My Faked Death, His Endless Torment

I was dying from a mysterious illness, but my family, including my fiancé King, dismissed me as a drama queen. At my adopted sister Isabel' s promotion party, my body finally gave out and I collapsed, coughing up blood.

Instead of helping, King accused me of ruining Isabel's big night. He tore up my terminal diagnosis report right in front of me, sneering that I'd do anything for attention.

Completely broken, I annulled our engagement and fled to a rundown motel to die alone. But Isabel found me. With a triumphant smile, she confessed everything-she had been slowly poisoning me for years, a plot to steal my health, my family's love, and King himself.

She had no idea her entire monstrous confession was being recorded by a device left in the room.

I sent that audio file to everyone and, with the help of a kind stranger, faked my own death. Years later, I had a new life, a new name, and a quiet peace I never thought possible. Then one day, a broken, haunted man walked into my seaside café, clutching a faded photo of me.

It was King.

Chapter 1

Ela Campbell POV:

The bitter taste of blood filled my mouth, metallic and coppery, a familiar prelude to what was coming. I was dying. A slow, agonizing decay from within, but no one believed me. Not my parents, who saw only a fragile burden. Not my fiancé, King, who now stood over me, his powerful frame radiating a cold fury that chilled me more than the fever gripping my bones.

"What in the hell do you think you're doing, Ela?" King's voice was a low growl, vibrating through the plush carpet of the ballroom. His hand, usually so firm and warm, clamped around my wrist with bruising force. "Are you trying to ruin Isabel's night? Her promotion is a huge deal."

I tried to pull away, but his grip was iron. My head swam, the opulent chandelier above spinning into a blurry halo. The scent of champagne and expensive perfume, once intoxicating, now made my stomach churn.

Then, a soft, concerned voice drifted to us. "King, darling, is everything alright? Oh, Ela, what happened? You look… unwell."

Isabel. Always the picture of perfect concern, her blonde hair shimmering under the lights, her blue eyes wide and innocent. She wore a dress the color of ice, a stark contrast to the dark circles under my own eyes, a testament to sleepless nights wracked with pain. She looked like an angel, and I, a shadow.

King' s gaze softened for a fleeting second as it met Isabel' s. "She's just being dramatic, Isabel. You know how she is." He turned back to me, his eyes hardening. "This is your sister's moment, Ela. You couldn't even manage to be happy for her, could you? Always finding a way to make it about you."

A sharp pain shot through my chest, not from my illness, but from the raw injustice of his