The Truth About My Cousin’s Body

Of all the wild things my cousin had bragged about, two of her "tricks" left me horrified.

As a gynecologist, I knew the dangers better than anyone. We’re not just talking about STDs—this stuff could tear muscle, leave long-term damage, even cause internal scarring. When I warned her about the risks, she just laughed at me like I was some prude.

“Relax. We used protection,” she said with a roll of her eyes, like that magically made it safe.

Not long after she and Owen got involved, Aunt Hannah introduced her to some rich heir she’d been grooming her for.

He had one requirement—his future wife had to be a “pure” woman. In other words, untouched.

Aunt Hannah practically begged me to perform the surgery. She wanted me to “fix” Alison. Create the illusion of virginity. I tried to explain the risks—loss of sensation, scarring, complications—but she didn’t care. She saw a golden ticket and I was the tool to get it.

I pulled Alison aside and told her the truth. Every detail.

Surprisingly, she backed off. She was convinced her seduction skills alone could land her the guy. Said rich people didn’t care about natural births anyway—most of them hired surrogates. This way, she could keep her figure and still lock down the bag. A win-win.

Or so she thought.

Turns out, the wedding night didn’t go as planned. No matter how much she tried to please him, the guy lost it. The moment he realized something was off, he called off the marriage—right there, in bed.

Humiliated. Rejected. Shamed in front of an entire dynasty.

And somehow, she decided I was the one to blame.

That night, she lit the fire that killed me.

Thinking about it now, I knew what I had to do.

If I couldn’t stop her, I’d at least make sure she and Owen were locked together. That way, the cheating scumbag and the manipulative vixen would be too busy wrecking each other to ruin anyone else’s life.

“Don’t worry, Alison,” I said sweetly. “Your secret’s safe with me. Aunt Hannah will never hear it from me.”

Once the door shut, I pulled out my phone and texted my darling boyfriend.

[Miss you, babe.]

Along with it, I sent a few choice photos—lingerie, props, the whole nine yards.

Owen took the bait instantly, replying with drooling emoji like some desperate teenager. I didn’t answer. I let him stew.

By the time I got off work, I had dozens of unread messages waiting for me. Owen was clearly on fire, thinking I’d finally changed my mind.

That night, I went all in—copying every flirtatious line I could find online and sending them one by one, building up the heat until he was begging.

[Babe, can we video chat? Please?]

His voice was thick with lust.

I turned him down with a laugh, claiming I had to take a shower.

Not long after, I heard Alison’s bedroom door click open. She slipped out in the middle of the night like a teenager sneaking to a secret hookup.

She came back at dawn, legs wobbling.

Over the next few days, I checked Owen’s online shopping cart.

Sure enough, he’d ordered a bunch of sex toys. Fancy ones.

Every time he wanted to hook up with her, he used the excuse of being “out of town.” This latest “business trip” had lasted a whole month—and my cousin’s gait had gotten noticeably… strange. She was taking forever in the bathroom too.

Aunt Hannah finally noticed something was off. She pounded on the bathroom door, yelling like a banshee.

But Alison brushed it off with a casual, “Just an upset stomach.”

Then one day, she showed up at the hospital, pale as a ghost.

“S-something’s wrong,” she muttered.

I had her lie down on the exam table and did a quick check.

The results weren’t good. Her muscles were showing early signs of fatigue and loss of tone—classic wear and tear. Things were not holding up well.

“You and your boyfriend really need to stop. Or at least tone it down, or it’s going to get you—”

Before I could finish the sentence, she snapped.

“You’re just jealous because I actually know how to enjoy life, while you’re trapped in your miserable little bubble!”

She wasn’t going to let go of Owen. That much was clear. She never could stand the idea of me being happy. Over the years, anytime a guy showed the slightest interest in me, she’d swoop in like a hawk, flaunting her charm until he forgot I even existed. It wasn’t about love—not for her. It was about winning. Always proving she was somehow better.

I gave her a sweet little smile. “Suit yourself. I’ll prescribe you something to help with the pain.”

She left with a tube of medicated ointment and sure enough, after a few applications, she said things felt much better. Which only made her bolder. She doubled down, sneaking out more often, chasing that high like it was oxygen.

But the party didn’t last long.

Aunt Hannah eventually caught on. Maybe it was the way Alison kept vanishing in the middle of the night. Maybe it was the increasingly suspicious excuses. Either way, one night, the jig was up. Aunt Hannah laid down the law and put her on lockdown.

With his playmate suddenly under house arrest, Owen had no choice but to come crawling back to me.

He texted me that he was “back from his business trip.”

What a shame.

I replied with a breezy, “Oh no, what a coincidence! I just booked a trip for work—beachside retreat this time!”

And every single day on that beach, I kept the game going. Flirty messages. Double-meaning photos. And just for fun, I signed him up on every mailing list and dating site I could find.