Mistaken Love Fading Like Smoke

I was in a meeting when my phone buzzed with a notification: my delivery had arrived.

When I checked, I realized it was still logged into Lucy's account. She had ordered a whip and a wild kitten outfit.

Lucy, my fiancée, had always been gentle and dignified. Why would she suddenly indulge in something so... provocative?

Curious, I tapped on the order details, but it showed that the order had been deleted.

It dawned on me: the bicycle I cherished so dearly might be getting ridden—by someone else.

Our wedding was only ten days away. Lucy had told me it was the moment she’d been dreaming of the most.

But in the end, she wasn’t the bride I married.

——

I didn’t confront her. Instead, I stayed late at work, not returning home until deep into the night.

She called me several times throughout the evening, but I ignored them all. Eventually, she sent a message:

[Alex, it’s your birthday today. Come home soon. I’m waiting for you.]

Only then did I remember that it was indeed my birthday.

Could it be? Did she order those items to surprise me? Had I misunderstood her?

When I opened the door, there she was, waiting for me.

She flitted toward me like a butterfly. “Why are you so late? I’ve been waiting forever!”

But I couldn’t help noticing two faint whip marks on her body.

My heart turned cold. My fiancée had been indulging in some strange games behind my back.

She handed me a beautifully wrapped box. “Alex, happy 26th birthday! Open it and see if you like it!”

Inside was a sleek Armani belt.

“It’s nice,” I said flatly, putting the gift aside.

She pulled me to the dining table, where she had already lit the candles on a cake.

“Make a wish, Alex!” she urged, planting a soft kiss on my cheek.

Once, I had cherished moments like this. Now, all I felt was disgust.

I blew out the candles and turned to head toward the bedroom.

“Aren’t you going to have dinner with me? I worked so hard to prepare it,” she said, grabbing my wrist.

Without looking back, I replied, “No, I’m not hungry.”

Ignoring her crestfallen expression, I left her there, went to the bedroom and threw the belt into the trash.

After my shower, she knocked on the door. “Alex, can we sleep together tonight?”

Though she had moved in after our engagement, she’d insisted on separate rooms. Now she wanted to break that rule?

I remembered how many times I had pleaded with her before, only to be rejected. And then, I thought about the whip and the outfit she ordered earlier that day.

The irony was unbearable.

“No,” I replied calmly. “I’m exhausted. I need to rest.”

Her silence lingered outside the door before she softly said, “Goodnight,” and walked away.

The next morning, she woke me up—an unusual occurrence, as she was never an early riser. This time, she had prepared breakfast.

I didn’t refuse. I sat down and quietly ate the porridge.

Feigning casualness, she picked up my phone and started flipping through it.

“Alex, where’s your delivery app? It’s gone,” she asked.

In that instant, everything became clear. Her sudden attentiveness wasn’t guilt or love—it was fear.

She was afraid I’d find out about the order.

I put down my bowl and took my phone back. “I deleted it.”

Her shoulders visibly relaxed. “Aren’t you eating more? You’ve barely touched it,” she asked.

Dabbing my mouth with a napkin, I replied, “It’s awful. Don’t bother cooking anymore.”

Her body stiffened and she stood frozen as I left the house.

Shortly after, she sent me a message:

“Alex, did I do something wrong? It feels like you’re angry.”