The Fake Death Plot

The Fake Death Plot

Hydro Therapy

5.0
Comment(s)
1.1K
View
19
Chapters

The ninety-ninth time I tried to kill myself, I was sent to the hospital. For seven long years, I had lived in a fog of grief, believing my husband, Ethan, had died in a fiery car crash. But then, in that sterile white room, I saw him. Ethan. Alive, vibrant, and kissing Olivia Hayes, his former sister-in-law, who cradled a prominent baby bump. Their child. In that instant, the truth crashed down on me. There was no crash, no death. He had abandoned me to elope with Olivia, living a happy life while I wasted away: my hair turning gray, my wrist scarred with 300 marks for every missed month, while he cried with joy over her pregnancy. My world went black. When I came to, I was back in time, seven days before our first wedding anniversary. Ethan stood before me, his eyes filled with intoxicating adoration, murmuring sweet words. Yet, the image of him kissing Olivia, the name "Olivia Hayes" flashing on his phone, burned in my mind. He left me to check on her, claiming she was unwell, while I knew the truth. I was blindsided by my trust. I thought of what he put me through, what he planned to do to me. The betrayal felt like a gaping wound. I looked at him, then called my brother, David. "I want to come live with you abroad," I said, my voice cold. "And David, could you please help me arrange something? I need a body. A fake one. I want to give it to Ethan on our wedding anniversary. Seven days from now."

Introduction

The ninety-ninth time I tried to kill myself, I was sent to the hospital. For seven long years, I had lived in a fog of grief, believing my husband, Ethan, had died in a fiery car crash.

But then, in that sterile white room, I saw him. Ethan. Alive, vibrant, and kissing Olivia Hayes, his former sister-in-law, who cradled a prominent baby bump. Their child.

In that instant, the truth crashed down on me. There was no crash, no death. He had abandoned me to elope with Olivia, living a happy life while I wasted away: my hair turning gray, my wrist scarred with 300 marks for every missed month, while he cried with joy over her pregnancy.

My world went black. When I came to, I was back in time, seven days before our first wedding anniversary. Ethan stood before me, his eyes filled with intoxicating adoration, murmuring sweet words. Yet, the image of him kissing Olivia, the name "Olivia Hayes" flashing on his phone, burned in my mind. He left me to check on her, claiming she was unwell, while I knew the truth. I was blindsided by my trust.

I thought of what he put me through, what he planned to do to me. The betrayal felt like a gaping wound.

I looked at him, then called my brother, David. "I want to come live with you abroad," I said, my voice cold. "And David, could you please help me arrange something? I need a body. A fake one. I want to give it to Ethan on our wedding anniversary. Seven days from now."

Continue Reading

Other books by Hydro Therapy

More
His Wife, The Starved Dog

His Wife, The Starved Dog

Billionaires

5.0

The screen on Ethan's phone glowed, showing a missed video call from his sister, Sarah. He swiped to check the voicemail, but it wasn't a message; the call had connected, and his phone had recorded what happened next. The shaky video revealed his sister' s office, but a woman he didn't recognize, Jessica Riley, sat in Sarah's chair, laughing with his brother-in-law, Mark Thompson, as they mocked Sarah's supposed foolishness. Then the camera moved, revealing Sarah herself, curled on the floor, her hair matted, clothes in rags, a metal chain around her neck, and an empty dog bowl beside her. Jessica cooed, "Time for dinner, sweetie," kicking the bowl, while Mark dropped bread, saying, "Eat up, doggy." Ethan watched in horror as his brilliant sister scrambled for food like a starved animal. A cold rage seized him, cracking his phone screen, and with a dangerously calm voice, he called his assistant: "Get the jet. We're going home. Now." Landing in the US, Ethan found his childhood home overgrown and dreary. Kicking the door open, he discovered Sarah chained to a radiator, skeletal and terrified, whimpering at his approach. This was his sister, treated like an animal in her own home. Mark, Brenda, and Jessica appeared, feigning concern, claiming Sarah was "unstable" and producing forged medical diagnoses, trying to dismiss the horrific scene with a piece of paper. Ethan' s control finally snapped. He knew Sarah' s strength, her intelligence; this cruelty was inflicted upon her. He watched as Mark, arrogant and unrepentant, tried to silence Sarah's weak confession of forced signatures. When Mark raised a hand to strike her, Ethan intervened, his grip like steel, "Don't you ever touch her again." Mark spouted lies, accusing Sarah of ruining the company, blaming her for the bruises and injuries that covered her body. The scene escalated as Ethan, blood boiling, called his assistant, David, who arrived with a team of men. He ordered Mark, Brenda, and Jessica secured, stating, "You are a parasite, Mark. And you own nothing," before hitting him. Mark, still defiant, claimed control of Hayes Innovations and the board. Ethan calmly directed David to search the house for evidence, then gently unclipped Sarah, scooping her into his arms. She was light as a child, trembling, whispering, "He'll hurt you. He'll hurt us both." Ethan vowed, "He has no idea what I'm capable of." He saw the raw marks on her neck, fueled by fresh fury. Sarah huddled in his jacket, whispering how Mark had gaslighted her with fake videos. Ethan knew the videos were lies. Kneeling, he gently told her, "We're going to your office." When she panicked, terrified of Jessica, he reassured her, "It's time for everyone to see the real CEO of Hayes Innovations." With a flicker of her old self, an almost imperceptible nod, she agreed. He left the villains secured, telling David to find every piece of evidence they had used against her. Holding Sarah's hand, he led her out, ready to fight.

My Identity Was Stolen

My Identity Was Stolen

Horror

5.0

The last thing I felt was the pillow smothering my face, the cheap floral scent filling my lungs as my struggles grew weaker. Through the ringing in my ears, I heard Ms. Davis' s chilling hiss: "You crazy girl, how dare you disrupt the young lady' s party! I' ll kill you!" She wasn' t lying. My life, so bright just hours before, was ending in a dark, dusty storage room. It all began on my graduation day, Sarah Miller, the valedictorian, standing on stage. But when I arrived at my family home for the lavish celebration, the doors were shut, my key wouldn' t turn. Inside, through the window, I saw Emily Davis, my guardian' s daughter, wearing my dress, accepting congratulations from my friends, being called by my name. A cold wave of nausea washed over me. I pounded on the door, screaming, "Let me in! I' m Sarah Miller! That' s an imposter!" No one believed me. They saw a frantic, disheveled girl and a poised, elegant young woman inside. Ms. Davis slapped me, shrieking, "How dare you disrupt the young lady' s party! I' ll kill you!" They dragged me away, threw me into a windowless storage room, and locked me in. Hours later, Ms. Davis returned with a pillow. "You just couldn' t leave it alone, could you?" she whispered. "You make too much noise." Then, she pushed it down. My consciousness dissolved into suffocating blackness. Then, I gasped, shooting upright. Sunlight streamed through a familiar window. I was in my bed, in my room at the Davis house. My heart pounded. The floral scent was gone. No pain, no darkness. My phone rang, a shrill, insistent sound. The screen lit up with a date. It was the day my college admission results were announced. I wasn' t dead. I was back.

You'll also like

Too Late: The Spare Daughter Escapes Him

Too Late: The Spare Daughter Escapes Him

SHANA GRAY
4.3

I died on a Tuesday. It wasn't a quick death. It was slow, cold, and meticulously planned by the man who called himself my father. I was twenty years old. He needed my kidney to save my sister. The spare part for the golden child. I remember the blinding lights of the operating theater, the sterile smell of betrayal, and the phantom pain of a surgeon's scalpel carving into my flesh while my screams echoed unheard. I remember looking through the observation glass and seeing him-my father, Giovanni Vitiello, the Don of the Chicago Outfit-watching me die with the same detached expression he used when signing a death warrant. He chose her. He always chose her. And then, I woke up. Not in heaven. Not in hell. But in my own bed, a year before my scheduled execution. My body was whole, unscarred. The timeline had reset, a glitch in the cruel matrix of my existence, giving me a second chance I never asked for. This time, when my father handed me a one-way ticket to London-an exile disguised as a severance package-I didn't cry. I didn't beg. My heart, once a bleeding wound, was now a block of ice. He didn't know he was talking to a ghost. He didn't know I had already lived through his ultimate betrayal. He also didn't know that six months ago, during the city's brutal territory wars, I was the one who saved his most valuable asset. In a secret safe house, I stitched up the wounds of a blinded soldier, a man whose life hung by a thread. He never saw my face. He only knew my voice, the scent of vanilla, and the steady touch of my hands. He called me Sette. Seven. For the seven stitches I put in his shoulder. That man was Dante Moretti. The Ruthless Capo. The man my sister, Isabella, is now set to marry. She stole my story. She claimed my actions, my voice, my scent. And Dante, the man who could spot a lie from a mile away, believed the beautiful deception because he wanted it to be true. He wanted the golden girl to be his savior, not the invisible sister who was only ever good for her spare parts. So I took the ticket. In my past life, I fought them, and they silenced me on an operating table. This time, I will let them have their perfect, gilded lie. I will go to London. I will disappear. I will let Seraphina Vitiello die on that plane. But I will not be a victim. This time, I will not be the lamb led to slaughter. This time, from the shadows of my exile, I will be the one holding the match. And I will wait, with the patience of the dead, to watch their entire world burn. Because a ghost has nothing to lose, and a queen of ashes has an empire to gain.

Chapters
Read Now
Download Book