My Fiancée’s Lover Called While She Was In The Shower—One Phone Call Exposed Her Secret Wedding Scam
Chapter 3: Flying Monkeys and False Victims
The first flying monkey arrived on Tuesday.
His name was Kevin.
One of Isabel’s cousins.
The type of man who mistakes confidence for intelligence.
He called me around noon.
“You need to stop this.”
Interesting opening.
No greeting.
No curiosity.
Just accusation.
“What exactly am I stopping?”
“This revenge campaign.”
I leaned back in my chair.
“Which part is revenge?”
“The part where you’re ruining her life.”
There it was.
The victim narrative.
Predictable.
Almost comforting in its familiarity.
I spent the next ten minutes asking simple questions.
Had he seen the documents?
No.
Had he spoken to Ryan?
No.
Did he know about the duplicate vendor inquiries?
No.
Did he know about the loan application?
No.
By the end of the conversation, he sounded significantly less confident.
Facts have a way of doing that.
Unfortunately, Kevin wasn’t the last.
Three friends.
Two relatives.
An aunt.
A former roommate.
Each one arrived carrying the same script.
Each one left carrying uncertainty.
Because nobody had been given the full story.
They had only received Isabel’s version.
And her version depended entirely on selective omission.
Then Lauren detonated everything.
Lauren had been Isabel’s closest friend for nearly ten years.
She knew where the bodies were buried.
Metaphorically speaking.
And apparently guilt finally outweighed loyalty.
One evening she posted screenshots into a private group chat involving family and wedding attendees.
Not dramatic screenshots.
Practical screenshots.
Planning screenshots.
Financial screenshots.
Timeline screenshots.
The worst kind.
Because they were impossible to dismiss as emotional.
Within hours the flying monkeys disappeared.
Not because they suddenly respected me.
Because evidence made defense impossible.
Then Isabel truly panicked.
She arrived at my rental after dark.
Knocking harder than necessary.
Demanding conversation.
Demanding forgiveness.
Demanding intervention.
Most importantly…
Demanding rescue.
“I need you to fix this.”
I stared at her.
“No.”
“You can stop it.”
“No.”
“Please.”
That word surprised me.
Not because it sounded sincere.
Because it sounded unfamiliar.
People who control others rarely ask.
They expect.
This was different.
For the first time, expectations were failing.
Tears followed.
Real tears.
But tears don’t erase intent.
Eventually she sat on my couch and whispered the truth.
Not all of it.
Just enough.
She admitted she had reconnected with Ryan months earlier.
She admitted she delayed legal agreements intentionally.
She admitted she wasn’t sure which future she wanted.
That was the closest thing to honesty she’d offered since the phone call.
And somehow it made everything worse.
Because uncertainty is not an excuse for deception.
It’s merely the reason behind it.
When she left that night, I knew the relationship was already over.
The only thing remaining was paperwork.
Unfortunately for Isabel, paperwork was about to become a serious problem.
Because the venue had reached a decision.
The deposits were gone.
The date was being released.
And her signature was attached to every contractual obligation.
The official notice would arrive the next morning.
And when it did, the final collapse would begin.
