My Fiance's Deadly Betrayal

A week before my wedding, my fiancé' s sister-in-law, Kimberlee, ran me off a bridge.

As I lay dying in the wreckage, my fiancé, Deacon, rushed past me to comfort her, barking at the paramedics to prioritize her "superficial" shock over my fatal injuries.

He forced my crushed hand to sign a waiver absolving her of all fault, then left me to die in the rain. "She's just trying to get attention," he muttered. "Kimberlee is the priority. She almost died."

I watched as a ghost while he ignored the pleas of my colleagues to perform the life-saving surgery I needed. He even told my mentor he wished I were dead. Then, he proposed to Kimberlee with my ring.

My love for him finally shattered. I was dead, my career was being destroyed, and my murderer was wearing my ring.

But death wasn't the end. It was a front-row seat to their betrayal, and I was tethered to the man who let me die, forced to watch every single moment.

Chapter 1

Clarissa Hester POV:

The world exploded around me a week before my wedding. The metal shrieked, glass shattered, and the icy water of the river rushed in, not just around me, but through me. Kimberlee didn't just run me off the bridge; she slammed into me, again and again, with a cold, calculated fury that had nothing to do with the storm.

My car was a twisted coffin, steel tearing into my flesh. Each impact felt like a giant fist trying to crush me out of existence. The world spun, then slammed, then spun again. I tasted blood, and the piercing pain in my arm was a white-hot spear. I tried to move, to breathe, but my body wouldn't obey. Everything was broken.

Then I saw him. Deacon.

His black SUV skidded to a halt, the blinding headlights cutting through the rain. He was here. My fiancé, my brilliant neurosurgeon, my lifeline. Hope, sharp and desperate, surged through me. He would save me.

The paramedics were already working, prying me from the wreckage. My body was screaming, every nerve on fire. I saw flashes of the bridge railing, twisted like ribbons, and the dark, churning water below. They pulled me out, my limbs heavy, useless. I was a broken doll.

But Deacon wasn't looking at me.

His eyes were fixed on Kimberlee. She was slumped against the guardrail, her designer raincoat soaked, her shoulders shaking. Her face was pale, streaked with tears, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She looked like a fragile bird caught in a hurricane. She looked like a victim.

"My God, Kimberlee!" Deacon's voice was a raw, guttural sound. He rushed past the paramedics, past my broken body, straight to her. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. His hands stroked her hair, his lips murmured reassurances into her ear. "It's okay, baby. Just breathe. It's over now."

I could hear the paramedics talking over me, their voices muffled. "Massive internal trauma,"