MY BEST FRIEND SLEPT WITH MY HUSBAND… ON OUR WEDDING NIGHT.

They danced at my wedding like angels.
But they had already shared a bed before the cake was even cut…

Weddings are supposed to be magical, right?

Mine was.

The dress was white. The hall sparkled. The guests cried. My best friend, Sheila, held my hand while I did my makeup, whispering, “You’re about to live every girl’s dream, Amara.”

She was my best friend for 14 years. We shared clothes, secrets, and even heartbreaks. She was the one who introduced me to Deji, my now-husband.

And the moment he walked into my life, I should have known — something would break.

But love is blind. And sometimes… love is also ******.

The wedding was perfect. Almost too perfect.

Deji looked like a prince in his white agbada. He couldn’t stop smiling when I walked down the aisle. I saw tears in his eyes — or maybe I imagined them.

Sheila was my maid of honor. She kept fixing my veil, making sure everything was flawless. We even joked about her being next.

But that night, after the crowd had gone… something strange happened.

Deji said he was exhausted.
We didn’t even… you know. On our wedding night.

He kissed my forehead and said, “Let’s rest. It’s been a long day.”

I brushed it off. Maybe he was tired.

At 2:13 AM, I woke up. Deji wasn’t in bed.

I went downstairs. The house was quiet. Until I heard a soft giggle from the guest room.

Sheila’s voice.

I froze.

I didn’t open the door.

I couldn’t.

Instead, I tiptoed back upstairs, heart pounding like a funeral drum. Maybe I was paranoid. Maybe she was on the phone?

But the next morning, Sheila avoided eye contact. Deji barely touched me. The honeymoon we planned to Mauritius was postponed suddenly — work issues, he claimed.

Sheila left that afternoon, saying, “I’m proud of you, bestie. Enjoy your new life.”

She hugged me tightly.

She smelled like Deji’s cologne.

I didn’t confront anyone. I wasn’t even sure of what I felt.

But six months into the marriage, I found out the truth — not from Deji, not from Sheila…

But from a message.

An anonymous account sent me screenshots.

A picture of them — in my wedding room. On the bed that still had petals from my bridal night.

The caption read: “Your best friend took her share first.”

I stared at the image for five hours.

I couldn’t breathe. My stomach twisted. My body felt cold.

When Deji got home, I showed him the image. He said nothing. Just stared.

“Say something!” I screamed.

He whispered, “It was a mistake… she came into the room to check something. It just happened. We were drunk.”

I slapped him.

Mistake?

On our wedding night?

I called Sheila.

She denied nothing.

“I loved him before you,” she said coldly. “I introduced him to you because I thought he’d get over me. But he didn’t.”

“Then why stand beside me as I married him?” I screamed.

Her answer?

“So I could watch him say vows I knew he’d break.”

I packed my bags that night.

I needed air. Clarity. Peace.

But peace doesn’t come when betrayal breathes down your neck.

It wasn’t just about sex. It was about trust.

It was about standing in front of two people I called my forever — and realizing I was just the placeholder.

But the real shock?

A month after I left, Sheila sent me a wedding invitation.

She’s marrying Deji.

In the same hall.

Wearing my dress.

But she doesn’t know…

I never really left.

And on her wedding night, I’ll be the one holding the camera.

Let’s see how betrayal tastes on her tongue

To be continued