I wasn’t supposed to be at Erica’s wedding. But when the invitation came—my younger sister marrying my ex-fiancé—I knew I had to go. Not to cry. Not to mourn. But to make sure she never forgot what she did.
Erica always had everything handed to her—looks, attention, our parents’ favor. And a year ago, she took one more thing: Stan, my fiancé. I walked in on them together. Her smug words still haunt me: “I won, Paige. Checkmate.”
Now, she was the blushing bride. Gold and ivory decorations, fancy guests, smiles all around. But beneath the perfection? A lie. One I was about to expose.
During the reception, I quietly slipped to the projector, plugged in my flash drive, and let the truth roll.
First, security footage from my home: Stan begging me for forgiveness, saying Erica meant nothing. Then more clips—timestamped betrayals. Erica laughing in my bed: “She’ll never know.” Stan joining in: “Paige who?”
