XSTORIES4U: Tales of Love, Lies, and Betrayal - Book 2

Part 10 Her 'Cousin' Revealed a Shocking Betrayal!

At our 10th anniversary party, my wife introduced a man as her "cousin," but the moment their lips lingered a little too long, my stomach twisted with suspicion. The room spun as I watched them, their eyes locking in a way that screamed anything but familial. Later that night, I confronted her, and she broke down, confessing that he'd been her lover for the past year. My mind raced, replaying every late-night "work meeting" and unexplained weekend trip. Betrayal clawed at my heart, but the shock didn't stop there. As I packed my bags, ready to leave, she revealed the final blow: she'd fallen for him because he was everything I used to be—passionate, attentive, and unbroken by life's grind. It wasn't just an affair; it was a reflection of what I'd lost in myself. As I walked out the door, I realized the fight wasn't just with her betrayal, but with the version of me I'd thought I'd left behind long ago. The version of me that had once been vibrant, full of ambition and fire, but had slowly withered under the weight of life's relentless demands. Her words echoed in my mind as I drove through the rain-soaked streets, the rhythmic beat of the wipers unable to drown out the chaos inside me.

The first few days were a blur. I stayed in a hotel, numb to everything but the burning sensation of betrayal. I went through the motions—ate food that tasted like cardboard, stared at the muted TV, and slept fitfully. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't stop thinking about what she had said. Was I really the cause? Had I changed so much that I had driven her into the arms of another man? Or was she simply deflecting blame to ease her own guilt?

It wasn't until a week later, when I found myself standing outside the house we once shared, that things started to shift. I wasn't there to talk to her, though. I couldn't bear to see her face, not yet. I was there for something else—answers, clarity, anything to make sense of this mess.

I walked around the back of the house and found the key we'd hidden under the flowerpot for years. As I let myself in, the familiar creak of the floorboards greeted me, and for a moment, I hesitated. Everything in the house was as we'd left it—the photos of us on the walls, the small trinkets from our vacations, the life we had built together over a decade. And yet, it all felt foreign now, as though I were trespassing in someone else's home.

I headed straight for the office, where she kept her laptop. My mind was racing with suspicion. The "cousin" story had been a lie, and I couldn't shake the feeling that there was more she wasn't telling me. If she'd been unfaithful for an entire year, what else could she be hiding?

I found her laptop on the desk and, after a few wrong guesses, managed to crack her password. My heart raced as I sifted through her emails, searching for anything that could offer some insight into the man who had turned my world upside down.

And then I found it—an email thread that froze my blood. It wasn't the messages between her and him that caught my attention; it was an entirely different thread. Emails exchanged with a law firm. My wife had been making plans. Not for a divorce, not to leave me for her lover—but for something darker.

The subject line read: "Life insurance and estate planning updates."

I scrolled through the emails, my hands trembling as I pieced together the horrifying truth. Over the past several months, she had taken out a significant life insurance policy on me. One that far exceeded any practical amount. The final email, dated just a few days before our anniversary, confirmed that everything was in order. The policy was active.

The details of her betrayal took on a sinister new shape. The lingering kiss, the eyes that screamed something more than familial—they weren't just signs of an affair. They were signs of something far more calculated, more dangerous. This wasn't just about love lost or passions reignited. This was about money. And I was in the way.

My hands shook as I realized the extent of her plan. She wasn't just cheating—she was preparing to end me. Slowly, methodically, ensuring that once I was gone, she and her lover would be set for life.

I slammed the laptop shut, my mind racing. I had to get out of there, had to think. But as I turned to leave, I heard the soft creak of the front door opening. She was home.

Panic surged through me as I tried to decide what to do. Confront her? Pretend I hadn't seen anything? My heart pounded as her footsteps echoed down the hall.

"Aiden?" her voice called out, too sweet, too normal, as if nothing had happened. "Are you here?"

I stood frozen for a moment before forcing myself to step out of the office. "Yeah, I came to grab a few things," I said, my voice barely steady.

She smiled, but there was something in her eyes—something calculating, predatory. "I'm glad you're here. We need to talk."

My heart thudded painfully in my chest as I nodded, trying to keep my expression neutral. "Sure. Let's talk."

We sat down in the living room, the same room where we'd once celebrated anniversaries and birthdays, where we'd shared so many moments of our life together. Now it felt like a stage, and I was playing a role in a deadly game I didn't fully understand.

"I've been thinking," she began, her voice soft, almost soothing. "About us. About everything that's happened. And I just want you to know... I'm sorry. For the affair. For hurting you."

Her apology was hollow, insincere. I could see the lie behind her eyes. She wasn't sorry—not for the affair, not for what she had done. She was stalling.

As she spoke, I remembered the life insurance policy, the emails. This woman, the one sitting across from me, wasn't the person I had married. She was a stranger, someone capable of planning my death while looking me in the eyes.

I had two choices: confront her here and now, or play along, pretend I didn't know, and find a way to protect myself. Every instinct screamed at me to confront her, to demand answers. But something in me—a survival instinct I didn't know I had—told me to wait. To gather more information. To stay one step ahead of her.

So I nodded, pretending to accept her apology. "I understand," I said, forcing the words out. "We've both made mistakes."

Her eyes flickered with something I couldn't quite place—surprise, maybe. Or relief. "I'm glad you see it that way," she said, her voice sweetening. "Maybe we can still fix this."

But as I looked at her, sitting there with her saccharine smile and her cold, calculating eyes, I knew there was no fixing this. Not anymore. She had planned to kill me, and I couldn't let her know that I knew.

I had to play the game.