Chapter Five: I'll die trying
1055 Words
CHAPTER FIVE
Silence hangs heavy in the sitting room, pressing down on me like a living thing. Every heartbeat echoes in my ears after Victoria’s words:
“Brandon isn’t your husband.”
My lips tremble. “What… what do you mean?”
Victoria takes a slow, shuddering breath, her eyes distant. “Bethany… the accident—you were never meant to survive it. Neither was Brandon.”
I feel the world tilt. “I… I don’t understand,” I whisper, fragile as glass.
She steps closer, voice low and sharp. “You were both the only living witnesses who could uncover the truth. The truth George and his parents wanted buried forever.”
My stomach drops. “George… the man I saw at the mall—he’s alive?”
Victoria nods, her expression grave. “Yes. But he was part of it, Bethany. The crash… it wasn’t an accident. It was meant to kill you both.”
My knees go weak and I clutch the armrest. “Kill… us? Why?”
Victoria’s lips tremble. “Because they needed the last heirs out of the way. Once you were gone… George and his parents would have used your younger sister as a pawn to claim everything your parents built.”
It feels like being punched. “They… they wanted to use her?” My voice breaks.
Brandon steps forward, eyes sharp and haunted. “They would have,” he says, the words low and thick. “I couldn’t let that happen. I promised—no one would hurt you again.”
“But you lied,” I whisper, the tears coming now whether I want them to or not. “You made me believe I was married to you. You trapped me here while I healed, while George—”
“Bethany.” His voice cracks. “I didn’t have a choice. I saved you. You don’t understand—they were dangerous. Clever. They planned everything. You and I—if we’d survived together, we’d have exposed them. That’s why—”
“—you stole my life,” I finish for him. Fury and betrayal make my words sharp. “You built me a story so you could keep me safe? By stealing my past?”
Victoria reaches out, her hand trembling as it lands on mine. “He thought it was the only way to protect you. But protecting you and owning your life are not the same thing.”
My chest tightens. “And my sister—what about her? They would groom her? Use her?” The image of my little sister, manipulated, used like a chess piece, makes bile rise in my throat.
“Yes,” Victoria whispers. “They would have made her the next tool. They were patient, Bethany. They knew how to wait.”
My mind flashes back to the mall—George’s frame, the warmth in that memory that felt almost like home, then the cold realization that he’d been part of the plot. A hollow longing and a raw, burning anger rise together. How many lies can a life hold?
Brandon kneels slightly, searching my face. “I didn’t want you to remember until I could make sure they couldn’t touch you. I thought—if you woke up and we were safe, we could fight them properly.”
“You don’t get to decide when I’m ready,” I say. “Not for betrayal, not for my past.” My voice breaks, too broken to continue.
He looks broken. “I know. I know I was wrong. But I couldn’t lose you again. I couldn’t let them win.”
Victoria exhales, eyes glistening. “You survived, Bethany. That’s what matters. You can still fight. But you have to be careful—George isn’t innocent, and his parents… they’re ruthless. They’ll stop at nothing.”
The words settle like frost. I can feel every plan that’s been whispered in rooms I wasn’t allowed to enter. The house feels colder now, as if the chandeliers themselves are complicit.
I press my palms to my temples, trying to hold myself together. “So tomorrow,” I say slowly, “I see him. I see George. I need to understand—him, them, everything. I can't let them hurt my sister.”
Brandon swallows. “Yes. Tomorrow. I’ll bring you to where the truth is. But you must promise me you’ll be careful.”
“Promise?” I laugh, the sound is brittle even to my ears. “You want promises from the woman you lied to?”
He flinches, then meets my eyes with raw sincerity. “I’m sorry. I’ll do whatever you need to make this right.”
Victoria’s hands clasp together. “We didn’t have all the answers before, Beth. But we want to help now. We’ll stand with you. Just don’t let them know you remember everything yet. They still have people watching.”
The thought of being watched makes my skin prickle. My throat tightens around anger and fear.
I stand up, forcing my legs to hold me. My back hits the wall and for a second the world feels like it’s slipping, like the day at the altar when everything folded. Only now the stomach-dropping feeling is different—sharper, angrier.
Brandon’s hand finds mine. It’s a small, trembling tether. “Rest tonight,” he says. “Tomorrow you’ll see George. You’ll see what they tried to bury—and why.”
I nod, but the nod is hollow. My mind moves faster than my body; flashes of the wreck, the mall, the chapel split into a thousand jagged images. My heart pounds not with the memory of love but with the rhythm of something fiercer rising inside me.
Betrayal.
Revenge.
The room fades at the edges, breath coming short and quick. The shadows in the corners seem to lengthen, and every familiar object in the house feels like evidence in a case I didn’t know I was part of.
I swallow the lump in my throat and fix my jaw. The anger is cold now, precise.
I clench my fingers into a tight fist.
Icy and unrelenting.
Vowing silently.
I am going to make every single one of them pay. They would pay for everything.
Even if it means I die trying.
- Writer
