My Groom Cheated With My Sister At Our Wedding

I stared at my phone, my thumb hovering over the screen as it scrolled through an endless stream of wedding photos. Each swipe brought a fresh wave of nausea. There they were—Ethan and Victoria—beaming at the camera, champagne flutes raised in celebration. My sister looked radiant in her designer gown, her smile triumphant as she clutched Ethan's arm. My Ethan. The father of the child kicking inside me.

The Manhattan skyline outside my tiny studio apartment window blurred as tears filled my eyes. Three years. Three years I had given him, believing every whispered promise, every gentle touch, every "I love you" that had apparently meant nothing.

"Congratulations to New York's newest power couple!" read one comment.

"A match made in heaven!" gushed another.

My phone buzzed with a notification. Another wedding photo tagged. This one showed them cutting the cake, Victoria feeding Ethan a bite with delicate fingers. The same fingers that had casually brushed my shoulder at family dinners, silently communicating her superiority while she smiled sweetly at me.

My daughter kicked hard, as if sensing my distress. I placed my hand over the swell of my belly, feeling the movement beneath my palm. "I know, baby," I whispered. "I know."

The Carter-Grant wedding had been the social event of the season. Old money meeting new. The legitimate Carter daughter securing her rightful place in society. Meanwhile, I sat alone in my apartment, nine months pregnant, scrolling through evidence of my own foolishness.

I threw my phone onto the couch and struggled to my feet. My reflection in the window showed a woman I barely recognized—hollow-eyed, pale, with dark circles beneath eyes that had cried too many tears. I had been so blind. So desperate to believe that someone could love me, the shameful secret, the living reminder of my father's infidelity.

My phone buzzed again. And again. Congratulatory messages flooded in, not for me, but for people in my contact list attending the wedding. People who knew about us, who had seen Ethan and me together, who now pretended I didn't exist.

Something snapped inside me. I couldn't sit here anymore, drowning in images of their perfect day while my daughter—his daughter—grew heavy in my womb. I grabbed my coat, shoved my feet into shoes, and headed for the door.

The Financial District bustled with the usual midday energy, men and women in expensive suits rushing between meetings, barely noticing the heavily pregnant woman pushing through their ranks. Grant Investments occupied the thirty-seventh floor of a gleaming skyscraper, its glass facade reflecting the cold winter sun.

I bypassed security with the old badge Ethan had given me—apparently no one had thought to deactivate it—and rode the elevator up, my heart pounding harder with each ascending floor. By the time the doors slid open, I was trembling, but not from fear. From rage.

Ethan's assistant looked up, her perfectly made-up face registering shock. "Lily? You can't—"

"He'll see me," I said, pushing past her toward his office door.

I didn't knock. I threw the door open to find him at his desk, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up, looking exactly as he had countless times before when I'd visited him at work. For a split second, the familiarity of it stabbed at my heart.

"Lily." His voice was cool, professional. As if I were a client he'd been expecting. "Close the door."

I slammed it shut. "How could you?"

"Please sit down. In your condition, you shouldn't—"

"Don't you dare pretend to care about my condition," I hissed. "This is your baby. Your daughter."

He sighed, leaning back in his chair. "What do you want, Lily? Money?"

The casual cruelty of the question knocked the wind from me. "I want you to acknowledge your child. I want you to explain how you could marry my sister while I'm carrying your baby."

He opened a drawer, pulled out a checkbook, and began writing. The scratch of his pen against paper was the only sound in the room for several agonizing seconds.

"Here." He tore out the check and slid it across the desk. "Take care of it. Then maybe we can continue what we had."

I stared at the check, unable to process his words. "Take care of it?"

"Get rid of it," he clarified, his eyes cold. "And we can go back to how things were."

"How things were?" My voice rose. "You married my sister!"

"A necessary business arrangement." He shrugged. "Victoria understands how these things work. She's always been the practical one."

I placed my hands protectively over my belly. "I'm keeping my baby."

His expression darkened. "If you keep it, you'll regret it."

"Are you threatening me?"

"I'm stating facts." He stood, buttoning his suit jacket. "Victoria was always the endgame, Lily. You were... entertainment. A distraction. Don't make this harder than it needs to be."

I stumbled backward as if he'd struck me. The man before me was a stranger wearing Ethan's face. Had I ever known him at all?

I fled his office, tears blinding me as I pushed past his startled assistant and into the elevator. By the time I reached the street, I was gasping for breath, my chest tight with panic and grief.

I collapsed onto a park bench, my legs no longer able to support me. The winter air bit at my wet cheeks as I sobbed, one hand clutching my belly. People walked by, averting their eyes from the spectacle of a pregnant woman falling apart in public.

Darkness had fallen by the time my tears subsided, leaving me empty and cold. I made my way home on numb legs, each step an effort.

In my apartment, I sank onto the couch and picked up my phone. A message notification glowed on the screen—not from Ethan or Victoria or any of the wedding guests, but from "N."

"I saw the news. Are you okay? I'm here if you need to talk."

My anonymous friend, the one person who had consistently been there for me these past months, offering support without judgment. I stared at the message, my fingers hovering over the keyboard, but I couldn't find the words. How could I explain that my entire world had just collapsed?

Outside my window, the city lights blurred into a kaleidoscope of colors as fresh tears filled my eyes. My daughter kicked again, a sharp reminder that whatever happened next, I was not alone. I placed my hand over the spot, feeling the movement beneath my palm.

"It's just you and me now, baby," I whispered. "Just you and me against the world."

But even as I said the words, Ethan's threat echoed in my mind: "If you keep it, you'll regret it." A cold shiver ran down my spine. What exactly had he meant by that?