My Fiancé Pressured Me Into an Open Relationship — Then Lost His Mind When My Dating Life Exposed His Ego
PART 2: THE SCOREBOARD OF HER OWN MAKING
“Forty-two?”
The whisper that left Sarah’s mouth was barely audible, but it carried the weight of absolute, unadulterated shock. She stood up so fast her knees slammed into the edge of the dining table, rattling the unopened takeout containers.
“You’re lying,” she said, her voice shaking as she pointed a trembling finger at me. “You’re saying that to hurt me. You’re trying to humiliate me because you were jealous of Clara’s husband.”
“I have no reason to lie to you, Sarah,” I said, remaining completely seated, my hands resting flat on the table. “You wanted total honesty. That was the core tenet of the arrangement you begged for. I am giving you the exact data.”
“Forty-two women?!” she suddenly screamed, the sound echoing off the high ceilings of our apartment. “In less than a year?! That’s… that’s practically a different person every single week! You’ve slept with more than twenty times the number of people I have!”
“I don’t keep track of your numbers, Sarah, and I didn’t view mine as a competition,” I answered, keeping my tone perfectly measured, deliberately contrasting her hysteria. “But yes. That is the number. And this exact reaction is why I am telling you we need to close the door immediately. It’s destroying any chance of us having a normal future.”
She started pacing the room, her hands gripping her hair, her face contorting into an expression of raw, venomous fury. The victim mentality that she had used so effectively a year ago was roaring back to life, but this time, it was fueled by an entirely broken ego.
“Of course you want to stop now!” she spat, stopping to glare at me across the room. “You got yours! You went out there and acted like an absolute animal while I was trying to be careful, trying to find meaningful connections! You completely abused the spirit of what we agreed to!”
I couldn’t help but let out a short, humorless laugh. “Abused the spirit? Sarah, let’s be entirely accurate here. I didn’t want this. I said no. I fought for our monogamy for an entire month while you cried, paced this exact floor, and told me I was a controlling patriarch who was suffocating your soul. You practically handed me a map to the door and shoved me through it. Did you honestly believe that when I agreed to your terms, I was going to fail?”
She stopped dead in her tracks. Her chest was heaving, her eyes wild. She looked at me, and for the first time in four years, I saw that she didn’t see me as her protector or her partner anymore. She saw me as someone who had thoroughly outplayed her in a game she thought she owned.
“I asked for an open relationship,” she said through clenched teeth, her voice dropping into a dark, venomous register. “Not for my fiancé to turn into a disgusting, pathetic degenerate who sleeps with anything that breathes.”
There it was. The mask had completely slipped.
“Watch your language, Sarah,” I said, my voice dropping an octave, becoming cold and heavy. “I have been entirely respectful of our boundaries. I never brought anyone here. I never used our joint accounts. I never exposed you to gossip. I played by the exact rules you drafted. The only difference between your fantasy and reality is that you assumed I would be sitting at home, miserable and undesirable, while you collected validation from strangers.”
“That’s not true!” she cried, her voice cracking as she tried to force tears to her eyes. “I wanted us to grow! I wanted us to be equal!”
“No, you didn’t,” I said, standing up slowly, towering over her with a calm, unyielding presence. “You wanted a safety net. You wanted the thrill of being single with the absolute security of having a successful, loyal husband waiting at home to clean up the mess. You wanted to feel powerful at my expense. And now that you realize the market values my presence more than your ego can handle, you’re trying to retroactively turn me into the villain.”
She looked at me, realizing that her tears weren’t working. The manipulation wasn’t landing. I wasn’t apologizing, I wasn’t begging for her forgiveness, and I wasn’t backing down from the objective truth of the situation.
So, true to form, she tried to rewrite the rules of the board.
She wiped her face with the back of her hand, taking a deep, shaky breath, attempting to regain some semblance of control. “Fine. If you want to save this marriage, if you actually care about me, then we need to balance the scale. You take a complete freeze. No dating, no talking to anyone, nothing. You delete all your accounts right now. And I keep my accounts active until I reach ten partners. After that, for every five people I sleep with, you’re allowed to meet one new person. It’s the only way to fix the gap you created. It’s about accountability.”
I stared at her, genuinely stunned by the sheer absurdity of what was coming out of her mouth. It was like watching a child lose a board game and demand to change the rules mid-turn so they could win.
“Accountability?” I asked, a look of profound pity crossing my face. “Sarah, you are asking me to keep a sexual logbook for my future wife. You want us to operate our relationship like a corporate sales quota. Do you hear yourself?”
“It’s fair!” she shouted, double down on her insanity. “You completely blew past any reasonable boundary! You ruined the balance! If you don’t agree to this, it means you don’t care about my feelings, and you don’t care about making me feel secure in this relationship!”
“I don’t agree,” I said cleanly. “The open relationship is over. As of right now. If you cannot accept that, then the engagement is over too.”
Her face twisted into pure, unadulterated rage. The fact that I had just given her an ultimatum—the very thing she used to wear me down a year ago—was more than her pride could bear.
“You are a disgusting, narcissistic piece of garbage!” she roared, stepping into my personal space, her voice spitting with venom. “You think you’re so smart? You think you’re a catch because a bunch of desperate, low-class women slept with you? You’re nothing! You’re a broken, empty shell of a man, and I regret ever wasting four years of my life trying to build something with a monster like you!”
The insults started pouring out of her like water from a broken dam. Every insecurity she had ever harbored about herself was being projected onto me in the form of vicious, gendered slurs. She attacked my character, my appearance, my family, and my work. She spent the next ten minutes trying to systematically dismantle my self-worth, purely because she couldn’t tolerate the reality of her own choices.
I didn’t interrupt her once. I stood there like a statue, watching the woman I had intended to spend the rest of my life with completely destroy every ounce of love I had left for her. It was a bizarrely clarifying experience. When someone shows you exactly how cruel they can be when their ego is bruised, they are handing you a gift. They are showing you their true face.
When she finally ran out of breath, panting, staring at me with venomous anticipation, waiting for me to snap, I simply reached into my pocket. I pulled out my car keys, picked up my wallet from the counter, and walked toward the front door.
“Where are you going?!” she demanded, her voice hovering between panic and rage. “We are not done!”
“I am done,” I said, opening the door without looking back at her. “I’m staying at a hotel tonight. Do not call me. Do not text me. I need space to think about how we dissolve this arrangement cleanly.”
I shut the door behind me, the sound of her screaming my name muffling through the heavy wood.
I checked into a quiet boutique hotel a few miles from the apartment. My phone was already vibrating continuously in my pocket. I set it on the nightstand, poured myself a glass of water, and sat by the window, looking out at the city lights.
When I finally turned on the screen, I didn’t just see texts from Sarah. My inbox was completely flooded. But it wasn’t just messages from her. It turned out Sarah hadn’t spent the last hour reflecting on her behavior. She had immediately gone to her group chat with Clara and several mutual friends, launching a scorched-earth campaign to control the narrative before I could say a word.
And that was when I realized the drama wasn’t just staying between the two of us. The flying monkeys were already being deployed, and the real storm was about to hit.
