Intoxicated Vengeance

After six years apart, William Harris’s first love, the woman he broke up with six years ago, suddenly returned from abroad.

And she brought back a five-year-old son with her.

He claimed to be away on a business trip and hadn’t come home for an entire month.

Today was his third wedding anniversary with Charlotte York. She had prepared a candlelit dinner and a gift, then texted him to say she was waiting.

By nine that night, he still hadn’t come home.

Instead, Charlotte’s phone lit up with a call from her sister-in-law, Michelle Harris.

Michelle’s voice sounded uneasy. “Charlotte, you should take a look at what I just sent you.”

Charlotte hung up and opened their chat. The moment she saw the message, the smile on her face froze.

The plate in her hand slipped and shattered on the floor, ceramic shards cutting her ankle. Blood began to seep from the wound.

But Charlotte didn’t even flinch.

Michelle had sent her screenshots from William’s social media account.

In the photos, William had rented out the entire Crescent Harbor waterfront. He was there with his first love, celebrating their son’s fifth birthday as fireworks lit up the night sky.

Charlotte bent down and picked up her phone with trembling hands, scrolling through each image: the beach, a yacht, fireworks, and roses.

In one photo, William was holding a little boy of about four or five. His other hand, still wearing his wedding ring, rested intimately on the woman’s waist.

It was a picture-perfect scene, romantic and beautiful. The caption read, “A blueberry cake I baked myself, for the ones I love most.”

Even through the screen, the affection in those words felt suffocating.

Charlotte’s mind went blank, as if someone had struck her head. She fumbled to open William’s profile, but it was completely empty.

Her mouth opened, yet no sound came out.

Only then did she realize that at some point, William had hidden his posts from her.

The screenshots shattered the last bit of hope she had been holding on to.

Refusing to accept it, Charlotte called him.

When he didn’t answer, she called again. Then again.

After the third call was declined, a text appeared on her screen.

Two short words: “Busy now.”

The message was cold, impatient, and final.

A rush of emotion swept over her all at once—helplessness, anger, jealousy, and pain. She curled up on the floor, clutching her head as her chest tightened until she could hardly breathe.

She screamed into her hands until her voice broke, then sobbed uncontrollably.

When someone knocked on the door, she forced herself to stand and open it.

Michelle was startled by what she saw. “Charlotte, are you okay?”

Tears still streaked down Charlotte’s face, but she shook her head numbly.

Michelle stomped her foot in frustration. “Come on, let’s go to Crescent Harbor to find William right now!”

Charlotte took a deep breath, her voice steadier. “Michelle, let me handle this myself.”

Her mother, Julia Simpson, had just undergone heart bypass surgery and was still in the hospital. Charlotte couldn’t afford to break down now.

By the time Michelle left, it was past midnight.

Charlotte wandered the room like a ghost, every step heavy and hollow.

She and William had grown up together. Everyone in their circle knew she had loved him since childhood.

Everyone also knew that he had always loved someone else, his unattainable first love.

He had only married Charlotte because of the family alliance.

For three years, she had convinced herself that if she tried hard enough, one day she could warm his heart.

But what she got instead wasn’t his love. It was the news of his grand reunion with his first love.

The crush from her youth, the love she carried into adulthood, the twenty-five years she had devoted to him— all of it was gone.

It was time to let go.

Her mind told her what she needed to do next.

But her heart hurt so much it was hard to breathe.

That feeling of being torn apart was unbearable.

*

That night, William still didn’t come home.

For the next three days, Charlotte stayed at the hospital caring for Julia. During that time, William never called or sent a single message.

When Julia’s condition finally stabilized, Charlotte’s father, Frank York, told her to go home and get some rest.

Late that night, Charlotte was half-asleep when she heard the bedroom door open. A moment later, she heard water running in the bathroom.

Soon after, the mattress dipped beside her. The clean scent of men’s body wash filled the air, stirring her awake. Before she could react, she found herself in William’s arms.

It had been over a month since he last came home. He had probably spent that time happily with his first love and their son.

Feeling the tension in her body, William knew she wasn’t asleep. His arm tightened around her waist, and he turned her to face him. His lips brushed against the sensitive skin at her neck, warm and insistent. Under the blanket, his hand slid down and tugged at the strap of her nightgown with practiced ease.

In three years of marriage, this was the only time William ever showed her tenderness, and it was only when he wanted her. Every time she saw him lose control like this, she let herself believe he might love her too.

But this time, when his hand began to roam, Charlotte grabbed his wrist and whispered for the first time, “Don’t.”

Her voice was hoarse from crying, but William mistook it for desire. His kisses grew rougher, his movements more demanding. He knew her body too well and used it against her.

Just as she was about to give in, those images flashed through her mind—the beach, the yacht, the fireworks, the roses. William’s hand, still wearing his wedding ring, rested on another woman’s waist. The words beneath the photo, full of love and devotion.

Her stomach twisted. Charlotte pushed him away and leaned over the side of the bed, retching.

The light came on. The intimacy in the room vanished instantly.

William got out of bed and rubbed her back. “Are you sick?” he asked.

Charlotte pushed his hand away and walked straight into the bathroom. She wasn’t sick. She was just sick of him.

William frowned at her back, then went downstairs to get her a glass of water. He didn’t notice her red eyes, her hoarse voice, or the small cut on her ankle.

A few minutes later, he returned to the bedroom. Charlotte had already come out of the bathroom and was getting back into bed.

William handed her the glass. “I’ll make a dinner reservation tomorrow,” he said evenly. “We can make up for our anniversary.”

There was no apology, no hint of guilt, only a flat statement, as if nothing had happened.

Charlotte ignored the glass and lay down. “That won’t be necessary,” she said quietly.

So he did remember their wedding anniversary. Yet on that very night, he had rented out an entire waterfront and spent it with his first love and their son, watching fireworks together.

From the day she married him, she had taken care of all his meals and daily needs herself, never allowing him to do even the smallest chore.

Yet he had gone out of his way to bake a blueberry cake for that woman and her son.

He had cheated on her and betrayed her. He had a five-year-old son with his first love. And still, he could act as if nothing had happened, reaching for her like everything was fine.

He could stand before her so self-assured, speaking in that same calm, casual tone.

For the first time, Charlotte realized that the man she had loved for so many years was nothing but a hypocrite.

They both fell silent, and the air between them grew tense.

Just then, William’s phone lit up.