I thought I was living my dream when I married Damian. It felt like the perfect fairytale—until it turned into a nightmare before the reception even began. Three days later, I was standing over my husband’s grave. And yet, not long after, I found myself staring into his eyes from the backseat of a taxi.

This isn’t something I can tell anyone in my life. They’d think I’d lost my mind. So here I am, sharing my story with strangers, hoping it makes sense to someone.

You can call me Paige. I’m 28, and not long ago, I was a glowing bride. The happiest woman in the world. Damian was everything I had ever wanted—kind, intelligent, impossibly handsome, and, most of all, mine.

We met in the tiny café where I worked part-time. He was one of those quiet, polite customers who always tipped generously and read a book while sipping his coffee.

I had a hopeless crush on him from the start, but when he actually asked me out, I was stunned. Damian, with his sharp cheekbones, warm hazel eyes, and quiet confidence, seemed like he belonged in a different world from mine. I was just an ordinary girl from a lower-middle-class family. But he saw me. Wanted me.

From our first date on the pier, I knew—we were meant to be.

A year later, we stood at the altar, promising forever. He couldn’t stop smiling at me as I tearfully read my vows, and I thought, This is it. The beginning of everything.

But forever lasted less than a day.

Before the reception, as we were taking pictures with friends, Damian suddenly collapsed. At first, I laughed, thinking he was playing some ridiculous joke. But when he didn’t get up, my heart turned to ice.

Chaos erupted. Someone screamed. Someone else called 911. The paramedics worked on him right there on the dance floor, but nothing they did worked.

At the hospital, a doctor came out hours later, his face grim. Heart attack. That’s what they told me. Damian was only 32. Healthy. Strong. How does a man like that just die?

The days after were a blur. I barely remember the funeral, except for the cold, judgmental glares from his family. I had met them only once before, and even then, I knew they despised me.

Damian had warned me about them, but he never told me everything. They were controlling, wealthy, and ruthless.

And, as I learned from his best friend Adam, they were filthy rich.

“Damian didn’t want you to know,” Adam whispered at the wake. “He wanted you to love him for him, not his money.”

The revelation left me reeling. Damian had told me he had a successful business, but I had no idea it was that successful.

His family clearly thought I knew. They stared daggers at me throughout the service. At one point, I overheard his mother mutter to someone, “She probably married him for his money and killed him for it. Get the lawyer on the phone.”

I wanted to scream at them. I didn’t even know about the money! I just loved him! But what good would it do? They had already decided I was a villain.

Three days after the funeral, I couldn’t take it anymore. My apartment felt like a tomb, haunted by memories of Damian. The grief was suffocating, and to make matters worse, his family started calling. I never answered, but their voice messages made my stomach twist with dread.

I had to get away. I threw some clothes into a suitcase, grabbed my passport, and called a taxi. I had no destination—just an overwhelming need to disappear.

When the cab pulled up, I slid into the backseat, staring blankly out the window, trying to breathe through the weight crushing my chest.

Then the driver spoke.

“Fasten your seatbelt, please.”

My heart stopped.

That voice.

I turned slowly, my gaze locking onto the rearview mirror.

Hazel eyes.

Eyes I knew better than my own.

“Damian?” My voice cracked. “But… you’re dead.”

The taxi swerved sharply toward the highway, then pulled onto a deserted street. The driver gripped the wheel tightly before turning to face me.

“I’m sorry, Paige,” he whispered. “I know this is a lot. Please don’t hate me.”

For the next hour, I sat frozen in the backseat as Damian unraveled the impossible truth.

His family had never truly accepted him. They had adopted him as a teenager, and while they gave him their name, they saw him as a tool—a brilliant mind to salvage their failing business empire. And he had. Under his guidance, their ventures flourished. But many of their dealings were far from legal.

At first, he justified it as loyalty, a way to repay them for taking him in. But over time, he realized he was just another pawn.

So, he built something of his own—a legitimate business, separate from them.

And they hated it.

They wanted control. Threatened him. When he met me, they found their greatest leverage.

“They were going to destroy you to get to me,” Damian said, his voice thick with emotion. “I couldn’t let that happen. The only way to keep you safe was to make them think I was gone.”

I gripped the seat. “So… you staged your own death?”

He nodded. “There’s a drug that slows your heart rate so much it mimics death. With the help of a fixer, I arranged everything—the collapse, the hospital, even the funeral.”

My head spun. “And the coffin?”

“I was never in it.” He exhaled. “They switched me out before the burial.”

I stared at him, my entire world tilting sideways. “You let me mourn you. You let me believe I’d lost you forever.”

His eyes filled with guilt. “I had no choice. If I had told you, they would’ve seen through it.”

I shook my head, too overwhelmed to speak. We sat in silence for what felt like eternity.

When night fell, I finally whispered, “Take me home.”

And when we got there, I unleashed hell.

I screamed. Sobbed. Threw pillows at him. “YOU LET ME THINK YOU WERE DEAD!”

“I’m sorry, baby—”

“DON’T CALL ME BABY!”

By morning, my rage had burned out, leaving me hollow. My voice was raw when I finally asked, “What now?”

Damian explained his plan. His “death” had ensured all his legitimate assets transferred to me. His family couldn’t touch them. Now, I just had to sell everything and split it with him.

Then he’d leave—for good.

And then, he asked the unthinkable.

“Come with me.”

I stared at him. “You think we can just pick up where we left off? In another country?”

His jaw tightened. “I know I hurt you. But I did it for us. I won’t stop fighting for you, Paige.”

For weeks, I ignored his messages. But as I wrapped up his affairs—fighting off his greedy family in court—I saw his plan for what it was. Reckless, yes. But selfless.

And my heart, despite everything, still belonged to him.

So I picked up my phone.

“Paige?” he answered, breathless.

“Where are you?” I asked softly. “I’m coming.”

And now, here I am. In a country where I barely speak the language, but the ocean is only thirty minutes away.

We had another wedding—one we actually got to enjoy.

His family will never find us.

And for the first time in our lives, Damian and I are finally free.