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What the Hell is Going On?!

The realization hit her like a wave— she was in for more than just a business relationship. The stakes were far higher than she’d anticipated.

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A YEAR LATER— CYNTHIA...

The sun streamed gently through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the private penthouse nestled in the woods outside of New York, casting golden rays over the opulent space. The penthouse, with its sleek marble floors, handcrafted wooden furnishings, and plush velvet drapes that framed the expansive view of the surrounding forest, exuded understated luxury. Every corner of the room seemed to whisper elegance, from the modern, crystal chandelier that hung like a waterfall of light above, to the intricate carvings on the walls that hinted at an attention to detail only the finest craftsmen could provide.

In one of the rooms, Cynthia sat on a high-backed, sleek wooden chair, the intricate carvings of its arms a testament to its custom design. She glanced at her reflection in the expansive wall mirror before her. Her wedding gown, a breathtaking design adorned with soft, ethereal feathers on the shoulders, hugged her figure perfectly, the fabric shimmering under the soft light of the room. A team of makeup artists and hairdressers buzzed behind her, adding the final touches to her already perfect look.

But her mind was far from the joy of the moment. As she stared into the mirror, watching the reflection of her own eyes, her heart stirred with doubt. "Was this the right decision?" she thought, her fingers absently tracing the soft fabric of her gown. Marrying Carlos Antonio— what had once seemed like the dream of a lifetime— now felt like a path fraught with uncertainty.

Her heart raced as her mind drifted to recent events. The arguments had been intense, often sparked by the most trivial things. "Why do you always leave your clothes everywhere?" "You forgot our dinner date again?" Little things had turned into explosive fights, leaving her feeling lost and confused. Then there was his behavior, the secretive movements, the late-night returns with the scent of alcohol clinging to him like a shadow. Carlos had grown colder in recent months, his once loving gaze replaced with something distant, something unreachable.

Her phone buzzed softly on her lap, snapping her back to the present for a moment. A message from one of the vendors. She sighed, swiping it away. In her heart, she felt the heaviness of his infidelity— unconfirmed but ever-present. Flirty messages from other women constantly pinged on his phone, women who were too comfortable sending him messages filled with suggestive emojis and intimate words. Each notification had chipped away at the trust between them, leaving her wondering, "Am I really enough for him?"

Her thoughts were interrupted by a familiar, vibrant voice. "Girl, you look absolutely stunning!" Brian, her best friend and best lady for the occasion, bounded into the room with an infectious energy, her tone enthusiastic as she admired Cynthia’s reflection in the mirror. "Everyone's neck is gonna break when they see you walk down that aisle! Are the medics ready, though? 'Cause I swear people will be dropping like flies when you make your entrance."

Cynthia couldn’t help but smile at Brian’s enthusiasm, though it felt strained. "Thanks, Bri," she said softly, her gaze shifting back to the mirror. The makeup artist gave a final touch to her cheek, and her hairdresser stepped back, admiring their work. Brian moved excitedly around the room, almost dancing, her blonde curls bouncing as she paced back and forth in her sleek, emerald-green bridesmaid dress. But even with her friend’s compliments, the smile Cynthia wore didn’t quite reach her eyes.

"Are you sure I look okay?" Cynthia asked, her voice quieter than before, her eyes darting to Brian's reflection. "I don't want to disappoint Carlos."

Brian stopped in her tracks, turning to face Cynthia with a shocked expression. "What? Are you kidding me? Disappoint Carlos? Cynthia, you're a literal goddess in that gown. Any man would kill to marry someone as perfect as you. Carlos is the lucky one here, believe me."

Cynthia forced another smile and nodded, though the doubt gnawed at her like a festering wound. She wished she could believe her friend. She needed reassurance, more than anyone knew. Brian, seeing that Cynthia needed a moment, leaned in and gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "I’m gonna go grab a bottle of water. You need one?"

"Yeah," Cynthia replied, her voice barely audible. "I could use one."

Brian gave her a wink before bouncing out of the room, leaving Cynthia in the company of her thoughts once more. She stared at herself in the mirror, feeling as though she were looking at someone else. The soft hum of background conversation from her bridesmaids, muffled and distant, felt like it belonged to another world. A world she wasn’t sure she belonged in anymore.

Her fingers trembled as she reached for her phone again. She needed to talk to Carlos. She needed him to tell her that things were going to be different, that they could fix this, that they were still in love. She dialed his number.

No answer.

She dialed again, her heart thudding against her ribcage.

Still no answer.

One more time. She held her breath.

Nothing.

Anxiety clawed at her chest. She could feel the panic rising within her, her breath quickening. She had no other choice now. She had to see him. It was against tradition to see the groom before the wedding, but she needed to speak with him before they stood at the altar. She needed to hear from him that they would work on their relationship, that this wasn’t a mistake.

With a resolve that steadied her shaking hands, she stood up from the chair. Her gown flowed elegantly behind her as she moved swiftly through the expansive corridor, its white marble floors glistening beneath the soft glow of wall sconces. As she neared the room where Carlos was supposed to be getting ready with his groomsmen, her steps faltered. It was too quiet.

Her heart thudded in her chest as she reached for the door. Where was everyone? She pushed it open, only to be greeted by a strange silence. No one was there.

But then, she heard it. A faint tapping sound coming from the restroom. Her brows furrowed in confusion as she approached the door. The tapping grew louder, more insistent. And then… there was something else. Moaning.

A cold wave of dread washed over her. "What the hell?" she whispered, her pulse quickening as she placed her hand on the door handle. She hesitated for a moment, her heart pounding in her ears. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know what was on the other side, but something drove her forward.

She pushed the door open.

The sight that greeted her was nothing short of a nightmare— a devastating blow that she could never have imagined in her darkest thoughts. There, in front of her, was her sister Megan, tangled intimately with Carlos, her soon-to-be husband. His hands gripped Megan's body as though it belonged to him, their half-clothed forms pressed against the sink, breathless and utterly oblivious to the world outside their sordid moment. The soft, rhythmic thuds of the restroom echoed in time with their movements, their quiet moans mingling with the air like the most perverse symphony.

Cynthia's breath hitched in her throat, freezing her in place as her brain scrambled to catch up with what her eyes were showing her. For a split second, the world seemed to tip on its axis— nothing made sense. The luxurious penthouse around her, the glowing chandeliers, the pristine marble floors— it all became a blur of meaningless beauty, mocking the ugliness of what was unfolding before her. The feathers on her gown that had once felt like a dream now seemed like a cruel reminder of the purity she was losing in that very moment.

Her heart pounded in her chest, each beat growing louder in her ears as if it were on the verge of bursting. She couldn't breathe, couldn't think. Was this really happening? The betrayal hit her like a physical blow, an icy spear to her chest, twisting with every second that ticked by. How could he? How could she? Her own sister, of all people.

Her hand tightened on the doorframe as her knees threatened to buckle beneath her. She wanted to scream, to rage, to tear the room apart. But all she could manage was a soft gasp as her mouth fell open, her jaw dropping in disbelief.

"What...?" she managed to croak, her voice barely above a whisper. "What the hell is going on?!"

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