Tainted Vows

The cold, empty bed offered zero comfort. Sloane lay awake in the suffocating quiet of the master bedroom, the space feeling cavernous now that she had listed the villa for sale. Seeking a distraction from the heavy silence, she reached for her phone on the nightstand. She swiped mindlessly through the trending feed of a popular social media app, the screen casting a harsh, artificial glare in the dark room.

A viral, provocative post pushed its way to the top of her timeline. The bold, arrogant text demanded immediate attention, practically glowing with malicious pride.

[My lover is getting married in two months. Today, I slipped into his fiancée's custom wedding dress and had sex with him right there in the bridal shop fitting room. The thrill of doing it in her dress was intoxicating. So taboo.]

The comments section underneath raged against the anonymous author. Users flooded the thread with vitriol, tagging the algorithm and hoping the betrayed fiancée would see the sick confession. Nausea clawed viciously at Sloane's throat, rising like bitter bile. Her pulse hammered against her ribs. She tapped the profile icon, her fingers rigid and uncooperative.

She scrolled straight down to the account's very first post. It featured no caption, just a solitary photo of two hands clasped tight, fingers intertwined over a luxurious restaurant tablecloth. The man's hand dominated the frame. A distinct, dark mole rested precisely on the side of his index finger. A custom platinum band sat perfectly on his ring finger. The cut and the subtle engraving were unmistakable.

Dorian.

The post was dated exactly six months ago. That was a mere week after he had proposed to her on a yacht, promising her a lifetime of devotion.

Bile rose like battery acid in her throat. She lowered her phone and stared blankly at the matching engagement ring resting heavy on her own finger. Revulsion ripped through her veins. In a moment of absolute disgust, she dragged the diamond ring over her knuckle, marched straight into the bathroom, and dropped the meaningless metal directly into the toilet bowl. She hit the flush. The rushing water swallowed the soiled symbol without a single trace. There was no sense in clinging to something already tainted beyond repair.

She walked back to the bedroom. A sharp notification dinged from the app. The mistress had dropped a desperate update on the exact same viral thread. The smug, arrogant tone had vanished, replaced by a taunting, bold promise aimed at calming her attackers.

[Stop the hate. We made a deal. I will return him to his rightful fiancée good as new in exactly one month.]

The attached photo showed a broad-shouldered silhouette sprawled languidly across messy hotel sheets. The familiar lines of his back and the distinct slope of his shoulders were burned into Sloane's memory. She let out a harsh, bitter scoff that echoed in the dark room. Return him good as new? The sheer absurdity of the words tasted like ash on her tongue. Right then, she finally understood why people sometimes just laughed when words failed them completely.

Dorian did not bother returning home that entire night.

The morning sun brought a brief, sterile phone call. His voice carried a nonchalant, authoritative tone, laced with the usual corporate arrogance. He offered zero excuses for his absence. He did not mention the office or the late-night projects. He simply ordered her to meet him back at the bridal boutique on the west side of the city.

Sloane arrived at the scene of his betrayal a few minutes early. The third-floor VIP area of the boutique looked pristine. Her custom-made gown hung on a velvet display mannequin in the center of the room, looking regal and flawless under the soft spotlights.

The boutique staffer approached with an eager, professional smile, though a subtle flicker of pity hid in her eyes.

"Ms. Sterling, Mr. Hayes is on his way up. Let us get you into the dress now. That way, he will walk in and see you looking flawless right off the bat."

Sickened by the graphic mental image of what had transpired within those very seams yesterday, Sloane kept her expression neutral and shook her head.

"No thanks."

She had barely gotten the cold refusal out when a heavy, strong arm snaked possessively around her waist from behind. He yanked her flush against his chest. The familiar scent of expensive bergamot cologne, mingled with the clean whiff of hotel shower gel, invaded her senses.

"Why not? Sloane, you have no idea how long I have been dreaming of this moment. Try it on for me, yeah?" Dorian murmured against her ear. His voice dripped with a false, sickeningly sweet devotion.

Sloane cast a sidelong glance at him. He looked rested and sharp, not a single trace of exhaustion on his face. He certainly did not look like a man who had worked through the night on major corporate projects. She scoffed inwardly.

He had not come to the boutique alone, either. Trailing timidly a few steps behind his broad frame was a young woman. She wore light blue denim jeans and a crisp white blouse, her face beaming with a sweet, innocent grin that screamed youth. She expertly played the picture of wide-eyed innocence.

Sloane peered past Dorian, locking her frosty, calculating stare on the girl. Was this yet another sick twist in their little thrill-seeking game? Bringing the mistress to face the fiancée?

Dorian caught her scrutinizing gaze. His grip on her waist tightened a fraction, digging into her side even as he kept his facial expression relaxed and composed.

"She is Lila Mercer, the daughter of a minor business partner. Her overall vibe reminded me of your younger days. I figured you two might click, so I brought her along for introductions."

He beckoned the girl forward. Lila scampered over with eager, enthusiastic steps. She extended her hand toward Sloane with a blinding smile.

"Hi, Sloane! I am Lila Mercer. So nice to meet you!"

Sloane completely ignored the outstretched hand. She averted her eyes, refusing to engage in the polite physical greeting, and opted instead for a piercing verbal strike.

"'Lila', good name indeed. Guess not many guys can snap back to reality after they meet you."

As Lila processed the sharp jab, she immediately seized the opportunity to play the victim. Her face crumpled into a hurt, pathetic pout. Her voice took on a whining pitch.

"Are you saying I am some kind of man-stealer, Sloane?"

The arm around Sloane's waist dug in painfully. It was a silent, harsh warning from Dorian. Sloane shot a sideways glance at the deep irritation flashing in his dark eyes. Only then did he loosen his iron grip. He leaned in, his breath brushing her skin, and whispered harshly.

"Save your irrational anger for me at home. You can punch me or scream there. Do not humiliate a sensitive, fragile girl in public. Let us focus on trying the dress for now."

Instead of engaging in a screaming match with him on the showroom floor, Sloane turned her frosty gaze back to Lila. She gestured toward the pristine white gown hanging under the bright lights.

"Like it?"

Lila nodded eagerly, her eyes sparking as they locked onto the silk fabric. She sneaked a quick, nervous peek at Dorian, then added a pathetic, cloyingly envious remark.

"I do. Not every girl is fortunate enough to slip into her dream dress and marry the incredible man she loves."

Deeply disgusted by the mere idea of slipping into a garment they had already sullied with their bodies, Sloane turned to the confused boutique staff.

"I am not up for it today. Her figure is close to mine. Let her model it instead."

The boutique staff froze in their tracks. They exchanged panicked, unsure looks and shot a cautious glance at Dorian for confirmation. His face darkened completely. A storm brewed in his eyes as he stared down at Sloane.

Lila jumped right in, stepping forward with her trademark sugary smile.

"Awesome! It is a real privilege to try it on for you, Sloane."

She reached out for the heavy silk gown without a second thought. The staff remained speechless. Dorian shot Lila a sudden, frosty, warning glare. The dark, brooding aura rolling off him was terrifying, causing Lila to bite her lip in brief hesitation.

Sloane brushed off Dorian's lingering hand, sank onto a nearby velvet sofa, and nudged the girl along.

"Well, get to it."

Lila snatched the dress from the hesitant staffer and rushed happily into the fitting room—the exact room where the affair had occurred just twenty-four hours prior.

Dorian furrowed his brow and sat down heavily beside Sloane, clearly ready to air his grievances. Sloane beat him to it. She looked up at him with a cold, mocking smirk.

"Aren't you gonna go in and help her out?"

Her ruthless jab carried a heavy, undeniable double meaning. It landed like a bomb on the showroom floor, plunging the room into a dead, awkward silence. The terrified boutique staff who had handled Dorian and Lila the day before turned to stone. The horrifying realization dawned on them—the fiancée knew everything. They stood frozen, desperate to blend into the wallpaper.

Dorian's brows knitted tighter. His lips thinned out as he maintained his guarded posture.

"Sloane, what the hell are you getting at?"

"Oh, nothing. Just thought you would jump at the chance to assist."

Sloane flashed a hollow smile and flagged down a nearby staffer to request a cup of hot coffee.

Minutes later, the heavy velvet curtain of the fitting room swooshed open. Lila stepped out into the center of the showroom. She looked coy, flushed, and victorious. Her grin was sweeter than candy. The breathtaking custom gown hugged her curves perfectly, looking as though it had been meant for her all along.

Sloane tilted her head toward Dorian, her smile cold as ice.

"Doesn't she look stunning?"

Dorian kept his face like thunder. He refused to glance over at the girl in the dress. His voice dropped to a deep, dangerous register.

"Sloane, what game are you playing here?"

Sloane ignored him. She cradled the steaming ceramic cup of dark coffee in her hands and stood up. She sauntered calmly toward Lila.

As she closed the distance, Lila instinctively panicked. She flung her hands up to shield her face, clearly expecting a scalding splash of violence.

But no burn came. Sloane did not aim for her face.

Instead, shocked gasps erupted from the staff as Sloane tipped the cup forward. She methodically and deliberately dumped the dark, staining liquid directly over the pristine white fabric of the custom dress. The hot coffee soaked instantly into the expensive silk, marring it permanently with deep, stubborn brown stains.

Staffers swarmed forward with tissues, dabbing frantically at the ruined silk, but the dark spots spread fast.

Lila dropped her hands and stared down at the expensive gown, her face draining of all color. She stood frozen in place, trembling and clueless.

Sloane fixed her with a blank stare, her voice dripping with pure contempt.

"How exactly do you plan to give back something this trashed and expect it to be 'good as new'?"

Dorian's face darkened completely. The storm of fury finally broke in his eyes. He marched across the floor and snatched Sloane's wrist with bruising force. He forcefully yanked her toward the exit door, desperate to end the public spectacle.

In a swift, desperate, and purely instinctual motion, Sloane twisted her body. She planted her feet firmly on the polished floor, swung her free hand, and slapped him sharply and violently right across the cheek.

The deafening smack echoed off the boutique walls like a gunshot.

It plunged the room into a deathly silence.

No one in Oakhaven dared humiliate the powerful, untouchable Dorian Hayes. Striking him across the face in public was unimaginable.

Sloane held her ground. She had thrown her entire weight into the strike. Her palm buzzed with a hot, painful numbness. She braced herself physically against his brutal, ice-cold glare, her pulse racing wildly. The power gap between them was massive. She fully expected his terrifying wrath to rain down on her.

Dorian stared at her. The lethal silence stretched, thick and suffocating. The shop staff averted their eyes, terrified of his impending fury. Even Lila did not dare breathe.

Then, Dorian's gaze flickered. He noticed her rapidly fluttering lashes and the slight, undeniable tremor in her defensive stance.

He exhaled softly. The explosive anger mysteriously drained from his rigid posture.

He released her bruised wrist. He slid his arm right back around her waist, pulling her flush against him in a horrifyingly intimate gesture. He leaned down, his voice dropping to a hushed, unsettling tone.

"Feeling any better?"