My boyfriend, Aiden Henson, has face blindness. He's always mistaking other people for me—especially when it comes to taking them to bed.
So when he did it again, I silently handed over a condom and leaned against the doorway to wait.
He sensed something was off. Tried to explain. Said he'd been drinking, saw wrong.
I didn't react. My fingers just drifted up to touch the brand-new marriage certificate tucked inside my coat.
Sure, his mistake was unintentional. Forgivable, even.
After all, I'd also had a little "face blindness" incident recently—and accidentally married someone else.
——
The winter wind sliced through the empty hallway, sharp against my skin.
I stood outside the door, listening to the filthy sounds from inside, mentally counting the minutes.
A few moments after the creaking stopped, I pushed the door open.
"Aiden. How many times this month?"
He was already dressed, draping his coat over the girl, handing her a towel and a few pills with practiced ease.
"My face blindness acted up again." He shrugged. "Mistook her for you."
"You're just too charming. Couldn't help myself."
Couldn't help himself—so he found another woman and brought her to my bedroom.
I had nothing to say. I looked at the girl on the bed instead.
Young. Nervous. Probably a college student. She hugged the sheets to her chest and shrank back under my gaze.
I sighed and turned toward the door.
"Ten minutes. Get dressed, take out the trash, and get out."
My eyes flicked to the condom on the floor. The implication was clear.
Aiden grunted in acknowledgment and escorted the girl out, leaving me standing alone in the dark.
The room reeked of sex. Trash still littered the floor. I wrinkled my nose.
Using a room where he'd just screwed someone else as our marital bedroom—bad luck didn't even begin to cover it.
I started packing. Clothes, documents. I'd leave the moment he got back and we settled things.
Aiden returned like nothing had happened, grabbing my wrist and pulling me toward the bathroom.
I yanked free—too hard. My foot slipped on the tile and I crashed into the bathtub, my forehead splitting open on impact.
He scrambled for the first aid kit, hands shaking as he bandaged me.
"Isabel, what the hell is wrong with you? What if something serious happened?!"
His face blurred. Only when something scalding slid down my cheek did my vision clear again.
"Then next time you bring a mistress home," I said quietly, "you won't need an excuse."
His hands froze.
A beat later, he pulled me into his arms, chin nuzzling my neck, voice dropping to a coaxing murmur.
"I really did mistake her for you. Don't overthink it. Things will go back to normal."
I didn't want to overthink it. But the man who was supposed to marry me couldn't even recognize my face—and every few days, he brought home a different woman.
It was disgusting.
I'm a person. Not a saint. And this relationship? I was done with it.
He saw me spacing out and leaned in to kiss me.
I bit him.
The taste of rust flooded my mouth. He jerked back with a hiss, surprise flickering across his handsome face. Blood trickled from the corner of his split lip.
I turned away.
"Aiden. Let's break up."
He stared at me for a second—then scoffed.
"Isabel, stop messing around. My parents sponsored you. If you leave me, who else do you think would want you?"
Later that night, my best friend—also sponsored by the Henson family—somehow found out about my plan. Her texts came flooding in, one after another, trying to talk me out of it.
