Seven Years Of Marriage Ended By My Fake Funeral

The third Valentine’s Day since Killian and I separated. I found him in the downtown piazza, lighting a spectacular burst of fireworks for his mistress. Our eyes met across the crowd, and for a fleeting, agonizing second, the world fell silent. Jules, my childhood friend, pulled me close. He pressed a freshly purchased hot latte into my hand and steered me through the throng, his arm a solid, grounding weight around my waist. That night, well after midnight, I heard the faint snick of the lock turning. I didn’t have time to react. Killian Thorne was in the room. He slammed the door, crossed the floor in three strides, and tackled me onto the bed, his mouth finding the sensitive skin of my shoulder. He bit down—not playfully, but savagely, until the metallic taste of blood filled the air. “Three years,” he spat, hovering over me. “Three years I’ve been gone, and you couldn’t wait to parade your lover in front of me? Don’t forget, Genevieve, we’re still married.” I drove the heel of my palm into his face, the sound sharp in the darkness. I laughed, a bitter, hollow sound. “You forget,” I countered, the sting in my cheek secondary to the one in my chest. “It was your idea for the ‘open’ marriage.” … Killian backed away, his silhouette looming by the corner of the bed, the scarlet mark of my handprint faintly visible in the gloom. I sat against the headboard, catching my breath. We were locked in a stalemate, two exhausted boxers refusing to drop their guard. Then his phone chimed. “Killian, I miss you…” His posture softened instantly. He glanced at me, a flicker of something—pity? ownership?—in his eyes, and walked to the balcony to answer the call. Through the glass doors, the tenderness on his face, the genuine sweetness in his smile, pierced me with the force of a thousand needles. I tasted the coppery tang of blood rising in my throat, which I quickly swallowed. He finished the call, extinguishing his cigarette and letting the last plume of smoke drift toward my face. “Aria is scared of the dark. I have to go.” He picked up his coat. “I’ll let this slide. Don’t try those pathetic games of trying to make me jealous, Mrs. Thorne.” “Killian,” I said, my voice flat, devoid of emotion. “Let’s get a divorce.” I slid the pre-signed papers across the nightstand. I watched him, my face a mask of weary calm. He paused, then his eyes filled with familiar mockery. “I came back, didn’t I? Is this some dramatic performance?” “I told you, no one is a threat to the ‘Mrs. Thorne’ title. You shouldn’t be so intolerant of Aria.” “Genevieve. Cut the games and take the win.” I ignored him, picking up my pen and signing my name on my copy. Seven years. I was simply exhausted. The smile vanished from Killian’s face. He strode forward, his fingers clamping down on my forearm. “Is this because of Jules? You want to leave me for him?” The ache in my wrist was nothing compared to the shards of glass tearing at my heart. My silence only intensified the fury in his eyes. After a long, torturous moment, he released me and let out a chilling, empty laugh. “You’re truly desperate for my attention, aren’t you? Don’t waste your time, Genevieve.” He flung my arm away and left without a backward glance. I sank to the floor, finally unable to suppress the blood that rose in my chest. It pooled onto the pristine white rug, a stark, wilting rose. Today was our seventh wedding anniversary.

[NEWS ALERT: Thorne Corp CEO Killian Thorne and his beloved wife, celebrated concert pianist Ms. Aria Bellweather, personally presided over the groundbreaking ceremony for the 99th school they have jointly sponsored, a symbol of their enduring love…] [Aria Bellweather wins the prestigious International Gold Medal again! CEO Thorne took the stage himself to present the flowers…] [To celebrate Ms. Bellweather’s birthday, Mr. Thorne has commissioned a three-day, non-stop fireworks display over Ashford City!] No matter what channel I surfed, the screens were filled with the public celebration of Killian and Aria’s romance. Killian, immaculately suited, presented flowers, his eyes filled with a softness I hadn’t seen in years. Aria, blushing and demure, nestled into his embrace. It was jarring. I’d only seen that look on him once—seven years ago, when he placed his hand over his heart and swore: “I pledge my life to send Gen flowers forever, to protect her all my days!” The audience in the broadcast clapped and cheered. “When did Mr. Thorne remarry? I thought Mrs. Thorne looked different?” a small voice muttered, causing a brief silence. Aria looked up at the camera, her eyes welling up with tears in a perfect display of delicate distress. “There has only ever been one wife for me, from the start, and it is you!” Killian declared, his face radiating devotion. He slipped a diamond band onto her finger. This declaration solidified Aria as the true Thorne matriarch in the public eye. The camera zoomed in on the rings, their hands tightly clasped. My numb heart clenched. My eyes locked onto the screen. That ring. We had personally designed that wedding band in the second year of our marriage when our love was at its peak, and he had spent a fortune having a master jeweler craft it. Now, it was on the hand of another woman. Step by step, Killian had replaced me. He had transformed Aria into a renowned pianist, the one who would stand beside him, the legitimate Mrs. Thorne. When did it begin, this slow, insidious process?

The first time I saw Killian, he wasn’t the powerful CEO. He was a desperate, shivering creature struggling in the dirt, starving. It was a brutally cold winter night. He was wearing a threadbare t-shirt, pinned to the ground and beaten for stealing a cold, stale piece of bread. His body was a mass of cuts and bruises. I felt pity and told my driver to save him. I thought it was a single act of charity, but it set the gears of fate in motion. Years later, I finished a concerto and found him working as catering staff in the performance hall. A pair of thugs burst in, smashing a bottle over his head. “You little bastard! You think you can run from me? I’ll kill you today!” Red wine mixed with his blood, splattering his face as the punches rained down. A shrill woman spat at him, cursing. They were his parents, trying to force him to quit school and work. He refused, trying to earn his own tuition, only to be found and beaten again. I begged my father to finance his education. Soon after, the financial prodigy, Killian Thorne, emerged. My father, recognizing his raw talent, sent him overseas for advanced study and opened his network to him. Killian started his own company and quickly became Ashford City’s new power broker. When Hartley Inc. faced an internal financial crisis, Killian abandoned his flourishing overseas business and returned to help my father without demanding a penny. “Without you and Gen, I would be nothing,” he told us. “From this day forward, it is my life’s mission to protect the Hartleys and Gen.” Killian’s promise was fierce and unwavering. For years, he was my guardian. When I was kidnapped, Killian single-handedly came for me. The thugs taunted him, threatening to throw me into the ocean unless he cut off his own finger. Without a moment’s hesitation, he severed his left pinky finger. The police arrived shortly after, and he took a bullet, collapsing in my arms. But I was safe. “Gen… you came into my life like an angel and saved me,” he murmured. “From the first moment, I loved you. I swore then I would spend the rest of my life protecting you.” I accepted his proposal, and we married. He said he had nothing, so he fought tooth and nail for success. He risked his life to love me. Now, he risked my life to hurt me.

We were the most envied couple in our social circle—until Jules came home. The Abbotts and Hartleys were old family friends. When Killian and I attended their dinner, he overheard stories of Jules’s childhood crush on me, the talks of a potential engagement. That night, Killian and I had our first earth-shattering fight. We were frozen in a three-month cold war. During that time, he hired Aria Bellweather as an intern. When I went to his office, ready to reconcile, I found Aria dabbing a tea stain off his shirt. The moment Killian saw me, the warmth in his face evaporated. We argued all the way to the car. A delivery truck suddenly swerved toward us. On instinct, I lunged, pulling him behind me. We both survived, but my left hand—my pianist’s hand—was permanently damaged. The chasm between us, unspoken, only deepened. Later, we were at a restaurant when we overheard Aria playing piano. Killian was mesmerized. He called her music celestial. The international competition I had been forced to withdraw from due to my injury soon had a new competitor. “Darling,” he said, his voice casual. “Since you can’t participate, we shouldn’t stifle another pianist’s rise.” Under the table, my hands throbbed. My heart ached just as fiercely. “… Fine,” I whispered, the tremor in my voice barely audible. Killian, who usually tracked my every mood, didn’t look at me. He generously transferred my personal piano teacher and my private studio space to Aria. … I sighed, staring at their smiling faces on the television. I slowly reached up and removed the human hair wig, revealing the smooth, pale skin of my scalp—the result of aggressive chemotherapy. Now, he was even ready to give away the title of ‘Mrs. Thorne,’ the last thing he’d promised me. It didn’t matter. I wouldn’t be needing it. Anyway, I was dying.

At the auction house. “I’ll get that necklace for you, Gen. No matter the cost.” Jules sat next to me, his voice low and comforting. I nodded, my gaze drawn across the room. Killian was there, his expression stormy, with Aria standing beside him, looking smug. “Mr. Thorne never attends public events unless it’s work. He must be here to buy jewels for Ms. Bellweather.” “I heard he’s planning a lavish wedding for her. He must be stocking up on custom jewelry.” “The way he spoils her! It’s the kind of love story movies are made of!” My eyes were glued to Killian. Years ago, rumors that he relied on the Hartleys to start his company made him avoid public intimacy with me. Now, he was openly affectionate with Aria, draped around her like a trophy. “Focus, Gen. It’s starting.” Jules gently nudged me. I missed the dark, calculating look Killian cast my way. “One million.” “Three million.” … Killian’s assistant kept raising the paddle. Everything I showed the slightest interest in, Killian would preemptively snatch up at an outrageous price. The room buzzed with admiration. “Mr. Thorne is so devoted to Ms. Bellweather! He’s spending a fortune!” My fingers tightened around the handle of my clutch. I offered a weak, self-deprecating smile. “And now, the final lot… The Deep Sea Dream!” My breath caught. My vision blurred with immediate grief and intimacy. The delicate, pale blue necklace was breathtaking. Jules raised his paddle, setting a new high bid. “Ten million, going once!” “Ten million, going twice!” “Ten million—” “The Blind Bid.” The deep, resonant voice shattered the silence of the hall like a bombshell. My knuckles were white. I stared at Killian. He knew. He knew what this necklace meant to me. Why would he…? He was unfazed. He had his assistant retrieve the necklace immediately and fasten it around Aria’s neck. “Tell me, Genevieve,” he asked, meeting my stare with a cold smirk. “Doesn’t Aria look lovely in this?” Furious, dizzy, and fighting the rush of blood in my throat, I stood. “She doesn’t deserve it!” The sound of my slap echoed throughout the silent room. A bright red print flared on Killian’s face. He paused, covering his cheek, his eyes glinting with a dangerous, mocking light. I raised my hand again, this time aiming for Aria, but Killian’s strong grip locked my wrist down. “You want the necklace so badly? Kneel. Kneel down and beg for it.” “Or better yet,” he added, his voice low and vicious. “Have Jules kneel down and beg me.” I snatched my hand back, trembling with rage. Killian knew this was my mother’s last design, her final piece of work. It was irreplaceable. He had always stripped me of what I loved and given it to Aria. Years ago, he claimed Aria reminded him of the talented, young me, and he couldn’t let her talent go to waste. He found her the best tutors. Their relationship quickly moved beyond professional. On my last birthday, Killian didn’t show up. I found him in the studio, personally guiding Aria’s fingers across the keys, teaching her the techniques I had taught him when we were dating. I felt a paralyzing chill. I couldn’t bear to think that my husband, the man I considered my life, would betray me. I wandered the streets, distraught, and nearly got hit by a car. Jules rushed me home. Killian offered no explanation. He watched my breakdown with cold, judgmental eyes. My heart was pulverized, one grain at a time. My favorite cashmere coat disappeared from my closet. “Doesn’t Mr. Thorne’s gift look amazing on me, Gen?” Aria asked me later, the coat tailored to fit her delicate frame perfectly. Killian ignored my silent fury. “Aria comes from a humble background. She didn’t have a proper winter coat. Don’t be so petty.” Before our engagement, he had purchased a precious jade pendant and crawled on his knees, three steps for every bow, up the steps of the temple to pray for my well-being. That pendant now hung around Aria’s neck. “The jade is worn out after all these years,” Killian explained carelessly. “I’ll buy you a new one.” I snapped. I drove to the studio and smashed everything. He shielded Aria, his eyes colder than I had ever seen them. “You hysterical bitch!” Killian walked out, taking Aria with him, and didn’t come home. The second month he was gone, I found out I was pregnant. I stared at the two lines on the test, laughing until I was sobbing. Killian finally called me to meet in our usual cafe. I lowered my eyes, about to present the ultrasound. “I’m pregnant—” “I’m in love with Aria. Let’s make it an open marriage, just like I said.” His cold, serious demeanor was a knife to my eye and my heart. My world spun. I heard the distinct sound of my heart shattering, spilling blood onto the floor. I never got the chance to tell him about the baby. Aria called, claiming she was afraid of a thunderstorm, and the formidable CEO panicked. The ultrasound report fluttered from my hands and landed on the ground. Killian stepped directly onto it, a large, dark footprint covering the picture of the child we had once longed for. He rushed out. That night, I cried until I was dry. I took a carving knife and pressed it against my wrist. The blood, the smell, my parents’ frantic screams—I closed my eyes and saw Killian proposing to me. “Gen, marry me?” His eyes held only me. No. Killian, I regret it. I was rescued, but my parents aged overnight. “Gen, please don’t leave your father and me,” my mother begged, her face streaked with tears. “Think of the baby, think of us.” I stopped trying to die, but I lived like a ghost, sinking into severe depression. Meanwhile, Killian traveled the world with Aria for her competitions. The rumors of Aria being the “real” Mrs. Thorne were constant; he tacitly allowed them. He took her to all the places we had promised to visit. He poured his network and resources into her career. The famously private CEO even agreed to a ridiculous celebrity couple reality show, just because Aria wanted the experience. The headlines constantly detailed Killian’s extravagant spending on Aria. He even gave her a five percent share of his hard-won corporation. His open favoritism made me a public joke. But who would have guessed Killian Thorne had two wives? When I was five months pregnant, my mother took me out for a drive. A sedan swerved into our lane, hitting us head-on. My mother died protecting me. The driver was Aria Bellweather. The dam broke. I crawled out of my hospital bed and rushed to find her, screaming for justice. I grabbed Aria’s hair and slapped her until my hand was raw. But a violent push sent me sprawling. Killian stood over a tearful Aria, shielding her with his body, his eyes glaring down at me. His voice was arctic. “It was an accident. Aria just got her license. What are you trying to accomplish?” “Genevieve, you’re not stable.” “Do you realize her hand is also injured? She might never play the piano again! Do you have to make her a cripple like you before you stop?” Tears streamed down my face as I watched their backs disappear. My heart felt ripped open. Beneath me, the floor was slick with blood. … I startled awake, the memory breaking off. I hadn’t brought the necklace home. A sharp pain seized my chest. I instinctively leaned over the wastebasket, spitting up a mouthful of blood. “Gen, you’re bleeding more often now.” Jules’s brows were furrowed. He placed his jacket over my shoulders and prepared to take me to the hospital. I shrugged. A few months after the accident, I was diagnosed with stomach cancer. My father had spent a fortune to keep me alive for three years, but I was weakening rapidly. “The real CEO is here! Ms. Bellweather isn’t feeling well, and Mr. Thorne has summoned every single doctor in the building!” “Oh my God, they’re so in love! Didn’t he place a blind bid for her at the auction house the other day?” “He practically owns this wing; it’s his private medical team for her.” Nurses gossiped as they rushed past the consulting room. “Excuse me, we have an appointment with Dr. Bennett for a follow-up,” Jules said, his voice tight with impatience. The nurse eyed my pale face dismissively. “Are you Mrs. Thorne? If not, wait your turn. Dr. Bennett is with the real Mrs. Thorne now. She has no time for you.” I wiped the blood from my mouth, my face serene. I stopped Jules from erupting. Inside the consulting room. “Congratulations, Mr. Thorne. The baby is very healthy.” Killian looked stunned, then immediately draped his coat over Aria, his eyes alight with tenderness. Aria put Killian’s hand on her lower abdomen, kissing his cheek. “You’re going to be a father, Killian.” Killian smiled. “I’m clearing my schedule to take care of you. I wonder if it’s a boy or a girl. We need to start picking out things.” Killian kept talking, but I barely heard him. The familiar, profound coldness enveloped me. A knife was slowly carving up my heart. “Boy or girl, let’s call the baby ‘Hope,’” he said softly. “For peace and joy.” Hope… My Hope. In that car crash, I lost more than my mother. I lost my baby, my An-An. Peace and joy was what Killian and I had dreamed of for our first child. My mother died protecting a child. Killian, to protect Aria, killed mine. My vision tunneled. As blood rushed to my palm, I turned to leave. “Gen! Did you know I was pregnant? Are you here to congratulate me?” Aria’s eyes held a malicious gleam. “Killian and I are truly in love. Please, just give us your blessing. Of course, the trash I don’t want, I’ll toss your way.” I remained expressionless, pulling Jules toward the exit. “Stop.” Killian’s gaze landed on me, dark and unreadable. “You still owe Aria an apology for injuring her three years ago.” My face went white. My nails dug into my palm, drawing blood. I stared at him, but he avoided my eyes, casually looping his finger through Aria’s hair. “Your father’s company is still struggling, isn’t it? Just kneel down and bow your head to Aria, and I’ll call off the attack on Hartley Inc.” I saw the premature gray in my father’s hair. Since my mother’s death, he had been crushed, all while having to care for me and defend the company against Killian’s vicious campaign. It was all my fault. A violent tremor ran through my body. Tears spilled onto my cheeks. I let go of my clenched fist. I knelt. My forehead struck the pristine hospital floor, and a hot stream of blood immediately pooled. Killian froze, his hand outstretched, but he did not move to help. I pushed myself up, ignored the searing pain, and walked away. … Aria was chattering excitedly about the pregnancy. Killian, however, was haunted by the image of my desolate, bloodied back. He felt a moment of profound dread, as if something irreplaceable was slipping away. “Someone, call a doctor! That woman who was just kneeling and hitting her head is vomiting blood by the door! She’s dying!” “Isn’t that Dr. Bennett’s late-stage stomach cancer patient?” The nurses’ panicked voices broke through Killian’s trance. His blood turned to ice. He shoved Aria away and sprinted for the door.