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Chapter 52
Last Updated:
2025-05-13 19:57:00
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From Dust to Ashes: A scorned Bride Chapter 91
Benjamin.Chaos. That’s all my life had become.I flew down the hotel stairs two at a time, my boots thudding against the marble like a war drum. I jumped into my car and started the engine with shaky hands, still hearing Santos’ words echoing in my head.“You work for me now.”Screw him. Screw this city. I needed to get out. Now.I hit the gas so hard the tires screeched, the smell of burning rubber curling into the air as I peeled out of the parking lot. I didn’t even look back. I couldn’t. If I did, I’d start second-guessing myself, and I didn’t have the luxury of time. Santos didn’t forgive. Santos didn’t forget. And Santos definitely didn’t let anyone run.I reached my apartment in what felt like minutes, though my heart was pounding like it’d been hours. My fingers fumbled with the keys. The damn door wouldn’t open.“Come on, come on!" I cursed under my breath, shaking until the lock finally clicked. I pushed through the door and didn’t even bother turning on the lights.There w
From Dust to Ashes: A scorned Bride Chapter 90
Benjamin.I kept splashing cold water on my face, over and over, hoping, praying that it was the alcohol messing with my head. That I was hallucinating. That the woman sitting on my bed wasn’t who I thought she was.Rose.God, no. It couldn’t be her.My heartbeat thundered against my chest, the kind of beat that screamed something wasn’t right. I had seen her in the club. I wasn’t drunk enough to doubt my own damn eyes. The red wig, the confident sway in her hips. It was her. But she was confirmed dead. I’d been at the hospital. I saw the lifeless body, the cold silence of her skin, the white sheet pulled over her face. I heard the doctor say it out loud.“She is dead…”Still, I stayed in the bathroom longer than I needed to. I gripped the edges of the sink and stared at my reflection. “You’re seeing things,” I whispered to myself. “It’s not her. It can’t be.”But when I stepped out, she was still there.Sitting on the edge of my bed. Legs crossed. Wearing that stripper’s costume from
From Dust to Ashes: A scorned Bride Chapter 89
Camilla.The pain ripped through me like a knife to the gut, sharp, unrelenting, and so sudden I thought I was dying.I didn’t even know I was screaming until Grey burst into the room, his face pale, his eyes wild. “Camilla? Camilla! What’s happening? What’s wrong?!”“I—” I clutched the bedsheet as another wave slammed into me, curling my toes and making my vision blur. “The babies are coming and my stomach hurts! Oh God, it hurts so bad!”Grey didn’t waste a second. He was already yelling down the hallway. Doors slammed open. I could hear footsteps pounding. Seconds later, his parents appeared, his mom in her robe, panic on her face, his dad pulling on a coat over his pajamas.“Get the car!” Grey barked at his father. He scooped me into his arms, ignoring my flailing, my protests. “You’re going to the hospital. Now.”“No, wait—” I gasped, the pain making my voice come out high and broken. “It’s not time yet, Grey. They’re not due for another two weeks. It could be false labor. Just g
From Dust to Ashes: A scorned Bride Chapter 88
Grey.No one technically dies from Parkinson’s Disease. They die with it. That’s one of my doctor's favorite clichés. I can practically imagine it slapped on a bumper sticker, only slightly more absurd than “Guns don’t kill people; people do.”My usual response to having Parkinson’s has always been something along the lines of, Why me? But after that afternoon with one of the patients at the hospital on the Marsden rooftop, I found myself humbled. His condition seemed more severe. His illness trumped mine. If it were a playground game, his conker would shatter mine to bits.Looking back, it was around fifteen months ago that I first sensed something was wrong. The overriding symptom was the exhaustion. Some days, just moving felt like trudging through knee-deep sludge. Even so, I continued playing tennis twice weekly and coaching a small football team. I could still more or less keep pace with a dozen eight-year-olds during our training matches, imagining myself as Zinedine Zidane, th
From Dust to Ashes: A scorned Bride Chapter 87
Benjamin.The gin burned like acid sliding down my throat, but I didn’t care. I welcomed it, needed it, even. The bottle was still warm from my grip, the neck slick with my own sweat. My fingers trembled as I raised it again, the liquid sloshing against the sides, mocking me with every sip.I stared at the paper in my lap, the receipt, the damn proof of my shame. A cruel little printout, no longer than my palm, but heavier than anything I’d ever carried. Rent. Loans. Credit cards. Even my goddamn tab at the liquor store.“Two hundred and sixty-five thousand, six hundred and twenty-two dollars,” I muttered aloud, voice cracking.And some cents, because why not? Misery loves precision.I laughed, short and bitter, and then the laughter turned into tears before I even realized it. The bottle slipped from my hand and rolled off the couch. I let my head fall into my palms and wept.“Damn you, Julia,” I choked. “You ruined me. You fucking ruined me.”I don’t know how long I sat there, ten m
From Dust to Ashes: A scorned Bride Chapter 86
Camilla.I stood before the marble tomb, my fingers trailing along the etched name that stared back at me like a ghost refusing to rest.Marcus Grey.The underground vault was cold, the kind of cold that seeped past skin and bone to coil itself around your heart. The air smelled like old stone and secrets. Secrets that no one wanted to say out loud. Especially Grey.I couldn’t stop thinking about what I’d heard two nights ago. Grey killed his younger brother. Killed him. And the family covered it up like it was a wine stain on a white rug, just another mess to blot out and forget.But I couldn’t forget. They said it was an accident. That Marcus died because of a fight gone too far. That Grey wasn’t the monster people would paint him to be if they knew. But if that was true, why hide it? Why not go to the police? Why bury the truth six feet under, literally and figuratively?I stepped back, folding my arms across my chest, shivering despite the warm wool cardigan I wore.“You shouldn’
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