Chapter 3

The sudden light made my eyes sting, and when my vision finally cleared, Wyatt's handsome but subtly twisted face was the first thing I saw.

His cheeks were still flushed, and his clothes were a wrinkled mess—the dead giveaway of what he and Celia had just been up to.

I looked at him pleadingly, hoping he would pull me out.

But Wyatt didn't seem surprised that I was awake. He merely studied me with pure, unadulterated contempt.

"God, you look pathetic. You're about to be buried alive. Celia's busy handling your funeral arrangements, so I figured I'd keep you company for a little while.

"Five years ago, your mother found out who I really was. To make sure nothing stood in your way, she drove my mother to her death and had Dad cut me out of the Mercer family. And that still wasn't enough for her, was it? You even stole my fiancee! Emilia was supposed to be my wife!

"You've been married to her for five years, and she's been abusing you for all that time, but somehow you still wouldn't divorce her. I had no choice but to let Celia pursue you instead, and you were stupid enough to fall for her.

"Weren't you hoping to go abroad with Celia and marry her? You stole my marriage, so it was only fair I steal yours. Your mother finally kicked the bucket. I tampered with the drug you took to fake your death. Once they bury you, you'll be awake for every second of it and feel yourself die.

"The day you take your last breath is the exact day I marry Celia."

Every single word out of his mouth was a knife, and with each sentence, my heart turned to ice.

The fragile hope that had just flared up inside me was brutally snuffed out.

Wyatt's lips curved, and he looked almost pleased with himself.

He took the food and water that had been placed in the coffin, then said casually, "You're going to die anyway, so there's no point wasting these on you. I'll leave the oxygen tank, though. I want you to last a few more days. It's just a shame you won't be able to make it to our wedding."

The lid slammed shut again, swallowing the last sliver of light.

I dug my fingertips deep into the rough wooden boards, pressing so hard that my fingernails felt ready to snap off.

But my strength had drained out of me. My eyelids grew unbearably heavy, and I blacked out.

When I finally came to, I was greeted by a cacophony of voices from the outside world.

My funeral had begun.

Guests were mingling, exchanging pleasantries, and laughing, yet not a single soul out there was actually mourning my "death."

"The Mercer family's second son finally bit the dust. Word is that Emilia had beaten him half to death, but he still refused to sign the divorce papers because he didn't want to lose his place in the family."

"He had it coming. He stole his brother's fiancee, didn't he? Wyatt is way better looking and twice as capable. If it hadn't been for that whole bastard scandal coming to light, Elliot wouldn't have stood a chance at taking his place."

"Exactly. He even drugged Emilia just to force her into that marriage. Talk about having zero shame. No wonder she aborted their kid the second they got hitched. I bet he didn't see that coming. And look at him now. He's dead and buried, yet Emilia wouldn't even deign to show her face at the funeral."

"Wyatt's the one who hit the jackpot. Sure, things were rough for him five years ago, but now that his brother is dead, the Mercers will have no choice but to name him heir. Plus, he's marrying the sole heiress of Ashford Group next week. Let's see who dares call him a bastard after that."

…

On and on they went, picking apart my life and marriage and dragging my name through the dirt, never knowing the man in the casket was still alive, counting down his final hours in despair.

The pastor completed the last prayer, and the order was given to lower the casket.

I struggled with everything I had, feeling every second tick away, but no one was coming to save me.

I felt them carry me toward the plot. Right before they lowered me into the earth, I heard Celia lean in close against the casket.

With much difficulty, I forced myself to mutter, "Help… me."