Substitute Bride: My Mysterious Loser Husband

AVERY POV:

"I've given myself to you entirely. When are you finally going to dump Avery?"

The woman's sweet voice drifted through the half-open bedroom door, accompanied by a soft giggle and the rustle of tangled sheets.

"Fuck, Sienna, don't talk about Avery right now," the man groaned, his voice rough with lust.

The woman clearly wasn't satisfied with that answer. "Why not? She's just a charity case our family took in. In our house, even the dogs have a higher status than she does. What's so good about her? She won't even let you touch her lately. Trevor, I'm the one wearing your jersey right now, and I'm the one making you feel good."

Trevor didn't argue. He just grabbed her waist and thrust harder, drawing a loud, triumphant moan from Sienna that echoed in the dead-silent apartment.

I stood frozen in the narrow entryway, listening to every single word. The exhaustion in my eyes hardened into a layer of ice as the cruel reality washed over me.

I had just rushed here from Massachusetts General Hospital. Hannah, the nanny who had raised me and the only real mother I had ever known, had just been diagnosed with end-stage liver failure.

In my hands was a custom Briar University hockey cake. To afford it for our three-year anniversary, I spent my days caring for Hannah at the hospital and my nights scrubbing greasy plates in a diner kitchen until dawn. My hands were raw and peeling from the dish soap, and I had skipped meals just to save up every penny.

And now, my boyfriend of three years was inside, fucking my stepsister.

My fingers went completely numb.

The cake box slipped from my grasp.

Thud.

It hit the hardwood floor with a deafening sound. The box burst open, and the carefully crafted blue and white frosting smeared into a pathetic, meaningless puddle.

The heavy breathing in the bedroom stopped dead.

The door was yanked open.

Trevor stood there, chest heaving, his hair a sweaty mess. Behind him, emerging from the rumpled sheets, was Sienna.

My breath hitched, and a physical wave of nausea hit me. She wasn't just naked underneath; she was wearing Trevor's blue and white game jersey. The one with his name and number on the back. In the hockey world, this was the ultimate symbol of a player claiming his girl. Yet, in our three years together, he had never let me wear it once. He used to look at me with disguised disgust, claiming I was too "shabby" and that putting his jersey on a girl like me would "cheapen his image" in front of his teammates. But now, this "sacred" jersey was draped loosely over Sienna's naked body.

Trevor's eyes widened in sheer panic when he saw me. "Avery! Wait, it's not what you think-"

"It's exactly what she thinks," Sienna purred, sauntering forward like a lazy cat and cutting him off. She leaned against his bare chest, her eyes raking over my faded jeans and tired face with absolute disdain. "You should have some self-awareness, Avery. Trash like you was never good enough for him."

I didn't scream. I didn't cry. I just stood there, feeling a strange, icy detachment, as if I were watching a poorly written play.

"Avery, let's be reasonable," Trevor stammered, taking a step forward but carefully keeping Sienna behind him. His panic quickly twisted into a sickeningly defensive and accusatory tone. "Look at yourself! You constantly reek of cheap hospital disinfectant and poverty. You walk around looking like a miserable old woman! You dump all your energy into that half-dead nanny of yours. Have you even acted like a girlfriend lately? I'm a normal guy, a star player! I need a woman who makes me look good at parties, not a depressing caretaker! If you want to blame someone, blame that deadweight nanny of yours. She dragged you down, and she ruined us!"

I stared at the man I had loved for three years as if he were a grotesque, unrecognizable monster. Pure, unadulterated rage twisted in my gut like a rusty knife, making my entire body tremble violently. I bit my lip so hard I tasted the metallic tang of blood.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, violently interrupting his pathetic gaslighting.

The screen read: Massachusetts General Hospital.

My trembling fingers swiped to answer. A nurse's cold, professional voice filled my ear. "Ms. Hayes? Regarding Hannah Miller's treatment plan. We must remind you that the $50,000 surgical fee must be paid within seventy-two hours. Otherwise, we will have to discharge her."

The room spun. I gripped the doorframe tightly to keep from falling.

In the dead silence, Sienna overheard the voice on the other end. She let out a sharp, mocking laugh.

"Oh, still begging for pennies for that dying old bat?" Sienna sneered, trailing a manicured nail down Trevor's chest. "Avery, you can't even feed yourself, how are you supposed to save anyone else? Or better yet, considering how much of his time you've wasted, maybe Trevor can throw you a few hundred bucks out of pity?"

A flicker of guilt crossed Trevor's face. "Sienna, that's enough," he muttered, trying to salvage a shred of his "good guy" image. But he still didn't push her away.

I took a deep breath, the icy air filling my lungs. I ended the call.

In the next second, I stepped forward, raised my raw, peeling hand, and slapped Trevor across his hypocritical face with every ounce of strength I had left.

SMACK!

The sharp, crisp sound exploded in the dead-silent living room. His head snapped to the side, a bright red handprint instantly blooming on his cheek.

I ignored his shocked expression and Sienna's dramatic gasp.

"Keep the trash, Sienna," I said, dropping my hand. I looked at them as if they were rats in a gutter, my voice eerily calm. "You two deserve each other. A bitch and a dog, a match made in hell."