His Mistress Was My Sister in My Wedding Dress

I arrived at the Westchester Grand Hotel an hour early, my arms laden with bouquets of white lilies and blue hydrangeas—David's favorites. The ballroom gleamed under crystal chandeliers, tables arranged in a perfect semicircle around the small stage where the jazz quartet would play later. Everything had to be flawless for my husband's birthday celebration.

"Mrs. Miller, where would you like these centerpieces?" A young server approached me, holding a box of crystal vases.

"Center of each table, please," I replied, smoothing down my cream silk blouse. "And make sure they're evenly spaced. Mr. Miller notices details like that."

I'd spent weeks planning this surprise party. David had been working so hard lately, barely coming home before midnight. I wanted to show him how much I appreciated everything he did for us—how he'd built his company from nothing while I managed our home.

My phone buzzed. Eleanor, my adoptive mother, again.

"Linda, don't forget to ensure the champagne is properly chilled. And do check that the photographer knows to capture David's best side."

I tucked the phone away without responding. Mother's voice echoed in my head anyway: "A woman's value is in supporting her husband properly." I'd heard it my entire life.

The server returned. "We're missing some champagne glasses in the VIP suite. Would you mind checking if there are extras in storage?"

"Of course," I said, setting down my clipboard.

The hotel had given us access to the VIP area for David's closest business associates. I made my way down the corridor, my heels clicking against the marble floor. The door to the suite was slightly ajar, and I pushed it open, expecting to find empty champagne crates.

Instead, I found my husband.

David's pants were around his ankles, his white shirt untucked and stained with what looked like red wine. He was pressing a young woman against the wall—her legs wrapped around his waist, her head thrown back in ecstasy.

My cousin Nicole.

The air left my lungs in a silent rush.

"Harder, David," Nicole moaned, her eyes closed in pleasure. "Your wife would never let you do this."

That's when I noticed what she was wearing. My wedding dress. The vintage lace gown I'd stored in the hotel's bridal suite for tonight's "memories" display.

David's rhythm didn't falter as he opened his eyes and met mine in the mirror on the opposite wall. No shock registered on his face—only a smirk spread across his lips.

"Perfect timing, Linda," he said, not stopping his movements. "Help Nicole fix her dress when we're done. The zipper's been sticking."

Nicole turned her head, her lips curling into a cruel smile when she saw me frozen in the doorway. Her eyes glittered with malicious triumph.

"Oh, Linda," she purred, deliberately tightening her grip on David's shoulders. "Didn't David tell you? He prefers younger women now. More... fertile ones."

I couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. The room seemed to tilt beneath my feet.

"Faster, brother-in-law," Nicole gasped, emphasizing the last word with