The Billionaire's Wife: A Living Hell

Edward Russell stood before Anne Windsor's casket in a black suit, grief carved so deep into his face it looked like it might never leave.

Three days. That's all it had been. Three days since his bride had walked down the aisle, and now she was nothing but cold flesh in a wooden box.

"Anne's last thoughts were of her sister." Edward's voice was raw, scraped hollow. He kept his eyes on the portrait of Anne, couldn't bear to lift them. "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 through silk, cold and sharp and utterly out of place in the reverent silence.

She'd just refused him. Refused his heartfelt promise in front of everyone. No one knew what the hell she was playing at.

Edward's hand was still resting on the casket, fingers pressed against the polished wood. His head snapped up, bloodshot eyes locking onto the woman standing across from him. He looked at her like he hadn't heard her right. Like the words couldn't possibly have come out of her mouth.

Victoria wore black from head to toe, her face drained of all color except for the feverish determination burning in her eyes. She met Edward's gaze without flinching, her voice flat and emotionless when she spoke again. "I want you to take care of me, Edward. But not as my brother-in-law." She paused, just long enough for the words to settle like stones in water. "I want you to marry me."

The air in the chapel went still. Dead still.

Then the room exploded.

Gasps rippled through the pews. Whispers erupted into full conversations, shock spreading across every face like wildfire. Anne's body wasn't even in the ground yet, and her own sister—her own flesh and blood—was standing at her funeral demanding to marry her widower.

The guests didn't bother hiding their disgust.

"Dear God, did I hear that right? At her own sister's funeral…"

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

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

Every eye in the room turned on Victoria, dripping with contempt. But she didn't seem to care. She just stood there, staring at Edward with that same unyielding intensity. The man her sister had loved. The man she now had to marry.

Edward's chest heaved. His face twisted with rage so pure it was almost unrecognizable. He stormed down from the altar, grabbed Victoria by the collar of her dress, and yanked her forward so hard she stumbled.

"You're out of your mind!" His voice was a snarl, teeth bared like an animal. "Anne died saving you! I'm your brother-in-law! How dare you—how dare you stand here at her funeral and say something like that! Have you no shame, Victoria? None at all?"

His grip tightened, the fabric digging into her throat, cutting off her air. But the disgust in his eyes hurt worse than the suffocation.

He grabbed her by the shoulders and forced her to face the casket, forced her to look at the portrait of Anne's smiling face. "Look at her! Look at your dead sister and tell me you can live with yourself!"

Victoria's eyes were red-rimmed, her head tilted back at an awkward angle as Edward loomed over her, shaking with fury.

Conscience? She didn't have one anymore. It had shattered into a thousand pieces the day Anne died.

Edward's shouting started to fade, the edges of her vision blurring into that same blinding red she'd seen three days ago.

It had been just like this. Screaming. Chaos. The kidnapper holding a knife, forcing Edward to choose. Choose which one of them would die.

But Edward never got the chance to make that choice. Anne made it for him.

The sound of the blade sinking into flesh was the worst thing Victoria had ever heard. It played on a loop in her head, over and over, every night when she closed her eyes.

It should have been the happiest day of Anne's life. She 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 there in a spreading pool of blood, her hands slick and warm with it, pressing down on Anne's wound as hard as she could. But it kept coming. It wouldn't stop.

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

"I promise! Anne, I'll do anything, just don't die, please don't die—" Victoria had been sobbing so hard she could barely breathe.

Those were the last words Anne ever spoke. And they became the only thing Victoria had left to live for.

Anne died because of her. She would never forget the sight of that wedding dress soaked through with blood.

She was guilty. She would never forgive herself.

So she would do whatever it took to fulfill Anne's dying wish. Even if it meant becoming the most hated woman in the room. Even if it meant destroying herself in the process.

The crack of a slap brought her back to the present, sharp and vicious.

Victoria's head whipped to the side, the taste of copper flooding her mouth.

Esme Garcia stood in front of her, her perfectly manicured hand still trembling in the air. The woman who'd always prided herself on elegance and composure now looked feral, her face contorted with rage as she jabbed a finger in Victoria's face.

"You shameless slut!" Esme's voice was shrill, cutting through the chapel like nails on glass. "Are you that desperate for a man? 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!"

"You are not my daughter!"

Esme's words hit like a second slap, but Victoria didn't move. Didn't flinch.

The guests murmured their agreement, their voices dripping with scorn.

"What a disgrace."

"Poor Esme. She loses her perfect daughter and gets stuck with this."

Victoria slowly turned her head, her tongue pressing against the inside of her cheek where it had gone numb from the blow. She didn't touch her face. Didn't cry. Didn't even blink.

The insults, the slaps, the hatred—it was all nothing compared to what Anne had asked of her.

She looked past Esme, past the sneering guests, and locked eyes with Edward again.

She took another step toward him, her voice steady and cold. "Marry me, Edward."

"Get out!" Edward's arm shot out, shoving her back like she was something filthy he couldn't stand to touch. "Soren! Get her out of here—don't let her disturb Anne's peace!"

Security moved in fast, grabbing Victoria by the arms and hauling her toward the exit. She didn't fight them. Just let them drag her, her heels scraping against the stone floor with a high, grating screech.

Her eyes stayed fixed on Anne's portrait the entire time, as if she were making a silent vow. 'I'll keep my promise. I swear I will.'

The heavy wooden doors slammed shut behind her, cutting off the warmth and light of the chapel.

Outside, the rain was coming down in sheets.

The icy water soaked through her thin black dress in seconds, chilling her to the bone. She staggered forward, her knees buckling, and collapsed hard onto the slick stone steps. Pain shot through her kneecaps as they cracked against the ground, but she barely felt it.

Rain streamed down her colorless face, mixing with something else—tears, maybe, though she couldn't tell anymore.

Victoria knelt there 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 woman who seduced her own brother-in-law. The whore who couldn't even wait for her sister's body to grow cold.

It didn't matter. She deserved it. All of it.

As long as she could fulfill Anne's last wish, as long as she could restore the Windsor family to what it once was, she didn't care if Edward hated her for the rest of her life. Didn't care if the whole world spat on her name.

On the day of Anne's funeral, kneeling in the rain, Victoria made a vow. For Anne, she would do anything. Even if it killed her.

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.