The Ultimate Betrayal: My Fiancé And Sister Filmed My Rape For A Headline Chapter 06
My fingers slid across the tray in the dark, slick and trembling. I found the phone.
My thumb slipped across the screen, wet, sticky, leaving streaks behind it.
I called Nate.
Nothing.
I called Vivian.
Nothing.
The operator’s voice came through, flat and mechanical, over and over.
Each ring in my ear felt like cold water dripping down the back of my neck.
My thumb slipped again on the wet screen. The screen changed, not the dialer, not the contacts.
The home security app opened. My last way out.
I didn’t understand what I was seeing at first. Just movement. Until I saw them.
On the screen, Nate and Vivian were tangled in our sheets. Kissing. Moaning. Gasping.
The sheets shifting. His was inside her, thrusting.
Then I heard him.
“The baby’s fine. Just a normal fever.”
“Since Claire can’t stand having that kid around, I’ll just sign the marriage certificate over to you. Give our daughter a real family.”
“She always listens to me in the end anyway, She won’t leave.” He murmured. There was a soft, wet sound—him repositioning her.
My stomach turned. The wetness beneath me was still spreading. Warm, slow, pooling against my chest, soaking through my shirt.
I didn’t feel the pain anymore. I didn’t feel much of anything.
Then—
Above me, a shadow shifted.
The brick came down again. This time I heard his voice. Close. Sharp.Snarling.
“Going back on your word, you filthy bitch—”
The impact was louder than the last one.
I didn’t feel it, not really. There was just pressure, then a crack.
Then the sound of it was echoing somewhere inside my skull. Like a stone dropped into deep water.
Blood poured out. From my head. From under my legs. From everywhere.
Yet the man didn’t stop.
The brick came down again. And again.
Each blow landed somewhere. My shoulder, my ribs, the side of my head.
I stopped being able to tell which was which.
Or I stopped feeling the hits.
His breathing was above me, then far away, then close again. With the moans of Nate and Vivian.
I counted the gaps between each blow. If I could still count, I was still awake.
Some gaps were short. Some were long. The long ones let the blood pool in my mouth before the next hit came.
Then even that stopped.
Or I stopped hearing it.
In the last moment, right before I blacked out, the phone slid from my palm.
The screen was still lit. Still playing.
Moans and the rustle of sheets echoed, their figures swaying on my wedding bed. The one I had chosen for us.
Minutes passed. Or hours. It didn’t matter. At some point, it stopped.
Nate appeared in the living room. White shirt. Buttoned. Hair still wet at the ends.
He picked up his phone. The screen lit up—a long list of missed calls. All from me.
His thumb hovered over my name.
Then the phone in his hand buzzed. He paused, looking at the screen.
A strange number. A clinic number.
“Mr. Hale? Your fiancée Claire’s been attacked. She’s critical. Please get to the clinic NOW!”
“What?”
Nate froze, his face going deathly pale.