The Ultimate Betrayal: My Fiancé And Sister Filmed My Rape For A Headline Chapter 03
Vivian sent the crew out. Then she sat on the edge of my bed.
“I’m doing this for you, Claire,” she whispered, leaning in close. “You have to trust me. Otherwise, nobody will ever believe what those men did to you.”
The lie tasted like ash.
It was the same tone she used when we were kids, forcing me to swallow whatever she’d chosen for me.
Not anymore. I was done swallowing it.
I reached down and pulled the IV out. A thin line of blood ran down my wrist. I didn’t wipe it away.
I shoved her away from me, hard.
She flew backward into the stainless-steel supply cart.
“Vivian!”
Nate burst into the room before the cart even stopped rattling. He lunged toward her.
So quick. Nothing like the man that night. The night I was raped.
“Hey. Hey, look at me. Are you hurt?”
He frantically peeled her collar back to check her shoulder.
His hands were trembling, his touch impossibly light and careful as he searched her skin.
Then he turned his head and looked at me with pure disgust.
“After everything she’s done for you,” he hissed, his voice shaking. “You lay your hands on her?”
The sharp smell of blood filled the small room.
I remembered the kitchen knife that sliced my palm open two years ago.
Nate had been so pale, his hands shaking so hard he couldn’t even open the gauze wrapper.
Today, those same hands were shaking. Just not for me.
I lay back on the stiff sheets, staring at the ceiling.
He didn’t say another word. He just helped Vivian up and walked her out, leaving me alone in the quiet.
Then the room was flooded.
Reporters, cameras, flashing lights—a blur of faces pushing through the door.
The rest of the day was a blur.
All I remember was the questions. Over and over. The same one：What did it feel like to be raped?
By morning, my face was on every screen.
There was no sympathy.
My phone buzzed relentlessly against the hospital mattress, lighting up the dark room with notification after notification:
“She was barely dressed, out in the middle of nowhere. What did she expect.”
“Way too calm telling that story. Kind of gross, honestly.”
“You can’t get raped for dressing modest, just saying.”
I pressed my palm flat over the screen, trying to stifle the vibrations, but the heat of the phone seeped into my hand.
On the wall-mounted TV opposite my bed, Nate and Vivian were heroes.
The screen showed them standing behind a podium, bathed in a warm, golden spotlight.
“Vivian’s courage is inspiring. She’s being so protective of her sister through this tragedy.”
“None of this happens without her fiancé, Nate, backing her up. That’s real love.”
The studio applause poured out of the tiny TV speaker.
I pulled the scratchy, sterile blanket over my face, curling my knees to my chest to shut out the sound.
Then the comments started shifting. They were a couple now.
Pink hearts was bubbling up my screen.
“Turns out Nate’s been funding her investigative work anonymously for five years. That is true romance.”
“Pretty sure that’s her in his old silhouette photo. Same jawline.”
My ribs tightened. I couldn’t get a full breath of air.
Five years ago, in our tiny, drafty apartment, Vivian had confessed she was falling for a mystery donor.
I had held her hand, telling her to go for it. Telling her not to miss her shot at love.
That donor turned out… Nate.
The entire time.
Five years of my relationship with him. A lie.
They had taken the horror of what happened to me, packaged it, and sold it to build their own happy ending.
That night, I tore the plastic hospital band from my wrist, walking out into the cold rain.
I booked a flight on my phone, and took a cab straight to Vivian’s old apartment to get the last of my things.
The key turned in the lock with a heavy click. I pushed the door open.
The warm smell of baby powder and vanilla hit me. Then, the frantic patter of small, bare feet slapping against the hardwood floor.
A toddler came hurtling around the corner, her tiny arms outstretched as she slammed into my knees.
“Mommy!”