The Ultimate Betrayal: My Fiancé And Sister Filmed My Rape For A Headline Chapter 01
Before my wedding, I was raped.
Yet my fiancé and my sister stood in the corner, filming.
The concrete floor scraped my cheek. The room reeked of blood and stale sweat.
When those men left my body, they finally stepped closer.
“Did you get the footage? Is it clean?”
Nate’s voice drifted from the shadows. In French. The language he thought I didn’t understand.
“Yeah,”Vivian answered, her French soft, almost pitying. “But… doesn’t this feel wrong? Doing this to Claire.”
“Leave her.” Nate’s voice dropped. The warmth was gone.
“The guys were just acting. They didn’t actually touch her. If I let it slide, she’s fine.”
“Don’t worry. The most important thing is that if you break this story, you win a Pulitzer.”
The cold from the floor seeped straight into my bones.
“What…” My throat felt like sandpaper, the words barely a dry scrape. “What were you two saying?”
Nate knelt beside me, his thumb wiping my tears. With a practiced and terrifying tenderness.
“We were talking about your case, sweetheart.”
“We need your sister to report this. It’s the only way we make them pay.”
With that, he stood up, turning his spine on me to face Vivian again.
He seamlessly slided back into French. To plot how to milk the story for maximum coverage.
He was so sure I couldn’t understand.
Yet they had no clue. I’d spent a year secretly learning French. all for entering the private world they shared right in front of me.
And now, in this dark, smelling room, I understood every single word.
Both of them, ripping my life apart in perfect, bilingual harmony.
…
My feet didn’t feel the pavement outside. I only knew I was moving.
Then, suddenly, I was there. The news station.
Under the blinding studio lights, Vivian sat in a high-backed chair, delicately dabbing her eyes for the camera lens.
“What happened to my sister… it breaks my heart. As a reporter, I will use everything I have to get her justice.”
The crack in her voice was flawlessly timed.
Nate stood just beyond the edge of the hot white lights, waiting.
When the cue hit, he stepped smoothly into the frame.
“My fiancée has been through an unspeakable trauma. I’m begging the media to respect her privacy. Let her heal in her own time.”
“And please, support Vivian’s coverage. She is our voice.”
The crew and onlookers in the studio erupted in applause.
They had packaged the worst night of my life and sold it as a prime-time exclusive.
I leaned my palm against the glass wall. It felt freezing, but my skin was colder.
A deep breath. I pushed the door open. It swung back, slamming hard against the drywall.
The applause died instantly. Every head in the room turned.
Nate’s face went white.
“Claire?”
His voice wavered, stepping out of the shot toward me.
“What are you doing here? You… you should be resting. You’re in no condition to be out.”
His fingers clamped onto my elbow. A heavy, suffocating pressure trying to steer me back into the dark hallway.
I didn’t step forward.
I pulled my arm out of his grasp, slowly, stepping further into the bright, hot center of the room.
“I heard it. That night.” The words tasted like ash. “Everything you two said.”
Nate went rigid.