose a ghost. I treated her as my bound partner and devoted myself completely to her, clinging to her as if my life depended on it. However, as I spent more time with her, I began to realize she was not just something terrifying. She was someone who had been hurt, someone deeply broken. Hence, I stopped pretending. I began to help her sincerely. In the end, we overcame everything together and cleared the game. However, when I returned to the real world, I discovered something I never could have expected. She had followed me back. From that moment on, all I could do was wait for the system to pull me into the next stage.

I was scrolling through reddit when I came across a post seeking advice. The poster said he had HIV but was hiding it from his fiancée. The post had tens of thousands of likes. Intrigued, I clicked to read more. As I went through the details, I realized—why did his description of the fiancée sound so much like me?

I made a deal with Sonia Quindt—the billionaire CEO. After I'd proposed to her ninety-nine freaking times, she swore she'd finally show up for the hundredth. Spoiler: she didn't. She was out there at some concert with her boy toy. And, of course, someone caught them on livestream. Big kiss. Big viral moment. Meanwhile, my face was plastered all over the internet too—lonely guy number one, waiting for a bride who never existed. Everyone online started making bets. Who was the mystery woman? How long until I came crawling back for the hundred-and-first proposal? Sonia, apparently struck by some last-minute guilt, promised she'd make it right next time. Said she'd actually show up. And she did. Wedding dress. Perfect makeup. Cameras ready. She got a text from me: [Sonia, there won't be a hundred-and-first proposal. We're done.]