When I married Damian, I felt like I was living my dream, but before the reception, everything turned into a nightmare. My husband and I ended up burying each other three days after our wedding, only to see him in a taxi.

I have to use the anonymity of the internet since I can’t tell those around me about this. I’m known as Paige. Just a few months ago, I was the ideal bride—I’m twenty-eight.

But after we said “I do,” my soulmate—you may call him Damian—died. As they say, “Life flashes before your eyes when you’re going to die,” but as I watched him fall to the ground, our whole relationship seemed to flash before my eyes.

I used to work part-time at a tiny café where Damian and I met. He was one of those calm, courteous patrons who read a book while sipping his coffee and always left a generous tip.

Ever when I first laid eyes on him, I had a crush on him. But I was taken aback when he asked me out. His warm hazel eyes, sharp cheekbones, and quiet confidence made him a beautiful man.

I couldn’t believe he was interested in me because I was just a normal girl from a lower middle-class household. But he was, and it seemed like we were meant to be from the moment we walked on a local pier on our first date.

We were standing at the altar in front of our closest friends only a year later. I’ve never had a happier day in my life. I cried as I recited my vows, and Damian couldn’t stop grinning at me. The next wonderful chapter of our life together was about to begin.

However, that dream came to an abrupt end. Damian unexpectedly passed out while posing for photos with friends prior to the reception. I initially believed him to be kidding. However, I froze when he remained motionless.

He was encircled by others, and someone dialed 911. On the dance floor, the paramedics attempted to treat him, but their efforts were unsuccessful.

I followed them in a stupor as they hurried him to the hospital. Hours later, a grim-faced doctor emerged and informed me that Damian had not made it. It was a heart attack, they explained. He was only thirty-two. How can a healthy man pass away in such a manner?

In the days that followed, I was hardly able to keep myself together. Until his relatives arrived at the burial, everything was a haze. I had only ever met them once, and one encounter was sufficient.

Although he hadn’t told me everything, Damian had warned me about them. He had snooty and domineering adoptive parents. However, Adam, a friend of Damian’s, told me that they were also extremely wealthy.

“Damian didn’t tell you about his family’s wealth because he didn’t want it to affect how you saw him,” he remarked with a low tone.

He told me he had a great business, but I honestly had no idea. But it made sense. They must have disapproved of our relationship for the same reason. Damian hadn’t invited my family to our wedding, and I wasn’t from the “right” kind of family.

Now, however, they were present and used their eyes to hurl daggers at me during the service. “She was probably after his money and caused his death,” I heard his mother mention to someone. Put our attorney on the line.

I wanted to shout that I had no idea Damian was wealthy, much less that he desired it. However, what would it accomplish? I simply lacked the energy to argue with anyone, and they had already made up their minds about me.

I was unable to handle the sadness and emptiness for three days following the funeral. Every nook and cranny of my apartment was filled with memories of Damian, making it feel oppressive.

I was having weird ideas and was overcome with despair. In addition, his relatives had begun phoning me. Their voicemails were terrible, but I never answered.

I grabbed my passport, packed some clothes in a small luggage, and ordered a cab since I had to leave. I hadn’t made up my mind yet. I simply knew I had to go out of the country or the city. I might travel to Aruba or Mexico. anywhere it wasn’t present.

I got into the backseat of the cab and gazed out the window as it arrived. As I sank into the leather and tried to take a deep breath, I hardly noticed the driver.

“Fasten your seatbelt, please,” the driver ordered abruptly.

I went cold. My heart began to race, and my chest constricted. It was Damian’s voice. I quickly turned my head and looked into the rearview mirror. Those eyes. The distinctive hazel eyes.

Then I croaked, “Damian?” “However…? How? How are you doing? “What?”

He abruptly steered the car away from the road toward the freeway and parked on a quiet street, even though my comments made no sense. He remained silent for a minute.

His hands were firmly holding the steering wheel, as if he were preparing for something. He then pivoted and gave me a direct look.

He murmured, “I’m sorry, Paige,” quietly and without introduction. “I understand that this is a lot to process. I’ll tell you everything. Don’t hate me, please.

I listened to Damian’s statement in its entirety, my mouth hanging open and my eyes wide. The amount was too much to be true.

He began by telling me about his family. They leveraged his genius to grow their clandestine business empire, which was failing miserably before him, after adopting him as a teenager. He eventually became the driving force behind some of their most profitable (and most likely unlawful) endeavors.