My Groom’s Mistress Tried to Burn Me Alive

The Hamptons charity gala glittered with wealth and pretense. Crystal chandeliers cast golden light over Manhattan's elite as they sipped champagne and congratulated themselves on their generosity. I stood beside Caspian, my arm looped through his, playing the part of the devoted fiancée while my insides twisted with disgust.

"You look stunning tonight," Caspian whispered, his lips brushing my ear. "Everyone's watching you."

I smiled, the expression feeling like a mask stretched too thin across my face. "Thank you. You're not so bad yourself."

His hand rested possessively on my waist, fingers splayed in a gesture that once made me feel cherished. Now it felt like he was marking territory—or counting the money he could extract from me.

The auctioneer took center stage, gesturing grandly toward the display case. "Ladies and gentlemen, our next item is the magnificent 'Tears of the Ocean' diamond necklace, donated by Cartier for tonight's charity event."

My breath caught. The necklace was exquisite—a cascade of perfect diamonds that caught the light like captured starlight. I'd admired it in the catalog, mentioning once that it reminded me of the stars over the Mediterranean during our honeymoon in Santorini.

"Starting bid at fifty thousand dollars," the auctioneer announced.

Numbers flew as paddles rose throughout the room. I watched Caspian's profile, noting the slight tightening around his eyes as he focused on the bidding war.

"One hundred thousand," someone called.

"One-fifty," another countered.

Caspian's hand tightened on mine. "I want to give you something special," he murmured, his voice warm with practiced affection.

Before I could respond, he raised his paddle. "Two hundred thousand."

A hush fell over the room. The auctioneer's gavel paused mid-air.

"Two hundred thousand going once... twice... sold to Mr. Caspian Foster!"

Applause erupted as Caspian turned to me, his eyes gleaming with what looked like love to everyone else. "A pre-wedding gift," he whispered, kissing my cheek. "You deserve the best, my love."

I forced myself to blush, to look surprised and grateful. "Caspian, it's too much..."

"Nothing is too much for you," he replied, loud enough for nearby guests to hear.

I smiled and nodded, swallowing the bile rising in my throat. Another performance, another lie.

---

The following evening, I tracked Caspian's location through the family security app—a precaution my father had installed years ago that Caspian never knew I had access to. The blinking dot led me to Reyna's apartment building on West 57th Street.

I parked across the street, settling low in the driver's seat of my rental car. The telephoto lens felt heavy in my hands as I adjusted it, focusing on Reyna's penthouse balcony.

The wait wasn't long. As twilight deepened into night, the balcony doors slid open. Reyna emerged first, wrapped in a silk robe that caught the golden light from inside. Then Caspian stepped out, carrying two glasses of champagne.

My finger pressed the shutter button repeatedly as they clinked glasses in a toast. The camera's powerful zoom captured every detail—including the glittering necklace around Reyna's throat.

"The Tears of the Ocean," I whispered, zooming in closer. "My pre-wedding gift."

Reyna's laughter carried across the street as she leaned into Caspian's embrace. He kissed her neck, his lips lingering on the diamonds that should have been mine.

I lowered the camera, my hands steady despite the rage building inside me. The evidence was irrefutable now—not just of their affair, but of Caspian's systematic betrayal.

---

Three days later, I stood outside Reyna's apartment door, the stolen key cold between my fingers. Caspian was at his physical therapy appointment; Reyna had left twenty minutes ago for a spa treatment. I had exactly ninety minutes.

The apartment smelled of Reyna's perfume—expensive, cloying, like too-sweet flowers wilting in the sun. I moved silently through the rooms, searching for my wedding dress. The custom Vera Wang gown that had been delivered to the Plaza on my wedding day had mysteriously disappeared afterward.

Instead, I found myself drawn to a locked closet in Reyna's bedroom. The spare key worked smoothly in the lock.

The door swung open to reveal a shrine of sorts—my parents' urns sitting on the top shelf, empty and discarded like trash.

"No," I whispered, reaching for them with trembling hands.

A laptop sat on the bottom shelf, old and dusty. I opened it on instinct, powering it up with shaking fingers.

A video file sat on the desktop, unlabeled. I clicked play.

Reyna's face filled the screen, her smile cruel as she stood in what looked like a maintenance area of an apartment building.

"Time to get rid of some unwanted baggage," she said to someone off-camera—Caspian, I realized with a sick lurch.

She held up my parents' urns, examining them with mock reverence before dumping their contents into what I recognized with horror as a trash compactor.

"Bye-bye, Mr. and Mrs. Ward," she laughed as the machine crushed the remains of my parents. "Your daughter will never know what happened to you."

Something broke inside me then—the last fragile thread of hope that there might be some explanation, some misunderstanding. In its place rose something cold and hard and unforgiving.

Rage.