The Voice He Destroyed A Singer's Revenge

Fury surged through me. I gathered every ounce of strength I had and slapped Hugh across the face.

Before Ann could react, I whipped around and slapped her twice—left, right—putting everything behind each blow.

Ann shrieked, clutching her face, her hands trembling with rage.

"You hit me? You actually hit me?" Her voice shook. "Try me. I'll smash this pendant right now."

My heart seized.

Something shifted in her expression—fury giving way to calculation, like she'd just discovered exactly how to control me.

"This pendant really means that much to you, huh?" A slow smile crept across her swollen face. "Then how about this—you sing a song at our wedding. Hugh's and mine. Consider it your blessing to us. Sing one song, and I'll give the pendant back. Sound fair?"

I bit down on my lip so hard I tasted iron. Then I turned to look at Hugh.

He was watching me with the detached amusement of someone enjoying a show.

A cold laugh escaped my throat. Suddenly, the whole thing felt pointless. All of it.

On the day of the wedding, I was shoved to the farthest corner by the crowd.

A message came through from the hospital: Mom's transfer paperwork had been finalized.

In front of me, Hugh and Ann walked arm in arm. The audience erupted in cheers and applause as they exchanged rings and kissed, long and deep, like lovers in a fairy tale.

And me—I was dragged forward by a group of security guards, shoved so hard I fell at Hugh's feet.

He hauled me up roughly and thrust the microphone into my hands.

"Carla." His voice was low, meant only for me. "This wedding was supposed to be yours. You're the one who threw it away. So don't blame me."

Countless pairs of eyes stared at me from below the stage. I didn't dare turn around.

I fought to keep my hands from shaking and gripped the microphone.

The opening notes of the accompaniment filled the room, and I went rigid.

It was the song. That song—the one Hugh used to beg me to sing for him, the one he loved more than any other.

Back then, whenever we lay tangled together in the quiet hours, he'd pull me close and make me promise, almost pleading, never to sing it for anyone else.

Now he was using it to humiliate me in front of hundreds of people.

A vicious sting burned through my sinuses. I blinked hard, refusing to let the tears fall.

I opened my mouth. My lips trembled. I forced out the best sound I could manage, fighting to hit every note.

But my ruined throat betrayed me. The voice that came out was cracked and raw, shredding the last scrap of dignity I had left.

Laughter erupted from the audience.

Whispers. Mockery. Disgust. Every sound reached me with perfect clarity.

The voice I'd once been so proud of had become the weapon they used to destroy me.

Some of Ann's fans had come to the wedding. They were furious that I'd ruined her perfect day. They grabbed plates and bowls from the banquet tables and hurled the contents at me.

Scalding sauce and broth poured over my head, ran down my face, soaked through my clothes. The pain twisted my features into something unrecognizable.

They surged forward, clawing for my hair, and were only stopped when security held them back.

In the chaos, Ann appeared beside me, smiling, and held out the jade pendant.

I reached for it.

She pulled back just enough to speak first.

"Oh, sweetie." Her voice was honeyed and bright. "That performance was so good. I just have to make sure your mother gets to enjoy it too."

The words hit me like a bolt of lightning. My heart slammed against my ribs.

A phone rang. The hospital's number flashed on my screen.

"Miss Harding, you need to come now. Your mother saw the wedding livestream. She's run to the river. She's trying to kill herself."

I didn't think. I didn't stop. I tore out of the venue and ran.

"Mom! Mom! Don't—please, don't!"

My knees hit the pavement so hard the impact shot up through my whole body. I knelt there, sobbing, begging her not to leave me.

Mom saw the state I was in—drenched in food, face swollen, barely human—and her eyes turned red with a pain deeper than her own.

"Sweetheart." Her voice cracked. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm the one holding you back. I'm the reason you can't leave, the reason they can do this to you. If I weren't here, you could finally go."

I shook my head wildly, screaming, crying, pleading with every fiber of my being.

But my throat—my broken, ruined throat—produced nothing. Not a single sound.

Hugh appeared behind me. I didn't know when he'd arrived.

He reached down to help me up.

I struggled with everything I had, stumbling forward with both arms outstretched toward my mother.

All I wanted in that moment was to hold her.

But the second she saw Hugh, her expression twisted into something feral.

She jabbed a trembling finger at him. "Hugh Farley, the biggest regret of my life was entrusting Carla to you. You ungrateful bastard. Without me in the way, you think you can keep tormenting her? Her father and I will haunt you from the grave. We will never let you go."

And then she jumped.

The world stopped.

I stood frozen, watching the only person who had ever truly loved me disappear beneath the surface.

Every color drained from the world. Her final image played over and over in my mind, an endless loop I couldn't escape.

In the last second before she fell, she had reached for me. Arms open. Gentle.

She wanted to hold me too.

The moment that realization hit, I didn't hesitate. I jumped.

Wherever Mom was, that was home.

I was going home.

Behind me, a scream tore through the sky, raw and inhuman.

"CARLA!"