I Erased The Cheating Groom

Twenty years of knowing Rhys.

On the eve of our wedding, he sent me a message:

“I’m doing this with someone else right now. You want to hear it?”

The text was merely a warning.

Before I could process the words, Rhys immediately started a video call.

My reflex was to smash the screen to hang up. The tremor in my hand shocked even me.

Call after call came in.

The last one was a 60-second voice note.

The instant I pressed play, the unbearable sounds shredded my eardrums.

In total despair, I texted Rhys:

“Why?”

Rhys replied, his breathing still ragged:

“We’ve done it so many times secretly, and you never noticed. It was getting boring.”

The wedding dress I’d spent hours organizing, the one that lay on the bed, seemed to instantly deflate, transforming into a pile of cheap cloth.

1

Five minutes later, a loud knock rattled my hotel room door.

Rhys stood outside, his collar undone, a glaring, crimson mark on his neck.

He had been in the room right next to mine, with another woman.

Yet I had been completely oblivious; he had to tell me himself.

When he saw my red-rimmed eyes, he let out a short, dismissive laugh.

“Anya, you’re so dense. How are you ever going to be my wife?”

My voice shook as I asked him:

“How long?”

Rhys sighed, sounding genuinely weary.

“I thought I was deliberately leaving so many clues for you.”

“The day we went dress shopping? The minute you went into the changing room, I said work called me away. Really, the girl was throwing a fit and needed me to placate her.”

“She’s not like you—she’s not a good girl. She always gives me a headache.”

He said ‘headache,’ but the smirk never left his face.

I had felt something was wrong.

I have severe psychological trauma. For twenty years, Rhys was the only person I could tolerate being near.

I hadn’t wanted a wedding at all, but Rhys insisted. He said he wanted to see me in a white dress, which is why we started planning a small, intimate ceremony just for us. He’d been so excited to go with me to pick out the gown.

But on that day, he’d rushed off before he ever saw me put it on.

“All those photos you sent me later? The ones of you trying on the dresses? I didn’t look at any of them. She picked this one out for you.”

“So, what do you think? Happy with her choice?”

A thick, invisible hand seemed to grip my throat, suffocating any sound.

Rhys walked in without waiting for an invitation, his fingers brushing the train of the gown.

“Well, looks like she wasn’t focused when she picked it. This dress is pretty mediocre.”

The custom-made, illuminated monogram on the wall glowed crimson, threatening to bleed. The fluttering ribbons seemed to tighten around my neck.

Ten minutes ago, I was lost in the fantasy of marrying Rhys tomorrow.

This was the closest I had ever been to happiness.

Rhys had built that sanctuary for me with his own hands, and now, he had personally torn it down.

Tears burst forth like water from a broken dam, uncontrollable.

My blood felt frozen; my whole body was numb.

I whispered, lost:

“Why tell me now?”

Rhys made a tsk sound.

“Because you’re too compliant. And too dense.”

“If I wanted to hide it, I could have for the rest of our lives.”

“But keeping up the act every day is exhausting.”

He pressed his hand on top of my head, an action indistinguishable from petting a small dog.

I woke up, jolting backward several steps until my spine hit the cold wall. Only that frigid surface offered a sliver of safety.

Rhys seemed oblivious to my terror and fragility, advancing slowly. Cornered, I finally screamed at him:

“Don’t come any closer!”

In that moment, I was six years old again. Only this time, the person inflicting the harm was Rhys.

He stopped, his feet rooted to the spot.

“Fine. I won’t.”

“You do need to calm down.”

He paused, then added:

“Don’t worry. I haven’t said I don’t want you. I just don’t want to pretend anymore.”

“The wedding tomorrow is still on. Everything you’re entitled to, you’ll get.”

Rhys said more things, but I couldn’t hear them over the deafening, suffocating buzz in my ears.

He left me there. Someone next door was waiting for him.

December was too cold. The air felt like it would kill me.

I fumbled for the hotel lighter and, in a daze, set the wedding dress on fire.

The blaze was hot, illuminating my pale face, yet it did nothing to dispel the deep cold around me.

I was reminded of another huge fire Rhys had set when I was sixteen.

When I was six, my parents threw me out into the snow. I hid inside the small-town diner his family ran.

Rhys was the one who found me, huddled and shivering like a stray.

After that day, whenever my parents kicked me out, I could always go there for a hot meal.

When I was sixteen, Rhys’s stepfather cornered me in the back when no one else was home.

Rhys was the one who knocked his stepfather out with a brick, then set the diner ablaze to cover our escape. He took me and ran.

Rhys was eighteen then.

We boarded an old Amtrak sleeper car, huddling together for warmth in the corner when there were no seats.

He told me:

“Don’t be scared. You have me. No one will ever hurt you again.”

After that day, I developed a severe psychological barrier. Except for Rhys, I couldn’t bear anyone’s touch.

I always believed Rhys was my savior, a gift from heaven.

Now, I felt I should have just died in the snow when I was six.

The smoke alarm triggered, and hotel guests fled in a panic.

When the police led me away, Rhys was holding that girl in his arms, shielding her from the flashing cameras of the gossip reporters.

2

I spent the night in a cold holding cell.

In the haze of a high fever, Rhys posted my bail.

News about him meeting a mistress on the eve of his wedding was all over the internet, yet he was the one who looked annoyed and disappointed.

“God, Anya, you need to learn from the society wives. Why are you such a liability?”

He didn’t seem to notice I was sick, or perhaps he noticed and simply didn’t care.

I saw no compassion in his eyes, only a profound annoyance.

I curled up in the back seat of the car. The heater was blasting, but I was still cold.

Five years ago, when he was just starting out, he’d taken me to a high-society event.

Even dressed by professionals, my poor social presence was glaring among the wives draped in diamonds.

People whispered and pointed. The countless stares made it hard to breathe; I felt like fleeing.

Rhys had wrapped his arm around me then and said:

“It’s because I haven’t had the time to properly cultivate my woman yet.”

His light remark shut everyone up.

He truly did ‘cultivate’ me. I became graceful and chic, and no one looked at me with pity anymore.

Instead, they looked with envy.

When I struggled with my outfits, he’d tell me:

“You don’t have to compare yourself to them. No matter how well they dress, in my eyes, they’re not worth a fraction of you.”

I trusted Rhys implicitly.

I still couldn’t figure out when he had changed.

The wedding was called off. Rhys brought me home.

The girl who opened the door was wearing only a sheer silk slip. Her pale skin was dotted with red marks. Scattered clothes littered the floor inside.

I didn’t need to ask what had happened last night.

Seeing me, the girl’s smile faded.

“Didn’t you say the wedding was canceled and you were going to spend the whole day with me?”

She whined and draped herself over Rhys with practiced ease. He stroked her hair, exactly as he used to do to me.

“Tomorrow, Bianca. Didn’t you say you wanted to see the Aurora Borealis in Norway? I’ve already arranged everything.”

Bianca seemed appeased.

She started changing right in front of Rhys and me, without any shame.

I stared at her, lost.

She noticed my gaze.

“Don’t look at me like that. I just came to help break in the bed for you two. Wishing you a swift and happy conception.”

The wedding was canceled, making the words ‘happy conception’ absurd. Her tone dripped with mockery.

I realized something staggering: the girl in the hotel parking lot yesterday, the one Rhys was holding, was not this girl.

Bianca left. My strength failed me, and I collapsed to the floor.

Everything blurred. I reached out a trembling hand to Rhys.

He just stood there.

“It’s not worth being this shaken, Anya.”

“You need to learn to get used to it.”

I passed out.

I woke up in the bedroom. I had been changed into a new set of clothes. The house doctor had given me a shot to break the fever.

I had been unconscious for an entire day.

Rhys’s voice sounded, annoyed:

“Why are you so stupid? If you’re sick, why not say something sooner?”

“Fine. You rest up here. I’m leaving.”

If I had known Rhys would leave the moment I opened my eyes, I would have stayed asleep.

I called his name from behind, forcing myself up.

“Are you going to see her?”

Rhys didn’t turn around.

“I promised her. I can’t go back on my word.”

But Rhys had also promised me that he would make me happy forever.

How could he go back on that?

I didn’t have the courage to break up with Rhys.

Twenty years. He was a part of my soul.

I didn’t wait for him to return.

Instead, his social media updated with a photo of him and Bianca in Norway.

Under the brilliant Aurora, they looked to all the world like a couple passionately in love.

I hired a private investigator and found the woman Rhys had been with in the hotel. Her name was Sloane, a minor social media personality.

I put the photos in front of her.

“You might not know this, but Rhys isn’t only with you.”

Sloane barely glanced at the photos and laughed scornfully.

“Mr. Rhys has truly kept you sheltered, Anya. You’re so naive.”

The tiny shred of hope I had clung to was crushed by her words.

It turned out everyone but me knew Rhys had countless lovers.

I was afraid to sleep in the master bed, unsure how many women Rhys had brought home.

I was simultaneously lucid and dazed all day. Desperate for sleep, I unknowingly consumed an entire bottle of sleeping pills.

3

That night, of all nights, Rhys came home.

He saw the empty bottle by the bed and immediately rushed me to the hospital to get my stomach pumped.

He had saved my life again, yet I felt worse than dead.

Rhys’s face was dark with anger.

“Is it worth trying to kill yourself over this?”

“Look around, Anya. Is there a single man in our circle who only has one woman? How can everyone else cope, and you can’t?”

The way he framed it, it made everything sound like my fault.

I lay on the hospital bed, whispering weakly:

“We’re not like them.”

The year Rhys and I ran away, he had already been accepted to Manhattan University (MU).

He didn’t enroll. Instead, he found a high school for me.

He said:

“I’m eighteen. I can go work.”

He worked multiple jobs.

But after my night classes, he would still come to my school to see me.

One evening, I walked out of the school gates and found him leaning against a tree, fast asleep from exhaustion.

He didn’t wake until I wrapped my arms around him.

I told him I didn’t want to study anymore; I wanted to work with him, even for less pay.

But he told me:

“You study hard. Get into MU, and you study my share, too.”

MU was a dream he’d mentioned more than once.

For me, he could give up his dreams.

So why was he giving up on me?

Rhys’s voice was cold.

“What’s the difference? We’re just a man and a woman.”

“Anya, we don’t have that kind of love anymore. I keep you here because you’re family. You need to learn to be fine with that.”

“You need to start acting like it.”

I was out of immediate danger, and Rhys didn’t stay by my side.

But he hired two people to monitor my movements constantly.

Rhys continued to move between different women, only now, he didn’t bother hiding it from me.

Gossip about him was delivered directly to my phone.

I realized the news hadn’t been absent before; Rhys had simply paid to bury it all.

Day by day, I wasted away.

The house doctor contacted Rhys, but he didn’t come back.

The doctor just put me on an IV drip for nutrition.

Then, one day, the scheduled gossip reports suddenly stopped.

Rhys brought a new, much younger girl home.

The moment she saw me, she gave a saccharine call:

“Hello, Sister.”

I didn’t cry or scream. I simply had no energy left.

Perhaps seeing my skeletal state, Rhys felt perfectly comfortable leaving the girl alone with me.

Her name was Skylar. She was a student at MU, with a brilliant future ahead of her.

I asked her, bewildered:

“Don’t you know how many women Rhys has? You have a better future than this.”

Skylar shook her head.

“Sister, how can you be so naive?”

“Don’t you understand? I can get more from a few nights with him than I could earn in a lifetime.”

She said this without caring if Rhys overheard.

In her words, even if Rhys grew tired of her one day, she was young and could use the resources he gave her to find someone else.

I knew Rhys had coached her to say that to me.

Skylar and I were different. She could leave Rhys with a shrug.

Leaving Rhys would kill me.

I expected Rhys to replace her soon enough.

But before long, Rhys proposed a breakup.

He spoke the words lightly, as if discussing the weather.

“She’s different from the others. She thinks she’s a canary in a leased cage, always ready for me to open the door.”

“Even though I’ve cut off the other women for her, she still believes that as long as you’re here, I’ll eventually get rid of her.”

Rhys smiled as he spoke.

I knew then that he had developed real feelings for Skylar.

No wonder I hadn’t seen any gossip lately.

Skylar, in his description, was so vibrant, while I felt like a dying old woman.

All my turmoil and struggle were meaningless to Rhys.

The hole in my chest tore wider. A cold wind whistled through me.

A part of my soul was being peeled away.

“Rhys, even you are giving up on me.”

Rhys just said:

“We’re still family.”

He gave me a massive amount of money, more than I could spend in a lifetime.

He also gave me several properties in the city.

“Come back if you run out.”

“If Skylar hadn’t loved this apartment so much, I actually would have left it for you.”

I couldn’t hold back the nausea any longer.

I bent over, dry-heaving, tears and saliva mixing.

My jutting spine scraped painfully against my clothes.

Rhys patted my back and offered a glass of warm water.

“Let’s end this well, Anya. I want you to be okay.”

I smacked his hand away. The place where he’d touched me was agony.

Nauseating.

So nauseating.

I wanted to die right there and then.

I didn’t wait for Rhys to hurry me. I left that apartment that was no longer mine immediately.

Even if I died, I wouldn’t die pathetically in front of Rhys.

As I walked out, Rhys called out, sounding genuinely concerned:

“Do you want me to take you to a hospital first?”

I waved him away painfully.

From that moment on, my life had nothing to do with Rhys.

4

I moved to a different city. The day I settled in, I used a surgical blade to scrape his name off my forearm.

Rhys.

His arm had my name, too.

When we got them, he said:

“A marker. We belong only to each other.”

The next time I saw Rhys’s name in the news, it was media celebrating him and Skylar as a perfect, made-for-each-other couple.

Their names even sounded harmonious.

I was plagued by nightmares every night.

My abusive parents, the man who’d attacked me, and the faces of countless strange women circled me, emphasizing over and over:

Rhys doesn’t want you anymore.

I smashed and replaced the things in my apartment repeatedly.

Time and again, I flirted with death.

And time and again, I pulled myself back.

I realized I was sick.

I went to the hospital alone.

After hearing my story, the doctor scheduled me for MECT (Electroconvulsive Therapy).

After the treatment, I would lose all my previous memories, forgetting all the pain.

I felt as though I’d grabbed a lifeline, practically begging the doctor to start immediately.

The doctor advised me:

“You might want to write down things you don’t want to forget.”

I shook my head frantically.

I didn’t want to remember anything.

Rhys’s goal was achieved. After the breakup, Skylar stopped planning to leave him.

Instead, she became increasingly clingy.

The girl was full of creative, childish notions. At first, Rhys found it charming.

Later, he started to feel overwhelmed.

After a while, he realized, it was just fine.

He started sleeping with other women again.

One day, he met a woman who looked five parts like me.

She wore a familiar, eager-to-please expression.

Rhys’s rage was sudden and unexpected.

“Don’t use that face to charm a man!”

He stopped, stunned by his own outburst.