Discovering that my fiancée was cheating was an accident. That day, I was bored, scrolling through social media, when I stumbled across a love story. It was tragic, and the ending wasn’t a happy one. A blogger called Winter Snow shared her story about how she and her first love saved each other but had to part ways due to life’s circumstances. Now, she was getting ready to marry someone else. Their story sounded like something from a soap opera, a perfect tale of childhood sweethearts. He was the charming, wealthy, and brilliant guy next door. She was equally beautiful and bright, but after her family went bankrupt, her mother became abusive. She endured a rough upbringing, leaving her withdrawn and lonely. But that didn’t stop them from falling in love. She fought for him, skipped school for him, did everything she thought was romantic. Once, she even snuck into a bakery at night to steal cake molds just to make his favorite dessert. He changed his college application for her, set off fireworks despite the campus rules on her birthday, and did anything to make her happy. He was her light in a dark world, her salvation. They clung to each other, making each other their entire world, but ultimately, reality and family pressure drove them apart. She said after they broke up, she had planned to stay single forever. She’d been treated like a precious gem, having seen the brightest side of love, and didn’t want to settle for less. But as her roommates moved on with their lives, she too longed for love. And as her mother aged and grew weaker, she realized there was nothing left to hold on to in this world. So, when her college senior proposed, she accepted, though she realized she could never love him—or anyone—again. She drowned herself in alcohol, stayed out late, and became adept at playing the game of life, floating between different men. She enjoyed that lifestyle. When people chased after her, she felt invincible. Those so-called “guy friends” of hers—they were really her prey. Or rather, they used each other for fleeting comfort. Marriage wasn’t something she wanted. But her mother—who had blamed her for everything and abused her endlessly—was dying of cancer. Her mother’s dying wish was to see her married and settled. She hated her parents, but she couldn’t sever the bond of family or deny her mother’s wish. So, she asked her boyfriend to marry her. He loved her deeply and agreed, moved by her request. But she still wanted one last wild fling before the wedding. And so, in the three months leading up to the wedding, she slept with all her “friends,” in hotels or in the very house her fiancé had prepared for their new life together. On the bed, the vanity, the bathroom, the living room—everywhere. And most importantly, the one she truly loved was also in that house. “I know what I’m doing will hurt my future husband, but I can’t stop myself. I just want to say goodbye to my youth and love.” “I may have had countless past relationships and thirteen guy friends, but I take each one seriously.” Look at that—how eloquently she dressed up her cheating as something noble and meaningful. Of course, it wouldn’t have mattered to me if the unlucky fiancé wasn’t… me.
How did I discover that Winter Snow was actually my fiancée, Olivia Blake? It wasn’t her IP address. It was the details in her post. She mentioned that they got into the same university and that she played Butterfly Lovers on the piano for him at the freshman welcome event. Coincidentally, that’s where I met Olivia—she played Butterfly Lovers at our own freshman event too. At the end of the song, she was crying her eyes out. I thought she was moved by the music. I was intrigued by her, not knowing she was playing it for someone else—her first love. She also wrote about how she bought his favorite breakfast early one winter morning and waited outside his dorm for half an hour, only to have him refuse to meet her because of his parents’ disapproval. She gave the breakfast to a random good-looking guy who happened to be coming down the stairs. That guy was me. I remember the breakfast—it had already lost its warmth, tucked inside her coat. She wrote that when she found out he was leaving the country, she skipped class and rushed to the airport to see him one last time, but he had already left. She cried uncontrollably at the airport, and someone gave her a hug. Unluckily for me, I was that “someone.” Fresh from a vacation, I had stumbled across her tears at the airport. I already knew about her family situation and had hesitated about pursuing her. I was just from a middle-class background, while she came from a once-wealthy family that had fallen on hard times. I wondered if I could handle her past, her expectations, or the life she wanted. But after getting to know her, I realized I was wrong. Olivia seemed like a bright, optimistic girl. She never gave up despite her family’s downfall. She was smart, confident, and even though she occasionally skipped class, her grades were stellar. She was the kind of person who could bloom even in the harshest conditions. Looks didn’t matter after you got to know her. So, after weighing everything, I decided to pursue her. I did everything I thought was romantic. But for six months, she kept me at a distance, neither fully accepting me nor pushing me away—until her birthday. It was then that I knew Winter Snow was her. The blog post mentioned fireworks, and that night I had prepared fireworks to confess my love. She seemed distant that evening, but in my excitement, I didn’t notice her mood. When the fireworks lit up the sky, she smiled—then started crying. Before I could say anything, she agreed to be my girlfriend. Later, my friend told me that the fireworks I had prepared were set off later than planned, but I didn’t think much of it at the time. Now I realize the fireworks that moved her weren’t mine—they were for her first love, marking the end of their story. I’ve been with Olivia for seven years since then. We’ve had our ups and downs, even considered breaking up at times, but we always found a way to make things work. She treated me with respect. Half a year ago, after we were finally done with long-distance, it was her 27th birthday. That night, she got drunk, clung to me tightly, and told me seriously that she wanted to marry me and have a child. She said, “Evan, you’re 28 now, and both of us have stable careers. We’re more than capable of being each other’s support and becoming good parents.” “Evan, I admit I had a deep, unforgettable love in my youth, but that’s all in the past.” “Believe me. I’ll be a good wife to you, a good mother to our child. I’ll give our child the love and family I never had.” “I want us to be that couple everyone envies. I want our child to grow up with love, free and wild, not bound by anything.” “Evan, that’s my birthday wish. Will you grant it?” As she said this, she held me so tightly, her eyes full of hope and tenderness. Her words wrapped around my heart, and before I knew it, I nodded and started planning the wedding. We were going to get married soon.
I was touched by what she said because my relationship with my dad was always distant. I longed for a loving home, a place where I could feel safe. Besides, I wasn’t getting any younger. So I began to plan everything. I designed her wedding dress by hand, stayed up late looking through wedding ideas, thinking of ways to surprise her. I wanted to give her a perfect wedding, one she would remember forever. I wanted to give her everything. And I truly believed she was ready for a new life, for starting a family. But when I shared the wedding news in our college friends’ group chat, all I got was silence. None of them congratulated me. Instead, they asked the same question: “Are you sure you want to marry Olivia Blake?” I asked them why. No one answered. It was like the group chat had gone dormant. I didn’t understand. They had all supported me when I was chasing her, so why the sudden change? Even though I didn’t get any answers, I sensed something was off. Especially when Olivia told me she had to go on a business trip and left me to handle all the wedding preparations. She said if I couldn’t manage, she could cancel the trip. I declined. I had my doubts, but I didn’t think anyone should abandon their career for a relationship. Especially women. Women already face enough challenges in the workplace, and she had worked so hard to reach her position. If she succeeded in her project, she would take another step forward in her career. The wedding could be simple, but her career? That was her choice, and I wouldn’t let it be affected. What I didn’t realize was that her “business trip” was just an excuse to spend time with her first love and thirteen guy friends! When I called her to ask if she needed me to bring anything to her trip, she hesitated before saying no. “I don’t need anything. It’s a long trip, and I have most of what I need in my office. If there’s anything else, I can always buy it. Just focus on the wedding, love.” Her voice grew quieter toward the end of the call, and she quickly hung up. But just before the call ended, I heard a man’s voice in the background. A voice that couldn’t be explained away. I felt cold, a deep chill running through me. And then, I got a message from one of my college roommates. “Evan, it’s not that I don’t want to congratulate you, but you don’t really know Olivia.” Didn’t know her? We had been together for seven years. How could I not know her? But when I opened the screenshot my friend had sent, I froze. It was a chat between Olivia and one of her college friends, sent after she and I had already started dating. Each sentence, every punctuation mark—it was like a blade cutting through my heart. She was saying things she had never said to me, flirtatious, intimate things that didn’t match the composed, thoughtful Olivia I knew. The Olivia in those messages was playful, seductive, and even shared private photos—things I had never seen before. Tears blurred my vision, and the mix of anger and betrayal threatened to tear me apart. Every message felt like a needle stabbing at my heart. My hands were shaking as I scrolled through her old texts, and each one was a blow to the love I had felt. All that love now had turned into a fire, burning me from the inside out. I clicked on the last message my friend had sent—a link to an Instagram account. This account held all the proof of Olivia’s double life since college. Videos, voice messages, everything. There were clips of her hanging out with other guys, going on weekend trips, playing at theme parks, going skydiving—all the moments she’d spent with them, the secret life she had hidden from me. And me? The man who had given her everything, her boyfriend, her fiancé—who she never even mentioned. It was as if I didn’t exist in her world. I was just a shadow, an afterthought, something to be forgotten. I knew, in that moment, that we were done. But how could I let it end like that?
I forced myself to hold back the nausea that rose from deep within me, as well as the fury boiling over in my heart. I saved every piece of evidence from that Instagram account and started private messaging my college friends. Slowly, they began to tell me about the side of Olivia I had never known. Unlike the Olivia I thought I knew, in high school she had been a rebellious teenager. She had cut class, gotten into fights, and even teamed up with some street thugs to collect “protection money” from other students. There was one girl she had bullied so badly that the girl developed severe depression and had to leave school. Olivia herself had even ended up in juvenile detention for a while. In senior year, when her father died in a car accident, Olivia and her mom received a large settlement and left their old town, starting a new life. The cheerful, optimistic girl I knew—that had all been a facade. In reality, she was arrogant, never caring about anyone else’s feelings. But she covered her tracks well, always keeping things just above suspicion so no one could directly accuse her of wrongdoing. When I started dating her, she had already been involved with several guys at our university. Most of those guys were decent people, thinking they had been in a genuine relationship with her. They had all broken up amicably, which is why none of them ever spoke about it. Olivia’s secrets were well hidden, even from me. She had continued messaging my college roommates, flirting with them, even after we were officially together. Whether or not any of them acted on those messages, I didn’t want to know. At this point, it didn’t matter. I’ve never been the kind of person to hold grudges, but someone like Olivia didn’t deserve to continue living such a glamorous life while I was left in the shadows. What I needed now was to gather all the evidence. I wanted to make sure she would pay back everything she had taken from me. That’s when I stumbled upon that blog post. I wasn’t ready to go home yet. Instead, I headed to the security office of our apartment complex. With a pack of cigarettes and a couple of bottles of water, I earned the sympathy of the security guards, who allowed me to check the surveillance footage. I sent Olivia a text, but it went unanswered, as if she had disappeared off the face of the earth. I stared at the monitor for hours, watching as the day slowly turned to night, and my heart grew colder with each passing moment. Finally, I saw it—the door to our apartment opened, and Olivia stepped out, hand-in-hand with a man. They kissed passionately before the elevator doors closed. Even as the doors shut, she lingered in the hallway, gazing tearfully after him. The 4K high-definition footage captured their “epic love story” in crystal clarity, a love that seemed to transcend the ordinary, as if fate itself had brought them together. Afterward, Olivia dashed down the stairs, rushing into the evening’s twilight to meet him again. They held each other tightly in the dim light, pulling at each other like two people destined to be together. Their kiss was long, deep, and filled with the kind of passion that could only come from defying the world. To anyone watching, their reunion would have seemed like a triumphant moment, as though they had finally overcome all obstacles and could be together at last. But what about me? I was her fiancé, the man who had cherished her, the man who had fought for her love. What had I done wrong? If she had just told me from the beginning that she loved someone else, I would have let her go. It wouldn’t have hurt as much as it did now. But she had lied to me, deceived me, and used me as her backup plan, her safety net. She shattered my dreams of love and marriage. She ruined the future I thought we would share. She had to pay for what she’d done. I copied all the surveillance footage, every second of it. Over the next few days, I took time off from work, pretending to be busy with wedding preparations. I told Olivia that I needed to go on a business trip of my own. Then I packed a few things and moved into a hotel. I set up surveillance at home, installing cameras everywhere, and even managed to install tracking software on her phone. I knew exactly where she was, what she was doing, and who she was with. It didn’t take long before I found out she had planned a big party the night before the wedding. A “wild” bachelorette party with a lot of guests. She even wrote about it in that blog post, signing off with her final update. I was filled with rage, but I forced myself to stay calm. I kept moving forward with my plan. A few days before the wedding, I returned home. The air still carried that sickening scent, but Olivia was oblivious to everything. She eagerly looked forward to the ceremony. On the day of the wedding, I invited everyone. Her friends, her family, and even her dying mother. The ceremony was lively and beautiful, with Olivia smiling radiantly. But then, in an instant, her smile froze on her face…
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