When Love Turned into Betrayal

Chapter 5: The Vow

"On the couch." I closed my eyes, but the image was burned into my brain. "He was... his shirt was off. Her dress was..." I couldn't finish.

"Okay." Harper wrote it down. "Did they say anything that indicated how long this has been going on?"

"No. But when I asked, Ethan wouldn't answer. And the way they moved together..." I opened my eyes. "Harper, it wasn't new. They'd done this before. I could tell."

She nodded, still writing. "Your wedding. Five years ago. Do you remember anything suspicious?"

And there it was. The question I'd been avoiding.

I thought back. Layla in her bridesmaid dress. Laughing with Ethan at the reception. Dancing with him. I'd thought it was sweet. Thought it meant they'd accepted each other as family.

"She asked to dance with him," I said slowly. "I remember because I thought it was nice. She said she wanted to officially welcome him to the family."

Harper's pen stopped moving. "And?"

"And they danced for three songs. I didn't think anything of it at the time. But now..." I pressed my hands to my face. "God, were they already involved then? At my wedding?"

"We don't know." Harper's voice was careful. "But we can find out. Photos. Videos. Someone recorded everything. We can look for evidence."

The thought made me sick. Searching through my wedding photos for proof that my husband and sister were already betraying me.

"I can't do this," I whispered.

"You can." Harper set the notebook down, took my hand. "I know you can. Because you're the strongest person I know. And because you have me. You've always had me."

I looked at her. Really looked at her. My best friend since freshman year of college. The person who'd held my hair when I got food poisoning. Who'd helped me study for finals. Who'd been my maid of honor at that cursed wedding. Who'd never once, in all these years, let me down.

"I don't deserve you," I said.

"Shut up. Yes, you do." She squeezed my hand. "And you know what else you deserve? Revenge."

"Revenge?"

"Sweet, beautiful, perfectly legal revenge." Her smile was wicked. "We're going to take everything from them. His reputation. His assets. Her social standing. All of it."

"How?"

"I don't know yet." She picked up her wine glass. "But we'll figure it out. That's what tomorrow is for. Tonight is for wine and ice cream and remembering that you're Violet f*****g Carter, and you bow to no one."

I almost smiled. Almost.

My phone lit up on the coffee table. Another call. Another message. The world outside this apartment was moving on, spreading the news, crafting narratives about my life.

But in here, wrapped in blankets on Harper's couch, wine in hand and my best friend beside me, I felt something shift.

The woman who'd walked into that penthouse tonight was gone. The naive, trusting wife who'd believed in happily ever after.

But maybe that was okay.

Maybe that woman had been holding me back all along.

I picked up my phone. Looked at all the messages. The missed calls. The chaos.

Then I opened the photo gallery. Found the picture I'd taken tonight.

Ethan and Layla. Proof.

"Harper?"

"Yeah?"

"Tomorrow," I said, and my voice was steady now. Clear. "Tomorrow, we go to war."

She raised her wine glass. "Tomorrow, we go to war."

We clinked glasses, and in that moment, I made myself a promise.

They wanted to break me? They'd just created their worst nightmare.

Because Violet Carter wasn't broken.

She was just getting started.

I woke up to the smell of coffee and the sound of Harper's voice, low and angry, coming from the kitchen.

"No, I don't care what your policy is. She needs an emergency appointment today... Yes, I understand you're booked... Well, unbook someone. This is a crisis."

I sat up slowly. My head was pounding, my eyes felt like sandpaper, and for one blissful second, I didn't remember why I was on Harper's couch wrapped in three blankets.

Then it all came rushing back.

Ethan. Layla. The couch. Her perfume. His hands. The rain. The collapse.

Everything.

"Morning." Harper appeared in the doorway, two mugs of coffee in hand. She looked tired, like maybe she hadn't slept much either. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I got hit by a truck," I said. My voice was hoarse from crying. "Who were you yelling at?"

"Marcus Hale's office." She handed me a mug. "He's supposedly the best divorce lawyer in the city. I'm trying to get you an appointment."

"Harper, I don't..." I stopped. Took a sip of coffee. It was strong and black, exactly how I needed it. "I don't even know if I can afford the best divorce lawyer in the city."

"You can't afford not to." She sat down beside me, her own mug cradled in both hands. "Ethan's going to lawyer up. You know he will. He'll get the most aggressive, most ruthless attorney money can buy, and he'll try to destroy you. You need someone who can fight back."

The thought made my stomach turn. Lawyers. Court. Divorce. The word felt foreign, impossible. Yesterday morning I'd been married. Happily married, I'd thought. And now I was talking about divorce attorneys.

"I can't believe this is my life," I whispered.

"I know." Harper's hand found mine. "But it is. And we have to deal with it. Starting with getting you legal representation."

My phone started ringing. Again. I'd turned it off silent sometime around three in the morning after the fiftieth notification, but Harper must have turned it back on.

Ethan calling.

"Don't answer it," Harper said immediately.

"I'm not." I watched it ring, watched his name flash across the screen. The man I'd promised forever to. The man who'd broken every promise he'd ever made. "I have nothing to say to him."

The ringing stopped. Started again immediately.

This time it was Layla.

Then Victoria.

Then Ethan again.

"Jesus Christ," Harper muttered. She grabbed my phone, scrolled through the notifications. "Fifty-three missed calls. Seventy-eight text messages. And..." Her eyes widened. "Holy shit."

"What?"

She turned the phone toward me. Social media was exploding. My name was trending. Photos of me leaving the apartment last night, hair wet, face destroyed, suitcase in hand. Photos of Ethan and Layla going back inside. Headlines screaming about betrayal, affairs, family drama.

And worst of all, a statement. Posted on Layla's i********: an hour ago.

I clicked on it, my hands shaking so badly I almost dropped the phone.

I want to address the rumors circulating about me and my family. Yes, I made a terrible mistake. Yes, I got involved with someone I shouldn't have. But I was manipulated by someone I trusted, someone in a position of power over me. I'm a victim too, and I hope my sister can find it in her heart to forgive me.

"Victim?" The word came out like venom. "She's calling herself a victim?"

Harper's face was murderous. "Keep reading."

I scrolled down to the comments. Thousands of them. And the majority... the majority were sympathizing with her.

Poor girl, being taken advantage of by her sister's husband

He's the real villain here, not her

Sisters should support each other, especially when men try to tear them apart

"This can't be happening." I felt dizzy. "They're buying it. They actually believe her."

"Of course they do." Harper took the phone back, her jaw tight. "She posted first. She controlled the narrative. Made herself look like the innocent young girl seduced by the big bad older man."

"But I have proof!" I was on my feet now, pacing. "I have the photo. I have evidence of what they were doing."

"And we'll use it." Harper stood too, blocking my path. "But not yet. Not when you're emotional and they can paint you as the vindictive ex trying to destroy an innocent girl."

"Innocent?" I wanted to scream. "She was screwing my husband in my home and she's innocent?"

"In the court of public opinion? Right now? Yes." Harper grabbed my shoulders. "Listen to me. I know it's not fair. I know it's f****d up. But if you post that photo right now, they'll spin it. They'll say you're slutshaming her. That you're blaming the woman instead of the man. That you're the jealous older sister who can't handle not being the favorite anymore."

Every word felt like a knife. Because I could see it. Could see exactly how they'd twist it.

"So what am I supposed to do?" My voice broke. "Just let her win?"

"No." Harper's eyes were fierce. "You let her think she's winning. Then you destroy her so completely she'll wish she'd never heard your name."

A knock at the door interrupted us. Harper checked her phone. "That'll be breakfast. I ordered from that place you like."

She went to answer it while I stood there, trying to process everything. The media storm. The lies. The narrative already spinning out of my control.

This was my life now. This was what they'd reduced me to.

Harper came back with bags of food, but I couldn't eat. Couldn't even look at it. My stomach was twisted in knots.

"You need to eat something," she said gently.

"I need to go back." The words came out before I'd fully formed the thought. "To the apartment. I need... I left things there. Important things."

"Like what?"

"Documents. From my dad's company. Some jewelry my mom left me. I can't just leave it all there with him."

Harper considered this. "Okay. But I'm coming with you."

"Harper..."

"Non-negotiable." She was already grabbing her jacket. "You're not facing him alone. Not after last night."

We took an Uber back to the apartment. My hands were shaking the entire ride. I kept thinking about walking back into that space, seeing that couch, breathing air that still held traces of what happened.