Betrayal Buried the Wrong Woman

Night was falling, and the city lit up in dazzling brilliance. Skyscrapers shimmered under neon lights.

Click--click--click--

The sharp staccato of red-soled echoed down the empty hallway. 

Slender, manicured fingers tapped the keypad of the penthouse's glass door, inputting the code with icy precision.

Beep--

The door slid open.

A faint, enigmatic smile curled at the corner of Cecilia's lips.

The apartment was dim, barely lit. 

But it was still clear to see. 

From the entryway to the living room, the floor was littered with clothing--a lace-edged La Perla bra, this season's Oscar de la Renta gown, and, most notably, a pair of sheer black panties.

Outside the bedroom door, she could hear it--the muffled gasps of a woman, the low groans of a man, and the unmistakable stench of lust thick in the air.

She didn't flinch. With a single motion, she shoved the door open.

The scene was a masterpiece of debauchery--sweat, perfume, and the sour tang of sex. 

She lifted her finger to her nose, wrinkled it slightly in distaste, then looked up with icy calm at the two figures frozen on the bed.

Naked. Caught red-handed.

"Bravo." Cecilia could almost applaud. 

She had thought her philandering fiancé would at least wait until after the engagement party to start sleeping around. 

But here he was--giving her a live performance the night before.

"Cici..." Ronald scrambled to cover himself, his face pale. "It's--it's not what you think! I just had too much wine--"

"Oh, I think it's exactly what it looks like." She stepped closer, gaze flicking to his exposed thighs. "Too drunk to think straight but sober enough to sleep with a woman? Do you really think I'm an idiot?"

"Ceci--"

"Gia Martin," Cecilia called sweetly. "Come out before you suffocate under there. After all this scheming, it'd be a shame to die now."

Gia's face went pale, but she didn't flinch. 

She threw off the covers and met Cecilia's gaze with shameless confidence, a smirk playing on her lips.

"Must've been exhausting," Cecilia mused. "playing the loyal sister while sneaking into my fiancé's bed. Multitasking."

Gia sneered. "Drop the high-and-mighty act, Cecilia. If it weren't for your father, what would you have? I'm just as pretty as you, just as educated. The only difference is, your father was born a few years earlier and got the title of CEO before mine!"

"What a tragedy." Cecilia tilted her head. "Maybe you should go KILL YOURSELF NOW and try again next life--hope you get a better father next time."

Gia's lips twisted. "You--"

"Relax, honey" Cecilia said, smiling sweetly. "I'm not fighting you for him. God, look at you two... IT'S A MATCH MADE IN HELL!"

Her hand rested lightly on the doorknob.

"Keep him, he's yours now."

With that, she closed the door behind her.

"I don't need your charity!" Gia shouted, hurling a glass at the wall.

But Cecilia was already walking away, her smile never slipping. She stepped into the elevator, then into her car.

Her phone buzzed in her bag. Then again. And again.

She ignored it, rolled down the window, and let the glittering lights of the city wash over her.

Foot on the gas. No hesitation.

The scarlet Ferrari roared down the coastal highway, its engine screaming into the night until the tank ran dry.

Love, after all, is like a rose--

For every flower, someone else gets the thorn.

And Cecilia?

She had just thrown the whole damn thing into the fire.

***

Later, when it was already late, Cecilia opened the car door.

The coast was quiet, empty--just Cecilia, standing alone in the sea breeze, her silhouette sharp under the night sky.

The wind lashed against her face like invisible blades, each gust stinging her skin, making her eyes burn and swell with unshed tears.

She tilted her head back, staring up at the lone star still clinging to the dark sky, and gave it a sarcastic thumbs-up.

God, you're amazing.

Everyone knew Cecilia Martin.

The spoiled, reckless party girl. The one who drank too much, cursed too loud, and lived in the bars of Manhattan like they were home. 

The only reason she hadn't been dragged back home and locked away like some Victorian-era disgrace? 

A father who couldn't be bothered to care. A mother long gone. And a pack of vultures circling the Martin empire, just waiting for her to stumble.

"Hahaha--"

She threw her head back and laughed--wild, broken, breathless. Her laughter twisted her face and brought tears flooding down her cheeks.

She'd actually believed Ronald loved her.

That even if he was unfaithful, he wouldn't stoop so low as to sleep with her own cousin. That he wouldn't humiliate her like this.

But now? The illusion shattered.

Their engagement was never about love. Just another corporate merger, dressed up in diamonds and empty vows. 

Ronald needed a trophy wife with the right last name. 

She'd played along, thinking it might finally earn her father's approval.

Now, the whole engagement was probably going to fall apart.

How interesting.

Buzz, buzz.

The phone lit up again, buzzing insistently against the passenger seat.

She didn't have to look to know who it was--her father.

Ding...

Cecilia opened the car door again, grabbed the phone still spinning and vibrating on the seat, then stepped into the breeze.

Without a flicker of hesitation, she hurled it into the ocean.

Plunk.

The sea swallowed it whole, ripples dissolving into nothing.

***

Martin Manor

"The number you have dialed is unavailable. Please try again later."

The robotic voice looped for the twelfth time.

THUND--

Edward Martin slammed his phone onto the mahogany desk. The boardroom flinched.

At his side, Margaret Martin forced a smile, her manicured fingers tightening around her cup. "Perhaps Cici's handling something urgent."

"Urgent? That's rich." Edward flicked open his cigar case, the snap of lacquered wood making his associates stiffen. "Find her. I don't care if you have to turn over every GODDAMN CLUB IN MANHATTAN--she will be at that church tomorrow."

Margaret's laugh was thin as champagne bubbles. "Honey, she's a adult now. She knows the stakes."

His knuckles whitened around the cigar cutter.

She'd better.