“Sister, I’m so sorry. I know you had to spend your first wedding night alone, but don’t worry—I took very good care of Alexander,” Arlette says, brazenly.

I feel rage surge through my veins, and without thinking, I lash out at her. I step forward and deliver a sharp slap across her face.

“You’re shameless—a damn bitch! For years you've been entangled with my fiancé right under my nose,” I scream, furious.

She immediately lets out fake tears.

“Sister, how can you be so cruel to me? I swear I never meant to get involved with Alexander, but he and I love each other so much… I love him so much that I couldn’t resist these feelings. I tried a million times to walk away, but love was stronger. Believe me, the last thing I wanted was for you to find out like this,” she says cynically.

I’m not at all surprised. She’s always been good at pretending.

Suddenly, I feel a shove that knocks me to the floor. Looking up, I see Alexander’s handsome face staring at me with murderous rage.

“If you’ve hurt her, I swear you’ll regret it, Aslin. We’ve already talked about this—I thought you understood. Don’t blame Arlette; she’s not at fault. It just happened—we fell in love. Get used to it already,” he says coldly.

“You’re so cruel to me, Alexander, I’ve gotten used to it… How do you expect me to adapt? I’ve been raised from the time I could think to be your wife. I thought you loved me,” I shout, tears in my eyes.

“Forget me and get used to this—then we can be at peace,” he replies without even looking at me.

I watch as he kneels and picks Arlette up in his arms, holding her like a princess. Before they disappear through the door, she gives me a triumphant look.

Unable to endure anymore, I run upstairs to my room. I collapse onto the bed and release my tears. I can’t go on. Watching the man I love stab me in the heart again and again, knowing he doesn’t care at all—is unbearable. Arlette is so lucky… she has Alexander in the palm of her hand. I don’t understand what he saw in her to fall so deeply in love.

I walk over to my bedside table and take out a photo of my mother. I stare at her endlessly. In the picture, my mother—about twenty years old—looks beautiful. I’m her spitting image, except for our hair: hers was jet-black; mine is blonde, like my father’s.

“Mom, I wish you were here. I wish I had gone with you. I can’t endure so much cruelty anymore,” I whisper, clutching the photograph.

---

Several hours later, the sound of a phone ringing wakes me. I had fallen asleep on the floor, holding the photo of my mother. I quickly pick up the phone. It was my friend Vero. I answer immediately, and her high-pitched voice fills my ears.

“Aslin, you have to tell me everything! How was your wedding night? Where did Alexander take you for your honeymoon?” she asks, excited.

I can’t help but let out a sob.

“Aslin? Are you crying? What’s wrong, dear?” she asks, concerned.

“Oh, Verónica… If you only knew. Everything has turned into a horrible nightmare I want to wake up from. I can’t take it anymore,” I confess, my voice trembling.

“Calm down, friend. Please stop crying and tell me what’s happening,” she urges, desperate.

“I can’t tell you on the phone. Are you free tonight? Maybe we could have dinner at the Royal restaurant,” I suggest while wiping away my tears.

“What? But you’re in London! I thought you were out of the country!” she replies, astonished.

“See you at the restaurant. I’ll tell you everything,” I say before hanging up.

I head to the bathroom and take a relaxing shower. Afterward, I dress in a sweater, coat, skinny jeans, and white sneakers. I tie my hair in a ponytail and leave the mansion.

I don’t like that it’s on the outskirts of the city—it means a long walk to the main road. I could have asked for a driver, but I didn’t want to use any of the house’s services.

Thirty minutes later, I finally reach the road and flag down a taxi. Climbing inside, I check my purse: I only have 20 pounds. I find it ironic. I’m the wife of one of the richest men in the world and barely have enough for a taxi.

---

When I arrive at the restaurant, I walk in and see Verónica seated by the window. She stands and embraces me tightly.

“Aslin, honey, what happened? You look so pale… your expression is heartbreaking,” she says, concerned.

“Oh, Verónica, you have no idea what’s happened…” I murmur as we sit down.

I tell her everything, and once I’ve finished, she explodes in anger.

“That damn bitch Arlette! How dare she? Honestly, friend, I never told you but I suspected something between them. Once, Liliana and I came to this restaurant and saw them dining together. They looked so romantic… I wanted to tell you, but you were so excited about your engagement, I didn’t have the guts. I’m so sorry, Aslin…” she says, full of guilt.

“Don’t blame yourself, Verónica. It isn’t your fault—it’s the fault of those two traitors,” I respond bitterly.

“Then why don’t you divorce him? You can—you have every right,” she insists.

I sigh before replying.

“I would have, but my father threatened me. The company is bankrupt and needs this marriage to survive. Besides, if Mrs. Líbano finds out, I don’t think she could handle it… She has less than two years to live. Alexander told me when she’s gone, we’ll divorce and he’ll give me a settlement. Then he’ll marry Arlette…” I say sadly.

“They’re despicable! They’ve broken your heart and yet treat you like an object,” Verónica says in anger.

“I know… But I’ll endure it, just for Mrs. Líbano. She’s always treated me with kindness and I don’t want to upset her,” I whisper.

Verónica nods and changes the subject.

“Verónica, I wanted to ask a favor. Could you talk to your friend Erick? I want to ask him for a job. You know I recently graduated in architecture and I want to start earning my own money. I want to save up and leave when this is over. I don’t intend to touch a single penny of Alexander’s,” I say.

“Of course, friend! I’ll talk to Erick and let you know,” she replies enthusiastically.

I smile, then remember something.

“Also… Could you lend me money for the taxi? I ran out of cash…” I say, a bit embarrassed.

“Friend! Of course!” she responds, and a few minutes later I get a notification.

Seeing the amount, I’m stunned.

“Verónica, this is too much. £150,000? £5,000 would’ve been enough…” I say, surprised.

She ignores me with a smile.

“We’re sisters. You’ll pay me back later. Now come on—we’ll take you home,” she says, and we leave the restaurant together.