“No, this can’t be happening!” My husband’s anticipation for our wedding night turned to horror when I took off my wedding dress.
I’d been keeping the secret of what lay beneath my dress all day, but it was finally time to expose a shocking revelation.
I had a perfect fairytale wedding. Greg stood at the end of the aisle, beaming like he’d just won the lottery.
See, Greg thought this was the start of our perfect life together, but I knew the truth.
That perfect bubble we were living in was about to burst. But not yet, not until I was ready to pop it.
The reception went on like a dream — champagne glasses clinking, laughter echoing across the perfectly manicured lawns, and Greg’s parents playing the role of doting in-laws. After all, their perfect little boy deserved the perfect little day, didn’t he?
And me?
I played my part. I smiled at the right moments and laughed when someone told us a joke. I even danced with Greg like everything was just fine.
Greg thought he knew me.
He thought he had me all figured out, but he was wrong.
As the night wore on, Greg’s anticipation for our wedding night became almost unbearable. He couldn’t hide it, not that he was trying to.
His touches lingered too long, and his smile was too wide.
I felt like a performer on stage, playing a part that had been written for me long before I even agreed to put on the dress.
But I had my own script.
We finally said our goodbyes to the guests, thanking them for coming and accepting their compliments about how beautiful everything had been.
Greg’s parents stayed downstairs in the guest rooms, giving us privacy, and Greg couldn’t wait to get me upstairs.
His hand tightened around mine as he led me to the master suite, the same one his parents had graciously let us use for our first night together as husband and wife. How poetic.
He was practically giddy as he closed the door behind us.
The atmosphere in the room shifted, the excitement in the air becoming almost tangible.
I could see it in his eyes as he came toward me, his hands already reaching for the zipper of my wedding dress.
“I’ve been waiting all night for this,” he murmured against my neck, his breath hot and full of promise.
I smiled, a small, secret smile that he couldn’t see. “Me too.”
He carefully unzipped my dress. I stood perfectly still, my heart racing.
He was so eager, so confident in what was coming next. He didn’t have a clue.
When the dress finally fell to the floor, I turned around slowly. I’ll never forget the look on his face when he saw what was underneath.
He looked like a man standing on the edge of a cliff, teetering, trying to keep his balance.
“No…” His voice cracked, barely above a whisper. “No, no, no! This can’t be happening!”
The tattoo of Greg’s ex, Sarah, stretched across my torso, down to my waist.
The words he’d said to her the night before our wedding were perfectly inscribed beneath her face: “One last taste of freedom before I’m bound to the same body forever.”
It was temporary, sure. But Greg didn’t know that. It was authentic enough to make his knees buckle beneath him.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
Tap READ MORE to discover the rest 🔎👇
