All Chapters of His Dead Wife: No Longer the Surrogate Bride: Chapter 1 - Chapter 7

“Hide.”The word sliced through the darkness like a blade.Althea Johnson pressed her back against the cold concrete wall, forcing her trembling body to still. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears—too loud, too reckless—while she squeezed her eyes shut, praying fervently and willed herself to disappear into the shadows. The mansion behind her loomed like a sleeping beast, each window a watching eye.Footsteps. Voices. Guards sweeping the grounds.She held her breath.Then—“Alright, let’s go.”A hand grabbed hers—warm, firm, and urgent. Isabelle dragged her forward, and Althea followed blindly, her free hand instinctively shielding her stomach. She rubbed small circles over it, almost a silent apology, almost a promise.“Belle… you’ll get in trouble for this,” she whispered achingly, her breath fogging in the cold night air.A twig snapped behind them.Althea whirled around, pulse spiking and turning paler. “W-Who—?”“It’s me.”Jessica Sandoval stepped out from behind a tree, her face

Althea fought sleep for as long as she could.But exhaustion—physical, emotional, soul-deep—won.Her breathing softened. Her fingers loosened their trembling grip on the sheets. And slowly, her consciousness dipped into the one place she dreaded most.Darkness.Then—A door slamming open. Footsteps echoing like drumbeats.A shadow filling the doorway.Dominic.Even in dreams, the air around him turned colder.Her younger self stood frozen, still in her wedding veil, still naïve enough to believe kindness could not turn into chains.“Thea,” he said in that low, unreadable voice, the tone that used to thrill her—until it didn’t.Then the scene warped—The room stretching like a nightmare funhouse, walls bending, the bed growing taller, the lights flickering out. She saw his silhouette approaching, steady, inevitable.She tried to back away— but her feet sank into the floor like mud.“No,” she whispered, voice breaking. “Not again… please—”His hand reached for her.Her breath shattered.

The storm had swallowed the coastline. Rain hammered the sand in relentless sheets, the wind tearing at tents, floodlights, and the men struggling against the elements. Dominic Valtieri stood unmoving among them—drenched, unblinking, carved from stone.His search teams—dozens of them—spread across the jagged shoreline, combing the rocks, dragging the waters, diving despite the violent current. Every order he gave was carried out instantly. No hesitation. No excuses.Find her.Find Althea.The command echoed louder than the thunder.Hours passed, and Dominic never once left his spot on the ridge overlooking the raging sea. His suit was soaked through, hair plastered to his forehead, but he didn’t flinch. His eyes, sharp and burning, tracked every light, every movement, every diver that surfaced.He would not leave until he had her.He needed to know.The storm worsened as night fell. Waves smashed against the rocks like roaring beasts. Yet Dominic remained, his expression a terrifying

The bracelet lay on his palm like a stain he could not scrub from his soul.Dominic had not slept well for a long while. His eyes tired, jaw locked, posture rigid with the kind of tension a man carried only when something inside him was splintering.Althea was gone.It was his fault.Or so the voice in his head whispered, repeatedly, with ruthless precision.He turned the bracelet over in his hand again. Cold metal. Her warmth gone.The memory of her falling—the scream, the drop, the sea swallowing her whole—played on a loop behind his eyes, relentless and merciless.He was about to ask his man to get him a glass of whiskey. But didn’t push through with his thought. He remained in his chair inside the VIP Holding Room. It will not be enough to numb him. Nothing had help.Four years.Four years of him chasing ghosts, of waking in the middle of the night reaching for someone who was no longer there. Four years of bargaining with God, with fate, with every cruel thing in the universe tha