I never trusted my brother’s wife. When expensive gifts started disappearing, I followed my instincts and set a trap. What I uncovered was nothing like I expected.
My name’s Hanna. I’m 28 years old. I live in Raleigh and work as a receptionist at a dental office, which is honestly a lot less boring than it sounds.
You meet all kinds of people, hear their stories, and pick up on different energies. Maybe that’s how I learned to trust my gut. And let me tell you, mine is rarely wrong.
I have one brother, Dylan. He’s 26, a little goofy, loves old rock vinyl, and he has a sad-looking German Shepherd, Louie. Dylan’s the kind of guy who still believes in soulmates.
No, really. He once told me he was saving his first “I love you” for someone special. Most people might find that sweet.
I found it painfully naive. So when he told us he was seeing someone, “the one,” as he called her, I had already braced myself. “I swear, Hanna, she’s different,” he told me over coffee one Saturday morning.
“Oh? What’s her name, and how exactly is she different from, say, Jen, Casey, or that girl who said your car gave her anxiety?”
He laughed. “Oh, you mean Stephanie?
She’s amazing. She listens, she’s kind, and she gets me. I don’t even know how to put it into words.
All I know is that things just feel right with her.”
I took a slow sip of my drink, giving him a sisterly look. “You’ve known her for how long?”
“Two months,” he admitted. “But it feels longer, trust me.”
Of course it did.
The first time I met Stephanie, I knew something was off. She was 25, blonde, with manicured nails and foxy, calculating eyes. She smiled too perfectly, laughed too lightly, and kept glancing at her phone like she was waiting for something better to come along.
She reached out for a hug. “You must be Hanna! I’ve heard so much about you.”
“Have you?” I said with a small smile.
“Funny. I hadn’t heard a single thing about you until three days ago.”
Dylan shot me a look, but she just laughed. From that day, I started calling her The Snake in my head.
She knew how to charm. She’d wrap Dylan around her little finger with a pout or a fake giggle, and the boy would go sprinting. “Darling, I’ve always wanted this little black clutch, but it’s so expensive,” she said one day while we were all out.
I immediately saw a gold digger after my brother’s money. Dylan didn’t even blink. “I’ll get it for you.”
I turned to him.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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