Revenge Of The Jilted Bride

Jilted Bride 1

Ophelia Sinclair was dead.

Her body weighed down with sandbags, had been tossed into the icy depths of the sea for three days, but even in death, her spirit clung on.

It was as if her emotions had run too deep and too raw to keep her soul anchored, and grief itself had become the chain that bound her. She felt the crushing pressure of the water, the suffocating stillness that surrounded her like a silent scream.

Suddenly, there was a splash-a single burst breaking the dark, endless blue of the ocean. Ophelia's soul, caught in a haze of confusion, could just make out a dark figure swimming toward her, cutting through the inky blue. The ripples in the water stirred something in her -a flicker of recognition, though her consciousness hung on the edge of oblivion.

'Is that Kenneth?' she thought, her heart-or what was left of it-stirring. 'We've been divorced for three years. What could he possibly be doing here?'

Through the blur of ocean water, Kenneth Sinclair reached for her, his face strained with anxiety. His strong arms encircled her cold, lifeless form, pulling her to the surface with a force driven by something deeper than mere survival.

Desperation etched in every muscle, he pressed his lips to hers, which were now swollen and pale, as he tried to breathe life back into her. His chest heaved, each breath carrying a desperate plea, a silent command for her to return to him, to fight against the pull of death itself.

His face was hardened and unshaven while his strong jaw was stubbled. His eyes, bloodshot and wild, brimmed with pain, though he tried to mask it with steely determination.

He unfastened the sandbags dragging her down and then carried her to shore. With shaking hands, he knelt beside her, his voice breaking as he gave her mouth-to-mouth and pressed down on her chest in a futile attempt to restart her heart, over and over. "Ophelia, you're not dying on me. Wake up, damn it. Wake up..." His voice cracked, frantic.

Water droplets dripped from his soaked hair, mingling with the tears streaming down his face, falling onto Ophelia's ghostly pale cheeks. She had never seen him so defeated, so undone.

Beside him, his assistant's voice quivered, her eyes reddened with unshed tears. "Mr. Kenneth, Miss Ophelia is... She's gone."

Kenneth's hands froze mid-press, and he slumped forward as if the life had been sucked out of him too. His fingers, long and graceful, shook as they brushed a strand of hair from her face. He cupped her cheeks gently, as if holding something too precious, too fragile. "No, she isn't," he whispered hoarsely by her ear, his voice barely audible, more to himself than anyone else.

He leaned down and wrapped his arms tightly around her, pressing his cheek against her cold forehead. "Elia, you never liked me touching you, remember? You'd always push me away when I hugged you like this. So why aren't you pushing me right now? "Please, just open your eyes and look at me, just once. I don't care if you want me to stay away from you forever or if you want me dead. As long as you're alive, I'll do whatever you want. Just, please..."

He begged like a man who had lost everything, his pleas spilling out in broken whispers, over and over, as if the sheer force of his will could bring her back.

By the time night fell, the waves crashed rhythmically against the shore, indifferent to the tragedy playing out on the sand.

bodyguards, clad in black, arrived with two people their

the side. One of the captives was Miles Lewis, the man she had loved

ago. After being drained of her final worth by the Hastings family, she was sold to a sadistic man in

to Miles for help, only to be betrayed by Miles, who she trusted. He handed her back to that monster, where she endured unimaginable torture before finally

touched the air, as if he was unaware the body he was holding was no longer

the black tape over his mouth. He shook his head, pleading for mercy with

Emily's wedding gown was soaked in blood, her body barely clinging to life,

placing a gun in her grey, lifeless palm and aiming it at Miles. At that moment, the world around Kenneth faded to

gunshots shattered the air, drowning out the seagulls' cries and penetrating the blowing wind with a chilling finality. It was a cacophony

Miles' face. He couldn't scream. The pain was endless, unbearable-almost worse than death itself. Kenneth's voice was cold now, devoid of all emotion as he rose to his feet. "Bury

implication hung heavy in the atmosphere, dark and suffocating. He meant for Miles to be buried alive, to suffer in silence, encased in earth,

he tried to sound brave, but the tremor in his words betrayed his fear. 'How ironic,' Ophelia thought. 'They arrived so quickly this time.

Harry and Nathan Hastings, charged forward, but the well-trained bodyguards blocked them with

was Ophelia who owes you,

furious, his face red with rage. "Ophelia, you better tell Kenneth to let Emily

radiated an even more frigid and terrifying energy that made the air around him seem thicker, more

the audacity to make her suffer like that?" His

gunshot echoed across the beach, and Emily's forehead erupted in a gruesome spray of crimson. Her eyes stared blankly ahead, not even given the chance

watched in horror as their beloved Emily crumpled lifelessly to

mother, fainted instantly, her body collapsing under the weight of her grief. Owen Hastings, Ophelia's father, stood frozen, his face ashen, veins bulging from his temples, while Harry and Nathan fell to their knees, utterly

beloved one die before them felt like the cruelest punishment imaginable. It was as if time had frozen,

her ghostly perch, her chest

was the real daughter of Heather and Owen. But to them, she had been nothing more than a pawn in their twisted game, a

to save her. They were oblivious to her suffering, indifferent

felt like an eternity, she finally discovered the truth about her biological parents, a revelation that should have filled her heart with joy. However, years of longing for her family only ended up

her soul, tears streaming down her face as the wind carried her hollow laughter away. The

lifeless body, cradling her in his arms as if she were made of glass. He bent down and placed

her blood-stained white gown, the hem fluttering eerily in the wind. Her pasty arm hung limply by her side, her head rested on Kenneth's shoulder, and her long hair flowed like ribbons, dancing in the