My Dead Fiancé Was Marrying My Best Friend

The seventh time I landed in Valdoria to pay my respects to my late fiancé, I suddenly received a private message from a fan: Hello, I can't log into my late husband's f*******:. I really want to see the private photos he kept hidden while he was alive. Could you help me? I was a code-breaking blogger with millions of followers. After some tinkering, I successfully logged into the account. The moment I opened the photo album, I froze. Over a thousand photos stared back at me, all of them intimate pictures of my fiancé, Ezra Reed, and my best friend, Isla Monroe. Before I could even react, a new post popped up, showing the location as St. Dunstan's Cathedral. There was Ezra, down on one knee, looking lovingly at Isla as he held out a diamond ring. My blood ran cold, and my hands shook so badly I could barely grip my phone. My fiancé—the same man who was supposed to have died in a car explosion seven years ago—was actually getting married to my best friend. I snapped my head up toward the driver. "Turn the car around!" I shouted. "We're not going to the cemetery. Take me to St. Dunstan's Cathedral instead!" When I arrived, the wedding hadn't started yet. Isla was in a wedding dress, surrounded by everyone in the center of the church. I held back my anger and clapped my hands, then said, "Congratulations, Isla. A joyous occasion like marriage—why didn't you tell your best friend about it?" Hearing the applause, Isla turned abruptly, her smile freezing. "Maren... Maren Prescott? Why are you here?" she stammered. I forced a smile and said, "Of course I'm here to celebrate your wedding. What? Haven't seen you in seven years, and I'm not welcome?" Her face turned frighteningly pale, and she could barely stand. After that explosion, Isla blamed herself for not saving Ezra, felt guilty toward me, and cut off all contact on her own. As it turned out, it was all lies. I looked around at the balloons with love declarations. One read, "Ezra loves Isla, for a lifetime." I couldn't help but sneer, "How romantic." The crowd picked up on my sarcasm, with question marks all over their faces. Isla grabbed my hand in a panic. "Maren, let me explain..." she began. I shook her off in disgust and said, "Don't touch me!" Just then, the church door opened. Ezra walked in holding a large bouquet of roses, his face lit up with delight. The moment he saw me, he froze on the spot. "Maren?" he breathed. After years apart, he was the picture of composure, but my chest heaved and I shook all over. I strode over, snatched the roses, and hurled them to the ground. The gorgeous petals lay crushed, strewn across the floor, like my seven years of waiting—a complete joke. The long-suppressed rage finally flared up. My eyes were so red they looked ready to bleed. I glared at him and demanded, "Aren't you supposed to be dead? How are you standing here right now?" Ezra said nothing. He just stared at me blankly, with embarrassment and helplessness in his eyes, but not an ounce of guilt. Isla dragged me into the dressing room in a panic. "Maren, I'm sorry! It's all my fault!" she cried. "I couldn't control myself! I seduced him! You can hit me or yell at me, but today is our wedding. Please don't make a scene, okay?" She wept prettily, shouldering all the blame herself. Ezra rushed in. When he saw Isla crying so hard she couldn't straighten up, his face darkened. "Maren! If you've got a problem, take it out on me! Leave Isla alone!" he snapped. I stared hard at the man before me, the man who used to be devastated for hours if I so much as teared up. Now, he was looking at me like I was a thief he had to guard against, all for the sake of another woman. For the seven years after his death, I couldn't eat or sleep, drifting through each day in a daze. Meanwhile, the two of them had been openly enjoying a sweet romance across the ocean, basking in wedding congratulations without a shred of guilt. What gave them the right? I raised my hand to slap Ezra across the face, but Isla cried out and knocked my hand away. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! It's all my fault!" she wailed. "Maren, I'll get down on my knees... please, just spare him..." Just then, a distinguished-looking old man with glasses walked in. "Isla, what's wrong? Why are you crying on your big day?" he asked. The moment our eyes met, I found his face strangely familiar, so familiar that I almost teared up. Just as I was about to ask, Isla cut me off, "Mr. Morgan, I just got a bit overwhelmed with joy... Please, sit down for a moment..." She turned and clutched Ezra's arm, lowering her voice. "What do we do... Owen Morgan from the venture capital firm is a man who takes relationships very seriously. His first wife passed away in an accident years ago, and he never remarried. If he finds out I stole my best friend's man, he'll definitely pull his funding..." Ezra came back to his senses and patted her hand. When he looked up at me, his eyes flashed with inner conflict. "Maren, I'm going to have to make you look bad," he said. I didn't catch on right away. A second later, he pointed right at me in front of everyone and announced, "Mr. Morgan, this woman is someone I went to university with who's been hounding me. I've turned her down countless times, but she still tracked me down here." My head buzzed. He actually had the nerve to turn everything around and paint me as the other woman!