3: 3

A few days later, I was at the office when a text from Bianca came in.

"Babe, tonight I'm meeting the bridesmaids to plan the wedding games. I won't be home for dinner."

Staring at the words on the screen, I felt a wave of irritation.

Did they really have to go out somewhere just to plan a few games?

I wanted to press her on it, but I held it together and typed back a single "Okay."

Right then, the local forum popped up a new-reply alert.

I opened it fast.

That original poster had put up another post.

"Meeting her again tonight. This time I'm making her wear a yoga outfit."

Attached was a photo taken from behind.

The woman in it wore a limited-edition sculpting set that hugged every curve.

The fabric was a loud, bright pink.

That outfit set my rage on fire in an instant.

It was a gift I'd bought for Bianca on a work trip out of town a while back, from some trending influencer boutique.

She'd tried it on once, complained it was too tight and showed off too much, and refused to ever wear it outside.

She'd said she'd only wear it at home, for me.

After that, the outfit got shoved to the very bottom of the closet.

My mind went blank. I grabbed a cab and rushed straight home.

The second I was through the door, I bolted into the bedroom, threw open the closet, and tore through it.

Nothing.

The yoga outfit wasn't there.

I searched the laundry hamper and the balcony too. Nothing anywhere.

The fury burned right through what was left of my reason.

I pulled out my phone and called Bianca again and again.

"Sorry, the person you are calling is not available right now…"

I called more than a dozen times, and every time all I got was that cold, mechanical woman's voice.

It wasn't until nearly midnight that I heard the lock turn.

I sat on the wrecked bed, my heart sunk to the bottom.

It was midnight before the security door finally stirred.

Bianca walked into the bedroom, exhaustion written all over her face.

Seeing the clothes strewn across the bed, she froze for a second.

"What are you looking for, tearing the whole place apart like this?"

I choked down the urge to have it out with her and forced a smile.

"Just an old jacket. Why are you back so late?"

I stared into her eyes.

Bianca's gaze darted away, and she bent down to change out of her shoes.

"The bridesmaids are putting together a surprise. The discussion ran long."

Lying.

There was the faint scent of hotel body wash in her hair.

She'd sprayed perfume to cover it, but I still caught it.

To keep from tipping her off, I forced the anger back down.

"Go shower. Let's turn in early tonight." I stood and walked toward the bed.

I remembered something I'd seen on one of those short-video apps: once a woman cheats, she doesn't like her husband touching her anymore.

The moment she came out of the shower, I stepped over and scooped her up.

Then I dropped her onto the bed and leaned down over her.

"Baby, tonight I want to…"

On any other day, she'd have gone along with it.

But tonight she thrashed hard and shoved me off with all her strength.

"Stop it. I've been running around all day, I'm exhausted. Let's just sleep."

She turned her back to me and pulled the covers up, wrapping herself in tight.

I looked at her turned back, and the cold went straight through me.

Just then the phone on the nightstand buzzed.

It was a text from my good friend Daryl Chavez.

"Hey man, I was over at the Ritz tonight meeting a client, and I think I saw Bianca outside the lobby doors."

Daryl was my partner from the early days of the company, and my creditor too.

Back when the company's cash flow dried up, he was the one who lent me five million to get us through.

That text was the last straw that broke the camel's back.

I didn't reply to Daryl.

I was busy thinking how to get solid proof before the wedding.

After turning it over for a moment, I opened the local forum and registered a blank burner account.

I sent a direct message straight to that poster.

"Hey OP, the girl in your post is gorgeous. Any chance I could get to know her?"

"Good man, share the wealth!"

He fired back a mocking little emoji fast.

"Get lost. You think my woman is someone you get to daydream about?"

I kept working him, soft and stubborn.

"Come on, man, she's not your wife. I really do want to meet her."

"We're both single old-timers at this. Don't you think this way's more fun?"

"Let's just be friends. Who knows, maybe there'll be business we can do together down the line."

"I've got gifts ready for you and the girl!"

"Just ask her. Maybe she's up for it herself!"

Then I pulled a photo of some muscular guy off the internet and sent it over.

A few minutes later, the poster messaged back.

"She said yes."

"Day after tomorrow, evening. Room 1208 at the Ritz."

"Door's unlocked. Just walk right in."

4: 4

Sure enough, first thing the next morning Bianca said she had to work overtime the next couple of days and would be home late.

Looking at that face of hers, all I felt was disgust.

Those two days of waiting were pure hell.

Finally the appointed day came.

I got to the Ritz half an hour early.

The number on the door, 1208, was right in front of me.

I clenched my fists, heart pounding like a drum.

Lying inside was the woman I was about to marry.

The woman I'd been with for three years, the one about to walk down the aisle with me.

I took three deep breaths, gritted my teeth, and pushed open the door that had been left ajar.

The room was dim.

A sharp perfume hung in the air.

A woman lay on the big bed.

She wore a thin slip.

A black blindfold covered most of her face.

By the faint light, I recognized the shape of her.

Just as hot as in the photos.

Hearing the small sound at the door, the woman on the bed reacted at once.

She rolled onto her side, propped up her head, and crooked a finger toward the door.

And in the instant she lifted her leg, I saw the silver snake-bone anklet around her ankle!

Exactly the same as the one on Bianca's ankle!

The last shred of hope shattered completely. I wanted nothing more than to rush over and strangle this shameless woman right there.

But what was left of my reason held me back.

I had to get hard proof, leave her with nothing to say in front of every relative and friend!

I forced myself to calm down, pulled out my phone, and started recording.

Then I deliberately lowered my voice:

"I'm here."

Hearing the sound, the woman on the bed let out a coy laugh.

"Baby, you finally came. I've been waiting so long I've practically wilted."

Looking at that wanton pose, my stomach turned.

"So desperate?"

Choking back the urge to kill, I kept up the disguised voice and fished for more. "Sneaking out to a hotel behind your husband's back, aren't you scared he'll catch you?"

The woman just curled her lip, not caring in the least.

"Ugh, why bring up that loser and ruin the mood."

Loser?!

The veins on my forehead popped out.

Out there working myself to death to support this family, and in her eyes I was nothing but a loser!

She didn't notice anything off and kept whining sweetly.

"All day long he only knows how to go to that dead-end job of his."

"And at night he's as dull as a lump of wood."

Gritting my teeth, I kept stoking the fire:

"You've got some nerve. Getting married soon and still out here meeting other men."

The woman shifted on the bed, lazily twirling a strand of her hair around her finger.

"Baby, what, are you scared?" She bit her red lip.

"I'm not scared at all."

She pointed toward the bathroom.

"Go take a shower first. Once you're done you'll relax, and I'll be right here waiting for you."

I lost it completely. Like a maddened beast, I closed the distance to the bed in a few strides.

"I'll kill you, you slut!"

I grabbed a fistful of her hair and hauled most of her body off the bed.

My other hand swung up high and came down hard, whistling through the air.

"Ah! What are you doing!"

The slap landed and tore the black lace blindfold off her face at the same time.

My eyes went wide in disbelief.

How could it be her?