Caught him Red Handed

Turning black into white was my fiance’s profession—something I never realized until it was too late to stop him.

“I know he’s a red flag, but right now, my bank balance doesn’t give me the luxury to make him angry,” I said, shifting the phone to my other ear while curling up awkwardly on the sofa. The discomfort was seeping into my legs, but my thoughts were far more tangled.

“You can’t be this reckless. For god’s sake!” My friend was relentless, trying to knock some sense into me.

“My bills are due. I ‘need’ to patch things up with him,” I snapped, irritation bubbling beneath the surface. She kept repeating the same advice, and I had no intention of listening.

I just couldn’t. I knew my boyfriend was a walking red flag—he’d devour my mental peace faster than I could burn through his money.

“Enough about me. How’s your date with Nile?” I changed the subject, desperate for a distraction. “Did he even kiss you?”

I asked, knowing how her relationship was in limbo, and her boyfriend refused to get intimate. 

“Aww honey, I know you’re desperate,” I cooed, all the while smirking at her predicament. “But let’s give him some time, shall we?”

“If you can’t wait, though,” I added, my tone turning playful, “we could hit the club, find you a hottie to scratch that itch.”

As my laughter died down, a familiar smell hit my nose—burnt pastry. I gasped, bolting up. The oven!

I was peeking into the open mouth of the oven, my breath coming in heavy gasps as I stared at the charred remains. My heart sank.

"Fuck. I messed it up."

“What happened?” Jenny’s voice blared from the phone, irritating me even more.

“Shut up, Jenny. It’s burnt.” I ended the call with a sharp jab at the red button and tossed the phone onto the counter in frustration.

I stared at my failure, exhaustion clouding my eyes. The cake was supposed to be my olive branch—something to ease the tension between Nathalie and me after our last fight. I imagined soft kisses, whispered apologies, and everything going back to normal. But instead, all I had was a smoking disaster.

There was no time, no patience left in me to start over. With a sigh, I grabbed my bag and headed to the bakery.

"Write ‘I’m sorry, Nathalie’ on it," I instructed the boy behind the counter after selecting a cake. He nodded, and I watched as he carefully piped the words, feeling a flicker of hope return.

“Thanks,” I mumbled, taking the box from him, my excitement growing again. This was my chance to fix things, to smooth over the argument and show Nathalie that I cared. I imagined his smile when he saw the cake. Maybe my overdue bills would even be forgiven once I got back into his good graces.

Humming a little tune, I practically skipped out of the bakery, eager to get to his place. 

But as I turned the corner, disaster struck. My foot caught on the curb, and before I could even process it, the cake box flew out of my hands, spinning in the air as if in slow motion.

"No!" I gasped, my voice strained. The box hit the ground with a dull thud, flipping open, the cake landing in a crushed heap on the pavement.

I stood frozen, my hopes splattered on the sidewalk just like the cake.

“What the heck did you just do?” I shouted, frustration blinding me. I hardly registered the man’s features—the messy blonde hair that fell into his sharp emerald eyes, his finely crafted lips. None of it mattered. 

“My cake!” I choked back tears, grabbing onto his collar. “You spoiled my cake. Pay me for it. *Right now!*” I demanded, grinding my teeth, my voice shaking with anger.

He didn’t flinch. “Leave me. I’m in a hurry. My manager will pay you,” he said, his tone dismissive as he jerked my hands off him. He seemed more interested in whatever he was chasing than the fact that he’d just ruined my day.

“No, I won’t let you go!” I yelled, grabbing the back of his coat, and yanking him to a stop.

“You beggars, always so fucking clingy! How much will it cost? A hundred pounds?” His voice dripped with disdain as he pulled out a note and tossed it at my face.

I stood there, stunned by the insult, my blood boiling. My fingers clenched around the money as he turned and rushed away. Without thinking, I picked up the crushed remains of the cake and hurled it at his back. The icing smeared across his expensive coat, and I smirked, satisfied with my small act of revenge.

“I’m not a beggar,” I spat under my breath, my anger far from subsiding.

Ignoring the disgust still curling in my stomach, I picked up the pounds he had thrown at me and hurried back to the bakery. The humiliation stung, but I needed another cake. Nothing was going to stop me from making things right with Nathalie. 

I rushed inside, ordered a new one, and anxiously waited for it to be boxed. Once I had it securely in hand, I didn’t waste a moment.

Arriving at Nathalie’s guesthouse, my heart raced with anticipation, hoping I could salvage the evening this time.

I smoothed the creases of my mini skirt, adjusting the straps of my bra top as I approached Nathalie's guesthouse. His guard bowed slightly as I entered, and I couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride.

“He’s going to be so happy,” I whispered to myself, flicking my hair back confidently. This was the place he’d brought me twice before—where we had slept together, away from his home. “Home is where my father lives,” he’d always say, but this guesthouse was his secret hideaway, the place where he came to have fun and forget responsibilities.

Tiptoeing down the corridor, I planned to surprise him, my heart already racing with anticipation. But just as I reached the door, I froze, my blood turning cold.

“Ouch, you’re biting it instead of sucking it!” I heard Nathalie’s voice, mixed with moans that made my stomach churn.

I pressed myself against the wall, my breath caught in my throat, my heart pounding. My chest felt heavy with disbelief. *Was he cheating on me?* 

I shook my head, trying to push the thought away. *No, no, this can’t be happening.* Sure, I knew Nathalie had his flaws—he was a walking red flag—but this? I wasn’t prepared for this.

My thoughts swirled, tearing at my nerves, but I forced myself to stay grounded. “Don’t get emotional, Bella,” I whispered to myself, drawing in a shaky breath. *You have bills to pay, and you need him right now.* I steeled myself, refusing to let the raw pain overtake me. Whatever was happening in that room, I would deal with it.

But then, another voice, deeper and unfamiliar, shattered the moment.

“Don’t you see how heavily I make you flow?” the man growled.

My world stopped. The voice wasn’t Nathalie’s. My legs wobbled beneath me, and I stood dead in my tracks. 

*Who the hell is in there with him?* 

Terror and betrayal twisted my insides as I realized this was much worse than I had imagined.