Man Finds Out about His Bride’s Betrayal – He Goes to the Altar with a Remote Control in His Hands

Man Finds Out about His Bride’s Betrayal – He Goes to the Altar with a Remote Control in His Hands

Daphne is in the middle of her brother’s wedding. As a bridesmaid, she has an obligation to Denise. But when Liam surprises them all with a video revealing Denise’s ultimate secrets, Daphne has no choice but to choose her brother—even if what he did was humiliating for Denise.

As my brother’s wedding approached, excitement buzzed through the air, filling everyone with anticipation. My brother, the groom, was a notorious prankster, and his hints at a major surprise had us all on edge.

I thought he was just creating the drama for effect—Liam was that person.

A smiling man looking at the camera | Source: Pexels

A smiling man looking at the camera | Source: Pexels

Liam and his fiancée, Denise, had been dating for so long that it didn’t come as a surprise when she asked me to be one of her bridesmaids.

“Please, Daphne,” she asked, gifting me a box full of goodies. “I need you to be there with me on our big day—you’re not just Liam’s little sister, but mine, too.”

Two gift wrapped boxes | Source: Unsplash

Two gift wrapped boxes | Source: Unsplash

Of course, I accepted. Denise did feel like a sister to me—in fact, she was the one who planned my 21st birthday party instead of the friends that I thought would do it.

So, when it came to wedding planning, I think Denise spent more time talking about their wedding to me than Liam.

Gold 21st foil balloons | Source: Unsplash

Gold 21st foil balloons | Source: Unsplash

“I’m just wasting my time with Liam,” she said. “You can make notes for us. And we can do the wedding cake tasting.”

Liam, on the other hand, seemed like he was doing the bare minimum with the wedding—but the reality is that he was busy putting together a beautiful video for the wedding.

A wedding planner and notebooks | Source: Pexels

A wedding planner and notebooks | Source: Pexels

“I’m going to have it played just before we do our vows,” he said when I went to visit him.

He showed me a folder on his laptop where he was saving all his and Denise’s videos and photos, ready to create the video.

A man using a laptop | Source: Unsplash

A man using a laptop | Source: Unsplash

“Do you think Liam has cold feet?” Denise asked me when we went wedding shopping.

“No,” I replied honestly. “He’s planning something for you, that’s taking all his time at the moment.”

“What?” she asked enthusiastically.

“I’m sworn to secrecy,” I said. “Now, go and try on dresses!”

A row of wedding dresses | Source: Unsplash

A row of wedding dresses | Source: Unsplash

On the morning of the wedding, I got to the hotel suite early. I wanted to see Liam before getting ready with Denise and the other bridesmaids.

“You have no idea what’s coming,” he teased, sipping on a glass of champagne as he got ready.

“Oh boy,” I said. “I can’t wait to see what you’ve got planned.”

Two glasses of champagne |  Source: Unsplash

Two glasses of champagne | Source: Unsplash

The ceremony was perfect—and everything had gone exactly to plan as Denise wanted.

From the flowers to the music to the scented candles that perfumed the venue. It was all perfect.

When the time came for the vows, my brother told the priest to wait.

A couple kneeling before a priest | Source: Unsplash

A couple kneeling before a priest | Source: Unsplash

“I have something to show you all,” he said. “This is Denise and my love story from the beginning to right now.”

He pulled a remote from his pocket with a flourish, while two of his groomsmen wheeled a TV screen to the middle of the altar, just in front of where Liam and Denise were standing.

“Watch this,” he said, stepping back to join his groomsmen. And then he pressed play.

A person holding a remote control | Source: Unsplash

A person holding a remote control | Source: Unsplash

The screen came alive with their love story—their first kiss, snippets from trips together, cozy nights in, dinners cooked together, and so on.

The montage tugged at heartstrings, and all the guests were enthralled.

A close-up of a couple | Source: Unsplash

A close-up of a couple | Source: Unsplash

But the real shock was still to come.

As the video ended, the priest went back to his position, ready to continue the ceremony from where he left off. He called for Denise and Liam to resume their positions, too.

He solemnly asked if anyone objected.

A couple at the altar | Source: Pexels

A couple at the altar | Source: Pexels

Before anyone knew what was happening, Liam dropped Denise’s hand and stepped away, back down the aisle.

“I do,” he declared.

“What?” Denise hissed. “Liam, this isn’t the time for one of your pranks.”

“This isn’t a prank,” he said.

Bride and groom at the altar | Source: Pexels

Bride and groom at the altar | Source: Pexels

He held up the remote control again and pressed another button—the air was thick with tension as music began to fill the room.

This new video was a stark contrast—it showed his bride in their shared home, but Denise wasn’t alone.

Instead, she was wearing lingerie and depicted in a compromising situation with another man.

An intimate photo of a couple | Source: Pexels

An intimate photo of a couple | Source: Pexels

The room fell deathly quiet, every eye glued to the screen, then slowly turning to gauge her reaction at my brother’s reveal.

Denise turned around slowly to face her guests, her face ghostly pale, her eyes wide with horror.

“This can’t be happening,” she murmured, more to herself than anyone else.

Then, the same man from the video swore loudly—he was seated at the back of the venue, dressed in a suit.

A man in a suit | Source: Pexels

A man in a suit | Source: Pexels

“This is why I won’t be marrying Denise today,” Liam said, his loud voice breaking the silence, his tone even but heavy with emotion.

“I couldn’t let us all be here, witnessing what was supposed to be love, without the truth being known.”

The ceremony was ground to a halt, and the festive atmosphere evaporated into a thick, awkward tension.

Denise staggered slightly, looking around as if seeking an escape or an ally. She kicked off her shoes and picked them up.

A bride holding her shoes | Source: Pexels

A bride holding her shoes | Source: Pexels

“It’s not what it looks like,” she said. “Liam, please, not here. Let’s talk about it outside.”

I wanted to be able to look at Denise and feel sorry for her—we had been so close for so many years. But the evidence had been in the video. As close as we were, she was just another cheater.

A woman who had hurt my brother.

She pleaded with Liam again, louder this time. Tears fell down her face.

But the damage was done. My brother’s gaze never wavered from the woman he was supposed to marry.

A crying bride | Source: Pexels

A crying bride | Source: Pexels

“How long?” he asked, his voice a low growl.

“Not long,” she managed to say, her composure breaking. “I’m so sorry, you were never supposed to know about it.”

“In our own home, though? Seriously, Denise?” my brother retorted sharply, his hurt palpable to all watching.

“You brought him into our home,” he said.

The crowd murmured, some guests shaking their heads, others unable to look away from the unfolding drama.

A couple lying in bed | Source: Pexels

A couple lying in bed | Source: Pexels

The priest stepped back. I wondered if he was thinking about taking Liam and Denise in for couples’ counseling—something that they had refused when they booked the priest in the first place.

Liam walked out first, abandoning his wedding and all the guests he and Denise had chosen.

Denise ran out behind him, calling out to Liam, but he refused to acknowledge her presence. Her mother ran out behind her.

A bride running | Source: Unsplash

A bride running | Source: Unsplash

Later, I walked around the hotel to find my brother. I found him sitting at the bar, drinking his feelings away while eating a bowl of olives.

“Did you know?” he asked me.

“No, of course not,” I said quickly.

It turned out that when Liam was going through the videos and photos on his laptop, he ended up looking through Denise’s, too.

A hotel bar | Source: Pexels

A hotel bar | Source: Pexels

“I just wanted to see if there was anything else that I could add to the video,” he said sadly.

I ordered myself a drink and got comfortable next to my brother—from the looks of it, we were going to be there for a long time.

“I went through the first folder,” he admitted. “And it was incredible because she had all these photos that I hadn’t seen before. But in the next folder, there was the video of Denise with that man. It wasn’t even a locked folder, Daphne,” he said.

A cocktail on a tray | Source: Unsplash

A cocktail on a tray | Source: Unsplash

We were both silent for a while, and Liam gulped away his drink.

“Do you think I was wrong to expose her?” he asked.

“No,” I said honestly. “But maybe you should have spoken to her privately. There’s no knowing how this could wreck her. Or what she’ll do next.”

I sat back in my seat and helped myself to the bowl of pretzels that the bartender had left out for us.

“I have no intention of checking on her,” Liam said. “I don’t care.”

A bowl of pretzel sticks and nuts | Source: Unsplash

A bowl of pretzel sticks and nuts | Source: Unsplash

I didn’t have any intention of getting Liam to forgive Denise. There was no point in trying to get him to forgive her after what she had done—Liam had always been sure of one thing. Cheating was the absolute deal breaker in a relationship.

“Come,” he said. “Let’s go eat some wedding cake. That can’t go to waste, too.”

I followed my brother out to the dining room that had been set up for the wedding reception.

I knew that as much as I wanted to check on Denise—Liam needed me in his corner.

A white wedding cake with fruit | Source: Unsplash

A white wedding cake with fruit | Source: Unsplash

What would you have done?

My husband hired someone to teach me how to clean and cook – he wasn’t pleased with how I got back at him

I was floored when my husband, Jeff, brought in a maid to “teach” me how to cook and clean like the ideal wife. Rather than push back, I played along. What Jeff didn’t see coming was the lesson I had in store for him — one that would turn his perfect plan topsy-turvy.

I’m Leighton, 32, juggling a full-time job, a chaotic household, and a 34-year-old husband who’s lately become an expert on what a “perfect wife” should be.

Jeff and I both work demanding jobs: he’s in finance, constantly stressed about quarterly reports, while I’m in marketing, which means my brain is fried by the time I get home. You’d think we’d cut each other some slack, but lately, Jeff’s expectations have been through the roof.

It all started after that infamous dinner at his boss Tom’s place. Tom’s wife, Susan, greeted us with this warm smile, wearing a perfectly pressed dress that probably cost more than my rent in college. Her house? Spotless. Not a speck of dust, not a misplaced throw pillow.

And don’t get me started on the five-course meal she whipped up as if she’d been born holding a spatula. Jeff couldn’t stop gawking.

“You see how Susan keeps everything in order? Dinner’s ready the minute Tom gets home,” Jeff had said on the drive back, his voice dripping with admiration. “You could take a few pointers.”

I bit my tongue, staring out the window to avoid rolling my eyes but Tom wasn’t done yet. “Why don’t you try a little harder? I mean, how difficult can it be to keep things clean when you get home before me?”

The comparisons didn’t stop. Every day was a new critique. “Susan keeps her house spotless. Susan has time to make fresh pasta from scratch. Susan always looks put together.”

He’d say this while tossing his dirty clothes two feet from the laundry basket or leaving his dishes right where he finished eating.

One evening, he came home and immediately started inspecting the house like some kind of drill sergeant. He ran his finger along the windowsill and frowned. “You missed a spot. Are you even trying?”

I glanced up from my laptop, barely containing my frustration. “Seriously, Jeff?”

He shrugged. “I’m just saying, maybe you could put in a little more effort. It’s not like you don’t have time.”

That was his new favorite line. Not like you don’t have time. As if my workday and commute weren’t as draining as his. But the final straw came one Friday night.

I walked in, dreaming of a hot shower and some rest, but instead, I found a young woman in our kitchen. She was holding a mop and wearing an apron, her eyes darting nervously around like she’d accidentally wandered into the wrong house.

Jeff stood beside her, arms crossed, with a self-satisfied grin. “Leighton, meet Marianne. She’s here to teach you how to clean and cook properly.”

I blinked, trying to process what I was hearing. “I’m sorry… teach me?”

Jeff sighed like he was talking to a stubborn child. “Yeah, honey. I’ve tried being patient, but clearly, you’re not getting it. Susan suggested I get someone to help you get up to speed. So, here we are.”

Marianne glanced at me, then at Jeff, and back at me. “I usually just… you know, clean houses,” she said softly, almost apologetic. “He offered me double if I’d show you how.”

I turned to Jeff, barely keeping my voice steady. “So, you’re paying her to teach me to clean and cook?”

He nodded, still oblivious. “Yeah. This way, you can get the hang of it properly. Marianne, don’t hold back.”

I wanted to scream. This man, who never lifted a finger, had the audacity to hire someone to teach me how to clean? I could see Marianne’s discomfort too, like she was dragged into some weird reality TV show.

I forced a smile, seething inside. “I’m sure I’ve got a lot to learn, Jeff. Thanks for looking out for me.”

Jeff left, pleased with himself, while Marianne looked like she was ready to bolt. I leaned in, lowering my voice. “Listen, I don’t need lessons. But I do have a little idea that could use some help. Are you game?”

Marianne’s face lit up, intrigued. “What do you have in mind?”

I smiled, already plotting. “Let’s just say Jeff’s about to learn a lesson of his own.”

Over the next few weeks, I gave Jeff exactly what he’d been asking for: the perfect housewife. Every day, I woke up early, made his breakfast, cleaned the house until it sparkled, and cooked elaborate dinners that looked straight out of a cooking show.

I even dressed up every evening, greeting him at the door with a smile that didn’t quite reach my eyes.

But I was cold as ice. I didn’t nag or complain, but I also didn’t engage. No conversations about my day, no affectionate touches, not even a casual laugh. I became the picture of domestic perfection, but I was just going through the motions. It didn’t take long for Jeff to notice something was off.

“Hey, babe,” he said one evening, hovering at the kitchen door while I prepared a three-course meal. “You’ve been quiet lately. Is everything okay?”

I barely looked up, keeping my tone polite but distant. “I’m fine, Jeff. Just busy with the house, like you wanted.”

His brow furrowed. “You don’t have to be… this dedicated. I mean, it’s great, but it’s like you’re here, but you’re not.”

I shrugged, setting the table with precision. “I’m just focusing on what you asked me to do, Jeff.”

He nodded, but I could tell he was confused. This was what he wanted, wasn’t it? A perfect house, perfect meals, perfect wife. But I wasn’t giving him the satisfaction of my usual warmth, and it was starting to bother him.

As the days went on, I kept up my act. Every task was done flawlessly, but our relationship? It was as cold and mechanical as a well-rehearsed performance. I knew Jeff could feel the distance between us, but he didn’t know how to fix it. And I wasn’t going to make it easy for him.

Then came the day I’d been planning for weeks. After a perfectly silent dinner, I cleared the plates and turned to him with a cheerful smile. “Jeff, we need to talk.”

He glanced up, a nervous smile twitching on his lips. “What’s up?”

I sat across from him, placing a neatly folded piece of paper on the table. “I’ve been thinking a lot about this whole ‘perfect housewife’ thing. Marianne really opened my eyes to how much work it takes to run a household like this. It’s a full-time job, honestly.”

Jeff frowned, not sure where I was going. “Uh, okay?”

“So, I’ve decided,” I continued brightly. “I’m going to quit my job and focus on this full-time.”

His jaw dropped. “You’re quitting your job?”

I nodded enthusiastically. “Yep! You wanted the house to be spotless, meals cooked from scratch, and everything just right. To do that, I need to dedicate all my time to it. But here’s the catch — I can’t do it for free.”

He blinked, baffled. “Wait, what do you mean ‘can’t do it for free?’”

I slid the paper toward him. It was a contract I’d typed up, outlining my new terms.

“If I’m giving up my career, I should be compensated. Susan doesn’t work, and Tom supports her. So, I’ll need you to pay me a salary. This is what I think is fair.”

He stared at me, his face turning from confused to outraged. “You want me to pay you? Leighton, this is absurd!”

I kept my tone sweet, but my words were laced with ice. “Oh, but it makes perfect sense. You wanted me to be a perfect wife, and I’ve been delivering. But perfection isn’t free, Jeff. If you expect me to maintain the household to your standards, I deserve compensation. And if you’re not willing to pay, that’s fine. I’ll just stop doing it.”

He gaped at me, the color draining from his face. “I never asked you to quit your job! I never wanted this.”

I leaned back, arms crossed, savoring every second. “Oh, but you did, Jeff. You wanted a house that looked like Susan’s, meals like hers, and a wife who dedicated herself entirely to domestic duties. I’m just doing exactly what you asked for. But I have my standards too, and if you want this level of dedication, it comes at a price.”

There was a long, tense silence. Jeff held the contract, his eyes fixated on the exorbitant salary. I could see the gears turning as he realized he’d dug himself into a hole he couldn’t easily climb out of.

Finally, he sputtered, “This isn’t what I meant! I work hard all day. I don’t have time to do everything around here!”

I stood up, keeping my voice calm but firm. “Exactly. And now you know what it feels like. If you’re not willing to pay me, maybe it’s time you start contributing more around the house. Or you could always hire Marianne full-time. She’s great, after all.”

I left him sitting there, flustered and speechless.

From that day on, Jeff’s attitude changed. He never agreed to pay me, of course, but he also stopped complaining. And suddenly, chores were no longer just my responsibility.

Jeff started picking up after himself, doing the laundry, and even cooking dinner a few nights a week. He never brought up Susan again, and I never saw him running a finger along the shelves in search of dust.

Turns out, when you give someone exactly what they think they want, they realize pretty quickly that the fantasy isn’t nearly as sweet as the reality. Jeff learned that the hard way, and I got the one thing I’d wanted all along: respect.

In the end, Jeff didn’t need a perfect wife; he needed a partner. And if it took hiring a maid and drawing up a fake contract to get there. Well, that was a lesson worth teaching.

What do you think?

Related Posts

Be the first to comment

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.


*