He Killed His Mother for Me, Then Betrayed Me

“Caelan, let me in! She’s ruined me—I’ll kill her today!”

I forced myself upright. When I opened the door, Eira Lorrayne lunged with a dagger.

Caelan tried to block me, but in the scuffle the blade clattered to my feet. I snatched it and drove it toward her.

By the time Caelan turned, the dagger was already buried in Eira’s forearm.

His face froze. A storm of emotions flickered in his eyes.

“Serenya, enough.”

“Caelan, I told you—I hate that I didn’t go easy on her!”

Eira’s gaze snapped to me. I slashed again, this time at her throat.

Her wrist jerked away, and a shriek split the air as the blade carved a bloody gash across her neck.

Pain shattered through my wrist, then fingers yanked my hair back.

Snap! His palm cracked across my cheek.

“Serenya, stop. I’m done. We’re divorcing.”

He pulled a fresh divorce agreement from his bag and tossed it at my feet.

“I’ve signed it. Wait for the notice.”

I laughed wildly. Divorce.

My skull felt like it was splitting open, the pain tearing through my chest and gut.

So fragile—those vows carved in blood and tears.

Unless I die, I will never leave you.

Now, a single girl with a few wounds—and he was gone.

He gathered Eira in his arms and walked away without a backward glance.

As the car pulled off, she rolled the window down. Her phone played the recording of my screams from thirteen years ago. Her sneer cut deeper than the blade.

This time, Caelan didn’t stop her.

Hatred surged. If he could betray his oath, then he could die.

He must have forgotten all those years, all that tenderness. Forgotten that I was already a madwoman at eight, standing in my kitchen with a knife, ready to kill my father.

Two days later, her email arrived.

A wedding invitation.

Bride: Eira. Groom: Caelan.

Eighteen years of life and death together, and in the end it was a girl who stole the day I’d dreamed of.

Tears blurred his signature.

I pulled out my phone, dialing the number I knew by heart.

“Torren, get ready.”

So the white of a wedding was nothing but the pale white of a funeral.

Caelan lied again—standing like a young groom with his treasure, smiling at every guest.

Until his eyes met mine. His smile died instantly.

“Serenya,” he spat coldly, “you’re the one who begged for divorce. I agreed. And still you won’t let go. Aren’t you done yet?”

He clutched Eira tighter.

Even with one eye gone and scars across her skin, I had to admit—she was stunning in that dress.

I looked back at him.

“You swore—unless you died, we wouldn’t part.”

His lips curled in a sneer.

“There’s no point talking about that now. Today is my wedding to Eira. If you know what’s good for you, leave.”

“What if I don’t?!”

Caelan’s eyes flashed cold.

“Serenya, you don’t have the final say today.” He waved a hand. “Torren—get her out. Don’t let her ruin this.”

But before the order left his lips, Torren pressed a gun to the back of his head.

Caelan stiffened, his eyes burning red.

“Torren… what do you mean? I raised you for decades, and you—”

His words were cut short by the thunder of boots.

Hundreds of soldiers stormed the hall, rifles raised, every black muzzle aimed at Caelan and Eira.

For the first time, his face drained of color.