I opened my eyes slowly, and the first thing I noticed was the ceiling—it wasn’t mine. It was white, smooth, and unfamiliar. My head throbbed painfully, like someone was beating drums inside it.

I sat up and winced, holding my forehead.

“What on earth…?” I whispered.

I blinked a few times and looked around. The room was neat, quiet, and clearly not my bedroom. The curtains were half drawn, soft light slipping in through the edges. There was a glass table, a painting on the wall, and expensive bedding beneath me.

“Where am I?”

I scanned the room again. Empty. No movement. No sound. Just me.

Panic twisted in my stomach.

I rubbed my eyes, hoping I was dreaming, but the pounding in my head reminded me I was very much awake—and very confused.

Last night.

Think.

What happened?

I tried to remember, but all I could picture was being at the club—with Fiona. My sister. After that? Nothing. Just darkness.

I turned quickly and saw my phone on the bedside table. I grabbed it with trembling hands. Five missed calls—all to Fiona. I tapped her name again.

Ring.

No answer.

Again.

Still nothing.

“Pick up, Fiona. Please,” I muttered.

But she didn’t.

I jumped out of bed, my heart racing. I didn’t bother trying to make sense of anything. I just threw on my clothes and rushed out. I needed to go home. I needed answers.

The front door creaked as I pushed it open. My heels echoed lightly on the floor. The house was silent. Too silent.

“Elvis?” I called out. No response.

Of course, he wasn’t home.

He had gone to work.

On our anniversary.

I leaned against the door and let out a shaky sigh. Today wasn’t supposed to start like this. I wasn’t supposed to wake up in a hotel room necked with a pounding head and missing memories. And definitely not alone.

But none of that mattered now. What mattered was finding out what happened.

I walked straight into the kitchen and filled the kettle. Coffee was all I could think of. Maybe caffeine would clear my mind. Maybe it would help me remember.

I leaned on the counter, staring blankly at the tiled wall as the kettle hissed. I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to stop the trembling in my chest.

“What did I do last night?” I whispered to no one.

The kettle whistled. I poured the hot water into a cup, added coffee, and stirred without thinking. I sat at the table and took a slow sip. The taste was bitter and strong, but it helped. A little.

I closed my eyes for a moment, trying again to remember. The club.Fiona. Then darkness. A stranger’s room. My head. My heart.

What happened last night?

An hour later, I climbed the stairs and headed to my room. I had made up my mind.

Today was our anniversary. Whether Elvis remembered or not, I was going to look my best.

I opened my wardrobe and pulled out the emerald green dress I had bought and kept just for this day. I held it up and smiled sadly.

“It’s still beautiful,” I whispered.

I slipped into it slowly, letting the soft fabric hug my skin. I matched it with red rose earrings, red heels, and my red clutch bag.

Everything had to be perfect.

I sat at my vanity and touched up my face—light powder, a bit of eyeliner, and my favorite red lipstick. I leaned close to the mirror.

“You still look breathtaking,” I told myself, forcing a smile.

Even if my heart was heavy and my head still hurt, I wasn’t going to let it ruin the day. Not yet.

I took one last look at myself, grabbed my car keys, and headed out. I was going to Elvis’s office. I wanted to surprise him.

The drive was quiet. My hands gripped the steering wheel tightly. My chest was tight. I kept trying not to think about last night, but the silence inside the car didn’t help. Every stoplight, every turn, just made my heart race faster.

Finally, I pulled up in front of the building. I stepped out and smoothed my dress.

You can do this.

I walked inside.

The receptionist looked up as soon as she saw me.

“Good morning, ma,” she greeted with a warm smile.

“Good morning,” I replied softly. “Is my husband in his office?”

“Yes, ma’am. You look gorgeous today,” she said.

“Thank you,” I managed a small smile.

“And happy anniversary,” she added.

I nodded. “Thanks.”

I turned and walked down the hallway. My heels clicked softly on the floor, echoing in the quiet corridor.

When I reached his office door, I paused.

Just open the door.

I turned the handle and stepped in.

What I saw next hit me like a slap.

There, sitting on his desk—my husband’s desk—was Fiona.

My sister.

She was perched on the edge, arms around his neck, laughing, her hand stroking his shoulder.

They didn’t even look surprised. They didn’t flinch. They just sat there, like they had a right to.

“Fiona?” My voice cracked. “What the hell are you doing? With my husband?”

She tilted her head and smiled lazily.

“Elvis, today’s our anniversary,” I said, turning to him. “Why are you here with my sister?”

He gave me a look I couldn’t understand. Cold. Distant. Almost amused.

“What do you think we’re doing?” he replied.

I blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

My voice trembled. “Today is our anniversary—”

“Anniversary with who?” he cut in, standing up now. “Come on, wake up. Stop living in a dream. You’ve been cheating on me, and you’re here talking about anniversary?”

My breath caught in my throat.

“What?” I whispered.

“You think I don’t know?” he sneered. “Go celebrate with the man you’ve been sneaking around with.”

“That’s not true,” I whispered. “I’ve never cheated on you. I swear.”

Fiona laughed.

“Come on, sis. Don’t pretend.”

My hands were shaking. “How can you say this, Elvis? You’re my husband. She’s my sister.”

He crossed his arms and smirked. “Perfect match, don’t you think?”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I stepped forward, trying to reach Fiona.

“What are you doing ?”I asked, eyes filled with tears. “You’re supposed to be my family.”

She smiled, smug and calm. “Family? You should’ve thought about that before you started sneaking around.”

I rushed forward to pull her away from him, but Elvis stepped in.

“What are you trying to do?” he snapped, gripping my wrist. His grip was tight. Too tight.

I yanked my hand away, my chest heaving.

“I’m your wife,” I said, voice breaking. “You’re hurting me.”

He didn’t even blink.

I turned to leave. I couldn’t take anymore. I walked slowly toward the door, my vision blurred by tears.

“Wait,” Fiona said suddenly. “You forgot something.”

Before I could turn, Elvis tossed an envelope at me. It hit my chest and fell to the floor

I bent and picked it up with trembling fingers. I opened it slowly.

Photos slipped out.

Photos of me.

Drunk.

A stranger Leaning on me.

My heart dropped to my stomach.

“What…?” I breathed.

“Recognize those?” Elvis asked.

“What… what is this?”

Fiona giggled. “You had a good time last night, huh?”

Elvis crossed his arms, watching me. “I guess you don’t remember?”

I shook my head, tears now running freely down my cheeks. “No. I don’t. This… this isn’t me. I didn’t—”

“Looks like you’ve got a lot to think about,” he said flatly.

They just laughed harder—like it was a scene from a comedy they’d rehearsed together

I stared at the pictures again, my chest hurting so badly I could barely breathe.

“I can’t believe this,” I whispered. “You planned this.”

Neither of them denied it.

Their laughter followed me as I walked out of the office—slowly, quietly, broken.