The Blood Stained Bride

Scars and Suspicions

ALISA'S POV

The ceremony finally came to an end. Tristan was laid to rest in the cold ground. Even though I didn't truly know him, a wave of sadness washed over me. I couldn't stop thinking about the way the bullet had pierced his heart in that dark alley. He was annoying and a flirt, but he didn't deserve to die so young. I knew his family and the world would miss his playful, troublemaking nature.

I walked slowly to his grave, dropped a single flower onto the gravestone, and turned away. Caden was standing a few yards back, watching my every move with those sharp, unreadable eyes. I looked down at my feet, trying to ignore the weight of his stare.

Before I could reach him, a girl who looked a few years older than me didn't just walk—she ran toward me.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded, grabbing my arm with a grip that was surprisingly strong.

"Excuse you?" I snapped, using my free hand to pry her fingers off me. I stepped back, wondering if she had tucked into the funeral wine a bit too early.

"You're the girl that killed Tristan!" she shrieked.

Her voice echoed through the quiet garden, and I felt the blood drain from my face. A few guests stopped talking and turned in our direction.

"Oh my goodness, are you crazy?" I gasped, quickly slipping into my "shocked fiancée" act.

"Aren't you Alisa Jacobs?" she screamed, her eyes filled with pure, burning rage.

"Yes, she is," Caden’s voice boomed as he stepped up behind me. He placed a heavy hand on my shoulder. "She’s also my wife-to-be, and I do not appreciate the way you are speaking to her."

"You bastard!" the girl yelled, looking between us. "What are the both of you doing here? Oh, my poor Tristan... the monsters who killed you were actually invited to your burial!" She looked up at the sky as if searching for help.

I thought I was dramatic, but this girl was on another level.

Two men in dark suits quickly approached her. "Miss Leah, it’s time to leave," one of them said, reaching for her arm.

"Don’t put your f*****g hands on me!" she barked. She looked around at the crowd. Almost half the guests were watching the scene now. She locked eyes with Arthur Geraldine and the lady standing next to him.

"I’ll prove to the world you had a hand in this, Caden! I swear it!" she screamed before practically sprinting out of the garden.

"It’s okay. She’s not important," Caden said. He didn't even look at me as he spoke. "But prepare yourself. Mr. and Mrs. Geraldine are heading this way."

I felt a surge of panic. I tried to tug my gown down, hoping for an extra inch of length that I knew wasn't there. It was no use.

"Williams. and I’m guessing this is Alisa," Arthur said as they reached us.

He looked exactly like he sounded on the phone—a terrifying, older version of Tristan. They had the same arrogant smirk, and I was sure Arthur had been just as much of a headache as his son when he was younger.

The lady next to him, his wife, looked unreal. She looked like she walked on diamonds; she was so clean and polished. It was a huge contrast to her husband’s rugged, dangerous energy. She had thick, black wavy hair and skin that looked like it hadn't aged a day. But her eyes... they were exhausted. They were puffy from crying, even though her makeup did a good job of hiding it.

I felt a sudden pang of guilt. She had lost her only child and had no idea the person responsible was standing right in front of her.

She scanned me from head to toe, her gaze lingering on the hem of my dress. I realized then that Caden was right—it was definitely too short for a funeral.

"Yes, this is Alisa," Caden said, his voice dropping into that formal, icy tone.

"It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Geraldine. I’m so sorry for your loss. You too, ma'am," I said, offering a small nod to both of them.

"Thank you, Alisa," the woman said. She stepped closer and reached out, adjusting the lace on my sleeve. Her hand felt as cold and lifeless as a stone. "I knew my son only chased beautiful things. And beautiful things alone."

She stepped back, giving me a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "You really are beautiful."

"Thank you," I said, giving her a genuine, sad smile.

"Williams, how is your father?" she asked Caden.

"He’s well," he replied shortly.

"I’m so glad you both could make it," Arthur said, clapping his hands together. The sound was like a gunshot.

"Of course," Caden said, his voice sounding thicker, more guarded.

"How’s your arm, Williams?" Arthur asked with a dark chuckle.

"It’s healing," Caden said through gritted teeth.

"Of course it will heal, boy. It’s just a scar," Arthur said, looking directly at me now. "Scars are important. They remind us of our mistakes so we never repeat them."

He sounded exactly like Scar from The Lion King—Simba’s evil uncle…I think. He had that same smooth, whispering malice in his voice.

"Do you have a scar, Alisa?" he asked suddenly.

"Um... no. I don't."

"Well, we just pray you don't make any mistakes that would cause you to have them," he said, chuckling again.

If I thought Caden was scary, this man was a nightmare. He made Caden look like a choir boy.

"Honey, did you know Alisa and Williams will be getting married in two weeks?" Arthur asked his wife.

"Is that so?" she asked, her eyes never leaving my face.

"Caden, aren't you going to invite us?" Arthur asked, his eyes dancing with fake curiosity.

"It’s not a big event!" I blurted out before Caden could answer.

"Well, why not?" Arthur asked.

"Alisa is a simple person," Caden said, stepping in to save me. "She doesn't like loud things or big gatherings."

"But we’ll love to have you for dinner sometime. Anytime," I added, trying to be polite.

"That would be lovely," his wife said softly. She turned to Arthur. "We’ll be taking our leave now. Enjoy the rest of your day."

She started walking away, and I could tell she was finally reaching her breaking point. She was about to cry again.

"I feel so sorry for her," I whispered to Caden once they were out of earshot.

"Let’s leave before we stir up more drama," he said, already turning on his heel.

I had to walk fast just to catch up with him. As I followed him to the car, I couldn't help but wonder—did he have some kind of beef with Tristan while he was alive? Was this all just business, or was it personal?