Turns out, the wedding night didn’t go as planned. No matter how much she tried to please him, the guy lost it. The moment he realized something was off, he called off the marriage—right there, in bed.
Humiliated. Rejected. Shamed in front of an entire dynasty.
And somehow, she decided I was the one to blame.
That night, she lit the fire that killed me.
Thinking about it now, I knew what I had to do.
If I couldn’t stop her, I’d at least make sure she and Owen were locked together. That way, the cheating scumbag and the manipulative vixen would be too busy wrecking each other to ruin anyone else’s life.
“Don’t worry, Alison,” I said sweetly. “Your secret’s safe with me. Aunt Hannah will never hear it from me.”
Once the door shut, I pulled out my phone and texted my darling boyfriend.
[Miss you, babe.]
Along with it, I sent a few choice photos—lingerie, props, the whole nine yards.
Owen took the bait instantly, replying with drooling emoji like some desperate teenager. I didn’t answer. I let him stew.
By the time I got off work, I had dozens of unread messages waiting for me. Owen was clearly on fire, thinking I’d finally changed my mind.
That night, I went all in—copying every flirtatious line I could find online and sending them one by one, building up the heat until he was begging.
[Babe, can we video chat? Please?]
His voice was thick with lust.
I turned him down with a laugh, claiming I had to take a shower.
Not long after, I heard Alison’s bedroom door click open. She slipped out in the middle of the night like a teenager sneaking to a secret hookup.
She came back at dawn, legs wobbling.
Over the next few days, I checked Owen’s online shopping cart.
Sure enough, he’d ordered a bunch of sex toys. Fancy ones.
Every time he wanted to hook up with her, he used the excuse of being “out of town.” This latest “business trip” had lasted a whole month—and my cousin’s gait had gotten noticeably… strange. She was taking forever in the bathroom too.
Aunt Hannah finally noticed something was off. She pounded on the bathroom door, yelling like a banshee.
But Alison brushed it off with a casual, “Just an upset stomach.”
Then one day, she showed up at the hospital, pale as a ghost.
“S-something’s wrong,” she muttered.
I had her lie down on the exam table and did a quick check.