ALEX'S POV
My mind hadn't been at rest since this morning. The image of my fiancé, Angel, walking in on me, catching me having sex with her best friend was a relentless, sickening loop.
It wasn't just the sordid act; it was the total, catastrophic destruction of everything we had built.
The truth, as I see it, is that I genuinely love Angel with all my heart. Ever since I met her five years ago, while she was helping her mother sell fruit on Doyers Street, I had remained completely faithful. I invested everything in her potential. I enrolled her at Columbia University to study business administration, and yes, I would often visit her on campus whenever my needs arose.
This morning began mundanely enough. My housekeeper woke me up early to complain that the kitchen's table cooker was broken. I had to quickly dress and take the broken appliance to the repair shop myself.
It was on my way back home that I saw Annabelle. Angel had just introduced her to me yesterday as her dearest, lifelong friend, who had returned specifically for the preparation of our upcoming wedding.
"Hello, pretty. Where are you heading this early morning?" I called out, pulling my car alongside her.
She smiled brightly when she realized it was me, recognizing the vehicle.
"My shower isn't working, and you know Angel's apartment is quite a drive from here. So, I was heading to a nearby hotel, probably just to use their swimming pool."
"You can come over to my house and take your shower," I suggested, pulling the car onto the curb. "Why suffer the risk and stress of paying for a hotel just for a shower? Besides, Angel told me she paid five hundred dollars for your temporary apartment; why wouldn't the plumbing be working?" I asked this last part with genuine curiosity.
"Don't really know what's wrong with it," she replied simply, opening the door and sliding into the passenger seat.
I was intensely attracted to her—her striking beauty and flawless skin were immediately arresting. To make matters worse, she was wearing a remarkably short skirt that revealed most of her thighs, nearly bordering on indecent exposure.
Annabelle possessed a more pronounced figure and larger curves than Angel, and the thought of how good she might be in bed immediately lodged itself in my mind.
I drove into my private mansion and parked in the car port. We both followed the path into my room, and I pointed toward the en-suite bathroom.
"Make yourself comfortable in there," I instructed, before sitting down at my desk, pretending to check new messages on my laptop.
She got inside the bathroom and pulled off her clothes, taking a long, luxurious bath.
When she was done, she emerged wrapped only in my large bath towel, carrying her damp clothes.
Then, she pulled a small jar of cream from her handbag and began deliberately applying it to her skin, exposing tantalizing glimpses of her nakedness as she moved.
I couldn't resist the temptation any longer. I stood up and moved behind her, placing my hands firmly on her breasts. She neither stopped me nor questioned my actions.
Taking that as implicit permission, I immediately dragged her to the bed, and we began what felt inevitable.
Determined to spend more hours with Annabelle, even after our wonderful, illicit session, I realized Angel might arrive at any moment.
I suggested we move our activities to a hotel, to which Annabelle readily agreed.
I took her to The City Choice Hotel. There, we encountered two other women—hookup girls—and on a dangerous impulse, I invited them up to the room as well.
We were completely lost in a deep, chaotic moment when the door burst open. Angel stood there, witnessing the entire scene—me, Annabelle, and the other girls.
I tried desperately to offer an apology, to explain, but she clearly wasn't listening. She declared that everything was over—the relationship, the engagement, the wedding that was only days away. I honestly registered her declaration as the joke of the year.
Yes, I knew I was at fault, but she couldn't simply end our relationship like this. I was the one who had financed and cultivated this entire union with my resources; I should be the one to determine its conclusion, not her.
Now, hours later, I lay on my expensive bed, deeply disturbed and wrestling with the entire humiliating disaster. I tried relentlessly to reach Angel, texting her and calling her private number, but her line remained stubbornly disconnected.
I decided to stop fighting the inevitable darkness of the room, hoping that sleep would erase the day's events. I would confront her tomorrow and demand an explanation for why she felt the need to switch off her phone and abandon my calls like this.