Part 28 Two Men, One Woman: A Love Triangle Unraveled!

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I was living in blissful ignorance, wrapped up in the romance of my relationship, until a man knocked on my door, introducing himself as my girlfriend's husband. My heart dropped as he demanded a divorce from her, saying he'd grown tired of her lies and wanted to start anew. My mind raced as I replayed the last year: the weekend trips she took alone, the unexplained phone calls, the late-night "work meetings." It all started to make sense, yet none of it did. I confronted her, feeling the ground shift beneath me, as she confessed to a double life I never saw coming. Her tears were real, but so were her betrayals. She'd married him in a whirlwind, thinking it was love, and then met me, realizing too late what she truly wanted. Torn between anger and heartbreak, I was left standing in my doorway, staring at the man whose life mirrored my own deception. In that moment, I realized we both had been living in the same lie—two men loving the same woman who had spun a web of deceit so intricate, none of us saw it unraveling until it was too late. The weight of her dual lives crushed both of us equally, and I could see the exhaustion in his eyes, the same exhaustion I felt deep in my bones.

But just as the pieces started falling into place, the story took an unexpected turn.

"Look," her husband said, running a hand through his disheveled hair, "I didn't just come here for a divorce. I need to warn you." His tone was grave, and the way his voice lowered made the hairs on my neck stand up.

"Warn me?" I asked, my heart still pounding.

"She's dangerous," he said. "You think I want a divorce because she lied? No, it's more than that. I've seen what she can do." He glanced over his shoulder nervously, as if expecting her to appear out of thin air. "The people who get close to her... they don't end well."

At first, I thought he was just being dramatic, maybe trying to shift the blame or paint himself as the victim. But there was a chill in his words that I couldn't shake.

"What are you saying? That she's some kind of... psychopath?" I asked, half-laughing to mask my growing unease.

He shook his head slowly. "It's worse than that. People she gets involved with end up... disappearing. Or worse." He swallowed hard. "She was married before me. I only found out after we were together. Her ex-husband? Gone. No trace. The police ruled it an accident, but I know better. And now... here you are."

My heart felt like it had stopped. I thought back to those nights when she stared out the window, lost in thought. The way she avoided certain questions about her past, brushing them off with charming half-truths. Suddenly, it wasn't just the lies that unsettled me—it was the unknown darkness lurking beneath them.

"She loves control," he continued. "And when she feels like she's losing it—when someone starts pulling away—that's when she becomes dangerous. I tried to leave before, and she..." He trailed off, leaving the sentence unfinished, but the implication hung heavy between us.

I could feel my blood run cold. Could this really be true? Could the woman I had loved for the past year—who laughed with me, held me, made me feel alive—be capable of something this sinister?

At that moment, the sound of a key turning in the front door shattered the silence between us. My girlfriend—or whoever she truly was—walked in, carrying a grocery bag and smiling like nothing was wrong. But when she saw us standing there together, her face shifted ever so slightly—just enough for me to catch a flicker of something cold, something calculating.

"Well, this is unexpected," she said, her voice smooth as silk. She placed the grocery bag on the counter with deliberate calm, her eyes scanning the room like a predator assessing her prey.

"You told him everything, didn't you?" she asked her husband without a hint of emotion. He tensed, as if knowing that his answer wouldn't change what was coming next.

"I had to," he whispered. "He deserves to know."

She turned to me, her expression unreadable. "And what about you?" she asked softly. "Do you believe him? Or do you still believe me?"

It felt like the air had been sucked out of the room. My mind whirled with doubt, fear, and anger. Every instinct told me to run, to get as far away from her as possible. But another part of me—a dangerous, irrational part—still longed for her, still clung to the memories we had shared.

"I..." I hesitated, not knowing what to say.

Her smile returned, colder than before. "It's okay," she whispered, stepping closer to me. "I know it's hard to choose. But don't worry." She glanced at her husband, her eyes gleaming with something dark and final. "I'll make it easy for both of you."

Before either of us could react, she reached into the grocery bag and pulled out a small, sharp knife. Her husband lunged forward, trying to stop her, but it was too late. With terrifying precision, she plunged the knife into his chest, twisting it as he gasped for air and collapsed to the floor.

I froze, paralyzed by the horror unfolding before my eyes. She turned to me, wiping the blood off her hands with a dishtowel, her expression eerily serene.

"You see," she said, her voice almost soothing, "I've learned that love isn't about who you choose. It's about who survives."

I stumbled backward, my mind racing. I needed to escape, to call for help, to do something—but my feet felt like they were glued to the floor.

She smiled again, as if sensing my hesitation. "Don't worry," she whispered, stepping closer until we were inches apart. "You'll get used to it. Just like he did."

And then she kissed me—softly, tenderly, like nothing had happened at all.

In that moment, I realized the truth: There was no way out. I was already trapped in her world, and the only question that remained was how long I would survive.

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