After I Died, My Fiancée Finally Learned the Truth

A heavy iron chain was locked around my neck.

Every day, the only thing I was given to eat was rancid slop.

Every night, the thugs from the village walked into the pigsty.

In the darkness, I endured round after round of blood draws and brutal drug trials.

The bodyguards hauled me up and threw me into the trunk of an SUV.

When the plane took off, I lay in a corner of the cabin.

I opened my mouth, trying to make a sound.

Only a ragged hiss escaped my throat.

Constance sat on the sofa and slipped a pair of black noise-canceling headphones over her ears.

"Enough. Stop playing mute. Save your strength. You're going back to the city to get on your knees and beg Caspian for forgiveness."

The plane landed on a private helipad in the heart of downtown.

A bodyguard wrapped my body in a sheet of black tarp and shoved me into the last row of a luxury van.

The vehicle pulled into the underground garage of the Continental Hotel. An elevator took us straight to the top-floor ballroom.

The doors swung open.

The ballroom was draped in heavy red carpet, and crystal chandeliers cast a blinding glow over everything below. The bodyguard ripped the tarp away and hurled me onto the center of the carpet.

Constance stood beneath a spotlight, microphone in hand.

Guests holding champagne flutes crowded around on every side.

Constance pointed at me.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is the gift I've prepared to lift Caspian's spirits."

Her gaze swept the crowd.

"A vicious man I dragged back from the mountains."

Laughter erupted.

Several men in couture suits strolled forward, wine glasses in hand. They looked down at me.

"I heard he spent three years up in the mountains?"

"Covered himself in mud on purpose and reeks of blood. Trying to disgust Caspian, no doubt."

I lay facedown on the red carpet.

I reached out with my right arm, pressed my elbow into the floor, and dragged my body forward.

My broken legs trailed behind me, leaving a dark, wet streak across the carpet.

Caspian descended the spiral staircase in an immaculate white suit.

The moment he spotted the bloodstains on the floor, he let out a sharp gasp.

He collapsed into Constance's arms, fingers clawing at her trench coat.

"Constance, the blood on him is so red... I'm scared..."

Constance's expression turned ice-cold.

She turned toward the hotel security guards stationed by the entrance.

"Get water over here. Scrub every drop of that filth off the carpet."

Two security guards came running with plastic cleaning buckets. The buckets were full of freezing, grimy water.

"Pour it over his head. Wash off that disgusting act of his."

The guards lifted the buckets.

Ice-cold water laced with grit came crashing down over my skull.

It streamed through my brittle hair and seeped into the unstitched wound on my abdomen.

The bone-deep cold sent violent spasms ripping through my body.

Constance walked over and stopped beside me, the point of her stiletto heel landing an inch from my fingers.

"Crawl over there. Kneel before Caspian and bow your head to the floor three times."

She stared down at me.

"Admit that you faked a terminal illness to compete for my attention. Do as you're told, and I'll let you stay at the company as an errand boy."

I lowered my head.

The gala moved into its second half.

The bodyguards dragged me out of the ballroom and dumped me in a corner of the hallway near the restrooms.

My clothes clung to my skin. Bloody water dripped from the hem of my shirt onto the marble tile.

Caspian stepped out of the restroom, adjusting his cufflinks.

He stopped in front of me.

He raised his right foot. The hard heel of his leather shoe came down on the broken index finger of my right hand.

He ground it side to side.

Every nerve in my body screamed at once. My whole frame seized tight, and I recoiled on instinct.

Caspian watched me and let out a light, cheerful laugh.