The Love that Kills me

Chapter 2

After the official announcement of our engagement, everything changed. Daia disappeared, vanishing without a single trace. She left no note, no message—just a void in our family and a cold fear in my heart. It was as if she had never existed, but the pain she left behind was real and sharp.

I tried to focus on my small clothing store, sewing new designs and tending to customers. It was my tiny sanctuary, a place where I could pretend that my world hadn’t been turned upside down. But even there, peace wouldn’t last.

One afternoon, as I was arranging a new display in the window, the door slammed open. Stephen burst in, his eyes wild with fury. He grabbed my arm and yanked me out of the store, the force of his anger leaving me breathless.

“Where is Daia?” he demanded, his voice low and dangerous.

I stared at him, stunned. “I don’t know,” I said, my voice shaking. “I swear, I don’t know where she is.”

But he didn’t believe me. His eyes were hard, unyielding. “Don’t lie to me, Hope. I know you and your family did something to her. You’re all part of this, aren’t you?”

His words cut deep, sharp as knives. I wrenched my arm free from his grip, my anger flaring. “How dare you accuse me of something like that? Daia is my cousin—my family. I would never do anything to hurt her!”

Stephen’s jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing. “You’re the cause of all this, Hope. You and your family. You’d better endure it, because this is only the beginning.”

And with that, he turned and left, leaving me standing in the middle of the street, my arm throbbing where he’d grabbed me. My tears fell hot and fast, but I refused to let them break me. If I had known this was the path my life would take, I would have begged my father to let me walk away. But it was too late for regrets now.

Months passed, each day feeling longer than the last. We searched for Daia, but she was gone—like a shadow in the night. Rumors spread: some said she had run away to escape the family’s plans, others whispered of darker fates. But no one knew the truth, and the uncertainty was a wound that never healed.

In those months, my life became a blur of preparations. My wedding to Stephen was still happening, as if nothing else mattered. My father insisted on it, calling it a “new chapter” for our families. I tried to find some joy in the plans—choosing flowers, tasting cakes, finding the perfect dress—but my heart was heavy with dread.

The wedding was held in an old chapel, the kind that looked like it had been lifted from the pages of a fairy tale. Its stone walls were covered in ivy, and light streamed through stained-glass windows in a rainbow of colors. It was majestic, almost magical. But I couldn’t feel the magic. My hands trembled as I held my bouquet, my tears slipping down my cheeks. They weren’t tears of joy—they were tears of fear and heartbreak.

I was marrying the man of my dreams, but nothing about it felt like a dream. My heart was pounding in my chest as I walked down the aisle, each step feeling like a betrayal of the girl I used to be. I wanted to be happy, to believe in the fairy tale I’d always imagined. But as I looked at Stephen waiting for me at the altar, I saw no warmth in his eyes.

He looked at me like I was a stranger, a burden he had to endure. And still, a part of me hoped that maybe—just maybe—he would see me. See the woman who had loved him from afar for so long.

The vows were spoken, the rings exchanged. I heard my voice, distant and hollow, promising to love and honor him. Stephen’s voice was calm, steady—but empty. There was no joy, no tenderness. Just the cold finality of a contract sealed.

After the ceremony, we went through the motions of celebration. Smiles for the cameras, polite conversations with guests, toasts to a future I wasn’t sure I wanted. My father beamed with pride, oblivious to the truth behind my forced smile. I was a wife now, bound to a man who didn’t love me.

That night, we went back to the house our parents had given us—a beautiful, sprawling home that felt like a palace. But to me, it was nothing more than a gilded cage. Stephen didn’t stay. He dropped me off at the front door, barely looking at me before driving away. No explanations, no goodnight kiss. Just silence.

He didn’t live with me after that. Our house became my prison, a place where I waited for a husband who never came home. He lived in his condo unit miles away, only showing up when our parents were visiting. He played the role of the devoted husband so well—smiling, holding my hand, whispering sweet nothings in front of them. But as soon as they left, he was gone.

Sometimes I wondered if he even thought of me at all. He spent his days searching for Daia, chasing a ghost that refused to be found. And every night, I lay in our empty bed, my heart aching for a love that wasn’t mine to claim.

It hurt—God, it hurt so much. To be his wife in name only, to watch him pour all his energy into finding the woman he truly loved. I knew it was the truth, but some nights, I let myself dream. I imagined him coming home, seeing me standing in the doorway, and realizing that I was the one he needed. I imagined him reaching for me, pulling me close, whispering that he’d been blind but now he saw me—truly saw me.

But those were just dreams. And every morning, I woke up alone.

I tried to fill my days with work—designing clothes, meeting with customers. My little store became my refuge, the only place where I felt like myself. But even there, I couldn’t escape the whispers. People talked about Daia’s disappearance, about Stephen’s coldness. They looked at me with pity, their eyes filled with questions I couldn’t answer.

One afternoon, I stood in the shop, running my fingers over a bolt of fabric, and I felt so alone. If I had known what this marriage would bring me, I would have chosen freedom over love. But it was too late for that now. I was bound to Stephen by more than a ring—I was bound by duty, by family, by the weight of expectations.

I didn’t know what the future would hold. Maybe one day, Stephen would see me. Maybe he would find his peace and finally let go of the past. Or maybe I would spend the rest of my life as a shadow in his world—forever waiting, forever hoping.

But for now, I had to endure. I had to find a way to live in the space between dreams and reality. Because no matter how much it hurt, this was my life. And I would survive it—one breath, one day, one heartbeat at a time.