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.

two people their hands tied.

was Miles Lewis, the man she had loved so deeply. The

drained of her final worth by the Hastings family, she was sold to a sadistic man in exchange for their

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 being stabbed to death-over and over-bleeding out on the

soft, so soft that it barely touched the air, as if he was

from behind the black tape over his mouth. He shook

wedding gown was soaked in blood, her body barely clinging

grey, lifeless palm and aiming it at Miles. At that moment, the world around Kenneth faded to a hushed silence, a serene stillness that belied the chaos

deafening gunshots shattered the air, drowning out the seagulls' cries and penetrating the blowing wind with a chilling finality. It was a cacophony so piercing that it seemed to slice through the very fabric of reality, reverberating in everyone's ears like a haunting melody of

the gun in rapid succession. Each shot hit non-lethal spots with precision, but found the most excruciating parts, the agony written all over Miles' face. He couldn't scream. The pain was endless, unbearable-almost worse than death itself. Kenneth's voice was cold now,

meant for Miles to be buried alive, to suffer in silence,

rushing to the shore, their faces pale with panic. "Emily, don't be afraid. Mommy and Daddy are here to save you!" Emily's father's voice cracked as he tried to sound brave, but the tremor in his words betrayed his fear. 'How ironic,' Ophelia thought. 'They arrived so quickly this time. Too bad they weren't so eager to help when it

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

"Kenneth, it was Ophelia who owes you, not Emily. If you want

face red with rage. "Ophelia, you better tell Kenneth to let Emily go. If anything happens to her, you're dead. I'll make your life

him seem thicker, more suffocating. His eyes, once full of life, now held nothing but emptiness,

laughed, but there was no warmth, just pure, bone-chilling cold. "She's the girl I cherished more than my life, and you people had the audacity to make her suffer like that?" His hand moved swiftly, grabbing

beach, and Emily's forehead erupted in a gruesome spray of crimson. Her eyes stared blankly ahead,

as their beloved

weight of her grief. Owen Hastings, Ophelia's father, stood frozen, his face

beloved one die before them felt like the cruelest punishment imaginable. It was as if time had frozen, and the vibrant colors of their lives had turned

from her ghostly perch, her chest

daughter of Heather and Owen. But to them,

her. They

felt like an eternity, she finally discovered the truth about her

laugh bubbled up in her soul, tears streaming down her face as the wind carried her hollow laughter away.

unspoken sorrow, Kenneth gently lifted her frail, lifeless body, cradling her in his arms as if she were made of glass. He bent down and placed a soft kiss on her

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