Stained Bridal Whites Chapter 1

Getting back together with Andrew meant one thing: he became impossibly clingy. He reported everything—what he ate, what he drank, who he saw—in painstaking detail.

One day, he called, his tone testing the waters.

"Rick's hitting a spa with a few girls, wants me to come along."

"Oh," I said. "Have fun."

The line went dead.

Twenty minutes later, he was at my door, blocking the entrance, his voice a raw whisper.

"You're just going to let me go off with other women?"

I took a step back under his intense gaze.

"Isn't this the 'boundaries' you always wanted?"

My words hung in the air, and he froze.

* * *

"Are you done? If you're done, you can leave. I really don't mind."

And just in case he misunderstood, I added, ever so helpfully, "Don't worry, I'll play my part perfectly for your parents tomorrow."

Andrew's face darkened instantly. "Anya, you're really one of a kind."

He slammed the door on his way out.

The commotion had completely shattered my sleepiness. I curled back under the covers and scrolled through my phone.

At two in the morning, a few photos arrived from an unknown number.

A young woman, wearing nothing but a bikini, her pale body straddling Andrew. Steam ghosted around them. His arm was wrapped casually around her waist, a single, thin piece of fabric the only thing separating them.

A message followed: Hey Anya, the water's a little scary, so Andrew's holding on to me. You're so lucky to have such a caring husband ;)

I stared at the screen, considering my options.

Should I get up and play the role of the scorned wife?

It was too late. My driver was off for the night, and getting a cab would be a nightmare.

Well... how about drafting a long, scathing essay tearing Andrew apart?

The weather was too cold; my fingers would probably freeze.

Maybe I could just copy and paste an old one from our chat history to get it over with.

As I scrolled back through our old fights, I actually drifted off to sleep. No wonder Andrew never read them. Stripped of emotion, the words were just a long, rambling mess.

Turns out, they make for a pretty good sleep aid.

The next day was New Year's, and we went to the Knight family estate.

I was chatting with the elders when the doorbell rang sharply.

When the door opened, the girl from the photo stood there, looking shy and hesitant. She was clutching a pair of men's briefs.

"These... were left at my place yesterday."

The style was bold and youthful. There was only one man in this house they could possibly belong to.

The scene was nauseatingly familiar.

The year we got engaged, another girl had shown up just like this. I had lost my mind, lunging at her, yanking her hair, ready to drag her to the floor. Andrew had shoved me aside, taken the girl, and left without a backward glance, leaving me in a heap on the ground.

That night, the estate was in chaos. No one had a happy new year.

The elders always said you shouldn't start the new year on a bad note. Sure enough, that was the year Andrew and I fought the most viciously.

The living room was silent now. Everyone seemed to be waiting for my reaction.

I immediately put on a smile and smoothed things over. "Oh, this is my cousin! She grew up abroad. We were celebrating together last night."

Andrew's father breathed a sigh of relief, but his mother's eyes were still filled with suspicion. "Really?"

"Yes, of course." I pulled the girl inside and shut the door, extinguishing the last flicker of hope in Andrew's eyes.