My Death Was Just The Start

Ella Robles POV

The wedding day dawned, a cruel mockery of what was supposed to be my happiest day. I stood in the bridal suite, dressed in a bridesmaid's gown, a pale pink monstrosity that felt like a shroud. My body ached, a constant reminder of the assault, the lost baby, my mother's fragile life hanging by a thread. I was a puppet, forced to dance at my own funeral.

Barbara, radiant in her elaborate white gown, pranced around the room. "Ella, darling, fetch me some water. My nerves are shot." Her voice was sweet, but her eyes held a chilling satisfaction.

I moved, a robot, fetching her water, adjusting her veil. The other bridesmaids, socialites I barely knew, regarded me with a mixture of pity and contempt. They had heard the rumors, seen the online gossip. I was the unstable one, the jilted mistress, the public spectacle.

During the reception, Barbara dragged me to my family's table. My aunts and cousins, their faces etched with concern, watched me with heartbroken eyes. Barbara, oblivious to their pain, raised her glass. "To family! And new beginnings!" She then handed me a glass of champagne. "Ella, a toast to new friendships!"

I hated champagne. It burned my throat, reminded me of the night in the penthouse. But I had to drink. Every sip was a bitter taste of humiliation. My mother's life depended on my silence, my compliance.

Whispers followed me, accusations and pity. "Poor Ella, she looks so thin." "Did you see her bruises? They say Dexter's family paid off her stepfather to keep her quiet." "She lost the baby, too."

Dexter sidled up to me, a small pill in his hand. "Here," he murmured, his voice low. "Painkillers. For your... discomfort." He offered a fleeting, almost apologetic glance.

I stared at the pill. A gesture of fake kindness. I hated him for it. I hated him for everything. I remained silent, ignoring his outstretched hand.

He scoffed, his momentary concern vanishing. He dropped the pill on the table and walked away, a cold, dismissive look on his face.

Barbara grabbed Dexter's hand and pulled him toward the lavish stage. The lights dimmed, spotlights illuminating the happy couple. My stomach churned. This was it. The public execution.

The officiant began the ceremony. Barbara, seizing the microphone before her vows, beamed at the crowd. "Before I say 'I do,' I want to share something truly special. Many of you know my dear friend, Ella."

Barbara's eyes found mine across the ballroom. For a split second, I saw it—not triumph, but something rawer. Envy. Dexter had told her once, during a fight, that I was "the only real thing in his life." She never forgave me for that. Now she held the microphone like a weapon, her smile razor-sharp.

"Her journey has been... challenging. From an abusive home, through deep depression, to finding her footing with the help of our crisis center."

My blood ran cold. She was doing it again. Exposing my past, twisting it into her narrative of benevolence. My body felt numb, frozen. I was naked, vulnerable, under the harsh glare of a thousand eyes. There was nowhere to hide.

"Today, as I embark on my new life with Dexter," Barbara continued, her voice dripping with false sweetness, "I want to share my joy. And my greatest wish for Ella. I wish for her to find love, just as I have." She turned to me, her eyes glittering with malice. "So, I have an idea! We'll do a special bouquet toss. Whoever catches it gets a special prize: a chance to marry our dear Ella right here, right now!"

The crowd gasped, then laughed, a ripple of cruel amusement spreading through the ballroom. Marry me? To a stranger? A humiliating public auction. My face burned with shame.

"No!" I tried to protest, but two burly security guards, planted by Dexter, grabbed my arms. They pushed me to the center of the dance floor, directly under the spotlight.

Barbara threw the bouquet. It sailed through the air, landing in the hands of a greasy, middle-aged man in the front row. He grinned, his eyes raking over my body. "Looks like I get the prize!" he slurred, stepping forward.

He grabbed my arm, pulling me close. His breath smelled of alcohol. He squeezed my waist, his fingers digging into my bruises. My stomach clenched in disgust. I struggled, trying to push him away.

"Dexter!" I pleaded, my eyes locking with his. He stood on the stage, watching. A flicker of hesitation crossed his face, a momentary battle. But Barbara, beside him, whispered something in his ear, her hand on his arm. His expression hardened. He looked away.

"Go on, Ella," Barbara called out, her voice loud and clear. "It's all in good fun! A new beginning for you!"

Dexter nodded, a silent command. My heart shattered. He abandoned me. Again.

The officiant, a bewildered look on his face, was forced to continue. The man held my hand, a perverse parody of a wedding ceremony. I wanted to scream. I wanted to die.

Then, a vibration in my pocket. My phone. A text message. From Barbara.

Your mother just had another heart attack. She saw the livestream. Doctors don't think she'll make it.

The world spun. My mother. My innocent mother. Dead. Because of them. Because of me. The last thread holding me to this life snapped. A searing pain, worse than any physical blow, ripped through me. I felt a cracking sound inside my head.

I lunged at Barbara, a desperate, animalistic roar tearing from my throat. "You killed her! You killed my mother!"

Dexter intercepted me, his grip brutal. He held me tightly, my struggles futile. "Control yourself, Ella! Don't make things worse!"

He pushed me towards the greasy man. "Take her," he commanded, his voice cold. "Get her out of here."

The man grabbed me again, his hold inescapable. I looked at Dexter, at Barbara, their faces blurred by my tears. They had taken everything. My love, my dignity, my future, my baby, and now my mother.

There was nothing left. Absolutely nothing.

I knew what I had to do. With a sudden burst of adrenaline, I twisted free from the man's grasp. I ran, a frantic, desperate sprint towards the nearest window. The 20th floor. The world below looked like a distant, hazy dream. I kicked off my shoes, climbed onto the ledge, and without a second thought, I jumped.