My Best Friend Stole My Husband, So I Rewrote My Fate

A sharp pain lanced through my chest.

My mother's stroke had been Roberta's doing. She'd deliberately played those bedroom photos at my wedding to my ex, broadcasting them for every guest to see. Then she'd eloped with him right there, leaving me as the punchline of the entire reception. The shock and fury sent my mother collapsing, unconscious.

To get her the treatment she needed, I'd transferred her from hospital to hospital until we ended up in Havenport, where I met Clay, a renowned neurosurgeon. Over the course of my mother's treatment, we'd gradually fallen in love.

I understood the threat buried in Julia's words. The Vances were a prominent family. If I ruined this wedding and embarrassed them, my mother would be thrown out of Vance Hospital.

"Mom!"

Clay cut Julia off, his tone measured but firm. "Lydia is my wife. Her mother is my mother-in-law. Taking care of her is my responsibility."

He turned to me, his voice softening into something close to a plea. "Sweetheart, if nothing else, at least for the sake of everything I've done for your mother, can we not make a scene today? Please?"

I dug my nails into my palms and let my expression crumple into something wounded and fragile.

"Clay, do you really not know that makeup artist? Because she whispered to me just now that you told her to make me look ugly on purpose, to get back at me for something. That's why I got upset."

The moment the words left my mouth, the guests who had been looking at me with disapproval shifted. Sympathy replaced their irritation.

A muscle twitched at the corner of Clay's mouth. Then he smoothed it over with a reassuring smile. "She was talking nonsense. Just jealous that you married well."

When I didn't respond, he sighed and relented. "I'll file a complaint against her right now. Would that make you feel better?"

Only then did I let myself smile. "Then you have to swear."

"If you really have anything to do with her, if you ever betray me, we divorce. No discussion."

Clay coaxed me gently, raised his right hand, and swore.

The guests laughed warmly. "You're overthinking it. Clay only has eyes for you."

Outside the banquet hall, Roberta's face flashed past the doorway, twisted with venom at having failed. I didn't spare her a glance.

The wedding ended.

I had just started toward my room to change out of the gown when someone pressed a cloth over my nose and mouth. I held my breath, closed my eyes, and let it happen.

Just like last time.

Roberta and Clay stumbled together, tangled in each other, and crashed through the door of a neighboring guest room. They fell onto the bed, unable to contain the sounds spilling between them.

My eyes snapped open. I moved fast, slipping downstairs to where my in-laws were still chatting with guests.

This time, I didn't do what I'd done before. I didn't blurt out that Roberta had drugged me and crawled into my husband's bed.

Instead, I put on a look of concern.

"Mom, Dad, I think Clay had too much to drink. He doesn't seem well."

Julia and Garry Vance, ever doting on their son, were on their feet in an instant. A swarm of Vance relatives, eager for any bit of excitement, followed close behind as I led them all upstairs.

The moment we reached the guest room door, the sounds from inside were unmistakable.

Every face in the crowd went rigid.

They rushed to block the door, to cover it up, but I was faster. I pushed it wide open.

"Clay? Are you feeling okay?"

The door swung back. The two figures tangled on the bed sprang apart, scrambling to yank the sheets over themselves.

Through the wall of stunned relatives, Roberta caught my eye and flashed me a triumphant smile.

The hallway erupted.

"Oh my God, that woman. Isn't that the makeup artist from this morning?"

"So Lydia was telling the truth the whole time. I can't believe..."

Garry's face turned a deep, furious red. "Clay! Look at what you've done!"

Julia charged past everyone and seized Roberta by the arm, dragging her off the bed. "This is all your doing! You little tramp, you must have slipped my son something. You made him think you were Lydia!"