Wear My Dress, Meet My Gun
On the flight to Arlencia, a post popped up: [What's it like to have sex in a wedding dress?]
The pic showed a girl yanking some guy's purple tie while he hiked up her gown. His face was blurred, but hers? Straight-up blissed out.
Everyone in the comments was swooning over how in love they looked.
I didn't swoon. I froze.
Because that purple tie? I gave it to Zeke Santoro, my fiancé, a few days ago.
And that wedding dress? The exact custom one he had made for me. There was only one.
I kept zooming in, heart racing, until I spotted a family photo in the background.
My hands were shaking when I called him.
"I wanna see the dress," I said.
He hesitated. "It's at the studio getting final touches. Not with me right now. I'll show it to you later."
I just smiled and hung up.
That was all I needed. Zeke cheated—and the girl? His stepsister, Jella.
Total circus.
I reopened the post and shot her a DM: [Your wedding dress is stunning. I have the same one.]