Chapter Six

HOURS BEFORE THE WEDDING

Dawn is a certified hacker and I do not mean she knows how to guess your boyfriend’s password or unlock a locked iPhone with some sneaky trick on TikTok. I mean, she is the real deal. She excelled in computer science, graduating at the top of her class. She then worked for two years at a confidential cybersecurity firm. During a girls’ trip, she hacked into a private financial server on a dare. Quietly. Drunk. From a hotel iPad. Rumor has it she could get into the FBI files if she wanted to. She never confirms it. But the look in her eyes when people bring it up says everything.

So when I asked her to hack into Edward’s phone and find anything incriminating... messages, photos, videos, voice notes, she said, no sweat. She was almost too happy to help. She told me she needed only two hours. It took her forty-minutes.

That early evening, just after I stepped out of the shower, she called. I knew something was wrong from the way she inhaled before she spoke.

“Fiona... babe, you will not like what I found.”

She didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t coddle me either. Just said it flatly, like a surgeon giving the worst part of the news first.

My stomach dropped. My fingers went stiff.

“Come over,” I said. “Right now.”

She agreed. Then I opened the group chat.

CODE WINE BLACK.

Our unspoken SOS. The girls would know exactly what that meant. I didn’t explain. I didn’t have to. Within minutes, the read receipts started rolling in.

Lala: OMW. Should I bring the cookies or the face masks?

Amelia: Both. And I’m wearing the hoodie.

Bethany: My heels are off. I’m already in the Uber.

Jenna: Say no more. Got the wine. Bringing the big one.

Of course, she was.

Jenna’s house is always stocked with alcohol. Her kitchen looks like a distillery crossed with a nightclub. She’s a boxing coach, has abs like a Roman statue, and teaches self-defense to girls on weekends. You’d think that kind of discipline would extend to her lifestyle.

But Jenna is Jenna.

She could knock you out, fix your braid, and pour you a chilled glass of Prosecco in the same breath.

I ordered three large pizzas...one cheese, one pepperoni, one wild card with hot honey and crushed red pepper and sat on the sofa in silence while the minutes crawled by. Whatever Dawn had found, I would face it. With wine. With carbs. And with every woman in my life who would rather burn a man’s car than let me cry alone.

My living room carpet is where we sit cross-legged in a circle. A half-empty pizza box sits open. We have glasses of wine on napkins. The only light is from my floor lamp and Dawn’s laptop. No one’s speaking now. Just watching. Dawn scrolls slowly. Line after line. Screenshot after screenshot. Message after message.

Edward hadn’t just betrayed me with one woman. Or even his cousin, who is practically family, though technically, they aren’t related. Their mothers call each other sisters. They spent summers together. Family holidays. She sent me birthday wishes for years.

And he was sleeping with her. But it did not stop there. There were others. So many others. Dirty messages. Naked photos. Voice notes sent in the middle of the night. His telling women what he would do to them. How he missed fucking them. And worst of all, his favorite phrases saved in Notes, ready to paste. Some of them signed NDAs. Actual documents. Typed and signed.

“Jenna,” Dawn says gently, trying to scroll faster, “look at this. He actually filed folders with names and dates. This one says Madrid. That one says Studio Girl. This particular one... oh my God... this one’s time-stamped three days ago. How many girls does he fuck in a week, my God!”

The real gut punch lands. Messages between him and his teammates. Edward was laughing, bragging, and discussing me as though I were a tool. “Fiona can get me anywhere in the industry. “Best soccer agent in the game. The girl has connections like Wi-Fi. Let her make the calls, and I’ll walk into Europe next season.”

Jenna slams her wineglass on the coffee table, half the Rosé sloshing out. I can see the muscles in her neck strain because she is clenching her jaw so tight. “I am going to punch that motherfucker until he has no teeth.”

Amelia gasps. “Jenna! You’ll lose your professional boxing trainer license!”

“She can hit him in the chest,” Bethany offers helpfully. “Or the stomach. Just enough to humble him.”

“No,” I say slowly, eyes still fixed on the screen. “We’re going to do better.”

Lala’s eyes light up. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

I look around the circle. Each of them is waiting. Ready.

“We’re going to ruin the wedding. Publicly. Elegantly. Completely.”

Jenna raises her glass again. “Now we’re talking.”

Amelia grins. “With music?”

Bethany leans in. “And matching lipsticks.”

Dawn flips her laptop shut. “I can handle the visuals.”

Lala’s already picking up her phone. “I know just the right person to help.”

She dials. Puts the phone on speaker.

“Hey, Big D,” she says sweetly, stretching out the words like taffy. “You’re on speaker. I’m with Fiona and the girls.”

“Hey, Big D,” we all call out, teasing in unison.

He chuckles. His voice is warm, deep, already charmed. “What can I do for you, dangerous women?”

Lala purrs, “We need you to print fifty copies of a brochure. Full of color. Bound if possible. We need it before ten a.m. tomorrow.”

“What?” he says. “That’s impossible, girls. My printer isn’t even set up for—,”

“Come on, Big D,” Lala says, voice soft as velvet. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

He groans. “You can’t call me that and then talk about printing files.”

“Say yes,” Jenna adds. “Before I text you a photo of my ding-ding to motivate you.”

We all swoon, and he sighs, long and theatrical.

“Alright. But I want something too.”

“Name it,” we all say together.

“I want five tickets to the Coastal Legends game next Saturday. VIP section.”

All eyes turn to me.

I pick up my wine and smile.

“Deal.”

Bethany glances between us. “Girls, what if Edward finds out before the wedding?”

Jenna answers without hesitation. “He will not. This stays between the six of us. End of story.”

I add, “Trust me, he does not know. We are ready to go.”