I Married the Man who Killed my Fiancé

“Do you still care for me?” My tears fell hot, dripping onto the receiver. My voice cracked as I clung to the only lifeline I had left. “If yes… please… help me. Help me fake my death.”

There was silence on the other end. A silence that stretched like a blade against my throat. And then came the scoff, sharp and bitter.

“Right now?” My brother’s voice was laced with anger. “You’re asking for my help now—after everything? After you left us, after you chose him over your own blood? You betrayed us and Jackson, Ysabel. For that man. And now you come crawling back?”

My chest heaved. “It’s my mistake—I know it’s my fault now. But please, listen to me. He’s the reason why Jackson died—” My sobs choked me, words tumbling out raw and broken. “He killed Jackson… so he could get his heart. He killed our baby, too. I was wrong. I should have never loved anyone aside from Jackson. Never.”

My hand trembled as I tightened my grip on the receiver. “Please. Pick me up. I swear, I’ll do anything you want from me. Anything.”

On the other end, silence stretched again, until finally his sigh reached me. “Fine. At least you finally came to your senses. I’ll pick you up in five days. Settle everything. After that, you’re done with him. Do you understand?”

My knees buckled as relief and despair collided. “Yes,” I whispered, trembling. “Yes.”

I dropped the receiver, my whole body quivering violently. The room spun, darkness swarming in from every corner until I couldn’t hold myself up anymore. I fainted—slipping into oblivion.

When I woke again, I was cradled against Joseph’s chest. His hands shook me gently. “Ysabel? What are you doing out here? You’re not yet okay—why are you walking around? Come on, you’ll collapse again.”

His voice was soft, concerned, the voice that once fooled me into believing I was loved. He carried me back to the room, setting me on the bed with a gentleness that now felt cruel.

“Ysabel,” he murmured, brushing the damp hair from my face. “I’m sorry… for everything. I shouldn’t have left you alone. I should’ve been there when you woke up. I should’ve taken better care of you. I was just… overwhelmed, distracted with the company… I didn’t mean to neglect you.”

His excuses poured out like honey, sweet but suffocating. Each word layered with guilt, but none of it touched truth.

I forced myself to look away, to keep my tears buried deep. Pretending ignorance was my last weapon now. I lowered my lashes and whispered, my voice fragile, “It’s fine, Joseph. I’m sorry too… for causing trouble. For worrying you.”

Inside, my chest screamed with the truth I already knew—that his apologies weren’t for me, that Hannah’s name on his lips meant more than mine ever would. But I feigned submission, nodding like the fool he thought I still was, because pretending was easier than shattering completely in front of him.

He fed me spoonfuls of warm soup, his eyes heavy with guilt, his words dripping with remorse.

Once, I would have melted. Once, I would have believed him. But now—I knew better. His apologies were empty shells, rehearsed, meant to keep me docile.

And then the butler burst into the room. “Sir Joseph, something happened to Miss Hannah! She’s vomiting again. The doctor is asking you to come immediately!”

The moment her name left his lips, Joseph dropped everything. He shot up from his chair. In his haste, the bowl of soup tipped, scalding liquid spilling across my arm.

I screamed, the burn searing into my skin. But he didn’t even look at me. Didn’t even hesitate. And just like that—he was gone.

I clutched my burned arm, trembling from both pain and fury. I treated it myself, wrapping it with cold compress, tears blinding my vision.

That was the last straw. I couldn’t do this anymore.

The next morning, I signed the discharge papers myself. Weak and aching, I forced my body out of that hospital and straight to the cemetery. My feet carried me to Jackson’s grave, and there—I collapsed.

My fingers traced the letters of his name carved into stone. “I’m sorry,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “I’m sorry, Jackson. Because I fell for him. Because I let myself be fooled. Because the man who carries your heart is the same one who destroyed you. And me.”

My tears fell onto the earth as if I could water his memory back to life. In the haze of grief, I felt something warm, something familiar—like arms wrapping around me. Jackson. In my dream, he was there, pulling me into his chest, whispering against my hair, You’re not alone.

I woke to find myself drenched in tears. But his embrace lingered in my chest, a phantom comfort.

Dragging myself home, I tried to find air in lungs that barely wanted to breathe. And then I saw it.

A billboard towered above the city lights, bold letters screaming the headline:

“Second Chances Are Sweeter Than the First: Joseph Jones to Wed Hannah Mill.”

The picture was cruel. Joseph, smiling, Hannah beside him, radiant and triumphant.

My body froze, my heart hollow. So this was why he never married me. This was why every promise turned to dust.

But I did not cry. Not anymore. My tears had run dry. My love had burned to ashes.

Because in five days, I would be dead. And when that happened, every single one of them would regret it.