Frieren At The Funeral

Depois que minha família faliu, meu noivo, Luis Ribeiro, rompeu o nosso noivado sem hesitação e escolheu Paula Sousa. Foi Jone Loureiro quem me ajudou a pagar as dívidas, cuidou do funeral do meu pai e me resgatou do caos. Nos três anos seguintes, ele nunca me deixou. Eu estava prestes a acreditar que tinha encontrado minha salvação, mas, na véspera do nosso casamento, ouvi ele conversando com o amigo Carlos Araújo: — Você realmente vai se casar com Sofia Lima? Não tem medo que um dia ela descubra que a morte do pai e a falência da família Lima foram obra sua? — Paula já está casada com Luis, e eu estou com Sofia. E se ela descobrir, qual é o problema? Paguei as dívidas dela, enterrei o pai. Já fiz mais do que deveria. Só então eu soube que Jone Loureiro também tinha me enganado. Do começo ao fim, a única que se entregou nessa história fui eu.

For over thirty years, my wife Janet faked being broke—for her flimsy ex. When our son Asher landed in the hospital, I begged and borrowed from everyone I knew. Still came up fifty bucks short. Janet? Said she was tapped out. So my mom sold off her own meds to cover the bill—never told me. She died without treatment. I handled my mom's funeral alone. When I went to pick up Asher from the hospital, I found a stash of Janet's old shopping receipts. Custom suits. Million-dollar watches. A damn private jet. I grabbed them and stormed off to confront her. Asher cut me off. "Dad, Mr. Sackett's sick. Mom's just helping him out. Why are you freaking out?" I stared at the kid who only lived because my mom died. It felt like something cracked inside me. Janet barely looked up. "Connor's educated. He deserves the finer things. Unlike you—crying over fifty bucks like some househusband. See? I didn't give you the money, and Asher's fine." Fine. If that's how they see it, I'm done with this family.

I called my wife, a forensic specialist, after learning that my in-laws were involved in a car accident. It was on the 80th call that she finally answered, "I'm just trying to celebrate Justin's birthday for him. What's wrong with you? Can you not get jealous over just about anything?" I informed her that Mom, Dad, and sister had died in a car accident, and that she should hurry back to arrange for their funeral. To my surprise, she scoffed at my suggestion and replied, "What does your family's death have to do with me?" She was not involved in the funeral arrangements at all. On top of that, she even falsified evidence for her love interest—the culprit who killed her family—in court as a forensics specialist. Eventually, on the day I informed her of my intention to divorce, she threw a fit. "Patrick, it's just the death of a few of your family members. Justin didn't do it on purpose. It was just an accident. "Moreover, it's because of your parents' and sister's carelessness on the road that led to the accident. Why are you making things difficult for me and insisting on divorce? I've truly misjudged you…" Noticing the indignance in her response, I finally understood. It seemed she had no idea that it was her family that died in the accident all this while.

My mother fell critically ill and was rushed to the hospital. Desperate, I knelt before my fiancé—the department's chief surgeon—and begged him to take charge of her operation. But outside the ICU, he was carefully tending to a scraped knee. Lucy Wendell's scraped knee, to be exact. Just as I was drowning in hopelessness, Cameron Mitchell—the hospital director and my childhood friend—pushed open the operating room doors and handed me a marriage proposal. "Marry me, and I'll personally perform your mother's surgery." With trembling hands, I signed my name, clinging to the last shred of hope that she could be saved. But she never made it through that stormy night. Cameron handled all the funeral arrangements himself, and our wedding proceeded as scheduled. Seven years later, in the hushed silence of the hospital archives, I overheard Cameron speaking with the deputy director. "Cameron, why did you transfer your mother-in-law's organ to Lucy's mother during that surgery? Weren't you afraid of getting caught?" "I owed Lucy," he replied. "If I hadn't hesitated back then, Lucy never would've chosen medical aid work in Africa… and her mother wouldn't have fallen ill from the grief."

The night my husband, William Costello, was assassinated by his enemies was supposed to be a celebration—our wedding anniversary. I was dressed in his favorite red dress, waiting for him, when the phone rang. "Mr. Costello was shot at the harbor. The bullet went through the back of his head. He died on the spot." I collapsed to the floor. I clung to his belongings, mourning for a week straight. We even lost our unborn child during this time. Everyone said William and I were true love. Even the Don himself came to the funeral, resting a heavy hand on my shoulder with a sigh. He said, "All of Blackhaven knows you were the only woman he ever loved." Grief nearly destroyed me. I stood at the river's edge, ready to follow William into the afterlife. However, I overheard my sister-in-law, Emily Hawkins, leaning into my brother-in-law, Jones Costello, her voice dripping with a twisted affection. She purred, "William, I love you so much. Between Nina and me, who do you think is sexier?" "Of course it's you, babe!" came the husky reply. I stood frozen, my eyes wide and my body trembling. Why was Emily calling my brother-in-law by my husband's name?

The wedding bells rang then came the gunshot. Amelia Stone thought she was marrying the love of her life, Miguel Favino. But before the vows were over, Miguel was shot in front of her, his last word was her name. Now she’s a widow, covered in blood and surrounded by lies. Everyone says it was an accident, but Amelia knows someone wanted her to suffer. Days later, Miguel’s younger brother, Alejandro the cold, tattooed heir shows up at the funeral with a contract. “It’s Favino family law,” he says. “When the eldest son dies, his wife belongs to the next heir. That means you’re mine now.” Amelia stares at him in disbelief. “You’re out of your mind if you think I’ll ever marry you.” Alejandro’s voice turns low and dangerous. “You don’t have a choice, querida. You’re part of this family now whether you like it or not.” But Amelia won’t be controlled. Someone killed her husband, and she’ll find out who. Even if it means trusting the one man she swore to hate. Will she follow her heart with the mysterious man at her side, or finish what she started and make every drop of blood on her wedding dress mean something? This time, the betrayed bride won’t forgive. She will fight. She will burn. And she will make them all pay.

Three days before my wedding, Eric Foreman's childhood love returned to the country with her terminally ill mother. She wanted to marry Eric to fulfill her mother's dying wish. I objected furiously to it in my last life, and Eric eventually rejected Naomi Corbin's request. Naomi appeared with her mother's funeral picture in the middle of our wedding and accused Eric of being heartless. Eric got the bodyguards to kick her out, and our wedding continued without a glitch. However, he did not return home that night. Since then, he insisted that we sleep in different rooms. He would rather get drunk than touch me. When I questioned him about this, he said to me drunkenly as his eyes glazed over, "Ayla, every time I look at you, I'm reminded of the look of despair in Naomi's eyes and her mother's dying face… I regret making that decision!" His answer depressed me, and I eventually died from it. When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the day Eric tried to convince me to give Naomi our wedding. This time, I agreed. I called my family as I watched him leave happily. "I agree to the marriage alliance. We can hold the wedding in three days."

Even after being married for three years, my husband treats me like a stranger. When I throw up blood from pregnancy complications, he's in the prayer room chanting for his foster sister, Yvie Springton. He accuses me of being dramatic. If Yvie so much as gets a headache, he drops everything and flies overseas to be by her side. When his parents are in critical condition after a car crash, I beg him to go see them one last time. But what does he do? He claims I'm cursing Yvie. When I go into early labor and cling to life after giving birth to our son, he posts a photo of his international boarding pass on social media. At his parents' funeral, he returns to the country with Yvie and demands I leave the marriage with nothing. The day our divorce finalizes, he holds a wedding ceremony with her. I bury his parents alone. Then, at an exclusive auction, dead set on winning the famous painting for Yvie, he offered a staggering price. Even his accounts are frozen. That's when he finally realizes he's been disowned by the Springton family. His eyes are bloodshot, and he's furious as he demands answers. I simply gesture for my lawyer to step forward. He says, "Mr. Springton, take a look at this will."

The day I go into labor, my husband's student, Yasmin Holden, storms off in a rage. She climbs the mountains alone while heavily pregnant. For the next three days and nights, my husband disappears to look for her. Meanwhile, I suffer a difficult labor and hemorrhage badly. I'm rushed into the ICU. When I finally wake up, the doctor hands my husband a critical condition notice. He hands me divorce papers. "Yasmin is my most promising student. I can't let her do anything foolish. You're about to be a mother, so you need to be strong!" In my last life, I refused to sign. As soon as I left the maternity ward, I reported their affair to the university. Yasmin lost her graduate school recommendation and was torn apart by public scandal. In front of me, she slit her own throat. By the time my husband arrived, Yasmin was already gone—along with the baby. He quietly handled her funeral and said nothing. Then, he returned to me as if nothing had happened. I thought that meant I was finally going to have a happy ending. But one day, he drove our car off a cliff with me and our daughter inside. That day was Yasmin's death anniversary. When I open my eyes again, I'm back on the day I give birth.

LUNA He came for my sister. The scarred, brutal Bratva king from Russia, the one whispered about in mafia circles like a ghost story, traveled halfway across the world to claim her. But my sister was too fragile for a man like him. I tried to protect her. I didn’t know I was the one he truly wanted. From the moment Misha Petrov saw me, I became his obsession. He struck a deal with my father and took me instead. Forced me into a sham marriage, dragged me into his icy empire, and made me pretend in public that I belonged to him. But behind closed doors, the lines began to blur. I hated him. I needed him. And then, I ran. MISHA She thinks she escaped. She thinks I’ll let her go. But Luna Rojas was never going to leave me, not truly. I burned everything that stood between us, including the man she thought she loved. The one I had to kill. And when she fled to attend his funeral, I followed with five hundred men and a vow carved in blood. I cleared the graveyard. Claimed her—body, soul, and screams, right there, over his bones. Because if I can’t have her love… I’ll take her fear. And I haven’t even started yet.