I used to think life with Mark was picture-perfect—until I discovered a hotel booking for two in Spain. That discovery led me straight into the path of Daniel, a stranger with his own heartbreak. His wife had secrets, too. What started as mutual pain turned into a plan for revenge — though what unfolded next neither of us could have expected.
“Spain again?” I had asked when Mark casually brought up another business trip. “Didn’t you just come back?”
He gave a nonchalant shrug, avoiding eye contact. “It’s work, babe. You know how it is.”
That night, he left, and I was stuck at home — restless and alone. I’d done everything I could think of to keep my mind off things.
Mark and I used to talk constantly during his trips. But lately, the calls had dwindled to barely one a day — sometimes none. I found myself staring at my phone, silently hoping for it to light up with his name.
Later that evening, while organizing my email, I came across a reservation. At first, I chuckled, assuming he’d reused our old vacation itinerary. But as I read further — champagne and strawberries — my heart dropped. I’m allergic to strawberries.
That wasn’t meant for me.
Suddenly, it all clicked. He wasn’t alone. He was with her. Maybe they were sipping champagne together right then.
Shaking, I called my best friend, Claire. “I have to go,” I told her. “I need to see this with my own eyes.”
“But you hate flying,” she reminded me.
“Watching my life fall apart from a distance is worse.”
And just like that, I was on a plane, heading for the truth.
The flight itself was chaotic. Cramped seat, stale air, and a head full of racing thoughts. I barely noticed the flight attendant until I felt something cold spill all over me.
Tomato juice. Perfect.
“My God, I’m so sorry!” said the man next to me, fumbling with napkins, clearly mortified.
“It’s fine,” I said, forcing a half-smile.
He offered to buy me a drink to make up for it, and I reluctantly agreed.
“I’m Daniel,” he said, holding out his hand.
“Rebecca,” I replied. “Honestly, this is the least of my problems today.”
When I shared that I was flying to confront a cheating fiancé, Daniel’s face fell.
“You’re kidding,” he said. “I’m on this flight for the same reason. My wife might be cheating too.”
We laughed at the absurdity. What were the odds?
“To betrayal and tomato juice,” he toasted, and I clinked my glass against his.
By the time we landed, we’d shared enough pain to feel oddly connected. As we grabbed our bags, he asked where I was staying.
I showed him my phone.
“You’re kidding — me too.”
We laughed again — until the front desk clerk apologized for overbooking and offered us a shared room.
Neither of us had the energy to argue.
Later, while eating on the balcony, I caught a glimpse of Mark by the pool… with her. I froze.
“That’s him,” I whispered.
Daniel moved beside me to look — and then froze, too.
“That’s my wife.”
There they were. Our cheating partners — together. It was like the worst soap opera plot come to life.
As we eavesdropped, we heard Brenda (his wife) talk about divorcing Daniel to live off his money. Mark encouraged her.
Daniel looked at me, face unreadable.
“You’re rich?” I asked.
“Not enough,” he muttered with a bitter laugh.
Then he turned to me with a grin. “Let’s give them a taste of their own medicine.”
“What do you mean?”
“We pretend we’re madly in love. Show up at their dinner. Make it memorable.”
It was absurd. But it was exactly what I needed.
Daniel even had a red dress he’d once bought for Brenda — which, as it turned out, fit me perfectly. I hadn’t felt this confident in years.
That night, we made our entrance. I in red, Daniel in a suit sharp enough to cut tension. We strutted into the restaurant, walked right by Mark and Brenda — and their faces said it all.
We paused at their table.
“Should we invite them to join us?” Daniel said cheerfully.
The dinner was deliciously awkward. Mark squirmed. Brenda stared. Daniel was smooth as ever.
He even pulled out a box with diamond earrings — originally meant for Brenda.
“These would look better on someone who deserves them,” he said, placing them in my hand.
Then his tone shifted.
“You’ll never see a cent of my money,” he said to Brenda. “And as for the rest — we’re done.”
He offered me his arm, and with a smile, I said, “Let’s go.”
We left, heads high, hearts still mending — but in that moment, we were the ones in control.
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