A flight to surprise my fiancé turned into something I never expected. One kiss, one stranger, and one shocking discovery later, my plan to uncover the truth spiraled into an unforgettable adventure.
I stood in the boarding line clutching my ticket and a cup of cold coffee. The day had started like most days in my life lately: overthinking and just enough caffeine to fuel my questionable decisions.
I was flying to visit Oliver, my fiancé. The man had impeccable suits, a charming smile, and a schedule so packed it felt like I needed to book an appointment just to remind him I existed.
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He’d been working in another city, closing some “big deal.” But lately, the deal seemed to involve more late nights with his secretary. She wasn’t just a thorn in my side but the whole rosebush.
I’d tried to ignore it until THAT text came a few days ago. A message from Oliver lit up the screen:
“Can’t wait to see you. Don’t forget your signature suit!”
But before I could even craft a reply, the message disappeared. Vanished.
“Strange,” I muttered just as Oliver’s name popped up on my screen.
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“Hey, did you just get a text from me?”
“Yes…”
“Oh, that was for Greg!” he blurted out a little too quickly. “We’ve got a big meeting tomorrow. You know how Greg is always forgetting stuff!”
Sure, Oliver. Sure.
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That’s when I decided I’d had enough of the cryptic texts and excuses. I wasn’t about to sit around playing detective in my own relationship.
When I boarded the plane, my window seat was occupied. A man in his forties lounged there as if he were the protagonist in some indie film.
“Excuse me, that’s my seat,” I said with a smile.
He glanced up lazily. “Is it? I thought seating was more of a suggestion.”
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“And I thought manners weren’t optional.”
After a dramatic sigh, he moved. It turned out his name was Lucas, and he had a gift for testing the limits of human tolerance. By this time, he’d spread his belongings across our shared space and casually suggested I “relax a little,” and I sat there wondering if I’d been cursed.
Suddenly, the captain announced we’d be making an unscheduled landing in a small town due to bad weather.
Perfect. Stuck in the middle of nowhere. What else could go wrong?
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***
The town’s airport was so small it felt like we had landed in a different era. Wooden benches creaked under the weight of weary passengers, and the single vending machine hummed lifelessly, its contents reduced to a solitary pack of stale gum.
Eventually, a manager brought the news. “We’ve arranged accommodations for all passengers. Due to the circumstances, the airline will cover the cost of tonight’s stay at the nearby hotel.”
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The word “hotel” sent the crowd into a frenzy. People bolted for the shuttle like their lives depended on it, jostling for a spot and leaving me standing there in the aftermath of their rush.
“Hi,” I said. “I’d like a room, please.”
The receptionist barely glanced up as she typed furiously into her computer. “We only have one room left.”
“One room?”
“Yes,” she confirmed, still typing. “It’s already been booked by the airline for you both.”
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“Excuse me,” I interrupted, stepping closer to the desk. “Can’t I just book a separate room? I’ll pay for it myself.”
The receptionist sighed, finally looking up. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but the hotel is fully booked. Every room in town is. Unless you’d like to try camping.”
I glared at Lucas, who grinned like he’d just won the lottery.
“Looks like we’re roommates.”
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***
When we walked in, my heart sank. It was tiny, barely enough space for one person, let alone two.
“I’ll take the couch,” I said quickly.
“Fine by me,” Lucas replied, dropping his stuff onto the bed.
To my horror, he immediately started spreading his things around.
“Are you trying to set a record for the fastest way to irritate someone?” I snapped.
“Just making myself comfortable.”
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By the time dinner rolled around, I was on the verge of losing my mind. We headed to the hotel’s small restaurant, where Lucas acted as if we were on some luxury retreat.
“This steak isn’t bad,” he said, cutting into his meal with ease. “Honestly, today’s been fun. Don’t you think so?”
“Fun?”
He laughed. “You need to lighten up. Life’s an adventure.”
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He shared that he was flying to surprise his fiancée. I told him about Oliver, about how busy he’d been, though my voice faltered when I described our “strong” relationship.
“Sounds solid,” he said, though his tone suggested otherwise.
When the flight was finally back on schedule, I thought I’d be free of Lucas. But life had a funny way of complicating things.
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***
After we landed in New York, the energy outside the airport was pure chaos. People were darting around like ants, dragging suitcases and waving at taxis. Lucas, standing beside me, looked oddly cheerful—far too pleased with his plan to surprise his fiancée.
“So, what’s the big plan?” I asked, half-teasing.
“Show up, sweep her off her feet, remind her why she said yes in the first place,” he replied with a cocky grin.
I snorted. “Romantic. I hope she’s there to be swept off her feet and not, you know, with someone else.”
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Lucas said nothing, and I immediately regretted the jab.
“You?” he countered after a beat. “What’s your game plan?”
“I thought about it. Why not surprise Oliver? He hasn’t called or texted in days. A little spontaneity could be fun.”
“Bold move,” Lucas said, nodding in approval. “Let’s see who has the more dramatic reunion.”
We hailed a cab, and as Lucas gave the driver an address…
“Wait,” I blurted. “That’s where I’m going.”
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Lucas glanced at me, his smirk widening. “Fate. Gotta love it.”
It was absurd. Out of all the places in New York, we were heading to the same building. What were the odds?
***
When we arrived, I stepped out of the cab, heart pounding, and walked toward the entrance. That’s when I saw them. Oliver. And his secretary, Sophie.
They strolled out of the office building together, laughing. She wore a dress that screamed “expensive,” and he leaned in too close.
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Then it happened. The kiss. Not a polite, professional peck, but the kind of kiss that made the ground feel like it was falling out from under me. I froze.
“Kate,” Lucas’s voice snapped me out of my daze. He had followed me, his expression shifting from confusion to fury as he took in the scene. “Is that…”
Before I could process what was happening, Lucas grabbed my arm and steered me back toward the cab.
“Follow them,” he ordered the driver, slipping him a $50 bill.
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The cab jolted forward, Lucas leaned back, running a hand through his hair. His jaw was tight.
“That’s Sophie,” he said suddenly.
“What?”
“The woman with your fiancé,” he clarified. “That’s Sophie. My fiancée.”
My brain scrambled to piece it together.
“Are you sure?” I asked, though I already knew the answer.
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Lucas let out a harsh laugh, shaking his head. “Oh, I’m sure. That dress she’s wearing? I bought it for her. She said it was for some ‘important meeting.’”
“So, let me get this straight. Your fiancée kissed with my fiancé. What are the chances?”
“Apparently, too good,” he said dryly.
The cab driver glanced at us in the rearview mirror, clearly entertained by the drama unfolding in his backseat.
Lucas looked at me. “You okay?”
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“Peachy,” I said with a forced smile. “How about you?”
“Never better,” he replied, the sarcasm in his voice matching mine.
We both fell silent, watching as Oliver and Sophie disappeared into the restaurant. The cab slowed to a stop.
“Well,” he said, breaking the silence. “Now what?”
“I have an idea! But it’s going to require some creativity.”
“I’m listening.”
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“Good,” I said, already reaching for the door handle. “Because this is going to be fun. Give me a few minutes.”
I darted around the corner, finding a small bakery. One cake caught my eye. Perfect. I quickly bought it, grabbed a card, and returned to the restaurant.
“What’s that for?” Lucas asked as I handed him the cake and my engagement ring.
“Trust me,” I said, my voice steady. “Are you in?”
He smirked. “If it ends my relationship with style, I’m all in.”
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***
We walked into the restaurant like actors entering a stage, adrenaline buzzing in my veins. The warm glow of candlelight illuminated Sophie and Oliver, seated at a cozy corner table, laughing like they didn’t have a care in the world.
As we approached their table, their laughter faltered. Sophie’s face stiffened, her smile freezing like a glitching robot. Oliver quickly wiped his mouth with his napkin as if preparing for a courtroom defense.
“Kate?” Oliver stammered, looking as though he’d seen a ghost.
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“Lucas?” Sophie added.
“Well, well,” I said with a smile. “Fancy meeting you two here.”
Sophie, ever the professional, recovered first. “Oh! Lucas, this is Oliver. Oliver, this is Lucas. And Kate, you both know her. Huh! We were just, uh, wrapping up a business meeting!”
“Business meeting?” I repeated, my tone drenched in sarcasm. “Fascinating. Are kisses part of your standard business negotiations, or was that just a special offer?”
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Lucas leaned in, his expression mock-thoughtful. “You know, I wondered the same thing earlier. Guess we weren’t imagining it.”
Oliver jumped in. “Sophie and I were just, uh, brainstorming strategies.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Oh, brainstorming. That’s what we’re calling it now?”
Lucas chuckled beside me, clearly enjoying himself. “Kate, don’t be so hard on them. It’s hard work… kissing and brainstorming.”
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The waiter appeared at that perfect moment, holding a cake on a tray.
The words “Sophie, Will You Marry Me?” were written in pink icing.
I gasped theatrically. “Oh my goodness, there’s my ring!”
Reaching over, I plucked the ring off the cake and tossed it toward Oliver. “Were you planning to propose to her again with this? How efficient of you.”
Oliver’s face turned crimson. “It’s not like that! This was just… a fling! I never meant to marry her!”
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Sophie’s expression darkened.
“A fling?!” she hissed. “I was ready to leave my fiancé for you, and this was just an affair to you?”
Their argument erupted. Heads turned at nearby tables, diners whispering behind their menus like that was the best entertainment they’d had all week.
Lucas and I exchanged a glance. Our mission there was done. As Oliver and Sophie’s shouting reached its peak, we slipped out of the restaurant.
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Later, we sat on a park bench, sharing the cake.
“You know,” Lucas said, grinning between bites. “This cake is the best thing that’s happened to me in months.”
“Maybe it’s because we’ve left the past behind. Clean slate.”
“What’s next for us, Kate?”
“I guess we’ll find out,” I said, handing him the plastic spoon.
I felt ready for whatever came next.
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If you enjoyed this story, read this one: I thought I was walking into a dream—a date with the man I’d secretly loved for a year. But the moment I arrived, reality hit me like a snowstorm. Instead of romance, I faced a dazzling fiancée and an unexpected proposal that would change everything I thought I knew. Read the full story here.
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My husband created a new schedule to ‘improve my role as a wife’ — I taught him a lesson in return
I was stunned when my husband, Jake, handed me a schedule to help me “become a better wife.” But instead of blowing up, I played along.Little did Jake know, I was about to teach him a lesson that would make him rethink his newfound approach to marriage.
I’ve always prided myself on being the level-headed one in our marriage. Jake, bless his heart, could get swept up in things pretty easily, whether it was a new hobby, or some random YouTube video that promised to change his life in three easy steps.
But we were solid until Jake met Steve. Steve was the type of guy who thought being loudly opinionated made him right, the type that talks right over you when you try to correct him.
He was also a perpetually single guy (who could have guessed?), who graciously dispensed relationship advice to all his married colleagues, Jake included. Jake should’ve known better, but my darling husband was positively smitten with Steve’s confidence.
I didn’t think much of it until Jake started making some noxious comments.
“Steve says relationships work best when the wife takes charge of the household,” he’d say. Or “Steve thinks it’s important for women to look good for their husbands, no matter how long they’ve been married.”
I’d roll my eyes and reply with some sarcastic remark, but it was getting under my skin. Jake was changing. He’d arch his eyebrows if I ordered takeout instead of cooking, and sigh when I let the laundry pile up because, God forbid, I had my own full-time job.
And then it happened. One night, he came home with The List.
He sat me down at the kitchen table, unfolded a piece of paper, and slid it across to me.
“I’ve been thinking,” he started, his voice dripping with a condescending tone I hadn’t heard from him before. “You’re a great wife, Lisa. But there’s room for improvement.”
My eyebrows shot up. “Oh really?”
He nodded, oblivious to the danger zone he was entering. “Yeah. Steve helped me realize that our marriage could be even better if you, you know, stepped up a bit.”
I stared at the paper in front of me. It was a schedule… and he’d written “Lisa’s Weekly Routine for Becoming a Better Wife” at the top in bold.
This guy had actually sat down and mapped out my entire week based on what Steve — a single guy with zero relationship experience — thought I should do to “improve” myself as a wife.
I was supposed to wake up at 5 a.m. every day to make Jake a gourmet breakfast. Then I’d hit the gym for an hour to “stay in shape.”
After that? A delightful lineup of chores: cleaning, laundry, ironing. And that was all before I left for work. I was supposed to cook a meal from scratch every evening and make fancy snacks for Jake and his friends when they came over to hang out at our place.
The whole thing was sexist and insulting on so many levels I didn’t even know where to start. I ended up staring at him, wondering if my husband had lost his mind.
“This will be great for you, and us,” he continued, oblivious.
“Steve says it’s important to maintain structure, and I think you could benefit from —”
“I could benefit from what?” I interrupted, my voice dangerously calm. Jake blinked, caught off guard by the interruption, but he recovered quickly.
“Well, you know, from having some guidance and a schedule.”
I wanted to throw that paper in his face and ask him if he’d developed a death wish. Instead, I did something that surprised even me: I smiled.
“You’re right, Jake,” I said sweetly. “I’m so lucky that you made me this schedule. I’ll start tomorrow.”
The relief on his face was instant. I almost felt sorry for him as I got up and stuck the list on the fridge. Almost. He had no idea what was coming.
The next day, I couldn’t help but smirk as I studied the ridiculous schedule again. If Jake thought he could hand me a list of “improvements,” then he was about to find out just how much structure our life could really handle.
I pulled out my laptop, opened up a fresh document, and titled it, “Jake’s Plan for Becoming the Best Husband Ever.” He wanted a perfect wife? Fine. But there was a cost to perfection.
I began by listing all the things he had suggested for me, starting with the gym membership he was so keen on. It was laughable, really.
“$1,200 for a personal trainer.” I typed, barely containing my giggle.
Next came the food. If Jake wanted to eat like a king, that wasn’t happening on our current grocery budget. Organic, non-GMO, free-range everything? That stuff didn’t come cheap.
“$700 per month for groceries,” I wrote. He’d probably need to chip in for a cooking class too. Those were pricey, but hey, perfection wasn’t free.
I leaned back in my chair, laughing to myself as I imagined Jake’s face when he saw this. But I wasn’t done. Oh no, the pièce de résistance was still to come.
See, there was no way I could juggle all these expectations while holding down my job. If Jake wanted me to dedicate myself full-time to his absurd routine, then he’d have to compensate for the loss of my income.
I pulled up a calculator, estimating the value of my salary. Then, I added it to the list, complete with a little note: “$75,000 per year to replace Lisa’s salary since she will now be your full-time personal assistant, maid, and chef.”
My stomach hurt from laughing at this point.
And just for good measure, I threw in a suggestion about him needing to expand the house. After all, if he was going to have his friends over regularly, they’d need a dedicated space that wouldn’t intrude on my newly organized, impossibly structured life.
“$50,000 to build a separate ‘man cave’ so Jake and his friends don’t disrupt Lisa’s schedule.”
By the time I was done, the list was a masterpiece. A financial and logistical nightmare, sure, but a masterpiece nonetheless. It wasn’t just a counterattack — it was a wake-up call.
I printed it out, set it neatly on the kitchen counter, and waited for Jake to come home. When he finally walked through the door that evening, he was in a good mood.
“Hey, babe,” he called out, dropping his keys on the counter. He spotted the paper almost immediately. “What’s this?”
I kept my face neutral, fighting the urge to laugh as I watched him pick it up. “Oh, it’s just a little list I put together for you,” I said sweetly, “to help you become the best husband ever.”
Jake chuckled, thinking I was playing along with his little game. But as he scanned the first few lines, the grin started to fade. I could see the wheels turning in his head, the slow realization that this wasn’t the lighthearted joke he thought it was.
“Wait… what is all this?” He squinted at the numbers, his eyes widening as he saw the total costs. “$1,200 for a personal trainer? $700 a month for groceries? What the hell, Lisa?”
I leaned against the kitchen island, crossing my arms.
“Well, you want me to wake up at 5 a.m., hit the gym, make gourmet breakfasts, clean the house, cook dinner, and host your friends. I figured we should budget for all of that, don’t you think?”
His face turned pale as he flipped through the pages. “$75,000 a year? You’re quitting your job?!”
I shrugged. “How else am I supposed to follow your plan? I can’t work and be the perfect wife, right?”
He stared at the paper, dumbfounded.
The numbers, the absurdity of his own demands, it all hit him at once. His smugness evaporated, replaced by a dawning realization that he had seriously, seriously messed up.
“I… I didn’t mean…” Jake stammered, looking at me with wide eyes. “Lisa, I didn’t mean for it to be like this. I just thought —”
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