Scumbag Synonym Novels & Stories

Sylvia Frost and Victor Rothwell's wedding had been postponed 33 times. This time, it happened on the night before the ceremony. She was struck by a car and left with 19 broken bones. She was rushed to the ICU three separate times before her condition finally stabilized. Once she was strong enough to leave her bed, she braced herself against the wall and shuffled into the hallway. As she reached the corner, she overheard her fiancé speaking with a friend. "Last time it was drowning. This time you used a car. That gets you another two months. What are you going to do next?" Sylvia's blood turned to ice. Victor stood there in his white coat, his phone turning slowly in his hand. "No more delays." His voice remained flat.

For three long years, I was trapped in a toxic relationship with Edwin Kent.During those three years, he started by verbally insulting and controlling me, but eventually escalated to physical violence. Not only did he drain my finances to support his family and lavish my money on his "goddess", but he also impregnated me three times, leaving me to face the emotional and physical toll of abortions alone.Despite the repeated disappointments, I remained blind to the truth. It wasn't until one day when I overheard him asking his goddess, "When will you become my girlfriend?"His goddess laughed and asked, "Aren't you already in a relationship with her, scum?"Edwin nonchalantly responded, "She's the one who won't let go of me. I've always loved you."That was when reality finally slapped me in the face. I left behind my scarred heart and returned to the embrace of my wealthy family.But Edwin refused to let me go. He persistently challenged the boundaries of me and my family.Finally, I couldn't tolerate it anymore. Trash should be thrown into the garbage dump, not wandering around and bothering people.

A post asked: "What did it feel like to marry someone you didn’t love?" My husband answered, "No fun in bed at all. Every day, I think about divorce." Owen Clinton’s first love, Luna Dawson, had returned to town, and sparks had reignited between them in secret. Luna, with smug confidence, had urged me to step aside. But I only laughed as I tossed the divorce papers at her. "If you were so capable, you’d get him to sign them. Otherwise, I won't even take you seriously.”

On the night of my 30th birthday, I waited until the early hours of the morning, but my husband, Theodore Hawk never showed up. Instead, I came across an Instagram post from his childhood sweetheart, Emily Gallagher. [What romantic is not the starry night, it is having you by my side.] In the picture, she was wearing a delicate, sky-blue camisole that revealed just enough to charm and seduce. A man stood close behind her, his hand firmly gripping her waist. The scene was set in the seaside villa that Theodore had gifted her, their figures intimately entwined under the soft glow of the night. Someone had commented beneath the post: [I can’t stand you two being this lovey-dovey all the time! Just get married already!] Emily had responded with a shy-face emoji. I had just liked the post when Theodore, who I had failed to reach all night, blew up my phone with calls. "Are you out of your mind, Camilla? Emi and I grew up together! If we wanted to be together, we would’ve done so long ago! Why are you being so petty?" Looking at how Theodore gently held her in his arms, comforting her, I realized something. Letting go of someone you’ve loved for seven years... can take only a moment.

While cleaning Desmond Maynard's house, I accidentally knocked over his mother's keepsake. He once told me it was his most precious possession. But when I picked it up, hundreds of love letters spilled out. There were beautiful poems, passionate lyrics, and heartfelt confessions. He had written one letter a week without stopping. On the back of each one wrote a line: To My Love, Bunny. The nickname rang a bell. It was his junior in college. Things started to make sense. I slaved away for 13 years, running his household and caring for his family, but Desmond never even said he liked me. That was because he already had someone he liked. I sorted the letters by date, put them back, and grabbed my phone to make a call. "Mom, I'm in for the marriage proposal."

When my boyfriend, Sebastian Passini, comes to me in tears, claiming his famiglia has been crippled and backed into a corner, I put everything my famiglia has at stake to pave the way for him. I withstand immense pressure from my famiglia, divert four million dollars, deploy our most elite soldati, and even fall out with my Madre, all to protect him. Yet, on the eve of his "counterattack," I stumble upon his true colors in my famiglia's underground chamber. Angelina Aureli chuckles beside him. "To swallow the Valerini famiglia whole, you put on a fine performance. Are you really going to sit back and watch Isabella hand over her famiglia's foundation to you?" Sebastian sneers, "Why else would I call her a fool? Her trust—and the Valerinis' resources—are nothing but stepping stones for me to rise to the top. Once I have everything in my hands, she and that old hag are dead!" I fish out my phone and revoke the final tranche of resources I had reserved for Sebastian. I should have known from the very beginning. He and I have never been on the same path. He wants plunder and destruction, and I'll make him pay for his greed in blood.

Eight years after I broke up with Greyson Tromp, we met in the hospital. He brought his wife for a prenatal checkup and happened to have their consultation with me. I wore a mask and carefully examined the condition of her baby. The intern beside us asked how they ended up together. Elise Jacob said smugly, "You have to fight for a handsome guy. To get the best, you have to fight for it! He used to like someone else. To win his heart, I stirred up trouble between them, causing them to misunderstand each other and gradually drift apart. "Later, they had a really bad argument, and I hid the apology letter he asked me to pass on to that woman. I still keep it as our token of love. That woman was pregnant at the time, and I used every means to get rid of her baby!" After they left, I removed my mask. My hands instinctively rested on my stomach. There was an ugly scar beneath my clothes. It was from when Greyson forced me to abort our baby. A few days later, Greyson came kneeling before me, holding that apology letter and a divorce agreement.

On the night of my wedding, my best friend's younger brother wiped the sweat from his forehead and asked me, “It’s a little big. Can you handle it?” I stared at his perfectly defined abs, my mind going completely blank. “What?” He repeated, “Can you handle it?” My voice jumped an octave from my panic. “Aren't we supposed to take things slow? Isn’t this way too fast?” That night, the sound-activated lights in the house flickered on and off until dawn. Meanwhile, my ex-husband was squatting downstairs. His eyes were swollen red from crying, but I did not even spare him a thought. Back then, when I agreed to let him proceed with a fake wedding with his childhood sweetheart, Miles Carter thought our cold war was over. When he explained things to me, he said, “Vivian and I will only be married on paper. The ceremony is just to satisfy my mom. I swear, when this is over, we’ll live as a real couple.” I remained silent. I just stared at the countdown on my phone, counting the days until I could finally leave. He did not know that the moment he tricked me into signing the divorce papers, our marriage had already ceased to exist.

My partner, Derek Crawford, calls himself a traditional man. On our tenth anniversary, I bought him a pair of his favorite AJ sneakers. Instead, he gifted me a bag of pastries. "Your cake is extremely tiny, and yet it costs you a few dozen dollars! Look at the pastries I got you—not only are they cheap, but they are also huge in quantity! Now this is what I call worth it!" After that, Derek tells me that he'll make it up to me by throwing an engagement party. He has also invited my parents and my relatives to the party. With anticipation brimming in our eyes, we arrive at the restaurant, only to see Derek serving us with store-bought pickles and dinner rolls. "I'm a traditional man, you see. I'm not used to fancy food and foreign cuisines. This, right here, is the basics of a traditional dinner. You don't see patriotic men like me nowadays!" My relatives' expressions change drastically on the spot. Meanwhile, my parents look very mortified. I can only smile awkwardly at them while doing everything I can to stop them from leaving. But as soon as I leave the hotel, I receive a notification from the bank that 200 thousand dollars have been deducted from my account via a supplementary card linked to it. At the same time, Derek's childhood sweetheart, Renee Young, posts a photo of her 12-layered luxurious cake on her social media account. "When I told Derek that I wanted to celebrate my birthday, not only did he buy me the most expensive strawberry cake, but he also reserved a dozen or so tables that are served with the grandest feast! "If your man loves you that much, he won't need any lessons in pampering you! Traditional men definitely know how to love and pamper their queens!" I tighten my grip on my phone. As I look back at Derek, who keeps claiming that he's a traditional man stuck to his traditional ways, I suddenly find it exhausting to continue being in a relationship with him.

On our son's fifth birthday, I found the texts on Stanley's phone—from his best friend's widow: [Stanley, the kid misses his dad again. When are you coming over?] [Stanley, Archie liked a set of matching family outfits. I already ordered them. Let's wear them together this weekend.] [Stanley, Archie starts school tomorrow. I put your name down under "father." Hope that's okay?] And Stanley? He was all in: [Loretta's asleep. I'll head over now.] [My size is 3XL. Don't get the wrong one.] [It's fine. You two have always been my responsibility.] I stood there, frozen. Then I called him back in from the living room, where he'd been helping Luca open gifts. He didn't deny it. Just hugged me and started rambling. "Hallie's Howard's widow. I promised I'd look out for her and Archie. I know I messed up. It won't happen again." We'd been together ten years. Luca had just turned five. Ending a marriage over a few texts felt dramatic. So I let it slide. Believed him. We even went out to celebrate Luca's birthday. Then his phone lit up on the table: [Stanley, the kid's crying for his dad before bed. I can't calm him down.] Stanley shoved his chair back and walked out—no hesitation. I looked at Luca. He was startled at the noise. And just like that, divorce didn't feel so dramatic anymore.