The Night of Betrayal
365 Words
I should have listened to my instincts.
For weeks, something had been gnawing at me—a quiet voice that whispered, look closer. But I silenced it with excuses. After all, he was mine. He loved me. Or so I thought.
That night, I arrived at his apartment unannounced. It wasn’t supposed to be suspicious. We often surprised each other. I carried a bag of takeout and a heart full of affection, ready to laugh about our day and curl into his arms.
But the second I turned the key and stepped inside, the air changed.
The soft moans hit me first. Then, the muffled laughter. A woman’s voice—familiar, teasing, almost sing-song.
Her voice.
My steps faltered as I crept closer, the bag slipping from my hand, spilling food across the carpet. I didn’t even notice. My pulse was too loud in my ears. My vision blurred at the edges, but I kept moving, like a moth flying straight into the fire.
And then I saw them.
On his couch, he tangled together.
Her nails raked down his chest.
His lips devoured hers, hungry, desperate, shameless.
The same lips that had kissed me hours before.
When they finally looked up, their expressions weren’t guilty—they were amused. As though I was the intruder, the fool caught in my own blind devotion.
“Babe, it’s not what it looks like,” he tried, his voice shaking with fake concern.
But she—his cousin—smiled. A smile that cut sharper than a knife.
“Poor thing,” she purred, sliding her hand down his chest possessively. “Did you really believe the story?”
The room spun. My breath came in ragged gasps, but no tears fell. Not yet. Not in front of them.
I turned and walked out without a word.
That night, something inside me died. But something else was born, too. It was a darker part of me. A vengeful hunger that would not be silenced.
And I had no idea that the man who would help me feed that hunger—the man who would make me his forbidden prize—was already watching me from the shadows.
- Writer
