On My Son Birthday, My Husband Cheated With My Sister

The truth was, I had seen them together, too many times to ignore. But Dylan always brushed it off, claiming he was just helping her with her modeling career.

I did not care back then. After all, the Hoover family was Karyn’s agency's biggest sponsor.

But on the night Dylan was supposed to come to Landon’s birthday, everything became clear. Neither of us were more important than Karyn in his life.

In the nightmare, Karyn also had confirmed everything.

“You want to know why Dylan is so eager to marry you?” she sneered; her eyes gleaming with malice as two of her bodyguards restrained me.

Karyn’s fingers pinched my chin as she leaned closer to explain, “It is because you are useful to the Hoover family. Without you, their textile company would not be as powerful as it is. You were never more than a tool to them, my dear sister.”

Her words had struck me like a lightning bolt, but I refused to believe it completely. I could not. There had to be a misunderstanding between me and Dylan.

But Karyn had proven everything. She had played me Dylan’s voice recording, the final blow to my heart.

“If you love me, why are you marrying my sister?” Karyn had cooed in her syrupy tone, the one that made men fall at her feet.

Dylan's voice, sweet and sickeningly soft, something I had never heard before, "Honey, it is just business.

"When I met her in our senior year, I knew right away her design talent would be very useful. I could not let it go to waste. Sure enough, after helping her open the boutique, she gave me everything. Even the profits I get today are 70% because of her talent."

“But you guys even had a kid,” Karyn pouted again.

Dylan just laughed lightly while explaining, “I have to give an heir to the Hoover family, honey. You do not have to worry about that, okay?”

At that moment, all the illusions I had held about Dylan shattered.

He did not even care about Landon at all. That was why when Landon died, there was no sadness on his face at all.

Had Landon and I been nothing but tools for his business?

Tears streamed down my face. The world around me blurred as Karyn’s smirk twisted into focus.

It was then that I realized I had fallen to her plan. Soon, a dizzy feeling overtook me. Karyn had drugged me.

When I finally woke up, I was tied to a chair in my own boutique, flames licking the walls around me. No way out. I burned alive.

As I remembered that scene, I hurried around the boutique, grabbing scissors and sharp objects, hiding them strategically in places Karyn would not notice.

I muttered to myself, “I hope this works,” as I placed a pair of scissors under a stack of fabrics near where I would be tied up.

My mind suddenly thought of the question I never knew the answer to, “Will Dylan marry Karyn for real after she killed me?”

Thinking of that, my blood boiled as I recalled what had happened just that morning.

Dylan had finally returned home after days with Karyn in tow, clearly drunk from yet another night of partying. The smell of alcohol clung to her, and her laughter was sloppy and careless.

As soon as Dylan saw me, he said nonchalantly. “Oh, Ghislaine, good to see you are downstairs. Get Karyn some water.”

For the first time, I refused. “Why should I do it?”

He blinked, as if stunned by my defiance. “It is your sister. How could you ignore her?” he asked in confusion.

"Bring her to the guest room she usually sleeps in. Our room is fine too," I sneered, the bitterness in my voice unmistakable.

Karyn had always used her fear of being alone as an excuse to crash at our house, even though I had given her my old college apartment. At first, I felt responsible, but then I saw it as an alibi, nothing more.

Dylan sighed, rubbing his forehead. “Fine, I will take her to our bedroom later,” he said, laying her down on the sofa for that time, then going to get her a glass of water.

Watching them, I felt sick. The casual ease with which they carried out their charade, right in front of me. My heart hardened.

I went upstairs, grabbed a suitcase, and began packing my things. There was no love left between us, nothing worth fighting for. It was time to leave.

When I came back down, suitcase in hand, I saw Karyn draped across Dylan’s shoulder, her head resting on him like a spoiled child.

He stroked her hair, whispering softly, “You will feel better after you drink some water.”

“I just want to sleep,” she purred, her fingers slowly unbuttoning his shirt. Then, with a sly smile, she asked, “Will you sleep with me?”

I froze. I had not expected her to go that far.

But Dylan did not push her away. He did not even flinch. It was clear that it was not the first time.

Rage surged through me, hot and unrelenting. Without a word, I walked straight toward Dylan, took off our wedding ring, and threw it at him.

“We are done,” I said coldly, my voice like ice.