Her Male Best Friend’s Gift Made Me Divorce Her

I kept telling myself he was only her “best male friend.” Again and again, I let that excuse stab me, let her trample my pride.

In her heart, my dignity never weighed more than a “joke” between her and Dorian.

Seeing me stand frozen, Dorian put on a show of restraint, pulling Elara back a step.

“Elara, don’t be impulsive. Adrian’s just jealous because he loves you too much…”

Then he turned to me with a mocking smile.

“Come on, Adrian. Be a man—be generous. Elara and I grew up naked together. I’ve seen every inch of her. What’s a tattoo compared to that?”

His words made the room erupt in laughter.

And Elara, persuaded by him, softened her voice.

“Dorian already explained. What else do you want? I know you’re upset, but he really is my most important friend. Can’t you just let it go? The guests will be coming in soon. Can’t I make it up to you later?”

She glanced toward the door.

“Both families are waiting outside. Do you want to embarrass yourself in front of them?”

Yes—we got married. The ceremony proceeded as though nothing had happened. Elara never mentioned the tattoo, never mentioned the argument, never mentioned the blood dripping from my palm. By evening, it was as if none of it had ever happened.

That night, during the after-party games, the guests went wild, laughing and cheering as they pushed Elara and me into the bedroom.

“It’s time for the newlyweds to eat apples!” someone shouted.

Elara, still in her wedding dress, smiled shyly at me through the noise.

Then Dorian barged in again. He tossed the apple aside and pulled a slinky black lace camisole from a gift box, holding it high.

“Apples are boring. Look at this instead!”

A chorus of whistles rang out. The panties sparkled—the lace edges studded with rhinestones that glittered under the lights.

“Surprise wedding gift!” Dorian grinned and shoved the garment into my hands. “Don’t be nervous. It’s for her. I heard it’s comfortable—make sure she wears it tonight.”

The crowd howled with laughter.

He suddenly tugged at the hem of Elara’s dress.

“Elara, why don’t you change into it now? I bought it in your size—guaranteed to fit.”

“Change into it! Change into it!” the guests began chanting.

I snapped, teeth grinding. “Dorian, don’t go too far.”

But Elara actually took the underwear from him and slipped into the bathroom to change.

When she came back out, Dorian’s hand immediately slid toward her thigh.

“I heard the bride hid a money envelope,” he smirked. “Guess I’ll feel around for it.”

His fingers crept closer to the hem of her skirt. I seized his wrist in fury.

Elara screamed and slapped him. “Dorian! Stop it! I’m not wearing shorts under my dress.”

He winced from my grip but still wore that infuriating grin.

“Relax—we’re just playing after-party games. Elara and I have bathed together since we were kids. What’s wrong with touching her thigh?”

Then, with deliberate malice, he shook off my hand and brushed against her chest.

“Besides, what part of her body haven’t I seen?”

The laughter died down. My whole body went cold, as if someone had poured a bucket of ice water over me.

And Elara? She didn’t lash out at him. She clung to my arm instead, pleading.

“Adrian! Don’t be angry! He’s drunk, just fooling around. Everyone’s watching—don’t spoil the fun.”

Spoil the fun.

The words drilled into my skull, each one sharper than the last.

I glared at her, my voice trembling with rage.

“He touches your thigh, jokes about your underwear, brushes your chest—and you call it ‘drunk’? My wife favors another man in front of me, and I’m the petty one?”

The guests, uncomfortable, tried to laugh it off.

“Don’t argue on your wedding night.”

“Dorian just likes to joke—he and Elara are like sisters, you know. Don’t take it seriously.”