After My Wife Foils My Schemes, I'm Ruined

The ballroom doors felt heavier than they should have as I pushed them open, my crutch clicking against the marble floor with each deliberate step. The sound echoed through the opulent space like a death knell, cutting through the gentle murmur of conversation and clinking champagne glasses.

Two hundred guests turned in unison, their faces a blur of shocked expressions and dropped jaws. The string quartet's waltz faltered into discordant silence. Someone's champagne flute shattered against the floor, the crystal fragments catching the light from the massive chandeliers overhead.

But I only had eyes for the altar at the far end of the room, where Stone stood frozen in his black tuxedo, Carolina's hand extended toward him, waiting for the engagement ring that would seal their betrayal.

"Stone?" My voice carried across the stunned silence, innocent and confused. "What's happening here?"

Carolina's face drained of color so quickly I thought she might faint. The elaborate white gown she wore—my grandmother's vintage Chanel that she'd always coveted—seemed to swallow her suddenly fragile frame. Her outstretched hand trembled, the massive diamond catching the light like a beacon of guilt.

Stone's mouth opened and closed soundlessly, his dark eyes wide with the kind of terror reserved for seeing ghosts. The engagement ring slipped from his fingers, bouncing off the altar steps with tiny metallic pings that seemed to echo forever.

"Della." My name fell from his lips like a prayer, like a curse. "You're... you're alive."

I tilted my head, letting confusion paint my features as I navigated through the crowd of frozen guests. Each step was carefully calculated, my crutch providing both support and theatrical effect. "Of course I'm alive. Why wouldn't I be?"

Murmurs rippled through the ballroom like wildfire. I caught fragments of whispered conversations—"thought she was dead," "the accident," "how is this possible?"

"Stone, darling," I continued, my voice carrying that breathless quality I'd perfected during our marriage, "I woke up in the hospital so confused. The doctors said I hit my head quite hard during the paragliding accident, but I don't remember much after that beautiful morning we spent together."

The lie rolled off my tongue like honey, sweet and poisonous. Stone's face cycled through a dozen emotions—shock, fear, guilt, and something that might have been relief if I didn't know better.

"I've been looking everywhere for you," I said, finally reaching the altar where they stood. "Why is everyone staring at me so strangely? And Carolina..." I let my gaze drift to my sister, taking in her bridal attire with perfectly feigned bewilderment. "Why are you dressed like a bride?"

Carolina's mouth worked silently, her carefully applied makeup beginning to streak as tears of panic gathered in her eyes. The guests pressed closer, their whispers growing louder, more urgent.

"I don't understand," I continued, my voice growing smaller, more fragile. "Stone, why won't you answer me? Why does everyone look like they've seen a ghost?"

The irony wasn't lost on me. In a way, they had.

Stone finally found his voice, though it came out as barely more than a croak. "Della, we... we thought... the doctors said..."

"Said what?" I stepped closer, close enough to see the sweat beading on his forehead despite the ballroom's perfect temperature. "Stone, you're scaring me. What's wrong?"

The ballroom erupted into chaos. Guests surged forward, their voices rising in a cacophony of questions and exclamations. Cameras flashed as someone began documenting what would undoubtedly become the scandal of the decade.

Then my legs gave out.

It wasn't entirely an act—the weight of standing for so long on my still-healing leg, combined with the adrenaline coursing through my system, made my knees buckle. I collapsed gracefully, my crutch clattering away as Stone lunged forward to catch me.

"Help her!" he shouted, his arms wrapping around me with desperate strength. "Someone call a doctor!"

As darkness claimed the edges of my vision—whether from exhaustion or the sheer satisfaction of seeing my plan unfold—I heard him whispering my name over and over, his voice breaking with what sounded almost like genuine anguish.

Almost.

But I knew better now. I knew exactly what Stone Williamson was capable of, and as consciousness slipped away, I smiled against his chest. The first phase of my revenge was complete.

Let the games begin.