Framed on My Wedding Day His Billionaire Regret

My mother's gentle voice had lulled me to sleep on countless nights. Now it cut into my heart like an icicle.

My eyes went wide, brimming with tears.

"Dad, Mom—why won't you ever believe me? What happened back then was Christine's doing. She switched the exams!"

Slap!

Before I could finish, my father's palm cracked across my face. The sting spread like wildfire.

"You dare slander Christine? Even now, you refuse to repent!"

Nolan had come by to drop something off. He saw what was happening and rushed over to intervene.

But his phone rang. It was his secretary.

"Principal Fox, there's been an emergency! Ms. Cobb collapsed during the school board meeting. She's being rushed to the hospital!"

The moment they heard, Nolan and my parents panicked.

Without so much as a glance in my direction, they piled into the car and sped off.

I watched the taillights disappear, then slumped against the wall and laughed until tears streamed down my face.

No matter how much I suffered, no matter how many times I was hit—none of it mattered as much as the slightest mishap befalling Christine.

I thought the whole thing would blow over. Ten years of this had taught me to expect nothing from them.

What I didn't expect was how fast they'd make their next move.

I was at the supermarket picking up groceries when several family members of the victims recognized me.

They had metal pipes in their hands. Before I could react, they shoved me to the ground and yanked a burlap sack over my head.

The rough fabric scraped against my cheeks. The stench of dust filled my nostrils.

I struggled to fight back—then something heavy cracked against the back of my skull. Everything went black.

When I came to, I was lying on cold concrete.

Coarse rope bit into my wrists and ankles. A filthy rag was stuffed in my mouth. All I could manage were muffled whimpers.

By the dim glow of a bare bulb overhead, I made out my surroundings: the abandoned brick kiln on the edge of town.

Ten years ago, I'd brought students here for a field trip on labor education. Now it had become someone else's courtroom—and my cage.

The man in charge crouched down and ripped the rag from my mouth. His face was weathered, carved deep by grief.

Keith Dickerson. Father of the student who killed himself after the exam scandal.

His son Jack Dickerson had hanged himself after failing to get into college. He hadn't even left a note.

"Corinne Harding, you piece of trash. We finally caught you."

Keith's voice rasped like sandpaper. He drove his boot into my stomach.

"My boy was eighteen years old. The only kid in the whole village with a shot at college—and your greed destroyed his future!"

"How dare you hide out in that apartment the principal bought you, living the good life?"

His words lit a fuse. The others' eyes went red.

Fists and feet rained down on me.

Someone swung a wooden bat into my arm. Someone else stomped on my ribs. Every blow tore through me.

I tried to explain. Tried to scream that Christine had switched the exams.

But all that came out was a broken rasp. Blood dripped steadily from the corner of my mouth.

I don't know how long it went on before they finally wore themselves out.

Keith grabbed a fistful of my hair and ground my face into the cold floor.

"You owe twelve lives. Today, you pay in blood."

He waved his hand.

Two men approached carrying a rusted shovel, its blade still caked with dirt and something that smelled like rot.

I heard it clearly—the scrape of metal dragging across concrete. Death's shadow crept closer, swallowing me inch by inch.

Crack.

The shovel came down hard on my leg. The snap of bone echoed through the empty kiln.

The pain turned my vision black. Cold sweat soaked through my clothes in an instant.

But they didn't stop. Blow after blow.

Until I had no strength left to struggle, collapsed on the ground like a heap of mud.

Finally, Keith had someone bring over a heavy stone slab and tied it to my body with rope.

"Throw her in the abandoned well behind the kiln. Let her rot there—consider it justice for the dead children."

Two men dragged me toward the exit.

The rough ground scraped my skin raw, but I couldn't even lift a hand.

The stench of decay from the well hit me full in the face. I closed my eyes in despair.

Maybe this was for the best.

Ten years of injustice, betrayal, and pain—finally coming to an end.

Just as my body was about to be shoved over the edge, the sudden wail of police sirens cut through the air.