The Scorned Bride: His Cruel Vows

Chapter 10: Seen

Adrian's Pov

“Is George still on the phone?” I stood up so quickly my desk chair rolled back and hit the glass behind me.

“Yes, sir,” my assistant said, her hand shaking as she held out her cell phone toward me. “He's still on the line.”

I snatched the phone from her hand and brought it to my ear. “George? Is this true? Did they actually find Aria's body?”

“Sir,” George’s voice came through the speaker. The usual professional calm in his tone was gone, replaced by hesitation. “It is better if you come and check for yourself. You are in the best position to know if the body is Miss Aria or not.”

Hearing him talk like that made my stomach drop into a dark pit. George had worked for me outside the company for years as my assistant. He had handled countless difficult situations without ever shaking. But right now, his voice sounded thick with sadness.

Even without him saying the words directly, I could tell. They had already checked the body, and there was a very high chance it was really Aria.

“Send me the address,” I ordered, my knuckles turning white as I squeezed the phone. “I’m booking a flight immediately.”

“I’ll send the location right away, sir,” George replied quietly. “Please be careful on your way.”

I ended the call and handed the phone back to my still shaking assistant. “Clear my schedule for the rest of the week. Get my driver to bring the car to the front immediately.” I didn't trust myself to drive in this circumstance that I was in.

As I turned around to grab my jacket off the rack, a hand grabbed my shoulder and pulled me back hard.

“What the hell is happening?” Matthew demanded. His eyes were wide, filled with a mix of shock and total confusion. “What are you talking about, Adrian? Aria’s dead body? Are you saying that Aria’s dead?! Why didn't anyone tell me about this?!”

Matthew knew Aria just as well as I did. All of my friends loved her. She was soft, sweet, and always kind to everyone around her. Matthew had always treated her like his own younger sister, constantly looking out for her whenever we all hung out together. Seeing him look this panicked made the reality of the situation hit me even harder.

“Let go of me, Matthew,” I said, trying to pull my shoulder out of his grip.

“No! Answer me!” Matthew shouted, his voice cracking. “How can she be dead? What accident are you talking about?!”

I took a deep breath, fighting down the sudden lump forming in my throat. “A few days ago, Aria was on a flight coming back home. The plane went down. It was a terrible crash, and we received news that she... that she died in the crash.”

Matthew stared at me, his mouth open as he slowly shook his head. “I don't understand... How can Aria die in a plane crash? Why would she even be traveling in the first place? Her wedding was literally right around the corner! Why was she on a plane?!”

“I’ll explain everything to you later,” I said, shoving my arms into my jacket, “I don't have time for this right now. I have to go.”

“I’m going with you! You're not going through this alone, and I need to see her for myself. Let's go.” Matthew barked instantly. I tried to say something to stop him but from the determined look on his face, I knew that whatever I was going to say, he wouldn't listen to it.

I also didn't have the energy to argue with him. We rushed out of the office, took the elevator down to the garage, and had my assistant book the fastest emergency flight available to the city where the crash had happened.

The entire flight was dead silent. Matthew sat beside me, staring blankly out the window with his jaw tightly clenched. I sat in my seat, staring down at my hands, praying in my mind that this was all just a huge mistake.

Planes get mixed up. Search teams make mistakes. It happens all the time. It had to be someone else. It had to be, but I knew it was just a useless kind of hope.

When the plane landed, a black SUV was already waiting for us on the tarmac. We got in and drove straight to the central morgue where the bodies from the crash site had been taken.

The building was quiet and cold. The smell of disinfectant filled the air as soon as we pushed the front doors open. George was standing near the end of the long, brightly lit hallway, waiting for us. His eyes were red, and he looked exhausted.

“Sir,” George said, walking up to us and bowing his head slightly. “Mr. Matthew.”

“Where is she, George?” Matthew asked, his voice shaking.

George looked at me, his face grim. “They have prepared everything inside, sir. But... you have to go in alone to identify her. Only family or primary contact is allowed right now so it wouldn't be crowded inside.”

I clenched my fists until my fingernails dug deep into my palms, using the physical pain to keep me grounded. I nodded slowly. “Okay. I’m going in.”

Matthew reached out and squeezed my arm, his face pale. “Go on, man. I’ll wait right here.”

I pushed open the double doors leading into the cold room. The air inside hit my skin like ice, making me shiver instantly. In the middle of the room stood a metal examination table, and on top of it was a body completely covered by a thick white cloth.

My feet felt heavy, like they were made of lead. I slowly walked toward the table, every step feeling like an eternity. My heart was pounding wildly against my ribs, and my whole body began to tremble.

‘Please,’ I thought to myself, staring at the still shape under the cloth. ‘Please let this be a mistake. Please let Aria be alive somewhere else. Please let her just be lost or hurt, but not this.’

I reached the edge of the metal table and stopped. My hand shook violently as I lifted it toward the cloth. I couldn't bring myself to pull it down from her head first. I wasn't ready to look at her face.

Instead, I slowly pulled the cloth back from the side, revealing her left arm and hand resting quietly against her body. My breath caught in my throat.

Tightly held inside her cold, pale fingers was the gold ring I had given her on the day I proposed. It was custom-made, shining faintly under the fluorescent lights of the room. And right on the inside of her wrist, clearly visible against her pale skin, was the small tattoo she had gotten a year ago. It was my birthday, written in small, neat numbers, followed by my name: Adrian.

My knees almost gave out right there. Slowly, I reached up with a trembling hand and pulled the cloth all the way down from her face and the air completely left my lungs.

It was her. The soft features, the shape of her nose, her dark eyelashes resting against her cheeks.

It was really Aria. She was actually dead.