You Cheated, I Remarried

Willow POV

I pulled a pair of lace panties from my husband's coat pocket.

They had white stains on them.

Any adult would know what that was—semen.

"Willow, you're the most beautiful bride in the world today."

The makeup artist gazed at me with satisfaction.

"Thank you." I smiled, happiness radiating from me. In the mirror, I wore a custom Vera Wang wedding gown, the white silk satin gleaming with a pearlescent sheen.

After five years together, I was finally marrying Charles.

My background couldn't have been more ordinary, while Charles drove an Aston Martin and lived in a penthouse on Central Park West.

At first, I'd assumed his pursuit was just a game. I'd seen too many rich playboys hunting for conquests.

But Charles had pursued me for three years, and after we started dating, he never let me suffer even the slightest mistreatment.

Tonight, I had a surprise prepared.

After the wedding ended, Charles returned to our bedroom reeking of alcohol.

"Wife, you look stunning today."

Seeing what I wore, desire flared instantly in his deep gray-blue eyes.

An Agent Provocateur black lace nightgown, half-concealing, half-revealing, showed off my curves.

I'd never worn anything like this before. I felt shy.

"Sorry I kept you waiting." Charles pulled me into his embrace, his voice husky. "The rest of the night is ours."

He lowered his head to kiss me.

Suddenly, I caught a whiff of heavy perfume.

Not my usual jasmine—this was different. A sickly sweet, feminine fragrance.

"Charles," I instinctively turned my face away, "your cologne…"

"Hmm?" His lips grazed my cheek.

"You smell like perfume."

He paused, releasing me. His smile remained perfect. "Aunt Mary wouldn't stop talking to me today. You know how she is—always drowns herself in that stuff."

Aunt Mary was a distant Lancaster relative who did favor heavy scents.

"Oh." I smiled back.

"I'm going to shower." Charles shrugged off his suit jacket, tossing it carelessly onto the bedroom sofa. "Wait for me."

He disappeared into the bathroom.

I stared at the jacket. Something seemed to have fallen from the pocket.

I picked it up—soft fabric bunched in my hand.

Black lace panties. With white stains.

Already half-dry.

My brain went blank for several seconds. My hands trembled.

My heart felt like someone was crushing it.

No.

Impossible.

Even if every man on earth cheated, Charles wouldn't.

In our relationship, Charles had given me security. He introduced me to all his friends. He turned down every woman who hit on him.

When I was sick, he'd brave freezing winds to get my medicine from the pharmacy. He'd wait hours in line for things I wanted…

We'd known and loved each other for so many years, weathered so many storms together. We'd even built our company to its current scale.

How could he cheat?

The bathroom water stopped.

I quickly stuffed the panties back into the pocket, dove onto the bed, pulled the covers over myself, and closed my eyes.

Pretending to sleep.

The door opened. Charles emerged.

"Willow?"

I didn't respond, forcing my breathing to stay steady.

He sighed.

Then his phone buzzed.

Charles swore under his breath, grabbed his phone, and headed toward the balcony.

"I told you, not tonight." His voice was low, but I could still hear fragments. "This is my wedding night."

"I'm not seeing you." Charles's voice grew irritated. "I'm warning you—"

Hearing him hang up, I quickly closed my eyes.

He seemed to stand by the bed for a long time. Then he dressed and tiptoed out of the room.

I hurried into a robe and followed.

Charles went to a room on the second floor.

I pressed my ear to the door, catching their conversation.

"You call me out on my wedding night—this better be good, Rachel."

Rachel?

My eyes widened. My world shattered completely.

Rachel Smith was Charles's former—fiancée.

"An explanation?" Rachel's voice turned shrill. "What explanation do you need? I'm your fiancée!"

"That was years ago," Charles interrupted. "We broke off the engagement."

"You think breaking the engagement ended things?" Rachel laughed coldly. "Charles, have you already forgotten how much you enjoyed fucking me in the dressing room this afternoon?"

This afternoon. The dressing room…

While I was getting my makeup done, fantasizing about our beautiful night together.

And he was—fooling around with another woman?

"That was an accident. You planned it!"

Rachel laughed. "But your body loved it."

"Charles," Rachel's voice turned soft, seductive, "do you really love that girl? What can she give you? An ordinary family, a boring personality, and in bed—does she even know how to please you?"

Charles said nothing.

"We're the perfect match. Lancaster and Smith—that's what 'suited' means. Willow is just your temporary novelty."

"Enough!" Charles shouted.

Then everything went quiet.

I heard fabric rustling.

Ragged breathing.

Stifled moans, and the sound of flesh against flesh…

My legs went weak. I covered my mouth, choking back sobs, unable to believe any of this.

When had it started? Were all those sweet, happy memories fake? How many times had Charles cheated on me?

I should expose their affair. Divorce him.

I'd always been independent. But…

But I'd stepped back from the company, working behind the scenes. Even my dividend shares were in the same account as Charles's.

If I divorced now, I'd get nothing. I wouldn't be able to find any job.

What would happen to Grandma then?

The trust I'd placed in him—now it had become a knife stabbing into my own heart!

My heart felt torn open, flooded with cold wind, aching and swollen, but I was powerless.

I turned and walked forward like a puppet on strings.

All the doors in the hallway looked the same.

I pushed one open and walked inside.

The next second, a burning hand grabbed my wrist.

Before I could react, I was pulled against a man's hard, hot chest. The scent of male hormones filled my nose.

"Sorry, I—" My voice came out choked. "I went into the wrong—"

Scorching lips pressed down, swallowing the rest of my words.

It came on strong and sudden.

His kiss was aggressive, prying open my lips and teeth without mercy, driving deep.

I could taste whiskey, and a hint of cigar tobacco.

I tried to push him away.

My hands pressed against his chest—hard muscle. Even through his shirt I could feel his heat, his perfect physique.

A wild thought rose in my mind.

If my newlywed husband was cheating on our wedding night, why shouldn't I?