I thought marrying Damian was my dream come true—until everything went horribly wrong before the reception. Three days after our wedding, I was forced to bury my husband, only to later find him behind the wheel of a taxi. My name is Paige, and just a few months ago I was the perfect bride. But then, on our wedding day, right after we said “I do,” Damian collapsed in front of everyone. They said life flashes before your eyes when you’re dying, and in that moment, I saw our entire relationship play out as he fell.
We met in the small café where I worked part-time. He was that quiet, well-mannered customer with generous tips and a book in hand. I’d admired him from afar, and when he finally asked me out, I couldn’t believe someone so handsome and confident could be interested in an ordinary girl like me. Our first date on the local pier felt like fate, and a year later, we were married in front of our closest friends. I was overwhelmed with joy as I read my vows, convinced our future together was bright.
Then, before the reception, while taking pictures with friends, Damian suddenly collapsed. At first, I thought it was a cruel joke, but soon it became clear he wasn’t getting up. Despite the frantic efforts of paramedics, he died from a heart attack at just 32. I was shattered. At his funeral, his adoptive family—a group I barely knew but who had always been snobbish and controlling—made their disdain clear, whispering accusations that I had been after his money.
Unable to bear the grief and their judgment, I packed a small suitcase and fled in a taxi, desperate to escape everything. As I sat in the back of that cab, my heart heavy with sorrow, the driver’s voice startled me. When he said, “Fasten your seatbelt, please,” I recognized Damian’s unmistakable tone. I turned in shock to see his familiar hazel eyes in the rearview mirror.
In a trembling voice, he explained that he hadn’t truly died. Threatened by his adoptive parents and their corrupt business empire—which had driven him to fake his own death using medication that slowed his heart so much it mimicked a heart attack—Damian had orchestrated the entire charade. With the help of a fixer, he staged his collapse and even his funeral, all to protect us from his family’s control and ensure that his legitimately earned assets, now legally mine, couldn’t be seized.
I was overwhelmed by disbelief and anger. I yelled, “You let me think you were dead!” as he quietly apologized, explaining he’d done it to keep us safe. Then, he asked if I’d run away with him to start a new life overseas. Though I was heartbroken and furious at first, the intensity of his explanation and my lingering love for him eventually softened my stance.
After agonizing over the betrayal and pain, I realized I still loved him. I reached out, and eventually, I joined him in another country—a place far from the clutches of his controlling family. We remarried, and while our journey has been anything but the fairy tale I once imagined, we’re now building a future together based on love, freedom, and a fresh start.