Chapter three
1484 Words
She stared down at the phone the man was holding, her vision slightly blurred.
“Can I… see it?” she asked.
Her voice didn’t sound like hers.
The man hesitated only for a second before stepping closer to the bed. He unlocked the phone and opened a news article.
Clara’s fingers trembled as she reached for it. Pain shot through her ribs, but something stronger than the pain pushed her forward.
Shock.
She forced herself upright.
Half her body lifted off the mattress before agony ripped through her sides. A strangled gasp left her lips, but she didn’t lie back down.
She couldn’t.
Not now.
The girl rushed forward. “You shouldn’t sit up yet...”
“I’m fine,” Clara muttered, even though she wasn’t.
The man slid a pillow behind her back to support her. Carefully, he placed the phone in her hands.
The headline made her stomach drop.
Local Woman Presumed Dead After Late-Night Car Accident
Her name was right underneath.
Clear.
Final.
She scrolled down slowly.
There was a picture of her car being pulled from the water..twisted metal, shattered windows, the front completely crushed. Mud clung to the sides. It looked unrecoverable.
Her handbag had been photographed too.
Her driver’s license displayed like proof of ownership.
Proof of death.
Her breath grew uneven as she kept scrolling.
Then she saw him.
Caius.
Standing in front of cameras.
Head bowed.
Hand covering his face.
The caption read: Grieving Husband Speaks After Tragic Loss.
Clara’s fingers tightened around the phone.
She pressed play on the short video clip embedded in the article.
“I lost my wife,” he said, his voice cracking at the right moments. “She meant everything to me.”
Everything.
Her jaw tightened.
“We had plans,” he continued. “We were working on our marriage. I begged her not to drive that night. The weather was bad.”
A lie.
It hadn’t even rained.
Clara’s pulse began to pound in her ears.
“She struggled with her weight,” he added softly, looking downward. “If she went into that river… she wouldn’t have had the strength to fight the current.”
The room felt like it tilted.
Not the strength to fight.
He said it so confidently.
Like he had already accepted the outcome before anyone else had.
Clara paused the video.
Her breathing turned shallow.
Why would he mention her weight like that?
Why would that even matter in a public statement?
Unless he needed people to believe survival was impossible.
Her eyes moved further down the article.
Another detail caught her attention.
Family friend and longtime confidante,
Elara Wynn stood beside the husband during the memorial service, offering support.
Elara
Her best friend.
There was a photo.
With her dressed in black.
Standing close to Caius.
Too close.
Clara zoomed in slightly.
Their hands were touching.
Not accidentally.
Comfortably.
Her chest tightened.
Then she saw the date of the funeral.
Two days ago.
Her funeral had already happened.
While she had been lying unconscious in a stranger’s house.
Buried without a body.
Declared dead without certainty.
Her mind began piecing things together.. slowly, carefully.
The sudden apology.
The insistence on separate cars.
The brake pedal sinking to the floor.
The call from Elara earlier that day, asking strange questions.
“Are you going out tonight?”
“What time?”
“Which road are you taking?”
At the time, it had seemed casual.
Now it felt like confirmation.
Clara lowered the phone slightly.
Her arms were shaking, but she didn’t notice anymore.
“They closed the case quickly,” the man said quietly. “Too quickly. I’ve seen accidents before. Usually they wait longer when there’s no body.”
Clara swallowed.
Her brain replayed the moment in the car.
She had pressed the brakes once at a red light earlier that evening.
They had worked.
So whatever happened… happened after that.
Her car had been serviced the day before.
Caius had insisted on taking it in for her.
Said he wanted to “handle things.”
Her fingers went cold.
He had access.
He had opportunity.
And now he had her funeral.
She slowly handed the phone back.
Her face had gone pale, but her eyes were different now.
Focused.
Still.
“If… someone wanted a death to look like an accident,” she said carefully, her voice barely above a whisper, “tampering with brakes would work, wouldn’t it?”
The man didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, he studied her.
“That’s not a small accusation,” he said.
Clara met his gaze.
“I didn’t ask if it was small,” she replied.
Silence filled the room.
And for the first time since she woke up, the pain in her ribs didn’t feel like the worst thing that had happened to her.
They buried her.
They cried for her.
They moved on.
But she was still alive.
And now she knew something they didn’t.
...
It had been days since she had been staying at the man’s house. Her wounds were almost healed; they had been treating her with care.
But it felt like she was already becoming a burden.
After all, she had been a burden all her life... a burden to her family, her friends, and her husband.
She needed to leave.
Or was she going to go back there and let them know she was still alive and not dead like they thought?
No.
That wouldn’t be the best choice. They would just treat her the same. And someone out there had wanted her dead. She needed to find out who.
She was now a dead woman to the outside world.
And dead women told no tales.
She stood in front of the mirror, staring at her figure ,a figure she had always hated. She had been called ugly by those around her, looked down upon simply because she was overweight.
She sighed, feeling that familiar sting of self-disgust.
But something inside her had shifted.
The old her was dead.
And the new her was determined to become better.
Clara Bennett was dead.
And someone new had been born.
What kind of identity would she give herself?
Was she going to stay in this remote place until she faded away?
Or was she going to find out who really killed her ,and how?
The latter was the better choice.
She would have her revenge on anyone who had a hand in her death.
She balled up her fists, tears falling down her cheeks without her realizing it.
Slowly, she raised her hands and wiped them away.
But she didn’t know why she suddenly felt like a storm was brewing.
And it was close.
Very close.
A loud knock echoed against the bedroom door before it burst open.
“Miss Clara..” the fisherman’s daughter rushed in, breathless.
Her name was Liana.
She was usually calm, soft-spoken. But now her face was flushed, her chest rising and falling quickly as if she had run all the way there.
Clara straightened immediately. “What is it?”
Liana hesitated, biting her lower lip. “I didn’t want to upset you, but… I think you need to see this.”
Clara’s stomach dropped.
Liana stepped forward and handed her a phone, the screen already lit up.
A headline filled the display.
Businessman Caius Laurent Announces Engagement to Late Wife’s Best Friend.
Clara felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room.
Her fingers tightened around the device.
There was a photo.
Caius stood in a tailored black suit, looking polished. Put together.
Beside him stood Elara.
Wearing white.
Not mourning black.
White.
And on her finger
A ring.
The caption underneath read:
The couple confirms they found comfort in each other after the tragic loss of Clara Bennett just weeks ago.
Weeks.
Clara’s funeral had barely passed.
“They’re getting criticized everywhere,” Liana continued, anger creeping into her voice. “People are saying it’s inappropriate. The media is calling them heartless for announcing an engagement so soon after your death.”
Clara scrolled further.
Comment sections flooded the screen.
Wasn’t she just buried?
This feels suspicious.
Did they start before she died?
Something isn’t right.
Her vision blurred.
Comfort in each other.
Her mind replayed the funeral image again.
The way Elara had stood close.
Too close.
Her hands began to tremble... but not from sadness anymore.
From clarity.
“They’ve been seeing each other,” Clara whispered.
Liana frowned. “What?”
Clara looked up slowly.
“They didn’t just ‘find comfort,’” she said, her voice dangerously calm. “They were already together.”
The room felt heavy.
“They were waiting,” she added.
Waiting for her to die.
Outside, thunder rumbled faintly in the distance.
The storm she had felt moments ago was no longer coming.
It had arrived.
- Writer
