Married to my sister's lover

The moment I opened the door, I kicked off my shoes with a sigh. They hit the wall with a soft thud and dropped sideways like they were exhausted too. My bag slid off my shoulder and landed on the couch with a soft plop.

The air inside the apartment smelled faintly of marinara sauce. I made it this morning before rushing off to work. My stomach growled.

I dragged myself to the kitchen, opened the fridge, and pulled out the Tupperware. Cold pasta. Perfect. I couldn’t even wait to microwave it. I grabbed a fork and sat down right there at the small dining table.

Just as I shoved the first bite into my mouth, my phone started ringing.

Ugh. I rolled my eyes and muttered with my mouth full, “Who’s calling now?”

I stood up with my food still in one hand and shuffled toward the living room. I bent down, fished my phone out of my bag, and checked the screen.

Fiona.

Before I could swipe to answer, it stopped ringing.

“Too late,” I mumbled and walked back to my food.

The phone buzzed again.

I picked this time. “Hello?”

“Hey sis! How’s my favorite girl doing?” Fiona’s voice crackled with excitement.

I swallowed a mouthful quickly. “Just got home. Tired. Really tired.”

“Well, rest later. I’m coming over. Get ready before I arrive.”

“Huh? Fiona, wait. I’m not going anywhere tonight,” I groaned. “I just walked through the door. My feet hurt. My soul hurts.”

“I don’t want to hear that,” she cut in. “Tomorrow is your anniversary. You have to celebrate. No excuses. I’m coming.”

“Wait, Fiona—”

Click.

I stared at my phone.

“She hung up.”

I sighed and went back to my plate, forcing another bite into my mouth. Ten minutes later, I heard the door swing open.

“Seriously?” I muttered as Fiona stepped in like she owned the place.

She looked me over, hands on her hips. “Why are you still in your work clothes?”

“I told you I’m tired. I just want to sleep,” I said, wiping my mouth with a tissue.

“You used to be the life of every party. Don’t tell me marriage turned you into an old woman.”

“It’s not marriage,” I said, rubbing my forehead. “I’m just tired. That’s all.”

“Nope. Not buying it,” she said and grabbed my hand. “You’re coming with me. Don’t make me drag you.”

She literally dragged me to my bedroom.

“Fiona!”

“Move it,” she said, opening my wardrobe. “What about this one?” She held up a black jumpsuit.

“No,” I said.

She tossed it aside and pulled out a red sequined dress. “This one. Perfect. Put it on. Now.”

Fifteen minutes later, I was staring at myself in the mirror. The dress clung to my body in all the right places. Red lipstick. A touch of powder. Simple earrings.

“You look like fire,” Fiona said behind me. “Let’s go.”

“Thanks,” I muttered. “But you’re really pushing this. I seriously wanted to stay in tonight.”

“No one rests the night before their anniversary. That’s a crime.”

We walked outside, and she unlocked her car with a chirp. “You’re riding with me.”

Her white Mercedes C300 4MATIC gleamed under the streetlights.

“Where are we going?” I asked, folding my arms.

“Velvet Ember.”

My heart skipped. “The new club in town?”

“You’ll love it.”

We arrived twenty minutes later. The club’s exterior shimmered in violet and gold lighting. Inside, it was packed—but not too rowdy. Plush couches lined the walls, and the music wasn’t too loud, just enough to feel it in your bones.

“Classy,” I said, looking around.

“I told you,” Fiona said, leading me to a table. “Sit. Let’s start the night.”

She waved. “Bar man!”

A young guy with a trimmed beard walked over.

“We’ll take your finest champagne,” she said with a grin.

I barely heard her. I was scrolling through my phone.

A few moments later, the waiter returned with a chilled bottle, popped the cork, and poured two glasses.

“To you,” Fiona said, handing me one. “Happy almost-anniversary.”

I clinked her glass and took a sip.

The bubbles tickled my tongue. Cold. Sharp. Sweet.

“One glass,” I said. “That’s it.”

She poured me another.

“Fiona.”

“Drink,” she said, pushing it toward me. “You deserve one night to forget everything.”

I stared at the glass.

“You sure you’re okay?” she asked, her voice softening. “You’ve been off lately.”

I didn’t answer. I just raised the glass and drank.

Then another. And another.

Everything after that was a blur.

Laughter. More drinks. My legs felt light. My head spun in slow circles.

Fiona was dancing. I think I danced too. Or maybe I just watched.

My phone buzzed once in my purse, but I didn’t check it.

The lights got dimmer.

Or maybe my eyes just closed.

When I woke up, the world was too bright.

My head throbbed. My mouth tasted like old wine and regret.

I sat up slowly.

White sheets. Soft pillows. A hotel room.

I looked down.

No clothes.

Panic hit me like a slap.

My breath caught in my throat, and I pulled the sheet up to my chest with trembling fingers.

“What the hell happened last night?” I whispered.

My voice sounded like i

t belonged to someone else.

 And the silence that followed was deafening.