I Woke Up in My Slut Era, But It's a Setup

I'd just had a huge fight with my husband and stormed out, checking myself into a hotel. I thought a night alone would help me cool off. I never imagined that one night would end up making me internet infamous.

There was this video—my face flushed, my movements loose, dancing in a hotel room surrounded by eight men I'd never seen before.

Sean was livid. He slapped me—hard. "So this is what you call cooling off? You fucking slut!"

I couldn't explain the marks and bites scattered across my skin. I didn't even know how they got there. Humiliated and desperate, I called the police.

But the investigation only dug my grave deeper. The forensics team confirmed the video was real. They found DNA—mine and those men's—on the used condoms in the trash.

I had no alibi. No way to prove I'd been alone that night. The evidence was overwhelming. To the world, I was a cheater, a liar, a disgrace.

My parents—kind, respected schoolteachers their whole lives—couldn't handle the fallout. The harassment, the vicious calls, the shameful stares… it broke them. They took their own lives.

And me? I didn't even get time to grieve. The next day, I was dragged into an alley and beaten to death by thugs hired by the wives of those eight men. They didn't care about the truth. They just wanted revenge.

Even after dying, I couldn't make sense of it. I was alone that night. Nothing happened. So why did I wake up into that nightmare?

But then I opened my eyes—and it was the day I was supposed to check into that hotel.

"Honey, please," Sean's voice cut through my daze. He stood beside me, looking just as tired and frustrated as he had that day. "I've told you—I don't know who's sending those texts. I thought it was you testing me at first, but after that, I never replied. I blocked the number."

His words pulled me back. I had been reborn.

In my past life, an unknown number kept texting him things like "I miss you" and "Are you free tonight?" We fought—I was sure he was cheating. That fight was the beginning of the end of our three-year marriage.

Furious and stubborn, I packed a bag and left.

That night, I stayed at a hotel to clear my head. By the next morning, a video of me had gone viral. And now… here I was again, reliving it all. Watching myself wheel out the same suitcase. Watching Sean sigh and run a hand over his face.

"Where do you want to go?" he asked, his voice drained. "I'll drive you."

Just like last time.

I'd originally planned to go to my parents', but Sean convinced me not to worry them. So I chose the hotel. And everything fell apart.

This time, I paused only a moment before saying, "I want to go to my parents'. Just tell them you're away on business. They won't ask too many questions."

Sean nodded and took my suitcase. "Okay. Honestly, I'd feel better if you were with them anyway."

I searched his face—for a lie, a flicker of guilt, anything. But he looked exactly as I remembered: concerned, gentle, even a little sad.

He really did drive me to my parents'.

But the more normal everything felt, the more uneasy I became.

After he left, I stood in the kitchen doorway watching my mom move around, humming while she cooked. My eyes burned with tears.