A Second Chance For Revenge...

*FAYE'S POV*

Should have been a day of joy. It should have been the start of something beautiful. But as I stood in front of the full-length mirror, my reflection staring back at me in that pristine white wedding dress, I couldn't help but feel a knot in my stomach.

The dress was stunning... The lace hugged my body just right, the fabric shimmered under the lights, and the long train swept elegantly behind me. But I didn't see any of that. All I saw was a lie.

This was supposed to be the beginning of my happily ever after, the day I chose to commit my life to Desmond. I should've been excited, filled with anticipation. But instead, I felt like I was suffocating, trapped in a gilded cage I had built for myself.

I glanced over at Desmond, who was seated on a plush chair by the fitting room, his eyes calmly trained on me. His face was unreadable, and his posture relaxed. It wasn't the look of a man who was about to marry the woman he claimed to love. No, it was the look of someone who was merely waiting to see what dress I would pick, the one that would suit his image of the perfect bride.

I could feel my heart racing. The weight of it all was unbearable. For so long, I had been living in a fog, convincing myself that Desmond was the one. But now, as I stood there, with my wedding dress on and my future seemingly set, the truth was undeniable.

He didn't love me.

He never had.

And the worst part? He didn't even care.

Tila.

That was the name that haunted me, the name that had been a constant shadow in the back of my mind. Desmond's real love wasn't me-it was my sister, Tila. I had been blind to it for so long, so eager to play the role of the perfect fiancée. But now, it all made sense. Every time he pulled away, every time he avoided my gaze, every time he found an excuse not to kiss me or hold me-it was because his heart was never mine.

It was always hers.

I took a deep breath, steadying myself as I glanced down at the bouquet in my hands. The white lilies felt like a joke in my fingers. I could almost hear the whispers from the other brides in the shop, the excited gasps as they dreamed of their wedding days.

But I wasn't dreaming anymore. I was awake. And I was done.

I walked towards him slowly, my heels clicking against the polished floor with each step. Desmond didn't look up and didn't seem to notice the change in my demeanor. His attention was still on the wedding dress I wore, no doubt evaluating it in his head, trying to picture how perfect it would look for the guests.

The bouquet felt heavier in my hands. Without hesitation, I brought it down on his head with a swift, hard motion.

"Faye!" Desmond's eyes widened in shock as he recoiled, lifting his hands to his head, his face flushed with confusion. But I didn't care. I didn't care about his confusion or his attempts to play the victim.

"You never loved me," I said, my voice low but clear. "You never even cared about me. You wanted me for one thing: to get close to Tila."

Desmond's mouth opened, but no words came out. He just stared at me, stunned and speechless. His hand slowly moved to his head, where the bouquet had shattered against him. The flowers were scattered across the floor.

"I-I don't understand..." Desmond stammered, standing up now, his face a mixture of disbelief and panic. "Faye, what are you saying? I-I love you."

"No, you don't," I cut him off sharply. "You never loved me. You loved my sister. You've always loved her."

Desmond took a step towards me, his face now desperate, but I wasn't going to let him come any closer. My hands shook, but it wasn't from fear. It was from rage. I was finally done. I had let this go on for far too long.

Desmond's face turned pale, his eyes darting around the room as if searching for an escape. "Faye... please, listen to me," he said, his voice softening, a pleading note in it now. "I-"

"Save it," I spat, cutting him off again. "There's nothing you can say that will make this okay. You've been lying to me from the beginning. The least you could have done was be honest."

Desmond took another step towards me, his hands outstretched in a futile attempt to calm me down. "Faye, please. I know I've made mistakes, but I was only trying to save my family. I had to do this. You don't understand. I had no choice."

"Save your family?" I repeated, laughing bitterly. "You wanted to marry me because you thought I was your ticket to a better life. You knew Tila would never marry a man like you because you're poor, so you thought if you married me, you could still have her. You're pathetic."

He dropped to his knees, his face filled with regret and shame, but I didn't feel sorry for him. I didn't care about his regrets. I cared about the lie he had built around me for years.

"Faye," he begged, his voice cracking now, "I'm sorry. Please, forgive me. I was just trying to protect myself. I didn't want to be alone. I didn't want to be stuck in that pub forever. Tila wouldn't settle for someone like me. But with you... with you, I could have a life. I could be close to her."

I felt sick. I felt every ounce of my soul screaming at me to just walk away, to leave him there and never look back. But I needed one final act, something to make it clear that I was done.

I glanced over at the wedding dress hanging from the rack beside me, and without another thought, I grabbed the pair of scissors from the counter nearby. The sound of the fabric ripping echoed through the room as I tore into the gown with a fury I hadn't even known I possessed. The silky material shredded in my hands, the gown falling in tattered pieces around me.

Desmond's face was one of pure horror as he watched the dress he had so carefully chosen with me come apart before his eyes. But this wasn't just about the dress. This was about my freedom. This was about cutting the ties that had bound me to him, to a future that was never mine.

I turned to face him, the scissors still in my hand, the remnants of the dress on the floor at my feet.

"This is over, Desmond," I said, my voice steady. "You're not going to marry me. Not now. Not ever."

I didn't know Tila was hiding from the shop and heard everything that was being said. She had managed to remain out of sight, listening in on the conversation without being detected.

Later that night, as I sat alone in my room, the weight of the day's events still heavy on my chest, the sound of the door opening broke the silence. I didn't need to look up to know it was Josey. My stepmother always seemed to appear at the worst possible times, her presence suffocating in its way.

She didn't wait for an invitation. She walked in like she owned the place, making her way toward the couch with that trademark, smug smile plastered on her face. "Faye," she said in her usual commanding tone. "We need to talk."

I didn't respond immediately. It was clear she was here to make me change my mind, to make me go back to Desmond, and part of me wanted to scream, to tell her to leave. But I knew I had to face her, to hear what she had to say.

Josey took a seat beside me, and I could already feel her eyes boring into me, studying me like some kind of prey. She was going to try and manipulate me again. I could feel it in my bones.

You're being dramatic. Desmond cares about you, Faye. I don't know why you're making a scene about it. He's only human, after all. Men make mistakes. You should be more understanding. He never meant to hurt you."

The nerve of her. "Understanding?" I spat, unable to hold back the anger bubbling inside me. "You don't understand anything, Josey. He didn't make a mistake. He made a choice. He's been using me from the start. All those sweet words, all that 'love'-it was all a lie. He never cared about me. He wanted Tila. He always wanted her. And now, I'm supposed to just... what? Go back to him like nothing happened?"

"I don't care what anyone else thinks. Desmond isn't the man I thought he was. And you, Josey... you don't get to come here and tell me what I should do with my life. You don't get to manipulate me anymore."

No more being used. No more being the victim. This time, I would live for myself. I would find my happiness.

I felt my heart clench, memories from my past life flashing before my eyes. The pain. The betrayal. The day of my death-the way Desmond had betrayed me so coldly, so easily. The day my entire family betrayed me.

*********************

THE DAY I DIED

The sunlight came through the living room windows, making everything look warm and calm. I sat cross-legged on the floor, drawing carefully on the canvas in front of me. My pencil moved gently, bringing the family picture to life. It showed me, Desmond, my mother, and Tila.

I paused and smiled at the image. Marrying Desmond felt like the best thing I had ever done. It was everything I had dreamed of-love, support, and a happy life. At least, that's what I thought.

My phone rang, pulling me out of my thoughts. I glanced at the screen and saw my mother-in-law's name.

"Hello, Mother," I said, picking up the phone.

"Faye," she said in her sharp tone. "I'll be coming over later with some friends. Make sure you cook something decent for us."

I sat up straighter, already feeling nervous. "Of course, Mother. Is there anything special you'd like me to make?"

"Just make sure it's good," she snapped. Then her voice dropped, becoming colder. "And remember, you need to talk about how great Desmond is. Your parents need to know he's the perfect husband. It's important for his career."

I gripped the phone tighter. "Yes, Mother. I'll do that."

"Good," she said shortly and hung up.

I put the phone down and sighed. The joy I felt moments ago disappeared. I glanced at the half-finished painting. This was supposed to be a gift for Desmond, something to show how much I cared. Now, it felt harder to focus. But I pushed the feelings aside. I had to do what was expected of me.

The smell of spices filled the kitchen as I worked hard to make the meal perfect. I checked everything twice, hoping it would be good enough.

When my mother-in-law arrived with her friends, I greeted them with a smile. "Welcome," I said softly, leading them to the dining table.

I set the dishes down carefully. "Here's what I made," I said, keeping my voice polite.

She took a bite and frowned. "This is disappointing, Faye. I thought you would do better than this."

Her words stung, but I forced myself to smile. "I'm sorry, Mother. I'll try harder next time."

"You'd better," she said. Then she leaned closer and whispered, "Don't forget to speak highly of Desmond. Your parents need to secure that position for him."

I nodded, even though my stomach twisted into knots. I wanted to talk to Desmond about this first, but there wasn't time.

That Day, I decided to surprise my mom with the painting. I packed it carefully and placed it in the car. I tried calling my husband to tell him, but the phone rang and rang.

"Where are you?" I whispered to myself, dialing again. Still no answer.

The drive home was quiet, but my unease grew. When I reached the house, it was empty. I set my keys down, feeling worried.

I grabbed my phone and called my mother's assistant. "Where is everyone?" I asked, trying to sound calm.

"They're at the auction at the gallery," the assistant said. "Didn't you know?"

"No, I didn't," I said, frowning. "Thanks for telling me."

"Wait," the assistant added. "Your mother left some documents in the cabinet. Can you bring them to the auction? She'll need them."

"Alright," I said, though I felt unsure.

I went to get the documents and placed them next to the painting in the car. As I drove to the gallery, I felt a strange nervousness.

When I pulled into the parking lot, I saw Desmond's car parked neatly. My heart sank. "Desmond?"

I walked toward the car and noticed an envelope lying on the ground nearby. Picking it up, I opened it with trembling hands. Inside was a resignation letter.

My chest tightened. "Why didn't he tell me?"

Holding the letter tightly, I walked quickly into the gallery. I needed to find him. I needed answers.

The gallery buzzed with excitement as people moved around, chatting and admiring the artwork displayed on the walls. My hands were shaking as I walked across the room, holding the family portrait. I could feel eyes on me, I was already nervous, but I forced myself to stay calm.

I approached my mother, who stood talking to a group of women, her posture always perfect and confident. I smiled at her, hoping she would see the love I had poured into this painting. It wasn't just a piece of art-it was a symbol of my hope, my dream for our family. I cleared my throat softly before speaking. "Mother," I said, my voice just above a whisper. "I made this for you. It's a family portrait."

She turned her gaze to the painting, her face unreadable. She studied it in silence like she was deciding whether it was worth her time or not. I could feel the weight of her silence, and it made my palms sweat.

Tila, standing next to her, let out a small laugh. "A family portrait?" she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Let me guess, you're hoping to hang it here in the gallery, aren't you? So everyone can see how talented you are?"

My chest tightened at her words, but I held my ground. I wasn't going to let her break me. "No, that's not why I painted it," I said, my voice steady. "I just thought it would be meaningful. Something to bring us all together."

Tila smirked, crossing her arms over her chest. "How touching," she said, rolling her eyes. "But let's be honest, Faye. You never really fit in with us, do you?"

I ignored her, focusing instead on my mother. I needed her approval more than anything right now. I turned to her, hoping for something that would make this feel worthwhile. "What do you think?" I asked, keeping my voice soft, almost pleading.

My mother looked at the painting again, her expression still as cold as ice. Finally, she spoke, but her words hit me harder than I expected. "It's... fine. I suppose it's a decent gift."

Fine. I had worked tirelessly on this painting, trying to capture the warmth and togetherness of our family, but all I got was "fine." I swallowed the lump in my throat, trying to push down the wave of disappointment that threatened to take over.

Before I could respond, a group of wealthy women approached us, their eyes drawn to the painting.

"Oh, how beautiful!" one of them exclaimed, her voice bright with admiration as she leaned in for a closer look. "Did you paint this yourself?"

"Yes," I replied, my voice steady even though I felt anything but confident.

The women looked at each other, nodding in approval, offering me compliments I hadn't expected. "It's lovely," one said, admiring the colors and details. "It has a lot of emotion."

For a brief moment, I felt a flicker of pride. Maybe this wasn't a complete failure after all. At least someone appreciated my work.

But then my eyes landed on the corner of the canvas, and my stomach dropped. There it was-a small oil paint stain. How had I missed it? I panicked. My hand shook as I grabbed a cloth from my bag, quickly trying to clean it up before anyone noticed.

"No," I whispered to myself. The stain wouldn't come off. Panic swirled in my chest, and I felt the color drain from my face.

"Is that your painting, Faye?"

I looked up and saw Phillip, Tila's fiancé, walking toward me with his usual smug smile. I forced a small smile and nodded. "Yes," I said quietly, not wanting to engage with him.

Phillip studied the painting, his gaze critical. "Not bad," he said after a moment, but the way he spoke made it clear that he didn't think much of it. "But it's a bit... amateur, don't you think?"

I clenched my jaw, but I didn't say anything. I wasn't going to let him get to me.

At that moment, Tila appeared at his side, her heels clicking on the floor as she approached. Desmond followed closely behind her, and my heart ached at the sight of him.

"What's going on here?" Tila asked, her voice dripping with fake sweetness.

"Faye's showing off her little painting," Phillip said with a smirk, his eyes glinting as if he were enjoying the situation.

Tila glanced at the painting and then at me, her lips curling into a mocking smile. "Oh, you're still trying, aren't you?" she said, laughing lightly. "What do you think, Desmond?"

I turned to my husband, hoping, praying, that he would speak up. That he would defend me. But Desmond didn't even meet my gaze. He just stood there, silent. My heart sank.

Tila stepped closer to him, wrapping her arm around his as if she had every right to do so. "See?" she said, her voice smug. "Desmond and I make a much better match."

It felt like the air was sucked out of the room. My hands shook, and I could feel my face turning bright red with humiliation. I wanted to shout, to make them see how wrong they were, but the words wouldn't come.

I looked at Desmond, hoping-no, begging-he would say something. Anything. But he didn't. He just stood there, letting Tila cling to him, looking at her with soft, almost affectionate eyes. It was like he didn't even see me anymore.

I couldn't take it. Without another word, I turned and walked away..I pushed open the bathroom door and rushed inside, slamming it behind me. I leaned over the sink, staring at my reflection in the mirror. My face was pale, and my eyes were wide with shock. I couldn't believe what had just happened.

I whispered to myself, my voice shaking. The pain in my chest felt like it was suffocating me. I splashed cold water on my face, trying to wash away the hurt, but it didn't help. The image of Desmond and Tila together-so close, so comfortable-was burned into my mind.

I took a few deep breaths, trying to calm myself down. But when I opened the bathroom door and stepped back into the hallway, I almost bumped into Phillip.

"Watch where you're going," he said, his tone sharp and impatient.

"Sorry," I muttered, stepping aside.

Phillip crossed his arms, his eyes narrowing as he looked at me. There was a mix of pity and frustration in his gaze. "Are you really this blind, Faye?" he asked, his voice low.

I frowned, not understanding. "What do you mean?"

Phillip let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "Your husband and your sister. They're making a fool out of you, and you're just letting it happen."

I stared at him, stunned. "I don't know what you're talking about," I said, my voice weak and uncertain.

Phillip raised an eyebrow, his eyes full of disbelief. "Don't play dumb. You saw it with your own eyes. They don't even care enough to hide it."

I wanted to argue, to tell him he was wrong, but I couldn't find the words. His words stung, but deep down, a small part of me knew he was right. I had seen it. I had seen how Desmond had looked at Tila. How he had let her wrap herself around him, without even sparing me a second glance.

"Look," Phillip continued, his tone softer now, almost sympathetic. "I'm not saying this to hurt you. But you need to wake up. Your husband doesn't care about you. Your sister certainly doesn't. If you keep letting them walk all over you, you're just going to keep getting hurt."

His words hit me like a slap to the face. The truth was so hard to swallow. I wanted to deny it, to say that it wasn't true, but I couldn't. I couldn't lie to myself anymore.