His Wedding, My Funeral Novels & Stories

I died just before my husband Drake's wedding to his mate. Ten days before my death, Drake's former mate returned. Drake abandoned me to spend the night with his mate even though I was attacked by rogues and was severely injured. He came back directly the next day, not to see me but to give me the news. “I want to sever the mate bond with you.” “I’ve been poisoned by wolfsbane.” “You’re lying again. Regardless, I must reject you today.” He didn’t know that his rejection would hasten my death. I thought that after this stumbling block—me—was gone, he could finally live happily with his mate. But to my surprise, he abandoned his bride at the wedding and ran to my gravestone, weeping. “Lyra, you are my wife. I forbid you to die!”

Randy’s mother, Monica, was on her dying bed. Her only wish before she died was for him, my alpha boyfriend, to perform our marking ceremony before she passed. When Monica looked at him eagerly, Randy agreed to mark me. But after we left her room, Randy said that he was going to marry Alina. “Alina’s mother is critically ill. She also wants to watch her undergo the marking ceremony before she passes. We can wait a little longer before we conduct our own marking ceremony, Emma.” “But what about your mother? She wants to witness us undergo the marking ceremony too!” “My mother can hang in there a little longer. Don’t worry.” Randy then grabbed the ring that Monica had given to me. It had acted as a symbol of me being her daughter-in-law, but Randy gave it to Alina. Unbeknownst to him, Monica was already at Death’s door, and she was feigning a picture of health in front of him. On the day Monica passed away, Randy performed the marking ceremony with another woman. After I made preparations for Monica’s funeral, I vanished from Randy’s world. To my surprise, he started begging me to become his mate after I left.

I dated my younger brother’s best friend, Dylan Lane, for three years. More than once, he told me how much he loathed arranged marriages and how he hated being chained by family interests. However, one night, after another bout of indulgence, he wrapped his arms around me and begged me sweetly to design a wedding ring for his fiancée—someone he had never even met. The smile froze on my face, yet he just said indifferently, “Aren’t people like us all destined to marry for our families' benefit?” Seeing the blood drain from my face, he even chuckled. “Vee, don’t you tell me you're still as naïve as a 20-year-old girl, thinking I would ever marry you? At most, we're just… pillow friends." Later, I agreed to the marriage my family had arranged for me. Dylan showed up on my wedding day, disheveled and red-eyed. He fell to his knees and begged me not to leave. I stood beside my new husband, hand in hand, and smiled faintly as I chuckled. “Didn’t you say people like us were born for arranged marriages? I’m simply doing what you always wanted me to do. Shouldn’t you be happy?”

My wife—Nancy Valente—had been "missing" for three months after some fake skiing accident. I spotted her at a bar. She was draped over Finley Bennett's shoulder, laughing like she hadn't wrecked my life. "Good thing you came up with this plan. I almost forgot what freedom felt like." Her crew kept clinking glasses, asking when she planned to pop back up. She glanced down. "Maybe in a week. I'll show up once he's lost his mind." I stayed in the shadows, watching her bask in her little escape act. Then I grabbed my phone and called a buddy at the Vital Records Office.

On my wedding day, my fiance's first love appeared at the wedding ceremony wearing the exact same haute couture gown as mine. I watched them stand together at the entrance, greeting the guests as if they were the bride and groom. Maintaining a calm expression, I complimented them, saying they looked like the perfect couple—beauty and brains, a match made in heaven. She burst into tears and fled the scene. He, however, didn't hesitate to humiliate me in front of everyone, accusing me of being petty and narrow-minded. When the wedding banquet was over, he left for what was supposed to be our honeymoon—with her by his side. I didn't argue or cause a scene. Instead, I quietly booked an appointment for an abortion.

Right after I die, my wife goes on a date with her first love. I once told her, "If I die, I swear I won't love you in the next life." She scoffs. "Gladly. But people like you live forever, don't they?" Just as she wishes, I die. However, right then, she holds my urn close, whispering, "Are you still mad at me?"

On the eve of my wedding, my wife, Sharon Moonstone, drugged me and knocked me unconscious. She let her first love, Aaron Miller, take my place as the groom, standing beside her as they held the wedding that was supposed to belong to both of us. By the time I finally found them, they had already gone into the bridal suite and consummated their marriage. When I demanded answers, Sharon did not show a trace of guilt. "You live off me. You'd better behave. Make a scene, and we'll divorce." My heart went cold. I handed her the divorce papers, but she barely looked at them. "Looks like you've improved," she said lightly. "At least you know a performance should be convincing from start to finish."

Agatha Ignacio, the woman who does not have her own decisions in life. Submissive to my husband, Dymon Ignacio- the man I was forced to marry, as payment for my parents' debt. No matter how hard I tried to love Dymon, I couldn't. It's hard to force love on someone who I will never like because of his bad attitude. Joseph Ignacio, the real son of Don Jose Ignacio. Grew up in another country, because his parents were separated. So when Joseph was still young his Mommy took him to New York. While Don Jose adopted so that everyone would recognize that this is his son. But Joseph's sudden arrival at the mansion. Even the Don was surprised by the son's sudden return home. Can Agatha survive the hands of her abusive husband? What if the exchange of saving Joseph is Agatha's love? How will they fight the relationship that the only one who has the right is Dymon?

My fiancé was sleeping with my maid of honor. I caught them the night before our wedding. I didn't make a sound. I closed the door, walked back to my bridal suite, and sat at the vanity until my hands stopped shaking. Then I grabbed my keys. At two in the morning I drove forty blocks across Manhattan and knocked on Atlas Marchetti's door. Two years ago I'd told my family I wouldn't marry him. He hadn't said a word about it since. He opened the door in pajama pants. "Marry me tomorrow," I said. He didn't say yes. He poured himself a drink first, listened to everything, and then handed me a piece of paper with terms I should have read more carefully. I signed at dawn. Six hours later I walked down the aisle Carter and I had planned. The Plaza ballroom. The dress I'd chosen in spring. Three hundred guests who came to watch me marry the wrong man. I married someone else instead. Carter watched it happen. He didn't understand yet what he'd lost, and he wouldn't understand for months. Not until he found out who owned the company he ran, and how long Atlas had been bleeding it. I went to Atlas for revenge. He'd been writing this for two years.

Consumed by rage from her ex-husband’s betrayal, Elora weds the first psycho she meets, unknown to her that he is the most prominent business tycoon in California. However, Orson Wilson has dark secrets, including the fact that he is marrying her to save her. But from whom? What happens when Elora realizes she is in danger? When she finds out who this stranger is? When his secrets come to light.