The Lies of the Wedding Night

On our wedding night, Kyle leaned close to me.

"Honey, let's play a game." His eyes lit up like a kid who'd just gotten a new toy. "Trade secrets - the kind you never tell anyone."

"I'll go first - I slept with your sister last month. I made the first move."

I stayed quiet for a long time, my fingers tracing his cheek. "I've killed someone. Do you believe me?"

Kyle froze for a few seconds, then burst out laughing: "Darling, are you trying to get back at me? I was just messing with you, wanted to see you jealous - you're cute when you're mad. The thing with Lina was a lie."

Kyle was notorious in our circle - a playboy with countless conquests and a complicated romantic history. His decision to marry someone like me, a girl from ordinary background, had already shocked high society.

A final fling before marriage was... understandable.

Kyle pressed on with interest: "Your turn now. Tell me a real secret."

Should I really say it?

I hesitated, gently stroking my husband's handsome face: "Alright, but once I say it, there's no taking it back."

"Deal."

The alcohol coursing through my veins awakened memories buried deep in my soul. I looked straight into my husband's eyes.

"I did kill someone, thirteen years ago on a night just like this. And the victim—"

"Was my stepfather."

My stepfather was a good man before he became a gambler.

He ran a small loan business, helping people in the community who needed quick cash. Life was comfortable, our family was warm.

Jack entered our lives when I was fifteen and Lina was twelve. He tried hard to fit into our family, showing us extra care and attention.

"Back then he genuinely wanted to be a good stepfather. Most stepfathers keep some distance from their stepdaughters, but he was different - he made time for us, got me private tutors, enrolled me in classes, never hesitated to spend money."

My voice grew soft: "When he saw me envying other girls' ballet dancing, he searched everywhere and spent a fortune to send me to the best dance academy."

Until he started frequenting underground casinos.

"People in the lending business are easy targets for temptation," Kyle observed reflexively. "They deal with gamblers all day."

"Exactly. When clients defaulted and he couldn't collect, someone introduced him to high-end casinos to 'get his money back.' From occasional small bets to complete addiction, he started using the loan principal."

Kyle frowned: "And then?"

"He used clients' loan funds to gamble, trying to recover losses. When the money chain broke and his partners found out, they kicked him out of the company. Mom didn't know the truth - she thought it was just business partners betraying him."

I smiled bitterly: "Jack owed massive debts to underground casinos. Debt collectors threatened him. We sold our house, our cars to pay them off. Mom borrowed money from hospital colleagues and relatives everywhere. He swore he'd changed, but then he went to loan sharks."

Jack was confident: "I understand these rich people's weaknesses - I can definitely win it all back!"

Finally, he chose to flee. Mom took us into hiding.

My life started spiraling out of control. The harder I tried to steady myself, the deeper I fell.

A few months later, Jack suddenly reappeared.

He said he'd found a new job, would never gamble again, realized how important family was to him.

I was young then. I firmly believed he'd just temporarily lost his way and would definitely reform.

I held his hand excitedly, talking non-stop.

I received a personal invitation from a professor at MIT to attend their summer camp for gifted youth, which has caused quite a stir at school.

I told him excitedly: "Jack! I did it!"

Something complex flashed in his eyes: "My brilliant girl, you're too outstanding..."

"He said we had to celebrate this historic moment, pulling champagne from the car.

When I mentioned I was underage, he insisted: 'Today's special - you deserve to be treated like an adult.'"

I felt excited and nervous - this was my first time drinking real champagne. I felt like I was truly growing up. Jack was thoughtful, opening the bottle and pouring for me.

As I took the glass, I completely missed the agonized struggle flashing in Jack's eyes.

And so, filled with hope for the future, I drained that glass—

The champagne that would completely destroy my life.

Kyle's voice was tight: "Your stepfather... drugged the champagne?"

"People deep in gambling addiction can abandon even basic human bonds. Family ties become nothing more than poker chips when massive debts are involved. Let alone the tenuous relationship of a stepfather."

After drinking the champagne, I completely lost consciousness.

When I woke up, I was lying in an upscale hotel bed.

The air reeked of alcohol, cigarettes, and other sharp odors I couldn't identify.

Jack sat nearby, looking at me with gentle concern as if nothing had happened.

"You're awake, sweetheart," he said caringly. "You had a bit too much to drink last night, so I brought you here to rest."

My whole body ached. My memory was completely blank.

As we left, Jack warned me repeatedly: "Your mom doesn't want to see me right now - you have to keep this from her, okay? Trust me, I will turn things around! I'll get you and Amy into the best schools, give you the best life!"

I wasn't stupid.

Something terrible had definitely happened.

When I struggled to get out of bed, my legs could barely support my body.

There were obvious bruises and tearing sensations below. Though my body had been cleaned, I could still feel something was terribly wrong.

When I got home, I told Mom all my suspicions. Her face went deathly pale, and without a word, she drove me to the hospital.

The examination confirmed my worst fears.

The doctor, in professional yet sympathetic tones, told us I had indeed been sexually assaulted. And from the extent of the injuries...

It wasn't just one person.

My world completely collapsed in that moment.

I thought about dying. Really thought about it. Standing in the bathroom mirror, razor blade in hand, imagining how one cut could end all this pain.

But I couldn't bring myself to give that bastard such satisfaction.

At this point, my eyes welled up, my voice involuntarily trembling.

"But you know what? This same Jack once stayed by my bedside all night when I had a high fever."

"He carried me to the hospital and broke down crying outside the ER: 'Please, please save my daughter!'"

"For three days and nights, he stayed by my hospital bed, red-eyed from exhaustion. The moment I opened my eyes, he immediately grabbed my hand, tears streaming down his face, his voice hoarse: 'Anya, you're awake... Daddy was so scared, as long as you're okay, nothing else matters...'"

I'll never forget that moment - him sleeping hunched over the hospital bed, still holding my hand tightly.

Could this stepfather, who once cherished me like his own life, really have sent me to strangers' beds?