The white dress was heavier than I’d imagined, but I floated in it. Every step down the aisle felt like a dream. The church was bathed in golden light, the air thick with the scent of lilies and the soft murmur of loved ones. And then I saw him. Standing there, at the altar, a soft smile on his face, eyes crinkling at the corners in that way I adored. He was everything I’d ever wanted, everything I’d ever prayed for. My soulmate. My forever.
Our vows were real, raw. Tears streamed down my face, and I saw them in his too. Promises of forever, of unwavering love, of standing together through every storm. Each word was a brick in the foundation of the life we were building. The reception was a blur of laughter, dancing, terrible speeches that were endearing anyway, and pure, unadulterated joy. I caught glimpses of him across the room, and he’d just smile, a deep, knowing look that made my heart ache with happiness. We were finally, truly, married. The world felt perfect.
We left the reception around midnight, whisked away to our luxurious hotel suite. It was the bridal suite, of course, overflowing with flowers, champagne, and a quiet intimacy that felt worlds away from the boisterous party we’d just left. The air was thick with anticipation. We were both exhausted, adrenaline still coursing through our veins, but that exhaustion was a sweet kind of fatigue. The kind that comes after the most magnificent day of your life.
He helped me out of my dress, his fingers gentle on the delicate lace. I remember the feel of his skin against mine, the warmth of his breath on my neck as he whispered how beautiful I was. We talked for a while, just lying in each other’s arms on the plush carpet, the city lights twinkling through the panoramic window. We recounted funny moments from the day, marvelled at how quickly it had all passed. This was it. The beginning.
A serious boy’s face | Source: Pexels
Then, his phone, which had been silent all day, buzzed quietly on the bedside table. He glanced at it, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. A tension I hadn’t seen all day settled over him. He picked it up, saw the notification, and then just… sighed. A deep, troubled sound.
“Everything okay?” I asked, my voice soft, my hand reaching for his.
He pulled away, just slightly. “Yeah. Just… work. Something came up.” He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture I knew meant stress. “I just need to… step out for a minute. Clear my head. Make a quick call.”
My brow furrowed. A quick call? Now? On our wedding night? But I nodded, trying to be understanding. “Okay, honey. Don’t be long.” I forced a smile, but a tiny prickle of unease had already begun to worm its way into my perfect bubble.
He kissed my forehead, a hurried peck that felt like an afterthought. Grabbed his phone, and slipped out of the suite. The click of the door closing echoed in the sudden silence, much louder than it should have been.
I sat there for a moment, the champagne losing its fizz, the magic of the room feeling… emptier. It’s just exhaustion, I told myself. A late-night emergency, it happens. He’ll be back in a minute. But a minute stretched into five, then ten. My perfect bubble started to deflate.
I got up, wandered around the suite. The bridal bouquet sat wilting in a vase. My tiara lay discarded on the vanity. I picked it up, turning it over in my hands. That little seed of doubt grew, blossoming into an undeniable worry. He wouldn’t just leave for this long, not tonight. Not without a better explanation.
My eyes fell on his overnight bag, tucked away in the corner. I don’t know why, but I felt an inexplicable pull towards it. Just curious, I guess. Want to see what he packed. My fingers fumbled with the zipper, then plunged inside. I rummaged past a neatly folded shirt, a spare pair of trousers. And then, my hand brushed against something hard, hidden at the very bottom.
I pulled it out. It wasn’t his regular phone. It was smaller, older, the kind of cheap, anonymous phone you’d buy at a corner store. A burner phone. My stomach dropped. I stared at it, cold dread seeping into my bones. Why would he have this? And why was it hidden?
A snowy street | Source: Pexels
Before I could even process the full implication, it vibrated in my hand. A single, urgent ring. I froze, my heart hammering against my ribs. Don’t answer it. Don’t. You don’t want to know. But my fingers had a mind of their own. Driven by a sick, desperate need to understand, I pressed the green button.
“It’s done,” a voice on the other end said, sharp and dispassionate. A man’s voice, unfamiliar. “The target is secured. Did you get what we needed from her before the ceremony, or do we still need to proceed with Phase Two?”
My breath hitched. The words punched me in the gut. Target? Her? My blood ran cold. I couldn’t speak. I could barely breathe.
The voice continued, impatient now. “Are you there? You’re compromised, aren’t you? I told you not to fall for it. Is the information obtained? Is she aware of her father’s involvement?”
My father.
The phone slipped from my numb fingers, clattering onto the thick carpet. It was barely a whisper, but the words had detonated in my mind like a bomb. My perfect day, our sacred vows, his tender kisses – they all replayed, twisting into something grotesque. Every loving look, every heartfelt word, every touch, was suddenly tainted.
I collapsed onto the bed, the reality crashing down on me. The man I had just married, the man I loved more than life itself, wasn’t who he said he was. He was an operative. A spy. And I… I was nothing more than a target. A means to an end. Our first night as a married couple. And I had just discovered my husband was a lie. I finally understood the look on his face when his phone buzzed. It wasn’t about work. It was about me. It was about the mission.
ALL OF IT WAS A LIE. Every single moment leading up to this. The love. The future. It was a meticulously crafted deception. My entire world, shattered into a million irreparable pieces, on the very night it was supposed to begin. And I was alone in that opulent suite, my wedding dress still on the floor, my heart bleeding from a wound I knew would never heal.The white dress was heavier than I’d imagined, but I floated in it. Every step down the aisle felt like a dream.
A sad serious boy | Source: Pexels
The church was bathed in golden light, the air thick with the scent of lilies and the soft murmur of loved ones. And then I saw him. Standing there, at the altar, a soft smile on his face, eyes crinkling at the corners in that way I adored. He was everything I’d ever wanted, everything I’d ever prayed for. My soulmate. My forever.
Our vows were real, raw. Tears streamed down my face, and I saw them in his too. Promises of forever, of unwavering love, of standing together through every storm. Each word was a brick in the foundation of the life we were building. The reception was a blur of laughter, dancing, terrible speeches that were endearing anyway, and pure, unadulterated joy. I caught glimpses of him across the room, and he’d just smile, a deep, knowing look that made my heart ache with happiness. We were finally, truly, married. The world felt perfect.
We left the reception around midnight, whisked away to our luxurious hotel suite. It was the bridal suite, of course, overflowing with flowers, champagne, and a quiet intimacy that felt worlds away from the boisterous party we’d just left. The air was thick with anticipation. We were both exhausted, adrenaline still coursing through our veins, but that exhaustion was a sweet kind of fatigue. The kind that comes after the most magnificent day of your life.
He helped me out of my dress, his fingers gentle on the delicate lace. I remember the feel of his skin against mine, the warmth of his breath on my neck as he whispered how beautiful I was. We talked for a while, just lying in each other’s arms on the plush carpet, the city lights twinkling through the panoramic window. We recounted funny moments from the day, marvelled at how quickly it had all passed. This was it. The beginning.
Then, his phone, which had been silent all day, buzzed quietly on the bedside table. He glanced at it, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. A tension I hadn’t seen all day settled over him. He picked it up, saw the notification, and then just… sighed. A deep, troubled sound.
“Everything okay?” I asked, my voice soft, my hand reaching for his.
He pulled away, just slightly. “Yeah. Just… work. Something came up.” He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture I knew meant stress. “I just need to… step out for a minute. Clear my head. Make a quick call.”
My brow furrowed. A quick call? Now? On our wedding night? But I nodded, trying to be understanding. “Okay, honey. Don’t be long.” I forced a smile, but a tiny prickle of unease had already begun to worm its way into my perfect bubble.
He kissed my forehead, a hurried peck that felt like an afterthought. Grabbed his phone, and slipped out of the suite. The click of the door closing echoed in the sudden silence, much louder than it should have been.
A sly old man | Source: Pexels
I sat there for a moment, the champagne losing its fizz, the magic of the room feeling… emptier. It’s just exhaustion, I told myself. A late-night emergency, it happens. He’ll be back in a minute. But a minute stretched into five, then ten. My perfect bubble started to deflate.
I got up, wandered around the suite. The bridal bouquet sat wilting in a vase. My tiara lay discarded on the vanity. I picked it up, turning it over in my hands. That little seed of doubt grew, blossoming into an undeniable worry. He wouldn’t just leave for this long, not tonight. Not without a better explanation.
My eyes fell on his overnight bag, tucked away in the corner. I don’t know why, but I felt an inexplicable pull towards it. Just curious, I guess. Want to see what he packed. My fingers fumbled with the zipper, then plunged inside. I rummaged past a neatly folded shirt, a spare pair of trousers. And then, my hand brushed against something hard, hidden at the very bottom.
I pulled it out. It wasn’t his regular phone. It was smaller, older, the kind of cheap, anonymous phone you’d buy at a corner store. A burner phone. My stomach dropped. I stared at it, cold dread seeping into my bones. Why would he have this? And why was it hidden?
Before I could even process the full implication, it vibrated in my hand. A single, urgent ring. I froze, my heart hammering against my ribs. Don’t answer it. Don’t. You don’t want to know. But my fingers had a mind of their own. Driven by a sick, desperate need to understand, I pressed the green button.
“It’s done,” a voice on the other end said, sharp and dispassionate. A man’s voice, unfamiliar. “The target is secured. Did you get what we needed from her before the ceremony, or do we still need to proceed with Phase Two?”
My breath hitched. The words punched me in the gut. Target? Her? My blood ran cold. I couldn’t speak. I could barely breathe.
The voice continued, impatient now. “Are you there? You’re compromised, aren’t you? I told you not to fall for it. Is the information obtained? Is she aware of her father’s involvement?”
My father.
The phone slipped from my numb fingers, clattering onto the thick carpet. It was barely a whisper, but the words had detonated in my mind like a bomb. My perfect day, our sacred vows, his tender kisses – they all replayed, twisting into something grotesque. Every loving look, every heartfelt word, every touch, was suddenly tainted.
A surprised elderly man | Source: Freepik
I collapsed onto the bed, the reality crashing down on me. The man I had just married, the man I loved more than life itself, wasn’t who he said he was. He was an operative. A spy. And I… I was nothing more than a target. A means to an end. Our first night as a married couple. And I had just discovered my husband was a lie. I finally understood the look on his face when his phone buzzed. It wasn’t about work. It was about me. It was about the mission.
ALL OF IT WAS A LIE. Every single moment leading up to this. The love. The future. It was a meticulously crafted deception. My entire world, shattered into a million irreparable pieces, on the very night it was supposed to begin. And I was alone in that opulent suite, my wedding dress still on the floor, my heart bleeding from a wound I knew would never heal.
