I stood at the edge of the ballroom, one hand resting on a crystal flute I didn’t drink from.
From here, I could see my sloppy, good-for-nothing soon to be ex-husband.
Dominic was immaculate in a black tuxedo, hand resting far too comfortably on Isabelle Tan’s waist. He looked like a man born to dominate the room—effortless, controlled, adored.
The projector screen flickered to life at the front of the ballroom. A polished montage began to play—children in classrooms, charity galas, press clippings. The music soared. Applause followed like sheep.
A waiter glided by with champagne. I didn’t take one.
Ten seconds...
The host stepped forward. “And now, a special message from the bride and groom-to-be…”
The lights dimmed dramatically. The screen faded to black. Then Dominic’s calculated and cold voice wafted into the air.
“She’s not going to make it.”
Then came over Isabelle’s voice—
“Are you sure? If she survives, she’ll be a liability.
“So what do we do?”
Silence. Then Dominic again—
“We let her die.”
The hall turned fiery. Ripples. Shifts. Murmurs behind crystal and silk, gasps scattered like broken glass. Phones began to rise like a wave of judgment.
Chaos cracked beneath chandeliers and curated luxury. People moved—toward exits, toward screens, toward answers.
Dominic spun—eyes wild, hunting.
Then he saw me.
And across the havoc, Isabelle turned her head slowly toward me. Her eyes locked onto mine, then the screen, then back. Her expression cracked. Fury poured out. She stormed through the crowd. And then—slap!
Her hand whipped across my face, a brutal slap that echoed above the chaos. My head snapped sideways, but I stood my ground.
“You vindictive little witch,” she spat, trembling, breathless. “I should’ve finished you with my bare hands!”
Blood painted the inside of my cheek. I smiled through it.
“You ruined everything,” she seethed.
I didn’t flinch. “Did I? Because from where I’m standing… it looks like you did that all by yourself.”
Phones filmed. Whispers surged like wildfire. Isabelle Tan, the flawless fiancée, was unraveling for the world to see.
Dominic reached us, tone sharp. “Isabelle, stop—”
“No, Dominic! Let me handle this bitch!” Isabelle shrieked, aiming to slap me again.
But I struck her right away. My palm met her face with such force that her head snapped the other way. Gasps ripped through the crowd like thunder. “That’s for trying to bury me,” I whispered in her ear. “Next time, aim for the heart.”
Dominic grabbed my wrist. “Enough of this bullshit, Therese!” His touch burned against my skin—not from guilt. From thick and cold fury.
“She was supposed to be gone,” he muttered, gaze never leaving me.
“I trusted you, Dom!" Isabelle snapped at him.You said she was handled.
"She was nothing!” Dominic hissed in ragged breaths.
I laughed—a bitter, unholy sound. “Only the dead don't say a thing, Dominic.”
He stared at me, eyes darker than I remembered. Not with regret, but it was something nasty. Rotten. Dominic’s voice cut through the noise. Seething.
“You shouldn’t have come back, Therese.”
I turned slowly, lips curling. “Oh, Dominic…” I said. “I never really left.”
Behind him, Isabelle yanked something from her purse. And then everything went black. Then came a scream… and a terrifying GUNSHOT.
