He Told Me He Slept With Her, on Our Wedding Bed, in My Dress Chapter 08

He Told Me He Slept With Her, on Our Wedding Bed, in My Dress Chapter 08

Because I insisted we needed to “re-establish our boundaries,” we slept in separate rooms the entire month.

Callum played the role of devoted husband flawlessly. He checked on me constantly, showered me with expensive gifts.

and did everything he could to stir my memory back to life.

Then one evening. I walked up to him with a glass of milk in my hands and a sweet smile on my face.

“Callum,” I said, “I think I remembered something.”

He froze the second I said it.

Then I smiled wider and continued. “I remember you liked having a glass of warm milk before bed. I used to make one

for you every night.

I kept smiling as I watched the color slowly drain from his face.

But his ego wouldn’t let him correct me. He took the glass with a shaking hand and downed it like it was a toasted to his

own health.

That night, Callum, who was lactose intolerant, spent the entire night doubled over with stomach pain.

And that was only the beginning.

The next morning, I got up early and made him a bowl of oatmeal, something I had never once done before, then set it

in front of him and said.

“I remembered something else. You loved this. Every time you came home from some business dinner, you’d cling to me

until I made it for you.”

At once, the corners of his eyes turned red with strain.

When he did not reach for it right away. I widened my eyes in fake surprise.

“Wait. Did I remember wrong? Because the husband in my memories definitely liked this. Unless…” I tilted my head

“Unless I had some other husband too?”

The second those words left my mouth, he snatched the bowl from my hands.

It was still steaming hot, but he drank it down anyway. “No,” he said hoarsely. “You only ever had me

Only then did I nod in satisfaction, pretending not to notice the angry rash spreading up along his collarbone.

After that, to prove he was my one and only husband, Callum started cooperating with every ‘memory’ I claimed to

recover.

He wore ugly matching outfits with me into board meetings and ignored the looks people gave him. He had a fear of

deep water, but when I suddenly decided I remembered loving scuba diving with him, he still went with me, his face

white by the time we surfaced.

At first, I enjoyed every second of it.

Then one night, he looked at me with hollowed-out eyes. “Baby… is that really all you remember about me?”

For a moment, I went still.

And what rose up first in my mind was not his betrayal.

It was a memory from three years ago, back when I was drowning in depression, when he had stayed awake for

seventy-two hours straight, holding my hand because he was afraid that if he let go, I’d disappear.

When I said nothing, he gave a bitter little smile. “It’s okay,” he said. “We’ll make new memories.”

I did not answer.

The next day, I conveniently failed to “remember” anything new, and for the first time in weeks, he finally seemed to

breathe easier.

Then before I knew it, it was the wedding day.

This time, I had scrap the minimalist chic for a high-drama, gothic-inspired masquerade.

A whole different aesthetic.

Callum had been more than happy to go along with it, because my wedding to Gavin had been a cookie-cutter country

club event, and he had always wanted to prove he could give me something different, something more unforgettable.

So when he carried the veiled bride toward the stage, step by careful step, I saw his eyes turn red.

His lips moved too, like he was whispering some private vow I could not hear.

But of course I could not hear it.

Because the woman beneath the red veil was not me.

It was Blaire.

And by the time he realized that, it was already too late.

The second he lifted the veil and saw her face, he went rigid. “Blaire? Where the hell is Sienna?”

At the exact moment he said it, I hit play.

On the giant reception screen, in front of a crowd of hundreds, the footage from the house started rolling

The first clip showed Callum and Blaire together on the night before the wedding.

The room exploded.

“Jesus Christ,” someone blurted out. “Most people show a montage at their wedding. These two really went with a sex

tape?”

Then the next clip played, the one from the guest room, capturing Callum’s cold admission that I was leftovers and

Blaire’s smug laughter.

“What the hell? another voice shouted.

“He slept with his fiancée’s sister? On their wedding night? These two are disgusting.

In the space of a single breath. Callum finally understood.

This was my revenge.

Unlike Blaire, who immediately tried to cover herself and hide, he did not even seem to care that the entire room was

watching him unravel.

He just started scouring the room, his eyes frantic and wild.

And then, beyond the doors just before they closed, he saw me.

“Sienna!”