The Billionaire's Wife: A Living Hell

The blood on her wedding dress was still wet when I made my promise. She died saving me. Her last words weren't for our parents, her friends, or the man she loved. They were for me. Marry him. Save our family.

Three days later, at her funeral, I said yes.

Edward Russell stood before Anne's casket in a black suit, grief carved so deep into his face it looked permanent. Three days since his bride walked down the aisle, and now she was nothing but cold flesh in a wooden box.

"Anne's last thoughts were of her sister." His voice was raw, scraped hollow. "I'll take care of Victoria as her brother-in-law. Until she marries. It's what Anne would have wanted."

"I don't want your charity."

Victoria's voice cut through the chapel like a blade—cold, sharp, utterly out of place.

Edward's head snapped up, bloodshot eyes locking onto her. He looked at her like he hadn't heard her right.

Victoria wore black from head to toe, her face drained of all color except for the feverish determination burning in her eyes. "I want you to take care of me, Edward. But not as my brother-in-law." She paused. "I want you to marry me."

The air went still. Dead still.

Then the room exploded. Gasps rippled through the pews. Whispers became full conversations. Anne's body wasn't even in the ground yet, and her own sister was standing at her funeral demanding to marry her widower.

"Dear God… at her own sister's funeral…"

"That lunatic. Anne's not even buried and she's already throwing herself at him."

"How did the Windsor family raise such a shameless whore?"

Every eye dripped with contempt. Victoria didn't seem to care. She just stood there, staring at Edward with unyielding intensity.

Edward stormed down from the altar, grabbed her collar, and yanked her forward. "You're out of your mind! Anne died saving you! How dare you stand here at her funeral and say something like that! Have you no shame?"

His grip tightened, fabric digging into her throat. He forced her to face the casket. "Look at her! Look at your dead sister and tell me you can live with yourself!"

Victoria couldn't. Her conscience had shattered the day Anne died.

Three days ago. The kidnapper's knife. Edward forced to choose which one would die. But Anne made the choice for him.

The sound of that blade sinking into flesh played on a loop in Victoria's head. Anne should have been the most beautiful bride in the world. Instead, she died on the floor of her own wedding—because of Victoria.

Victoria had knelt in a pool of her sister's blood, pressing down on the wound as it kept coming, wouldn't stop.

Anne's fingers locked around her wrist, her voice barely a rasp. "Victoria… promise me… marry Edward… take care of him… save the Windsor family… bring it back…"

"I promise! Just don't die, please don't die—"

Those were Anne's last words. They became the only thing Victoria had left to live for.

The crack of a slap brought her back.

Victoria's head whipped to the side, copper flooding her mouth. Esme Garcia stood before her, face contorted with rage. "You shameless slut! Anne's barely cold and you're already trying to crawl into her lover's bed! You've disgraced the Windsor family! I should have never given birth to you!"

She spat the final words like poison. "You are not my daughter!"

The guests murmured their agreement. Victoria didn't move. Didn't flinch. The insults, the slaps, the hatred—it was nothing compared to what Anne had asked of her.

She looked past her mother and locked eyes with Edward again. "Marry me."

"Get out!" Edward shoved her back. "Soren! Get her out of here—don't let her disturb Anne's peace!"

Security grabbed her arms and hauled her toward the exit. She didn't fight. Her eyes stayed fixed on Anne's portrait the whole time. I'll keep my promise. I swear I will.

The heavy doors slammed shut behind her.

Outside, rain came down in sheets. Icy water soaked through her thin black dress in seconds. Her knees buckled, and she collapsed hard onto the slick stone steps.

Victoria knelt in the downpour, staring at the closed doors, at the man inside, at the sister she'd lost.

She was a sinner. She'd gotten Anne killed. Destroyed her happiness. Ruined everything. And now she'd be known as the whore who couldn't even wait for her sister's body to grow cold.

It didn't matter. She deserved it all. As long as she could fulfill Anne's last wish—restore the Windsor family—she didn't care if Edward hated her. Didn't care if the whole world spat on her name.

Through the rain, she saw Anne's wedding dress, scarlet with blood.

That red became the only lighthouse in her life. The one reason she chose to survive.