The Fall: Shattered Vows

I jumped from the 29th floor of our Chicago penthouse, still wearing my white wedding dress.

The winter sun was sharp. It bounced off the ice on Lake Michigan, way down below. For a split second, I caught my own reflection in the glass—pale, determined, hair tumbling loose around my shoulders—before gravity yanked me away. The wind shrieked in my ears, grabbing at the tulle and satin. For one surreal moment, I felt weightless. Looking down, I saw Carter Evans holding that woman’s hand. They were only a few yards from the building’s entrance.

I was falling fast enough—fast enough to hit the ground right in front of them. The distance closed in a blur, their figures growing larger with every heartbeat. Weirdly, my mind was calm, even as my heart pounded out the last seconds. Maybe that’s what shock feels like.

If you want to bring your new bride into my home, then step over my corpse. Let him see what he’s done. The thought was cold and sharp, a bitter dare. The kind of thing you’d see in a movie—except this was real, and the pain was mine.

I thought Carter would be devastated. Shocked. Heartbroken. Maybe he’d finally wake up when he saw the woman who stood by him for ten years die right in front of him. But the first thing he did was cover that woman’s eyes. He didn’t even look at me, not really. Just shielded her, like I was some ugly stain on his perfect day.

Figures. Men. Typical, right? Even at the end, they’ll do anything to protect their own comfort. I almost laughed—if it hadn’t hurt so much.

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I felt myself float, stepping out from that bloody, broken mess on the sidewalk. My wedding dress was ruined, stained deep red, and I hovered above it like a ghost in a nightmare I couldn’t wake up from.