Chapter 1 Cursed

Sandara Wellington was just about to drift into deep sleep when the shrill, angry buzz of her phone vibrated under her pillow. Her head throbbed from the wedding toasts she barely remembered. Even now, she wasn't sober.

"Hello...?"

The moment she answered, a scream blasted through the speaker.

"Sandara! Aaron-Aaron jumped from the rooftop!"

Her blood froze.

"What?" Her voice cracked, thick with sleep. "What are you talking about?"

"He... he jumped off the building! Hurry! He's not moving! Come down! Come down now!"

The call ended abruptly.

Sandara shot upright, heart slamming against her ribs.

The world inside the dim hotel suite tilted. For a moment, she couldn't breathe.

Her husband? Jumped? Impossible. They had just gotten married. They had just...

Her breath hitched.

They had just shared an intimate moment barely fifteen minutes ago... She hadn't even fallen fully asleep yet.The naked skin... the kiss marks scattered across her body... they were proof, weren't they?Proof that she hadn't been alone in that bed.

Panic surged through her as she realized she was completely naked. She stumbled toward the closet in the dark room, yanking out the first shirt she could find. Pulling it over her head, she clutched it tightly to her body, her heart hammering.

This can't be real.

She rushed toward the door, never noticing the faint sound of water dripping behind her. Never noticing the sliver of light beneath the bathroom door.

Never noticing the presence of a man who was not Aaron Greyson.

She sprinted into the hallway barefoot, nearly colliding with a maid's cart, then flew down the emergency stairs, gripping the railing so hard her knuckles turned white.

By the time she burst through the lobby doors and onto the cold pavement outside, a crowd had already formed. Hotel staff, wedding guests, strangers-voices murmured, whispered, gasped.

Then she saw him.

Her newlywed husband lay on the ground, twisted and motionless, surrounded by a spreading pool of dark, glistening red.

For a moment, Sandara forgot how to breathe.

The man she had married just hours ago.The man she thought had held her, touched her-whose warmth she still felt on her skin.

Gone.

Completely, impossibly gone.

Her knees buckled. A scream rose in her chest, but nothing came out.

The Greyson family arrived in a storm of grief and fury. The moment they saw their son's body, their rage snapped toward her like a pack of wild animals.

"You cursed demon!" his mother shrieked. "You killed him! You killed my son!"

Sandara stumbled back, shaking her head, her words tangled and trembling.

"No... no, I-I didn't! He was fine... he was fine!"

Her voice cracked.

She wasn't cursed. She wasn't. Her previous five fiancés hadn't died.Near accidents, yes-but never death.

So why?

Why would her new husband throw himself off a building on their wedding night?

As Aaron's body was lifted into the ambulance and carried away to the hospital, Sandara remained frozen, standing in place.

"Sandara, come home with me now," Old Master Wellington said, his voice steady but firm. He had been staying in one of the hotel rooms and had rushed down the moment he heard the news.

He gently placed a hand on her shoulder, grounding her.

Within hours, news of Aaron's death exploded across social media. Sandara was branded as the cursed woman-the one responsible for her husband's tragic end.

In less than a month, the stories of her past-her five previous fiancés, each of whom had faced misfortune while engaged to her-resurfaced, painting a picture of inevitability and doom.

Chaos reigned. The Greyson family, unreasonable and relentless, demanded that Sandara be held accountable for Aaron's death.

Instead of calming down, the situation escalated further, even shaking the Wellington family's business.

Sandara, trapped inside her own home, couldn't take a single step outside without being hunted by paparazzi. Grandpa Wellington grew more worried by the day.

"Sandara," he said gently, "you can't stay here. It's not safe. Things have escalated, and I don't see it settling down anytime soon."

Sandara shook her head, panic flickering in her eyes. "Grandpa... you don't want me anymore? You believe I'm cursed? Where would I even go?"

"No... no, sweetheart," Grandpa Wellington sighed, a low, weary sound. "It's not that at all. I mean... you need a new environment. Somewhere far away from all this. I'll make all the arrangements. You'll go overseas. You'll be safe there. No one can touch you if you're away from this storm."

Sandara's lips trembled. "But... I..."

"Don't worry," he interrupted softly, placing a firm hand over hers. "I'll handle everything here. But staying in this country will only put you in more danger. The world thinks you're cursed. And the Greysons... they won't stop until they've destroyed you. I won't let that happen. You are my granddaughter, and I will protect you, even if that means sending you far away."

Tears pricked at her eyes, but she could feel the unshakable determination in his voice. There was no argument that could change his mind. Slowly, she nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat.

"I... I'll go," she whispered.

"Good," he said, squeezing her hand.

***