AFTER BETRAYAL, I MARRIED MY MATE’S UNCLE

Her forced cheer didn’t fool me, not in the least. I could tell she was feeling guilty. Looking at her forced smile and how she evaded my gaze, I felt a flicker of satisfaction sparked in me.

“Carly,” Reginald said with forced enthusiasm, casting a sidelong glance at Owen. “Maybe… maybe that boy hasn’t felt anything for his girlfriend in a long time, right? It’s not as bad as you think.”

I scoffed; the sound raw even to my own ears. “If the feelings are gone, why not break up? Why drag things out? Reginald, you’re still young—you don’t know how some men think these days.” My words cut sharply, satisfying some deep itch that had been bothering me.

Owen glanced up, his eyes narrowing as I spoke, but I couldn’t care less. There was something about the way Reginald cowered beside him, looking almost small under his gaze. That made me wonder if she’d even considered the mess she’d walked into.

“If he actually loved his so-called ‘mistress,’ he wouldn’t hesitate to end things with his girlfriend,” I continued, unflinching. “But, of course, no decent man would do that, so he makes his lover act like a shameful, desperate sidepiece instead.”

I could see the shame bloom in Reginald’s face, her eyes darting away to avoid mine. A wave of satisfaction washed over me, even as Owen’s scowl deepened.

“Why are you getting so worked up over other people’s business?” Owen finally snapped, the tension in his voice evident. But he knew better than to meet my gaze for too long. He looked down, his face impassive, as though he couldn’t afford to let his emotions show.

I let out a sarcastic chuckle. “Yes, Owen, I’m sure you’re above that sort of behavior,” I said, my voice thick with irony. The words hit him square, leaving him at a loss. That, at least, was gratifying.

Reginald, visibly flustered, shifted uncomfortably until the show finally wrapped up. She avoided looking at me entirely after that, choosing to keep her attention firmly on Owen or the floor.

After lunch, Owen suggested driving Reginald home, but I declined immediately. My heart still beat with resentment.

Owen offered to drive Reginald back to her dorm, and she hesitated, eyes darting between us.

“Owen, just take Carly home,” she murmured awkwardly, managing a timid smile. “I can get a taxi.”

Perhaps she was afraid I’d somehow disrupt her precious arrangement with Owen, or worse, cut off her little line of financial support. I could practically smell the fear on her. People could be so greedy—she wanted everything she could take. A free ride, my affection, and Owen all in one go.

Before I could voice my thoughts, Owen’s voice cut in, cold and commanding. “Carly can get home on her own,” he said with an edge that surprised me. “But you, Reginald—you shouldn’t be taking a taxi alone. It’s too dangerous with your school being so remote. I’ll take you back myself.”

The words stung, a bitter slap to my pride. If I hadn’t been his girlfriend, I’d have assumed he was standing up for her as if she was the girlfriend.

Reginald looked at me with a hint of embarrassment, opening the car door naturally, slipping into the seat beside him as if it were her right.

“Goodbye, Carly,” she said through the open window, giving a feigned, overly bright smile. “Be careful on your way back.”

I watched them pull away, my hands balling into fists at my sides as I felt a dull ache of betrayal settle in. It was laughable, really—Owen and I had known each other for twenty years. I never imagined I’d see this side of him, the side capable of deceit, the side I had been too blind to notice.

I turned on my heel, laughter rising within me as my heart twisted painfully. I walked home alone, each step marked with the bitter resolve to reclaim my own self-respect.

Anyway, I needed space, air, anything but him right now.

---

Owen returned late that night, his shirt reeking of alcohol. I was sprawled on the sofa, mindlessly watching TV when he stumbled in, his jacket slung haphazardly over his shoulder. He tossed a box onto the coffee table in front of me, the gold wrapping glinting under the soft light.

“It’s a new bag,” he slurred, collapsing onto the couch beside me. “Got it just for you. Thought you’d like it.”

I eyed him, unimpressed, and calmly slid over to the single sofa across the room, putting more distance between us.

He looked at me, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face. “What?” he muttered, reaching out as if to bring me closer.

“You reek of alcohol,” I replied simply, folding my arms as I held his gaze. “Take a shower first, at least.”

He lowered his head, sniffing his shirt, then silently got up, shoulders tense, and disappeared into the bathroom.

With a sigh, I leaned over and picked up the box he’d thrown. Opening it revealed a bright, cheery green handbag, the kind better suited for a carefree, younger girl. It was fresh and vibrant in a way that clashed with everything I liked.

My lips pressed into a tight line as I set the bag aside, picking up my phone for distraction. My feed filled with various posts, but one account in particular made me pause. It seemed oddly familiar, yet I couldn’t quite place it. Curiosity piqued, I clicked through to the page.

As I scrolled, my heart began to pound in disbelief. Photos of the interior of a dorm caught my eye, each detail in the background so unmistakably familiar. It was Reginald’s. I’d helped her move in during her freshman year, setting up her space.

A cold chill swept over me as I continued scrolling. She hadn’t taken these photos in her dorm alone. Some of the backgrounds were painfully recognizable—she’d taken pictures in my own home. My blood turned to ice. Had Owen brought her here without telling me? Rage, thick and overwhelming, began to bubble up. My eyes glinted, changing color just to show how angry my wolf was as well.

Suddenly, I remembered his phone call earlier, where he’d asked someone to help her buy an apartment. My fingers shook as I swiped through more photos. Each accessory, each bag, each piece of jewelry… they were duplicates of gifts he’d bought me.

I stood up, heart pounding, and stormed into the bedroom. I flung open my closet, comparing my items to the pictures on her account. The realization hit hard, each truth like a knife slicing through my trust. He hadn’t just betrayed me with words—he had shared my life, my world, with her.

Tears blurred my vision, and I laughed bitterly at myself, my hand covering my mouth as I struggled to stifle the sound. My generosity, my trust, my love—it was all a joke. I’d offered my heart and been left with this cruel charade. I clenched my fists, the hurt and anger swirling into a fierce determination.

Pulling out my phone, I took photos of everything—the bags, the jewelry, the videos she’d posted. I saved each one as evidence. I knew this wasn’t simply a personal break; the entanglement of our families’ businesses and histories made it a complicated affair. But these images would make things a little easier.

When I walked out, Owen was buttoning up his shirt. He glanced up, catching my cold gaze.

“There’s a… situation at Reginald’s school,” he said, voice oddly shaky. “There’s been a string of incidents, and they still haven’t caught the guy. It’s not safe, so I’m going to pick her up. She’ll be staying here tonight.”

I watched him, the emptiness in my gaze reflecting the quiet anger building inside me. “Owen,” I said, my voice unwavering, “if you walk out that door, we’re done. We’re over.”

He froze, a look of shock passing through his eyes before it morphed into anger. “What’s that supposed to mean, Carly?” he demanded.

I sneered, crossing my arms. “Did I stutter?”

With a low, bitter laugh, he shook his head, casting me a scornful glance. “You’re being irrational. I have to go.”

Without another word, he turned, slamming the door behind him. As the echo faded, so did the last trace of patience I had left. I had nothing else to wait for.

I packed a few belongings, my heart oddly calm, and threw them into the back seat of my car. I drove straight to my family’s estate, where the silence was comforting, a welcome escape from the noise of betrayal.

Settling into the quiet, I composed a message in our family’s group chat, including snapshots of everything I’d uncovered. I added a simple statement: “Owen and I are over. The wedding is canceled.”

The response was immediate, a flood of messages filling the screen, but I ignored them.

Moments later, Owen’s name popped up in my private messages.

“Carly, delete the message!” he demanded. “What are you trying to do? Where are you? Let’s talk this over.”

I ignored him, blocking his number. Moments later, another notification popped up. It was from Reginald and it read:

“Carly, I know I’ve hurt you, and I’m sorry. But Owen and I… we truly love each other. If you’re angry, then take it out on me—don’t punish Owen for it.”