Chapter 1

"I cannot offer her fidelity in this marriage, but I can at least offer her the compensation of my guilt."

Two weeks remained before the wedding.

While Aimlessly scrolling through Instagram, I stumbled upon a new post from my fiancé, Mark Hanson.

The photograph featured another woman, Chloe Jensen, captured in profile as she slept. The lighting was soft, and the camera angle suggested a degree of intimacy that went far beyond professional courtesy.

Mark had configured the post to be visible to all his friends.

Everyone, that is, except for me.

I stared at the glowing screen and felt a sudden, sharp laugh escape my throat.

In two weeks, on our wedding day, Mark expected to arrive in his tuxedo to claim his bride.

He simply didn't know yet that the groom had already been replaced.

......

That evening, our MIT lab group hosted a dinner at a craft beer bar in Cambridge.

After several rounds of drinks, Alex Miller, a junior mentee I had mentored through his PhD, proposed a game of Truth or Dare.

On the very first round, the neck of the spinning bottle pointed directly at me.

"Eve!" Alex shouted, waving the bottle in the air. "The dare is to kiss Mark for thirty seconds!"

The room erupted into whistles and rowdy cheers.

Amidst the noise, I noticed Chloe's face flush a deep crimson. Her eyes welled with tears as she looked down at her lap.

I stood up and looked toward Mark.

He acted as though he hadn't heard the dare at all. He was busy placing a piece of grilled brie onto Chloe's plate, holding her hand while whispering something soothing into her ear.

It wasn't until Chloe took a small, obedient bite of the cheese that Mark finally looked up.

"Wait, what was the dare?" Mark asked.

The private room fell into a sudden, heavy silence.

My colleagues stared at me, their expressions a mix of secondhand embarrassment and a cruel, flickering amusement.

I forced a thin smile. "Alex, what's the alternative punishment?"

Alex looked down at a list on his phone, his voice trailing off. "Uh... you have to go outside and kiss the first stranger who walks by. For a full minute. Or you can down an entire bottle of IPA."

"The first person!" someone yelled. "Go out and kiss a stranger!"

Mark's expression soured instantly, his brow furrowing in irritation.

I reached for a bottle of Dogfish Head 90 Minute IPA on the table and pried the cap off with an opener.

Seeing this, Mark relaxed.

A faint, smug smile played on his lips as he turned back to pour a glass of cranberry juice for Chloe.

Chloe beamed at him, her previous distress vanishing in an instant.

As the bitter, hoppy liquid hit the back of my throat, my stomach began to churn.

I have chronic gastritis, and my doctor had been very clear about the dangers of alcohol.

"Eve, your stomach—" Alex started, finally remembering my condition. "Don't drink that. Seriously."

Before he could finish, the bottle was empty.

"I'm fine," I said.

My stomach cramped violently, a searing heat spreading through my abdomen, but I remained standing, my face a mask of professional composure.

Mark glanced at me briefly, and seeing that I was still upright, he returned his full attention to comforting his "little girl."