If Only You Were the One Who Died

Chapter 2 Wedding Night

Natalie stared at the man before her, her mind drifting back to their wedding night a month ago.

That night, he had slapped her face lightly with the back of his hand—again and again. The force wasn't heavy, but the humiliation was unbearable.

Leaning in close to her ear, he whispered viciously, his voice dripping with malice, "Mrs. Carter, don't worry. This marriage won't disappoint you. I'll make sure you lose everything—your money, your dignity. I'll ruin you until you're begging me for a divorce on your knees."

Every word was laced with a fury that burned beneath his calm exterior.

Ethan was a man who rarely showed his emotions. Most of the time, his face remained unreadable, cold and detached.

But Natalie had spent over six months investigating him. She knew exactly what he was like when he was angry.

That night, he was furious.

Tonight, he was mocking her.

Natalie lowered her gaze, locking eyes with his.

Those deep, captivating eyes were filled with nothing but ice and hatred.

The hand that had been lifting her chin suddenly tightened, his grip firm and unyielding. He smiled, but the expression held no warmth. "Mrs. Carter, our marriage has officially begun."

His tone dripped with sarcasm and revenge.

Ethan watched as Natalie's face turned pale, her lips trembling. A twisted sense of satisfaction washed over him.

In twenty-five years of life, he had never been played like this—not once.

He had spent years navigating the cutthroat business world, outmaneuvering ruthless tycoons, outsmarting cunning businessmen. Yet, a twenty-two-year-old woman had trapped him with no way out.

She would learn—manipulating him would come with consequences.

If she was so desperate to become Mrs. Carter, he would make sure she got exactly what she asked for.

Ethan released her chin with a flick of his wrist, not sparing a glance at the red marks left behind. His gaze was as cold as the depths of the ocean.

Straightening up, he shrugged off his suit jacket and draped it over his arm. His eyes swept over her, still frozen on the couch.

"Mrs. Carter, I don't like being touched. Don't pull a stunt like this again. I wouldn't want to catch something dirty."

Natalie's fingers twitched slightly. He had noticed her reaching out to touch his face.

Without waiting for a response, Ethan turned and headed upstairs. His foot had just touched the first step when Natalie's calm voice rang out behind him.

"Ethan, don't forget the contract we signed before the wedding. As long as you're still in this city, you have to come back here to sleep every night."

The mention of the contract made Ethan's expression darken.

That damn video.

If it weren't for that flawless, untraceable video, he never would have been forced into this marriage. He never would have signed that contract.

His fists clenched, knuckles cracking.

Natalie sat there, unmoving, as if she had no soul.

Ethan suddenly let out a cold chuckle. "Of course."

She watched his back as he walked away, knowing the days ahead would be unbearable.

But as long as she could see that face, she was satisfied.

Natalie slowly sank onto the couch, closing her eyes as she pressed a hand over them.

In the darkness, a faint voice echoed from the hallway.

"So this is the infamous Mrs. Carter? It's the middle of summer, and she's bundled up like that. Maybe she's sick or something."

The maid's voice wasn't loud, but in the vast, silent living room, even the smallest sound seemed amplified.

Natalie didn't respond. She remained perfectly still, her posture unchanged.

"What Mrs. Carter? No one in this house—or anywhere else—recognizes her as Mrs. Carter. She drugged Mr. Carter, forced herself on him, and climbed her way up. Otherwise, why would he despise her so much?"

"That video was all over the internet a month ago, and then, just like that, it disappeared. Mr. Carter must have felt humiliated. He probably had it taken down, but he had no choice but to marry her. Ugh, she's so manipulative. We should stay away from her."

The conversation faded into whispers before disappearing entirely.

Half of what they said was true.

Forcing him into marriage? True.

The video? Also true.

Blackmailing him? Absolutely.

But drugging him for a one-night stand? A complete lie.

The truth was, she had leaked the video herself, making sure it spread far and wide before using it as leverage to negotiate with him.

Her condition? Marrying her.

The video showed the hallway of a luxurious five-star hotel.

Ethan had looked like a madman—his tie wrapped around her wrists, her dress torn apart, as he shoved her into a hotel room.

She still remembered the look in his eyes when she confronted him with that video.

She had given him two choices.

Announce to the public that they were in love and getting married.

Or she would take the video to the police and accuse him of r**e.

Between prison and marriage, the choice was obvious.

Ethan had chosen marriage.

That day, his fury had been terrifying—like a lion ready to rip her apart.

But in the end, they got their marriage license.

Soon after, the video vanished from the internet.

And rumors began to spread—whispers that she had drugged him, seduced him, sold herself for status.

She knew exactly who was behind it.

It was his way of making sure she paid for what she had done.

A bitter smile tugged at Natalie's lips. In the dead silence of the living room, a soft, broken laugh escaped her throat.

Would he still be able to walk away so heartlessly if he knew what she had become?

Would he bear to let her suffer every single day?

Late at night, Natalie lay in bed, tossing and turning.

Her head throbbed, her eyes burned with exhaustion, but sleep refused to come.

With no other choice, she got up, grabbed two sleeping pills, and swallowed them dry.

Lying back down, she let her thoughts wander.

In her dreams, the blood returned.

At first, it was just a few drops.

Then, it turned into streams.

Then, waves.

She was drowning in it.

And in the middle of that sea of blood, the face she missed so much appeared.

But before she could reach for it, before she could call out—

Blood swallowed it whole.

She wanted to scream. Wanted to tell him to run.

But her throat was blocked. No sound came out.

Then, the face reappeared, rising from the crimson depths.

But it was no longer the same.

It was disfigured. Flesh torn apart.

His eye had fallen out.

His teeth were gone.

The face—once so beautiful—was nothing but a mangled, bloody ruin.