My Wedding, My Killer, His Betrayal

My Wedding, My Killer, His Betrayal

Gavin

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I don't remember how I got here. One moment, a crushing weight, the roar of a furious crowd, a sharp, final pain. The next, nothing. Then, a flicker. A cold, sharp light that formed a heavy, cream-colored cardstock. Gold letters shimmered: You are cordially invited to the wedding of Ethan Davis and Mia Thompson. Ethan Davis. My uncle. The man who raised me, mentored me, then destroyed me. Mia Thompson. That' s my name. The invitation dissolved. I landed, an unseen observer, in a sun-drenched garden. At the altar, under a floral arch, stood Ethan. Then the music swelled. The bride walked down the aisle. The woman in the white dress was me. She had my face, my dark hair, even the tiny mole above my lip. But her smile was too sharp, her gaze too possessive. It was Chloe Miller. The scene ripped away. I was hurled back to the day my life ended. On a stage, my masterpiece, "Nexus," projected behind me. "This is a lie!" Chloe' s voice sliced through the applause. "She stole it! Nexus is my work!" The crowd turned savage. Cameras flashed. I sought Ethan, the one person who knew the truth. "Ethan, tell them," I begged, my voice a pathetic whisper. "Tell them the truth." He looked at me. Guilt, then cold, calculated resolve. He stepped to the microphone. "I am deeply disappointed. Our company is built on integrity. We cannot and will not tolerate intellectual theft." My death sentence. The world exploded. "Thief!" "Fraud!" Hands grabbed, tearing at my clothes. Rage-contorted faces. I fell. The last thing I saw was Ethan turning his back, his arm around Chloe, as the mob swallowed me whole. Now, a ghost at my own wedding. My uncle was marrying my murderer. The invitation said he was marrying me. The irony was a bitter taste. They wouldn't even let me rest. They' d stolen my work, my reputation, my life. Now, my very face. But a new feeling solidified within my spectral form. Rage. They would not get their happy ending. I would burn their perfect world to the ground.

Introduction

I don't remember how I got here.

One moment, a crushing weight, the roar of a furious crowd, a sharp, final pain. The next, nothing.

Then, a flicker. A cold, sharp light that formed a heavy, cream-colored cardstock. Gold letters shimmered: You are cordially invited to the wedding of Ethan Davis and Mia Thompson.

Ethan Davis. My uncle. The man who raised me, mentored me, then destroyed me.

Mia Thompson. That' s my name.

The invitation dissolved. I landed, an unseen observer, in a sun-drenched garden.

At the altar, under a floral arch, stood Ethan.

Then the music swelled. The bride walked down the aisle.

The woman in the white dress was me.

She had my face, my dark hair, even the tiny mole above my lip. But her smile was too sharp, her gaze too possessive. It was Chloe Miller.

The scene ripped away. I was hurled back to the day my life ended.

On a stage, my masterpiece, "Nexus," projected behind me.

"This is a lie!" Chloe' s voice sliced through the applause. "She stole it! Nexus is my work!"

The crowd turned savage. Cameras flashed. I sought Ethan, the one person who knew the truth.

"Ethan, tell them," I begged, my voice a pathetic whisper. "Tell them the truth."

He looked at me. Guilt, then cold, calculated resolve.

He stepped to the microphone. "I am deeply disappointed. Our company is built on integrity. We cannot and will not tolerate intellectual theft."

My death sentence.

The world exploded. "Thief!" "Fraud!" Hands grabbed, tearing at my clothes. Rage-contorted faces.

I fell. The last thing I saw was Ethan turning his back, his arm around Chloe, as the mob swallowed me whole.

Now, a ghost at my own wedding. My uncle was marrying my murderer.

The invitation said he was marrying me.

The irony was a bitter taste. They wouldn't even let me rest. They' d stolen my work, my reputation, my life. Now, my very face.

But a new feeling solidified within my spectral form.

Rage.

They would not get their happy ending. I would burn their perfect world to the ground.

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The applause was deafening, but a cold sweat trickled down my back. One moment, I was falling, the city skyline spinning. The next, I was here, at the TechFusion conference, the air thick with the smell of electronics and ambition. I looked down at my hands, steady, and took a deep breath. This was real. A second chance, pulled back from the brink of a self-inflicted end. But as I scanned the room, the past crashed into me. This was the day it all went wrong before. The host nervously announced, "It seems our next speaker, the one and only Brittany Hayes, is running a little behind schedule." Then, my phone vibrated. It was Brittany. "OMG Sarah, traffic is a nightmare! I'm gonna be late. Can you go up there and stall for me? Just say some smart marketing stuff. You're good at that. Pls pls pls save me! 🙏" Word for word, the exact same manipulative plea that had led to my public humiliation and downfall. In my past life, I' d been naive enough to agree, only for her to frame me as a desperate attention-seeker who tried to steal her spotlight. It had shattered my career, my reputation, my spirit. It started a chain of events that led to my ultimate destruction. I had lost everything. My company threw me under the bus, the industry blacklisted me, and the online mob issued death threats. I stood on my apartment balcony, the city lights blurred by tears, and I let go. The memory of my own death brought a chilling resolve. Brittany Hayes had taken everything from me. This time, the past wouldn' t repeat. This time, I knew the script. This wasn't just a second chance at life; it was a second chance at justice.

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