Deceit

At the wedding everyone was looking at her in a way I never had. That night she came up to get me and I passed out drunk. What happened after that I only found out at dawn.

At three in the morning, the first message arrived. A woman tied to an unfamiliar bed and a sentence that chilled my blood: “this beauty is your wife.”

The night before my wedding I got myself ready alone in the hotel suite. What my future husband didn’t know was who I was really getting ready for.

Bruno’s curiosity awakened something in me I could no longer control: I wanted my trainer to touch me for real, not just in my words.

She leaned against the edge of the desk, opened her jacket, and said huskily, “Now you can stop wondering.” And I knew that afternoon wouldn’t end at the office.

She only wanted to understand her body before getting married. She never imagined that therapy group would lead her to betray everything she believed about herself.

Three days without thinking about anything except the smell of hot rubber and his hands on me. And my husband, without knowing it, gave me the perfect excuse to go back.

Every morning she chose a different garment, knowing it would end up torn on the living-room floor. What she didn’t expect was the door opening early.

I held her gaze while I lied, my hand still remembering his skin trembling against the cup, praying she wouldn’t put the pieces together.

I've been faking it in bed for years. That night, while he ordered another drink, I exchanged glances with the man at the bar and knew I wouldn't return from the bathroom alone.

I told Andrés that therapy was helping me clear my head. I didn’t tell him that every session left my body shaking and my conscience split in two.

Each excuse she gave my fiancé was more elaborate than the last. I left that office trembling, aching, and with a smile I couldn’t hide.

—I need you to sleep with my fiancée —he told me, as calmly as if he were asking the time. And I still didn’t know the trip would change me more than it changed them.

I climbed the fourteen stairs with the cold stuck to my clothes and the secret stuck to my skin: no one in the building imagined what was happening one floor below.

Marisol sat on the armchair in her robe. She had just filmed her revenge with the man her husband despised most, and there was no turning back.

Ten years of marriage collapsed over a gold earring left on the passenger seat. Carla decided divorce wouldn’t be the end, but only the beginning.

I agreed to therapy to understand my body before marriage. No one warned me I’d end up begging the wrong man not to stop.

While he puts away his dominoes and heads to the club, she is already burning inside at the thought of what awaits her in that student apartment.

I opened the door half-dressed, my hair a mess and the bed still warm. He looked at the basket of my lingerie before he looked at me, and I didn’t bother to cover myself up.

I kept telling myself it was only part of the therapy, that it was nothing personal. But with another man’s cum running down my thighs, I didn’t believe a single word of it anymore.