The Poison She Cured, the Love She Killed

It is the night before our wedding when my fiancee, Whitney Sullivan, reunites with her childhood sweetheart, Steven Foster, a mercenary who has been missing for five years.

He is brought to our doorstep by his teammates, bloodied and barely clinging to life after being poisoned with a deadly aphrodisiac on a mission.

Whitney, usually so aloof and controlled, immediately breaks down. She locks the door, defying my efforts to stop her, and stays with Steven all night long.

I choose to stay outside the door, never closing my eyes.

I confront her the following morning with a torrent of accusations, only for her to stand in front of Steven protectively and say shamelessly, "I couldn't just stand by and watch Steven die. Isn't it just my virginity? What's the harm in letting loose the night before the wedding?"

In that instant, all my affection for her is utterly destroyed.

It wasn't long before the nightlong tumult of their coupling finally hushed that Whitney Sullivan, my fiancee finally appeared from the bedroom in a torn nightdress.

She had weak legs from the whole thing, so she had to brace herself against the wall as she shuffled along, her exposed skin showing telltale marks.

She then walked straight past me, went to the dining table, poured herself a glass of water, and said with a hint of irritation, "Your theatrics have gone on long enough, Daniel. I'm not well now, so I won't stand for your mood right now. It was just my virginity. If it could save Steven, then it was worthwhile. You should stop being such a puritan about it!"

I was so furious at the sheer absurdity of her comment that I burst out laughing. "You're saying I'm a puritan, huh? You practically threw yourself at another man. You're truly the progressive one!"

Whitney slammed the glass to the ground. "That's enough, Daniel! You'd better not spout any nonsense in Steven's presence—he's unwell right now—otherwise, the marriage is off!"

No sooner had she spoken than the medical team, already positioned, rushed into the bedroom and commenced the emergency resuscitation. She quickly rushed over as well, not giving me so much as a single look.

Steven Forster was lying on what was supposed to be my marital bed. He weakly held Whitney's hand and uttered in a strained, faint voice, "I'm sorry for putting you out like this, Whitney. I just wanted to see you one last time before I..."

I could smell a cloying, thick smell hanging in the air, while the contents spilling out of the trash clearly showcased the "score" of their actions during the previous night.

"I'm so happy that I got to be with you before I died… Is it possible for me to accompany you when you walk down the aisle on your wedding day?"

"You shouldn't say such ridiculous things!" she said.

She clutched Steven's hand, her eyes brimming with tears, and barked at the medical team, "Do something! Save him!"

She then turned to Steven and said, "You're going to be fine, Steven. You know, I'm still counting on you to be the one to rip off my wedding gown later!"

They then kissed with reckless abandon, a wild, desperate embrace like the last indulgence at the end of the world.

I watched as the scenario—straight out of a cheesy melodrama—unfolded right before my eyes, a wave of nausea rising in my stomach.

It was common knowledge that Whitney was my ultimate vulnerability. I, the pampered heir who had never done menial labor, clumsily learned to cook and granted her every desire. I even went so far as to kneel before the main gate of my family's residence for 72 hours, enduring a broken leg from my grandfather's beating, just to make her my wife.

I believed I had dedicated my heart and soul to Whitney, yet this was the miserable outcome I faced.

"How could you be so dense, Daniel? How could you just stand there like a paralyzed dummy?"

I immediately snapped out of my daze, only to hear Whitney commanding me with undisguised impatience, "Get the Lister family's medical team here right now! Do you think you'll be able to live with yourself if you cost Steven's life through delay?"

Upon seeing that I wasn't responding to her, Whitney's expression immediately soured—it was unprecedented for me to disregard her in the presence of others, after all. "It's our wedding today, Daniel! Do you have to start this row with me right now?" she added.

I stared at her threadbare, barely-there nightgown and asked, "You do recall that you're getting married today, huh? That thought must have completely slipped your mind when you were tangled up with Steven in that bed!"

"I did it because I wanted to save him!"

I let out a harsh, contemptuous laugh. "Oh, of course! You had the antidote in hand but chose to give your body instead! How profoundly noble of you!"

Whitney's expression flickered, an unhealthy mix of shock and fury. She was on the verge of responding when the clamor of the wedding team barging in cut her off.

Whitney's bridesmaids were the first group through the door. They immediately furrowed their brow when they registered the entire scene unfolding in the room meant for the newly married couple.