The Poison She Cured, the Love She Killed

It is the night before our wedding when my fiancee, Whitney Sullivan, reunites with her childhood sweetheart, Steven Foster, a mercenary who has been missing for five years.

He is brought to our doorstep by his teammates, bloodied and barely clinging to life after being poisoned with a deadly aphrodisiac on a mission.

Whitney, usually so aloof and controlled, immediately breaks down. She locks the door, defying my efforts to stop her, and stays with Steven all night long.

I choose to stay outside the door, never closing my eyes.

I confront her the following morning with a torrent of accusations, only for her to stand in front of Steven protectively and say shamelessly, "I couldn't just stand by and watch Steven die. Isn't it just my virginity? What's the harm in letting loose the night before the wedding?"

In that instant, all my affection for her is utterly destroyed.

It wasn't long before the nightlong tumult of their coupling finally hushed that Whitney Sullivan, my fiancee finally appeared from the bedroom in a torn nightdress.

She had weak legs from the whole thing, so she had to brace herself against the wall as she shuffled along, her exposed skin showing telltale marks.

She then walked straight past me, went to the dining table, poured herself a glass of water, and said with a hint of irritation, "Your theatrics have gone on long enough, Daniel. I'm not well now, so I won't stand for your mood right now. It was just my virginity. If it could save Steven, then it was worthwhile. You should stop being such a puritan about it!"

I was so furious at the sheer absurdity of her comment that I burst out laughing. "You're saying I'm a puritan, huh? You practically threw yourself at another man. You're truly the progressive one!"

Whitney slammed the glass to the ground. "That's enough, Daniel! You'd better not spout any nonsense in Steven's presence—he's unwell right now—otherwise, the marriage is off!"

No sooner had she spoken than the medical team, already positioned, rushed into the bedroom and commenced the emergency resuscitation. She quickly rushed over as well, not giving me so much as a single look.

Steven Forster was lying on what was supposed to be my marital bed. He weakly held Whitney's hand and uttered in a strained, faint voice, "I'm sorry for putting you out like this, Whitney. I just wanted to see you one last time before I..."

I could smell a cloying, thick smell hanging in the air, while the contents spilling out of the trash clearly showcased the "score" of their actions during the previous night.

"I'm so happy that I got to be with you before I died… Is it possible for me to accompany you when you walk down the aisle on your wedding day?"

"You shouldn't say such ridiculous things!" she said.

She clutched Steven's hand, her eyes brimming with tears, and barked at the medical team, "Do something! Save him!"

She