REVENGE'S UNEXPECTED LOVE

SHATTERED VOWS

[8 HOURS EARLIER]

With tears streaming down her face, Ismarie watches each video sent on her phone by Max, immersing herself one by one in each scenario where Max and Liezel engage in imaginative role-playing.

Intriguingly, despite the varied scenarios, Ismarie finds that all the videos eventually converge on the same outcome.

The videos all end with gurgling, gripping moans, and deep groans enveloping Ismarie's ears as she struggles to see through her tears.

Ismarie's sobs echo in the empty room, her tears flowing freely as she throws her phone aside, its screen illuminated by the dim light. With each cry, it's as if she's releasing the weight of the world, her emotions crashing against the silence like waves against a shore, leaving behind only fragments of her shattered heart.

As Ismarie sits amidst the scattered remnants of her dreams, the crumpled paper clutched tightly in her trembling hand represents more than just torn vows—it's the unraveling of promises never spoken, the betrayal of plans left unfulfilled.

The words she had carefully penned now lie forgotten, their significance lost in the whirlwind of pain and disillusionment.

In this moment of raw vulnerability, she realizes that love's embrace can sometimes be as fleeting as the shattered vows left unspoken, echoing hollowly in the emptiness of her heart.

Ismarie's anguish question hangs heavy in the air, her voice barely a whisper amid the echoes of her shattered hopes. With each tear that falls, the ache in her chest deepens, mingling with the bewildering pain of betrayal.

How could Max, the one she trusted above all others, inflict such wounds upon her fragile heart? The question reverberates through her mind, haunting her with its unanswered plea for solace in a world suddenly devoid of the love she once knew.

As Ismarie's tears continue to cascade down her cheeks, her heart feels as though it's been torn asunder by the betrayal of not just one, but two people she held dear. "How could Max do this to me?" she whispers through her sobs, the anguish in her voice palpable. But amid the torment of Max's betrayal, another name tugs at her wounded soul. "And Liezel...my own sister," she murmurs, the disbelief and hurt intertwining with each syllable.

In this moment of despair, the weight of their deceit crushes her spirit, leaving her adrift in a sea of sorrow and unanswered questions.

As Ismarie's tears continue to flow, her body feels like it's been through a relentless storm. Her face is flushed and swollen, her cheeks sore from the constant stream of tears.

Each sob reverberates through her chest, leaving her feeling physically drained and hollow. Her breathing is ragged, as if each inhale is a struggle against the weight of her grief. Her muscles ache from the tension of her emotions, and her limbs feel heavy as if weighed down by the burden of her shattered dreams.

Despite the exhaustion gnawing at her bones, she finds herself unable to stop the torrent of tears, each one a testament to the depth of her pain.

As Ismarie's tears flow unabated, her anguish transcends the pain of betrayal, cutting to the core of her being. It's not just Max's infidelity or her sister's betrayal that drives her to tears—it's the realization of the elaborate charade that has been played out before her unsuspecting eyes.

The weight of their deception crushes her spirit, each revelation a dagger to her already wounded heart.

She sobs not just for the shattered trust, but for the mockery made of her innocence, for the cruel jokes spun at her expense, for the hollow laughter that echoed behind closed doors.

The knowledge that she was nothing more than a pawn in their twisted game, her name used as a punchline to their sick erotic art, fills her with a profound sense of betrayal and shame.

Ismarie's anger surges through her as she forcefully wipes away her tears, the motion rough and unforgiving against her delicate skin. With each swipe, she pushes back against the overwhelming tide of emotion threatening to engulf her. But as she attempts to rise, her trembling legs betray her, and she stumbles, her balance faltering beneath the weight of her turmoil.

Her heart pounds in her chest, a relentless drumbeat of fury and pain echoing in her ears. Yet, despite the trembling of her limbs and the ache in her soul, she refuses to succumb to the weakness that threatens to consume her. With a fierce determination burning in her eyes, she steadies herself, her resolve unyielding even in the face of adversity.

Ismarie's hands reach out, grasping for something—anything—to ground her amid the chaos swirling around her. Her fingers find purchase on the fabric of nearby clothing, and without hesitation, she pulls it close, the fabric cool against her trembling skin.

With a sense of urgency, she hurriedly slips into it, the material draping around her like a shield against the world's cruelty. With a determined stride, Ismarie slips on her shoes and walks out of her hotel room.

Ismarie shuffles through the lobby like a zombie freshly bitten, lost in the depths of despair.

Her night dress hangs haphazardly, the nightgown turned upside down, mismatched footwear adorning her feet - one in fiery red high heels, the other in a humble slipper.

Her once delicate features are now marred by a crimson hue, her eyes swollen from the torrents of tears that have ravaged her.

Each step echoes the weight of her sorrow, a silent testament to the pain she bears.

"Ismarie!" A distant voice calls out to her, piercing through the haze of her despair.

Footsteps reverberate against the pristine white marble tiles, drawing closer with each echoing stride.

"Ismarie! Oh dear, are you drunk?" A concerned voice questions, filled with worry and care.

She doesn't stop; she walks out through the glass electric door, the footsteps trailing behind her persistently.

Ismarie, devoid of energy and patience, remains silent, her weary steps carrying her forward without pause or reply.

A gentle hand grips her arm, halting her aimless journey, and guiding her to a standstill against the tide of her own wandering feet.

A gasp fills her ears as a concerned voice questions, "Is everything all right, my dear?"

Without even glancing at the person, Ismarie swallows the lump in her throat and answers, "Everything is okay. I'm just taking a walk." she answers with her voice barely above a whisper, her words hanging in the air, heavy with unspoken emotions.

"You don't need to lie to me," Uncle Sean says softly, holding Ismarie by the shoulders, his gaze filled with empathy. But she remains lost in her thoughts, her focus fixed on the unforgiving concrete beneath her feet, unable to meet his eyes.

All this time, she's been looking down, but she knows that voice anywhere—it's Uncle Sean, Max's uncle. As Uncle Sean's words sink in, a solitary tear escapes Ismarie's eyes, tracing a path down her puffy face, leaving a glistening trail of wetness in its wake.

"Did something happen?" Uncle Sean probes gently, sensing the weight of unspoken turmoil in Ismarie's demeanor.

"Is everyone alright?" Uncle Sean inquires, filled with genuine concern for Ismarie and those she holds dear.

Ismarie stands frozen, unable to answer, her breath caught in her throat. Fear grips her heart, threatening to overwhelm her, and as she takes a shaky breath, tears threaten to spill once more.

"Is it Max? I'm going to kill that i***t if it's him. Did he do something to you?" Uncle Sean asks, tinged with concern and a hint of apprehension.

The mention of her fiancé causes the tears Ismarie has been suppressing to finally spill, cascading down her cheeks in silent anguish.

Uncle Sean notices Ismarie's trembling body as she silently cries, and without hesitation, he engulfs her in a warm and comforting hug. She instinctively leans into him, seeking solace, resting her tear-streaked face against his broad and reassuring chest.

Time seems suspended as they stand there, cocooned in their shared grief for what feels like an eternity. Finally, Uncle Sean breaks the silence, gently suggesting they should return home, his voice carrying a tender concern for Ismarie's well-being.

Without a word, she acquiesces, her silent acceptance evident as she allows him to gracefully lift her delicate form into his arms, where she rests as gently as the morning dew. Her arm instinctively wraps around his neck, finding solace in his steady presence amidst the turmoil of her emotions.