He Ruined Me For His Dead Sister

The night before I was supposed to marry Ethan—stoic, almost monk-like in his detachment—I accidentally killed his sister, Grace.

He signed the release form without a flicker of emotion, and we went through with the wedding as planned. That night, he took me with a brutality that left me breathless.

Then, he systematically destroyed my family.

He used every connection, every ounce of influence he had to bankrupt us. My parents, broken and desperate, leapt from a building right in front of me. My little brother was snatched away by debt collectors, shipped off to some unknown hell overseas.

I collapsed at the entrance of Ethan's company, begging for my brother's life.

He grabbed me by the throat, his eyes glacial.

"You killed my sister. You drove my parents to their graves. I signed that release form for one reason—to make you suffer."

His grip tightened.

"I'll make you watch everyone you love die, powerless to stop it."

"You owe me. And you'll pay in blood."

For ten years, he humiliated me in every way possible. I endured it all, but mercy never came.

Eight months pregnant, he ran me off the road—just because his mistress made a joke. The impact tore our child from me.

Bleeding and broken, I dragged myself to Grace's grave after the surgery.

I fell to my knees before her tombstone, sobbing.

"Keeping your secret was too much. Our ten-year pact is over. I'm coming to join you."

I arranged my own sky burial.

But on the day I was supposed to die, Ethan burst into my hospital room, his face twisted in terror.

He dropped to his knees, begging me not to leave him.

Then, just as suddenly, his fury returned. Before I could speak, he struck me hard across the face.

"I told you Grace was innocent! Who the hell gave you the right to disturb her?!"

Still weak from surgery, the force of the blow sent me crashing to the floor. Blood filled my mouth.

But the pain barely registered. I just knelt there, hollow.

"I'm sorry. I won't do it again."

A searing pain tore through my abdomen. I coughed, blood splattering the tiles.

For a fraction of a second, Ethan's expression faltered—his hand twitched toward me.

Then he remembered.

He shoved me away, disgust flashing in his eyes.

"I warned you. Grace is my life. Don't you dare touch her."

"Next time, it won't just be a miscarriage."

That name—Grace—sent a chill through me.

In ten years, he'd been with countless women. But he only ever cared about one.

Only because she shared his sister's name.

His sister—my best friend. If not for that night, we could have been family.

The thought shattered me.

I swallowed hard, my voice thick with tears.

"I'm sorry. Whatever happened to Grace… it's my fault—"

Ethan's hand closed around my throat again, raw agony in his eyes.

"You don't get to say her name."

"If it weren't for you—for your cruelty—she'd still be alive!"

"You don't deserve to die for her. You don't even deserve to breathe her name."

I let my tears fall.

He was right. I didn't deserve to die for her.

But I didn't kill her.