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"Everyone knows," the actress said with a smile. "Except you." The night before my wedding, my fiancé sent me a live video of his affair— not out of guilt, but because he was bored of pretending. That night, I bu//rned my wedding dress. The next morning, the girl from the video showed up. I laid the photos on the table—him, her, another her. Apparently, I wasn't his only secret. Just the longest one. When I confronted him, he sighed. "Be realistic," he said. "Which man in this world has only one woman?" "But we were different," I said. He laughed. "It's still just a man and a woman." That's when it clicked. I wasn't weak because I loved him. I was trapped because I believed he was my whole world. So when he said, "Let's break up. I'll take care of you fin@nc1/ally," I smiled. Because I didn't need his m0n3y. I needed my freedom. And this time, I took it— without asking. In the twentieth year of knowing Ethan Blackwood, he sent me a message on the night before our wedding. [The twentieth year of knowing Ethan Blackwood. On the night before our wedding, he sent me a message. I’m with someone else right now. Want to hear it?] It was only a teaser. Before I could even process it, Ethan started a video call. I instinctively hit decline. My hands were shaking so badly it startled even me. The calls kept coming, one after another. Then came a sixty-second voice message. The moment I pressed play, obscene sounds tore straight through my ears. I asked him, my voice hollow with despair, “Why?” When Ethan replied, his breathing was still uneven. “I’ve been sneaking around so many times, and you never noticed. It got boring.” The wedding dress beside me—one I’d adjusted and smoothed hundreds of times—seemed to collapse into nothing more than a filthy rag. *** Five minutes later, someone knocked on the hotel door. Ethan stood outside, his collar loose, vivid red marks blooming across his neck. Just moments ago, he had been next door with another woman. And I’d known
