Fake wedding 31

? Views, Released on December 13, 2024

Chapter 9

Ethan looked hollow, a shell of the man I had once known. He stood by the window, his gaze unfocused, lost in a sea of grief. Serena, sensing his vulnerability, wrapped her arms around him, resting her cheek against his back. “I’m here, Ethan. I’m not going anywhere.”

But he pushed her away, his voice a hollow whisper. “Go, Serena. I can’t… I don’t want to see

ou right now.”

He finally believed me. My words, once dismissed as lies, as manipulations, were now ringing true in the silence of his grief. He finally saw the truth.

But it didn’t matter anymore.

My heart had died the day he chose her over me, the day he raised his hand to strike me, his eyes filled with a rage that was both terrifyin and heartbreaking.

“You only loved me because I saved your life,” Serena said, her voice filled with pain and

confusion.

Ethan looked at her, a humorless laugh escaping his lips. “Isn’t that how this whole twisted story began, Serena? A debt I could never repay?”

“But Ethan, didn’t Grace tell you…?”

I had. I had tried, over and over, to tell him the truth about that day, about Serena’s willing departure, about the million dollars and the plane ticket. But he had refused to listen,

choosing instead to believe the lie, the narrative that painted me as the heartless villain, the choosing instead to believe the lie, the woman who had driven away his true love.

He flinched, her words like a physical blow. He looked at me then, a flicker of recognition in his eyes. For a moment, I allowed myself to hope that he could see me, that he finally

understood.

But the moment passed. He shook his head, his voice a low murmur. “I have to go to Miami. Grace and Abby are waiting.”

I watched them leave, Serena clinging to him, his body stiff, his gaze distant, as if searching

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for something he couldn’t find, something he had lost and could never reclaim. My heart, already broken, felt a new pang of sadness, a longing for a connection that could never be, a love that had died a long, slow death, drowned in a sea of misunderstanding and betrayal.

I saw my body then, bloated and discolored, lying on a cold, steel table. Even in death, I couldn’t escape the indignity of his rejection. Ethan couldn’t recognize me either. He just stared at the remains, his eyes filled with a grief that seemed both genuine and strangely detached. “I’m so sorry, Grace,” he whispered, his voice thick with unshed tears.

is apology meant nothing. I couldn’t forgive him, not for this, not for Abby.

He collected my belongings, arranged the funeral, each action a hollow performance, a desperate attempt to atone for sins he couldn’t even acknowledge.

Abby, clinging to my spectral hand, watched him, her eyes wide with confusion. She didn’t understand his sadness, his sudden attentiveness, the tears that streamed down his face.

An angel appeared before us, his wings a blinding white against the darkness of the afterlife. We were on the beach, the waves crashing against the shore, their rhythmic roar a constant presence, a reminder of the life I had lost, the love that had drowned me.

“Do you want to go back?” the angel asked, his voice gentle, his eyes filled with a compassion that was both comforting and heartbreaking.

“No,” I whispered, my gaze fixed on Abby, her small form shimmering like a fragile flame in the darkness. “Can I trade places with her? Can I give her my life?”

“She’s young. She has a whole life ahead of her.”

The angel shook his head.

But I couldn’t let her go. Not like this.

I pleaded with the angels, with God, with any higher power that might be listening, to grant me this one wish, to give Abby back her life, a chance at a future, a future without me, a future where Ethan might finally see her, might finally love her the way she deserved to be loved.

And then, a miracle.

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I felt a shift, a separation, as Abby’s spirit surged back into her body. Time seemed to rewind, the hands on the clock spinning backwards, returning us to the moment before her

surgery.

But this time, Ethan was there, his hand holding hers, his face etched with worry.

Her eyes fluttered open, searching for me, her voice a small, confused whisper. “Mommy?”

“Mommy’s gone, sweetheart,” Ethan said, his voice thick with emotion.

She asked about that other place, that place where Mommy had gone, wondering if there were pretty dresses, if it was warm and sunny there, if she could play there.

He couldn’t answer. He just held her close, his body trembling with a grief that was both

raw and unfamiliar, a depth of emotion he had never shown me.

The angel stood beside me, his presence a comfort in the darkness. “Do you regret it,

Grace?” he asked, his voice soft as the wind.

“No,” I whispered, my own voice fading, my form becoming translucent, a ghost of a

memory.

Ethan might have loved me, once. But his love had been a fragile thing, easily broken by doubt, by suspicion, by the lies he had chosen to believe.

And Abby deserved more than that.

As my spirit prepared to move on, to embrace the next journey, a voice, soft as the rustling of leaves, asked, “Do you regret loving him?”

I glanced back at Ethan, his face buried in Abby’s hair, his shoulders shaking with sobs, his grief a stark contrast to the indifference he had shown me in life, the coldness that had

become the hallmark of our marriage.

“No,” I whispered, my voice barely audible, my form dissolving into the light, “But if I could choose again… I wouldn’t.”

I had loved Ethan Carter, once. I had believed in him, trusted him, given him everything I

had.

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But his love had been a prison, a gilded cage built on a foundation of lies and mistrust.

And I was finally free.

Ethan’s Story

The moment I saw Grace in that video, my breath caught in my throat. Her eyes, brimming with unshed tears, spoke volumes of the pain I had inflicted. The disappointment, the heartache, were palpable, yet she held it all back, a testament to her strength, her stoicism.

But it wasn’t the Grace I knew, the Grace I had built walls against, the Grace I had convinced myself I didn’t love.

The first time I met her, she was twenty–four, a powerhouse in the boardroom, closing deals with a confidence that both intrigued and intimidated me. I remember shaking her hand, feeling the strength in her grip, as she looked me straight in the eye and said, “Mr. Carter, it’s a pleasure doing business with you. I look forward to more opportunities in the future.”

She was young, ambitious, fearless. She had taken her family’s company, a relic of a bygone era, and transformed it into a thriving, modern enterprise. But I knew she was fighting battles on all fronts, struggling to maintain control against those who saw her as a threat, a woman in a man’s world. Marrying into the Carter family, securing our influence, was her strategy, her way of solidifying her power.

But I was a rebel, a black sheep, fighting against the suffocating constraints of my own family. I didn’t want their money, their connections, their expectations. I wanted to prove

myself, build something on my own.

And I hadn’t anticipated her machinations. The day I saw Serena in that wedding dress, the dress meant for Grace, I learned that Grace had already orchestrated Serena’s departure from the city, silencing a threat, clearing the path for her own ambitions.

The news of the plane crash, of Serena’s presumed death, had filled me with a rage couldn’t control. I wanted to hurt Grace, to make her feel the pain I felt, the loss I couldn’t

comprehend.

I

I didn’t know if I loved Serena then. But I was certain I didn’t love Grace. I despised her cold–hearted calculations, her ruthless ambition.

Yet, I couldn’t deny she was a good wife. At home, she was different, softer, more

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vulnerable. She took care of everything, ensuring our life ran smoothly, effortlessly. She charmed my family, my friends, everyone who crossed her path.

And then, she got pregnant.

I was shocked, but also, strangely, thrilled. I was ready to be a father, to build a family with her, to embrace the stability she offered, the semblance of normalcy I craved.

Abby’s arrival changed everything. I found myself softening towards Grace, seeing glimpses

the woman beneath the armor, the vulnerability she so carefully concealed.

We were starting to build something real, something meaningful.

And then, Serena came back.

She was sick, alone, and needed my help.

Guilt, a heavy weight I had been carrying for years, intensified. I owed Serena a debt. If it wasn’t for Grace, for her manipulations, she wouldn’t have left, wouldn’t have been on that

plane.

I had forgotten that she never boarded the flight.

I just knew that she had survived, against all odds, and I felt an overwhelming urge to protect her, to atone for the pain Grace had caused.

My phone died that day. I was with Serena, at the doctor’s office, oblivious to Grace’s frantic calls, her desperate attempts to reach me.

And then, I saw her. Her body, lifeless and broken, washed ashore. It was as if the world had tilted on its axis, leaving me reeling, adrift in a sea of grief and guilt.

I wanted her Back. I wanted to tell her I was wrong, to apologize for my harsh words, for my blindness, for the love I had denied her. But it was too late.

I went to the hotel, collected her things, arranged her funeral. Every action felt hollow, meaningless, a pathetic attempt to atone for the unforgivable.

The receptionist, her face etched with pity, told me, “She was… not well, Mr. Carter. She kept mistaking random kids for her daughter. It was heartbreaking to see.”

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After the funeral, her half–brother approached me, his face contorted with rage. He

punched me, hard, his words echoing the accusations I had hurled at Grace so many times.

“She almost drowned saving you, you asshole! She was terrified of water after that.”

I hadn’t known. I hadn’t believed her.

But she had tried to tell me, whispered it in my ear one night, her body pressed against mine, her voice a mixture of vulnerability and accusation. “Ethan, if I had been the one who Pulled you

from the water that day, would you still hate me so much?”

I had laughed, dismissing her words as a desperate attempt to manipulate me, to gain my sympathy. “A selfish woman like you, risking your life for someone else? Don’t be

ridiculous.”

Her laughter, a brittle, empty sound, haunted me now. “You’re right, Ethan. I take lives. I don’t save them.”

That night, I slept on the couch, Abby curled up beside me, her small body a comfort I

didn’t deserve.

I remembered another night, not long ago, when Grace had asked me, her voice quiet, filled with a sadness I had refused to acknowledge, “Ethan, who will remember me when I’m

gone?”

I had ignored her, dismissing her words as melodramatic, a desperate plea for attention.

“Maybe just the wind will know,” she had whispered, her voice fading into the silence of the

night.

Now, standing at the edge of the ocean, the waves crashing against the shore, the salty spray stinging my face, her words echoed in my ears, a cruel reminder of my own blindness, my’inability to see the woman she truly was.

The memory of her drowning, her body lost to the depths, filled me with a terror that mirrored the panic I had felt that day, years ago, when she had pulled me from the water, saving my life.