SASHA’S POV
I don’t know how long I stare at the photo before me, but my mind can’t seem to accept what my eyes are telling me.
The image is grainy, taken from a distance, but there’s no mistaking the man in it. Sebastian, laughing and leaning close to a woman with an unfamiliar face. Her hand rests on his forearm,
her face tilted up to his in a way that makes something sharp twist in my chest.
He’d told me he’d be in meetings all day, too busy to even respond to messages, much less answer a call.
Yet here he is, in a scene that feels like it should belong to someone else’s life. Not mine.
I swallow hard, my fingers trembling as I zoom in on the image,
as if getting a closer look might change it, make it less… intimate.
But it doesn’t. The picture remains the same, the details of their proximity too obvious to dismiss.
This can’t be real. I tell myself there has to be an explanation.
Yet a flicker of doubt sneaks in, an unsettling whisper I can’t ignore.
He told me I was the only one. So who is this woman? And why didn’t he tell me?
With a shaky breath, I flip back to the original message that delivered this photo into my world. It’s from a number I don’t recognize, no name, just a string of unfamiliar digits and that single image.
I can’t shake the urge to know more, so I take a deep breath and begin typing out a reply.
My fingers move slowly, hesitating over every word, but I manage to finish, my heart pounding as I hit send.
“How did you get this photo? What do you want from me?”
My phone feels heavy in my hand as I wait, the seconds stretching into what feels like hours.
My mind races, searching for explanations, but none of them stick.
And as much as I want to trust Sebastian, this picture is like a splinter lodged deep, impossible to ignore. Just as I’m considering calling him to demand answers myself, my phone vibrates.
A new message lights up the screen, my pulse quickening as I open it.
“You deserve the truth. Sebastian isn’t who you think he is.”
My stomach drops. I read the words again, but they don’t make any more sense the second time. I type quickly, my anger pushing the words out of me faster than I can think.
“Who are you to say that? I know who he is. You’re trying to mess with me, aren’t you?”
I send the message and wait, gripping the phone so tightly my knuckles turn white.
This feels like some kind of twisted game, one that I didn’t ask to play.
But even as anger burns in me, a flicker of something else begins to bloom, a deep-rooted fear that maybe, just maybe, there’s some truth to what this person is saying.
Almost immediately, a reply comes through.
“I’m not your enemy, Sasha. I’m someone who knows the truth about Sebastian. I sent you that photo to protect you.”
Protect me? My mind reels, the words echoing around in my head.
Protect me from what? From Sebastian? The man who’s been at my side, who’s sworn up and down that I’m the only one he wants.
The man who just proposed that we have a real wedding. I feel a surge of anger rise up again, along with an urge to throw my phone across the room.
But my fingers act of their own accord, tapping out a quick, furious reply.
“If you’re not my enemy, then who are you? And why would I need protection from my own husband?”
The seconds tick by, slower and slower, and I’m not sure if I want a response or if I’m terrified of what might come next.
Finally, my phone vibrates with another message.
“I’m not a bad person, Sasha. I’m someone close enough to know how he’s manipulated you,
how he’s convinced you to marry him. You deserve better than lies.”
The words hit me like a punch to the chest. Manipulated?
Convinced? My heart races, my mind grappling with the suggestion, and yet, the seed of doubt is already planted.
Could this be true? Could Sebastian have twisted things, played with my emotions in ways I didn’t see?
“No,” I whisper, barely recognizing my own voice.
It sounds so fragile, so uncertain. I want to deny it outright, but my fingers are already typing.
“Tell me who you are. Tell me how you know all of this.”
This time, there’s a pause, as though whoever is on the other end is considering their response.
My heartbeat thunders in my ears as I wait, the room feeling colder, the air thicker, pressing down on me. Finally, a reply appears on my screen.
“I can’t reveal who I am. Not yet. But trust me, Sasha, I know things about Sebastian that he’d never tell you.
Things that would make you see him in a very different light.”
I can feel the blood drain from my face. My hand shakes as I type again, my words desperate.
“Then tell me what you know. Prove to me that you’re not lying.”
My breathing feels shallow, each breath harder to pull in as I press send and wait, my mind spinning with possibilities.
I don’t want to believe this stranger, but a dark part of me whispers, What if they’re right? What if Sebastian’s not who he claims to be?
The message comes quickly this time, like the person has been waiting, watching.
“I will. In time. But first, you need to be careful. Sebastian’s dangerous, Sasha. He’s not the man you think he is.”
My heart races as I stare at the message, every word seeming to hammer another nail into my chest.
Dangerous. Sebastian has always been intense, protective, but dangerous? I don’t want to believe it,
and yet the image of him laughing with that woman in the photo comes back, haunting me.
“Stop with the games,”
I type furiously, my fingers tapping out each word with the desperation building inside me. “If you’re trying to help me, then tell me everything. Don’t hold back.”
The reply doesn’t come as quickly this time, and my fingers clench and unclench around the phone.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, a message arrives.
“I’m not here to hurt you, Sasha. I just want you to be prepared.
You might not believe me now, but one day soon, you’ll see the truth.”
I can’t breathe. I type out a final message, anger and frustration spilling over.
“Prepared for what? If you care about me, if you know so much, tell me. Why are you doing this?”
The response is chillingly simple, a few words that leave me more shaken than I ever thought possible.
“Because you deserve to know what kind of man you married.”
The words settle over me like a shadow, filling the room with a sense of dread. I close the message,
my phone slipping from my hand as I sit there, staring at nothing, feeling like the ground beneath me is giving way.
I thought I knew Sebastian. Thought that, whatever his faults,
His love for me was real. But as doubt settles in, I’m left wondering if I’ve been blind, if everything I’ve built with him is about to unravel.
And as I sit there in the quiet, the only sound in the room is the echo of the stranger’s words: He’s not the man you think he is.