Off Limit: Fucked by My Ex-fiancé's Step-Dad

ya'

idal suite reflected

The dress was everything I imagined since I was sixteen-ivory satin hugging my waist, layers of tulle falling like soft clouds to t

le tugging at my lips. Ten years

ter my stepmother Elaine had screamed at me for breathing too loudly, how he'd parked under the streetlight and held me until the shaking stopped. I remembered the way he

brings "good luck" with her beauty and modeling gigs. Tristan, my father, stayed silent in the background,

proof beca

tered for ju

ld have

e house like she owned it, favoring Helene in every way, new clothes, modeling lessons, praise that dripped like honey. I became the shadow: the one who cleaned up after Helene's tantrum

dma still managed to hold my hand during visits and whisper, "You're strong, my girl. Stronger than they know." I had spent countless ni

irloom necklace

every day. Inside was a tiny photo of ba

own the aisle instead of him. I wish Grandma could stand up, even for

d-mom proud, Grandma clapping her thin hands. The

ng invisible. No more being the leftov

pulled me fro

ugh the door-low, and formal, the wa

of the gown one last time, took a s

ing older than I remembered. His eyes flicked

ut coming from him

nyway. "Tha

e silk of his sleeve cool against my skin. Together

scene-fashion executives, billionaires, socialites, brand representatives whose names appeared

like a pr

Voss finally lo

y to have someone lik

helbel's Canon in D, soft strings filling the room. My

is t

-strewn aisle. Guests stood.

I reached

ant smiled

uartet softe

yes searchi

sn't

faltered o

ed. Then minutes.

his throat. "Perhaps

t at first, then spr

s the g

ust... le

-left at th

e her and she's the one fo

he empty spot where Dylan should have been. My stepmom sat in the front ro

der. Someone gave a

ike a dream now felt like a cage. My chest

really

is. Not Dylan. No

inutes ke

till was

ted racing fa

ldn't stand there another second while

to fi

t the shocked faces, past the flashing phones, past my father's outstr

to fin

to kno

n the toilet

should be

the reception below. I moved quickly, heels clicking

en I h

s against the wall. A wo

opped. It was

door open wit

Dylan, naked, entangled with a woman whose long auburn hair spilled across the pillows, his hips driving into her

d. It was Helene. My step sister. My own flesh and blood, writhing ben

ezed painfull

t notice m

to the sight of my fiancé buried ins

ped her throat was

was e

open. A slow, wicked

ng to stop moving against Dylan

lder still thrusting, his e

, almost casuall