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 My Sister hurtful betrayal
My Sister hurtful betrayal
Author: Julietpiusj

Chapter -one The begening and the End

Author: Julietpiusj
last update Last Updated: 2025-09-09 00:51:11

I never imagined my life would turn out this way. If you had asked me a year ago, I would have told you that I was the luckiest man alive — engaged to a woman I adored, welcomed into her family like a son, and ready to build a future that seemed unshakable. But all it took was one night. One reckless, selfish night that tore everything apart.

It started innocently, or at least that’s what I tell myself when I can’t sleep at night. My fiancée’s sister, Clara, was nothing like her. Where my fiancée was calm, steady, and practical, Clara was wild, impulsive, and unpredictable. She had a way of walking into a room and demanding attention without even trying. And though I would never admit it out loud, a small part of me always noticed her — the way she laughed too loudly, the way her eyes lingered when they should have turned away.

I thought I could handle it. I thought I could keep those fleeting sparks buried where they belonged. But temptation has a way of waiting for the right moment — the night when your guard is down, your judgment clouded, and your better self nowhere to be found.

That night came after a fight with my fiancée. The kind of fight that leaves the air heavy with silence, both of us too stubborn to apologize. She went to bed early, slamming the door behind her, while I stayed downstairs with a half-empty bottle and a heart full of frustration.

Clara found me there.

I should have told her to go back upstairs. I should have ignored the way her voice softened when she asked if I was okay. But the truth is, I wanted the comfort. I wanted someone to listen, someone to take away the bitterness clawing at my chest.

One drink turned into two. Her hand brushed mine. Her laughter filled the space my fiancée’s silence had left. And then, before I could stop myself, I kissed her.

It was wrong. God, I knew it was wrong. But once the line was crossed, there was no going back.

And that night — that single, stolen night — changed everything. 

The morning after was worse than the night itself.

When I opened my eyes, for a brief moment, I forgot where I was. The warmth beside me, the tangled sheets, the faint scent of perfume that wasn’t my fiancée’s — it all came rushing back like a punch to the chest. Clara was still asleep, her face turned toward me, her breathing steady, innocent even. And yet, nothing about what we had done felt innocent.

I lay there frozen, staring at the ceiling, my heart pounding so loud I was sure it would wake her. My mind screamed at me to leave, to erase the evidence, to pretend it never happened. But the problem was, I knew I would never be able to forget.

I slipped out of bed, careful not to wake her, and found my clothes scattered across the floor like little reminders of my failure. Every button, every shoe, every piece of fabric felt heavier in my hands than it should have.

By the time I made it back to my fiancée’s room, the house was silent. She was still asleep, curled under the blanket, her face peaceful in a way that made my chest ache. Looking at her, I felt the sharpest cut of guilt I’d ever known. She trusted me. She loved me. And I had just betrayed her in the most unforgivable way.

The day dragged on like a shadow that wouldn’t lift. I couldn’t look Clara in the eye during breakfast. She avoided me too, her voice quieter than usual, her hands fidgeting with her coffee mug. My fiancée, oblivious, chatted about wedding plans, her smile wide and hopeful, while every word made my stomach twist tighter.

Clara and I didn’t speak about what happened. Not that day, not the next. But the silence between us screamed louder than any words could. Every time our eyes accidentally met, I saw the same fear in hers that lived inside me: What if someone finds out?

What if she finds out?

I told myself it was a mistake — a one-time lapse in judgment. I swore it would never happen again. But even as I made that promise to myself, I knew the damage was already done.

Because secrets like that don’t stay buried. They grow. They rot. And sooner or later, they find a way to tear everything apart.

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Julietpiusj
very interesting story
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