The faint glow of the bedroom light spilled onto the floor, where unmistakable clues of last night’s betrayal were strewn about—a ripped shirt cuff, an abandoned perfume bottle, a wine glass with lipstick smudges. My heart pounded with a bitter clarity as I stared at the scene. Without thinking, I typed a comment beneath Isabel’s brazen Instagram post: “Great pic. Looks like the perfect theme for tomorrow’s wedding.” Then, numbly, I grabbed an empty suitcase and began stuffing in every trace of her presence.
Isabel had posted that photo with reckless audacity because she believed my love for her was a chain that would hold me captive no matter what. She was certain my devotion was so blind, so unshakable, that I wouldn’t dare stop the wedding. She assumed forgiveness would come as easily to me as breath. But in her boldness, she seemed to forget a promise she once whispered to me like a vow: “Ethan, even if I stumble with others, it will never be real. My first time will always be yours.”
Yet in that photo, the marks were glaring—his hands imprinted on her neck, the tender curve of her smile in the dim shadows—proof that those words had long since been meaningless. She had already lost count of how many “first times” she’d claimed.
Suddenly, everything crystallized. If Isabel’s heart belonged to Lucas, then so be it. This wedding, our supposed union, was nothing but a farce.
At 10 a.m., I switched my phone back on, bracing myself. The screen flooded instantly—missed calls from Isabel, texts pouring in like a relentless storm. Before I could react, she called, her voice sharp and frantic. “Ethan, where are you? It’s ten o’clock, and the rehearsal is starting! Do you realize how humiliating this is for me? You better prepare to double the gift money—my bridesmaids are furious! Do you even want to marry me?”
I put the phone on speaker. In a past life, I would have shrugged off her anger, coaxed calm, and rushed to smooth things over. But now, a cold detachment steadied me. “First,” I said, voice laced with a scorn I never imagined I could summon, “you owe me an apology. Isabel… are those bruises on your neck going to vanish by tonight? How much concealer will you need to erase last night’s truth? The wedding is off.”
A harsh laugh crackled through the speaker. “So you saw my Instagram? Using my own posts to punish me on what was supposed to be our wedding day? Ethan, you’re living in a soap opera. If it weren’t for my parents forcing me into this, do you think I would say yes to you? The one I love is Lucas. You might have my body, but you’ll never have my heart. I’m giving you until eleven to get here—otherwise, this wedding is dead.”
Click.
Almost immediately, a new message slid onto the screen. A photo—Isabel asleep in Lucas’s arms, the blanket barely hiding the marks on her neck, her face serene with deceitful bliss. Lucas’s accompanying text hissed: “She’s marrying you today, but last night was her real wedding night.”
I snapped a screenshot of both Isabel’s Instagram post and Lucas’s cruel message, then shared them on my own Instagram with a caption stark as winter: “Wedding canceled. Childhood sweethearts belong together.”
My phone exploded with calls—friends, family, even Isabel’s parents, desperate for answers. I felt a cold weight settle in my gut. I wasn’t angry now; I was done being a pawn in their game.
“Professor Morgan,” I said quietly over the phone, the man who was both Isabel’s father and my former mentor, “I’m not throwing a tantrum. Isabel has always loved Lucas, not me. You can see the truth yourself on her Instagram.”
He was a good man, one of the few reasons I tolerated Isabel’s duplicity for so long. He and his wife had never approved of Lucas—he was a reckless, opportunistic mess during college, fixated on climbing social ladders through Isabel. He’d pushed her into rebellion against her parents, seeking favors and a campus housing spot to marry her. His grades barely scraped by, making his presence unsustainable, while I had earned every bit of my academic standing through scholarships, published articles, and hard work under Professor Morgan’s stern guidance.
Back at the Maplewood Residence, I finished gathering Isabel’s belongings, the suitcases swelling with the remnants of dreams lost. As I reached for the phone to call movers, the elevator doors opened suddenly. Isabel stepped out, still in her wedding dress, face flushed with a desperate mix of anger and panic.
“Finished your little tantrum?” she snapped. “Come to The Crown Pavilion. Our guests are waiting.”
I studied her for a long moment, the woman who had once been everything to me now just a shadow of betrayal. A smile, sharp as shattered glass, curled my lips. “Isabel, wasn’t last night already your wedding night… with Lucas?”
She froze. I seized the moment. “I’ve told everyone—family, friends—that the wedding is canceled. I wish you both a happy life.”
Her voice rose in fury. “Have you thought about my parents? Your professors! Do you have no conscience? This will bring disgrace!”
I inhaled slowly, steadying myself. “When you shamelessly posted those photos, did you consider their disgrace? You’ve dragged their name through the mud.”
Her eyes blazed with defiance. “Fine! I promise I’ll limit contact with Lucas. Happy now? Everyone has a past before marriage. I was just closing my chapter with him. You’re blowing this out of proportion.”
Her contempt broke what was left of my heart. I showed her the photo Lucas had sent. “I’m not blind with love. I won’t walk down the aisle smiling while you’re unfaithful. Pack your things. Take them with you, or they’ll be tossed.” I pushed the suitcases toward her and slammed the door in her face.
The next morning, a message from Professor Morgan prompted a visit. Despite everything, I couldn’t ignore the respect I owed the man who had been kind to me for years. When I arrived, Isabel sat with arms crossed, defiance shadowing her face.
“Ethan, you said you wouldn’t marry me. Why now plead with my parents?” she spat.
“Enough, Isabel,” Professor Morgan thundered. “Is this how I raised you? You’re shaming us all.”
“I’m my own person! I’ve only ever loved Lucas!” she retorted. “You’re the ones pressuring me, not Ethan!”
Mrs. Morgan’s eyes welled with tears. “Look at what you’ve done, Isabel! This is tearing everyone apart.”
Isabel glared at me, hatred radiating from every word. “Even if I marry you, my heart belongs to Lucas. Always has.”
I stepped forward calmly. “When I pursued you, I never forced your hand. This was your choice, not theirs or mine.”
Professor Morgan’s hands trembled. “You speak of love for Lucas? Do you know what sort of man that is?”
Isabel scoffed. “You have no honor! You took Lucas’s spot at school and gave it to Ethan! Everyone knows it was because of your favoritism!”
The room fell silent as the weight of her words crashed down. The man’s face paled, and he gasped for breath.
“Is that true?” I asked quietly. “If it weren’t for being his daughter, would you have reported your own father?”
In a fury, Isabel stormed out, promising retribution. Professor Morgan collapsed, and chaos engulfed the room with cries and whispered fears.
Isabel’s mother rushed to aid her husband while Isabel turned, screaming, “This is your fault!”
I wanted to retort, but held back, leaving that house and the devastation within.
In the following weeks, Isabel launched a vicious social media campaign, painting me as the villain who had stolen Lucas’s future and shattered her family. The worst blow came when she accused me of academic fraud at my university, using her father’s influence as fuel. I faced suspension pending investigation.
I gathered every scrap of proof—emails, papers, commendations—demonstrating a career built on merit alone. But the damage ran deep.
Before I could recover, Isabel struck a crueler blow. One rainy morning, she appeared at my door with a cold smile. “I’ve decided to raise this child,” she said. “Lucas and I agreed—everyone will know you’re the father.”
The shock froze me. “Pregnant? With my child? We haven’t been together in months.”
It was manipulation—another trap to drag me into chaos. Consulting a lawyer, I learned a paternity test was inevitable. Until then, my reputation was hostage.
Digging deeper, I exposed Lucas’s true colors—an opportunist using Isabel for her family’s wealth and academic ties, with no intention of a future.
I fought back, filing a defamation suit against Isabel and Lucas. The paternity test cleared me, and the court unveiled their deceit. The judge dismissed their claims and mandated Isabel compensate me for the turmoil she caused.
Her fall from grace was swift. Shunned by her family, Lucas vanished once the money dried up, and Isabel was left isolated and broken. When she tried to reach out, begging for a second chance, I merely closed the door.
Rebuilding wasn’t easy. Returning to my academic duties felt like walking from ashes, but with truth on my side, respect gradually returned.
Two years later, I met Lucia, whose intellect, kindness, and respect healed scars long buried. Together, we built a life richer than any I imagined—sharing a home, a love founded on trust and equality.
Years passed until one day, Isabel attempted another legal attack for “emotional damages.” My lawyer laughed at the absurdity, swiftly dismantling her case.
That was the last echo of the past. Word reached me that Isabel was living in obscurity, estranged from even her own family.
Meanwhile, with Lucia beside me, my career blossomed, inviting new horizons. One evening, over dinner, she looked deep into my eyes and said, “I’m proud of the man you’ve become and everything we’ve built. The best is yet to come.”
Her words settled in me like a balm. Reflecting on that dark chapter, I understood it was a crucible that led me to this peace—proving that true love isn’t possession or betrayal, but respect and shared dreams. Now, free from the shadows, I live the life I’ve always desired, embraced by love and hope.
