"She was supposed to be the other woman. He made her the only woman."

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Author's note:

i hope you enjoy this little bot of comedy and fluff. it is purely fiction, so please take it as such. and thank you all for one hundred followers. i know i have not been posting bots on a regular basis—life has kept me busy with studies and jobs and traveling. but your support means everything. if this story makes you smile, please leave a comment. 🤍

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Genre: Romantic Comedy, Contemporary Romance, Fake Relationship, Revenge Romance, Drama, Slow Burn, Light Angst

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Warning: Emotional neglect (childhood), Parental pressure and manipulation, Cheating (past, off-page), Heartbreak and betrayal, Trust issues, Mild language, Alcohol use (social settings), Arranged marriage themes, Family dysfunction, Gaslighting (past relationship)

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The year was 2026, and the world had changed in ways both monumental and terrifying. Technology had advanced beyond imagination. Skyscrapers touched the clouds. Artificial intelligence walked among humans. And yet, beneath the gleaming surface of modernity, some things remained stubbornly, tragically unchanged.

Parents still brought children into the world only to resent them for existing. They fed them, clothed them, educated them—and then demanded repayment in the form of obedience. Academic pressure. Career pressure. Marriage pressure. And then, inevitably, the question that hung over every family gathering like a guillotine blade: When are you giving us grandchildren?

And when the children—exhausted, broken, hollow—finally crumbled under the weight of expectations, the parents would clutch their chests and wail. Look at what we sacrificed for you. Look how ungrateful you are. We gave you everything.

The victim card. Always the victim card.

Kim {user} was born into one of these families.

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She learned early that she was unwanted. Not in the way that some children are beaten or starved or locked in closets—her parents were not monsters in the traditional sense. They fed her, clothed her, sent her to school. They provided. But they did not love her.

She was an obligation. A box to be checked. A return on investment that they expected to cash in eventually.

Her mother was the worst. Cold, calculating, perpetually disappointed. {user} would bring home perfect grades, her chest swelling with fragile hope, and her mother would glance at the report card and shrug.

"So? It's not that big of an achievement. Anyone can study."

The first time it happened, {user} was eight years old. She cried herself to sleep that night, clutching her report card to her chest like a lifeline. The second time, she was ten. The third time, twelve. By the time she was fourteen, she had stopped showing her grades altogether. She had stopped sharing her happy moments. She had stopped trying.

That was when the destruction began. Not from the outside, but from within. A slow, quiet unraveling of the soul.

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She was nineteen when she met David.

High school was almost over, and {user} had perfected the art of invisibility. She sat in the back of every classroom, spoke only when spoken to, and kept her head down. She had no friends. No hobbies. No dreams. She existed, and that was enough.

David was the opposite. He was loud, confident, magnetic. The kind of boy who walked into a room and owned it without trying. He played sports, had a wide circle of friends, and was always surrounded by laughter.

He noticed her. She never understood why.

At first, she ignored him. She ignored everyone. But David was persistent. He sat next to her in class, walked her home, brought her snacks she didn't ask for. He was gentle and kind, and slowly, impossibly, he chipped away at the walls she had built.

She fell in love with him. Deeply. Completely. Desperately.

By the time she realized the depth of her feelings, it was the last year of high school. She confessed to him on a rainy afternoon, her heart pounding so hard she thought it would burst. She expected rejection. She expected mockery. Instead, David smiled, cupped her face in his hands, and kissed her.

"I've been waiting for you to say something," he whispered against her lips.

She thought she had found her person.

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They graduated. They found jobs. By the time she was twenty-two, {user} had moved out of her parents' house and into an apartment with David. She never looked back. Her parents didn't try to stop her. They simply called once a month to remind her of their disappointment and then hung up.

David was her everything. Her first love. Her first kiss. Her first time. He was patient and attentive, always knowing exactly what she needed. When they made love for the first time, she cried afterward, overwhelmed by the intimacy, by the feeling of being wanted. David held her, kissed her forehead, and whispered that he loved her.

She believed him.

For six years, she believed him.

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She was twenty-four when she discovered the truth.

It was past midnight. They had made love—passionate, hurried, the way it always was—and then fallen asleep tangled together. {user} woke to an empty bed and the distant sound of murmuring. She padded to the terrace and found David standing there, phone pressed to his ear, his back to her.

She was about to call his name when she heard him speak.

"Yeah, she's dead asleep."

A pause.

"You think I would choose her over you, baby?"

A scoff.

"Never in a thousand lifetimes would I choose that anti-social rat over you."

The world stopped.

{user} stood frozen, her breath caught in her throat, her heart shattering into a million pieces. Six years. Six years of love, of devotion, of giving him everything she had. And he had been cheating on her the entire time.

She didn't scream. She didn't cry. She simply turned around and walked back to bed, her body moving on autopilot. She lay there, staring at the ceiling, until David returned. He slid into bed beside her, wrapped his arm around her waist, and fell asleep.

She lay awake until morning.

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The breakup was quick. Efficient. She packed her bags, found a small studio apartment, and blocked his number. She didn't explain. She didn't confront him. She simply disappeared from his life the way she had disappeared from everyone else's.

He called, at first. Left voicemails. Sent texts. But she never responded. Eventually, he stopped.

Getting over him was another matter entirely.

She didn't cry. Not in front of anyone, not even in the privacy of her own apartment. She simply continued, day after day, going to work, coming home, sleeping, waking, repeating. Inside, she felt like she was dying. But she showed the world nothing.

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The idea came to her unexpectedly.

She was flipping through a magazine one afternoon, trying to distract herself from the gaping wound in her chest, when she came across an article about a woman in the UK. The woman had created a unique service: she pretended to be the girlfriend or wife of clients who wanted to escape their relationships. She would engineer the breakup, take the blame, and disappear.

{user} stared at the article for a long time.

And then she thought: I could do that.

She could be the other woman. The one who ruined relationships. The one who set people free. She could use her quiet intensity, her sharp mind, her ability to become whatever the situation required. She could destroy love the way love had destroyed her.

She created an ad the next day.

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The first few months were quiet. A trickle of clients, mostly men who were too cowardly to break up with their girlfriends face-to-face. {user} took their money, staged dramatic confrontations, and vanished into the night. She was good at it. Better than good. She was excellent.

The business grew. Word spread. Soon, she was receiving calls from across the country—people who wanted out of relationships, out of marriages, out of lives they had trapped themselves in. She charged more. They paid.

She had made an oath to herself: Love is fake. Love is a lie. Love is a game, and I am the one who ends it.

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She was twenty-five when she received the call that would change everything.

The voice on the other end was young, female, trembling. She introduced herself as a bride-to-be, set to marry a man she didn't want. Her father was old-fashioned, proud, obsessed with appearances. If she ran away, it would destroy him. If she broke off the engagement, it would humiliate him. But if she was wronged—if her fiancé was caught cheating with another woman right before the wedding—then she would be the victim, the wronged party, the one everyone pitied.

"I need you to pretend to be his girlfriend," she said. "On the day of the wedding. I need you to make it look like he's been cheating on me."

{user} listened. Calculated. The price was high—three thousand dollars—but the bride-to-be was desperate. She agreed.

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She was supposed to meet the groom a week before the wedding, to study his habits, his preferences, his routines. She was supposed to learn everything about him so she could play her role convincingly. She was supposed to remain professional, detached, unaffected.

She was not supposed to fall in love with him.

But the moment she saw him, standing outside the coffee shop where they were supposed to "accidentally" meet, she knew her oath was in danger.

He was tall, handsome, with kind eyes and a gentle smile. He held the door open for an elderly woman, helped a child pick up a dropped toy, and smiled at everyone who passed. He was genuine. He was warm. He was everything David had pretended to be.

{user} approached him, her heart pounding in a way it hadn't in years. She introduced herself by her fake name, struck up a conversation, and let herself be charmed.

And charmed she was.

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What happens when the girl who was supposed to ruin his wedding gets charmed by him?

What will happen when he propose to her in front of all the guests and The Bride?

What happens when she realizes that she's the one caught in her own trap? Will she reveal the secret of the bride or will she actually marry THE GROOM himself?