The Bride's Dark Secret

The Bride's Dark Secret

Gavin

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Our wedding, live-streamed to millions, was meant to be my perfect future with the radiant Veronica. She was my salvation, helping me move past my "psycho ex," Clara Evans, who had supposedly clung to me pathologically. But then, from inside the grand piano, Clara's worn journal slipped to the floor. "What trash is that doing here?" I spat, kicking it away, reinforcing the narrative Veronica had perfected. The Event MC, David, picked it up, announcing the first entry: lyrics to Veronica's signature song, "Faded Embers," dated years before she claimed it. Veronica's tinkling laugh felt suddenly hollow. I stepped in, defending her, pointing out a prep school melody only "we" would know, further solidifying Clara's image as a delusional liar online. But David turned the page, reading Clara's secret high school entries about me. "I think 'Faded Embers' is almost finished. It's for him." Dated years before Veronica and I even met, before I "officially" knew Clara. My certainty wavered. This wasn't the Clara Veronica had painted; this was a girl who admired me from afar, a pure unrequited love. The words continued, detailing Veronica's open cruelty: discarded gifts, her chilling taunt "You don't belong here, street rat," and the unimaginable horror of Clara's 19th birthday. "He never believed me. He never asked," Clara had written. I swayed, remembering my cold judgmental rage, Veronica's calculated comfort. A knot of sickening realization tightened in my gut. The lights flickered, a crystal glass cracked, an ominous sign. This wasn't a wedding anymore; it was a reckoning. And I, Ethan Cole, was just beginning to realize the monstrous truth about the woman I was marrying, and the horrific injustice I had enabled.

Introduction

Our wedding, live-streamed to millions, was meant to be my perfect future with the radiant Veronica.

She was my salvation, helping me move past my "psycho ex," Clara Evans, who had supposedly clung to me pathologically.

But then, from inside the grand piano, Clara's worn journal slipped to the floor.

"What trash is that doing here?" I spat, kicking it away, reinforcing the narrative Veronica had perfected.

The Event MC, David, picked it up, announcing the first entry: lyrics to Veronica's signature song, "Faded Embers," dated years before she claimed it.

Veronica's tinkling laugh felt suddenly hollow.

I stepped in, defending her, pointing out a prep school melody only "we" would know, further solidifying Clara's image as a delusional liar online.

But David turned the page, reading Clara's secret high school entries about me.

"I think 'Faded Embers' is almost finished. It's for him."

Dated years before Veronica and I even met, before I "officially" knew Clara.

My certainty wavered.

This wasn't the Clara Veronica had painted; this was a girl who admired me from afar, a pure unrequited love.

The words continued, detailing Veronica's open cruelty: discarded gifts, her chilling taunt "You don't belong here, street rat," and the unimaginable horror of Clara's 19th birthday.

"He never believed me. He never asked," Clara had written.

I swayed, remembering my cold judgmental rage, Veronica's calculated comfort.

A knot of sickening realization tightened in my gut.

The lights flickered, a crystal glass cracked, an ominous sign.

This wasn't a wedding anymore; it was a reckoning.

And I, Ethan Cole, was just beginning to realize the monstrous truth about the woman I was marrying, and the horrific injustice I had enabled.

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My world revolved around Jax Harding, my older brother's captivating rockstar friend. From sixteen, I adored him; at eighteen, I clung to his casual promise: "When you're 22, maybe I'll settle down." That offhand comment became my life's beacon, guiding every choice, meticulously planning my twenty-second birthday as our destiny. But on that pivotal day in a Lower East Side bar, clutching my gift, my dream exploded. I overheard Jax' s cold voice: "Can't believe Savvy's showing up. She' s still hung up on that stupid thing I said." Then the crushing plot: "We' re gonna tell Savvy I' m engaged to Chloe, maybe even hint she' s pregnant. That should scare her off." My gift, my future, slipped from my numb fingers. I fled into the cold New York rain, devastated by betrayal. Later, Jax introduced Chloe as his "fiancée" while his bandmates mocked my "adorable crush"-he did nothing. As an art installation fell, he saved Chloe, abandoning me to severe injury. In the hospital, he came for "damage control," then shockingly shoved me into a fountain, leaving me to bleed, calling me a "jealous psycho." How could the man I loved, who once saved me, become this cruel and publicly humiliate me? Why was my devotion seen as an annoyance to be brutally extinguished with lies and assault? Was I just a problem, my loyalty met with hatred? I would not be his victim. Injured and betrayed, I made an unshakeable vow: I was done. I blocked his number and everyone connected to him, severing ties. This was not an escape; this was my rebirth. Florence awaited, a new life on my terms, unburdened by broken promises.

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