One-night stand with cheating fiancé's uncle

Isla’s stomach was twisted in knots on her first wedding night.

After her shower, she dried her hair and slipped into the slinky nightgown someone had laid out for her. Soft amber light gilded her stunning features, turning her beauty into something you couldn’t look away from if you tried. The sound of the shower still running in the bathroom pulled her mind back—five years with Vicente, four of them long distance. Now he was finally back, here to marry her.

She squeezed the nearly sheer fabric of her nightgown between her fingers, her heart hammering against her ribs. A ping from a phone on the table yanked her attention away. When she unlocked it, a jolt of surprise went through her—her own face stared back from the lock screen. She’d grabbed Vicente’s phone by mistake.

Vicente had given her all his passwords. The day he got his new phone, he’d added her fingerprint right away. He always said trust was everything, swore he’d never keep a single secret from her.

Just before she set it down, a new message popped up from someone named “Lilith.” Isla knew almost everyone from his design studio, but that name didn’t ring a bell. Even though she trusted Vicente, something in her gut pushed her to open it.

[Lilith: Vicente, I finally nailed that spiced honey cake you taught me! Aren’t I the best?]

Attached was a photo: a young woman in a tiny pink skirt, wearing cat ears, a smudge of cream right on the tip of her nose.

The words “spiced honey cake” sent cold shivers racing down Isla’s spine. That was her favorite dessert. The one Vicente used to make to wow her, always cutting strawberries into little bunnies just for her. The cake in the photo looked exactly like the ones he’d made for her.

Ice spread through Isla’s entire body. Her fingers shook as she scrolled through the chat thread. There wasn’t much here—Vicente must have deleted all their old messages before he came home.

Tapping into Lilith’s profile, Isla saw almost every post was about Vicente: him passed out at his desk after overtime, their trips to the amusement park, sunrise hikes and sunset drives.

The worst blow? The birthday necklace Vicente had given Isla? Lilith had picked it out. The comments spelled it all out: Vicente and Lilith weren’t officially dating, but they were in that messy, vague in-between that meant anything could happen.

Suddenly, Isla got it. The perfect, pure relationship she’d thought she had? Lilith had been in it this whole time.

The shower cut off.

Isla hesitated only a few seconds, then typed back three words: You’re amazing.

[Lilith: That’s just ‘cause Vicente is the best teacher ever! What took you so long to reply? You gonna ignore your little sis now that you’ve got a fiancee? 😠]

Isla saw right through her little game. If this was actually Vicente texting back, he’d sweet-talk her and smooth everything over just like she wanted.

She set the phone down, tossed the still-sealed box of condoms into the trash, slipped on a sharp black wool coat, shoved her feet into heels, grabbed her purse, and walked out the door.

The crisp bite of early winter wrapped around her as she stood under a streetlamp, watching dry leaves spin in the wind.

Looking back over the past year, Vicente had been good to her, no question. No matter how crazy his schedule got, he’d fly across half the world just to surprise her on her birthday. He’d remember when she was feeling under the weather, have a heating pad and her favorite coffee waiting before she even asked. Even with the time difference, he’d always pick up the phone, warm and concerned, every single time she called.

But he’d still hidden Lilith from her. He’d chosen to lie by omission, knowing full well what it would cost her if she found out.

Her phone rang. The caller ID said “Husband”—a name Vicente had changed it to himself. He’d rambled nonstop about moving back to marry her as fast as possible, wanted to claim his place so no other guy would dare make a move.

Isla thought back to Lilith’s post the day of her birthday. She’d blown out her candles, turned to find Vicente shoving his phone in his pocket, said it was just work. Now it made sense.

When she’d been sick in bed, Vicente had sat right next to her holding her hand, and colleagues were commenting on Lilith’s posts that even with Vicente overseas, she still had all his attention.

All the signs had been right in front of her. She’d just been too happy to look.

Right before the call went to voicemail, Isla answered, forcing her voice to sound normal. “Hey.”

Vicente’s voice was still warm, just like always: “Babe, where are you?”

She couldn’t stop thinking—he probably used that same soft, affectionate tone with Lilith every single day.

Emotional betrayal eats at you far worse than just physical cheating.

Isla’s voice was steady when she answered: “Something came up at work, I have to come in for overtime.”

Vicente knew how demanding her job at Damari Evans’s company was, so he didn’t question her excuse. “Sweetheart, just quit. Let me take care of you.”

Isla’s first instinct was to snap: What about Lilith? But she bit it back. She was twenty-three, old enough to know better than to fly off the handle. She didn’t need to yell, or fight, or grill him. The proof was right there, plain as day, no room for him to argue or deny it.

Keeping her voice calm, she said, “I haven’t made a decision about quitting yet, Vicente.”

Using his full name caught him totally off guard. “Isla, you…”

She cut him off. “Goodbye.”

Ending it fast is the mature way to handle it when your heart’s breaking.

The shift in her tone didn’t go unnoticed. Vicente was left stunned, confusion clouding his handsome face. When he glanced down, the unopened condom box peeking out of the trash caught his eye.

His fingers flew across the screen, opening WhatsApp. The top message was to Lilith, and right under the last text Lilith sent… was the reply “You’re amazing.” It wasn’t his. One click, and everything clicked into place.

Panic sliced through Vicente’s chest as he frantically pulled up Isla’s profile to beg her to talk. Only to find his messages bounced—she’d blocked him.

Calling her was useless. She’d blacklisted his number entirely.

Meanwhile, Isla had left the hotel and ended up standing outside her office building. She walked inside on autopilot, like her feet knew where to go even if her brain couldn’t think straight.

The chaos of the day had faded, and the office was dead quiet at this hour. Alone in the hallway, Isla slid down the wall to the floor, biting down hard on her sleeve to muffle her sobs.

Five years of loving someone doesn’t just disappear overnight. Saying it hurt was the understatement of the century. She’d been afraid of love once, and Vicente had talked her into trusting again. Even across thousands of miles, he’d filled her head with promises, with dreams of a life together, of marriage.

She’d convinced herself he was different from all the other rich, privileged guys. But in the end? He was just the same as all the rest.

The sharp click of a lighter cut through the silence. Isla hadn’t expected anyone else to be here this late.

Her back went cold when she turned. A tall shadow leaned against the window.

The flicker of the flame danced across his sharp, striking features—high straight nose, a jawline you could cut glass on.

He held a cigarette between his lips, his voice low and unreadable, when he spoke: “Why are you crying?”