The Bride Wore Blood At The Finish Line Chapter 04
Hunter kept yelling on the other end.
I stared at the burned helmet on the nightstand. The folded ultrasound tucked inside.
That was it.
That was my whole baby. One folded piece of paper.
“Hunter.”
My voice came out shredded.
“Do you actually want to marry me?”
Silence on the other end. Two seconds.
Then he laughed.
Nothing warm in it. Like a razor dragged across sheet metal.
“Actually? Nora, drop the innocent act.”
His voice was lazy. Bored.
“Grandma controls seventy percent of Vance Group. She loves you, so I marry you. That’s the whole thing.”
“Once the succession clears, I’ll cut you a check. Enough to walk out of the Vance name with your dignity.”
My hand went white around the phone.
He wasn’t done.
“You know, you and your brother are cut from the same cloth.”
A note of amusement crept in.
“He put his life on the line for a paycheck. You put your body in my bed for one. Same job, different tools.”
My eardrums were ringing.
“So don’t let your brother’s death go to waste, Nora.”
He paused.
“I mean, I do feel a little bad. I was thinking about adding some zeroes to your payout. He earned it for you. With his life. You should thank him.”
My lips were shaking.
Not from grief.
From hate.
A boiling, marrow-deep hate.
While my brother was screaming in a burning cockpit, this man had been doing math. Calculating what my brother’s body was worth in extra zeroes.
“Fine.”
My voice sounded dead.
“The wedding. I’ll be there.”
I hung up.
I ripped the IV out of the back of my hand. Blood ran down my knuckles. The night nurse rushed over.
“What are you doing?! You just came out of surgery—”
I pushed past her. Barefoot. Walked straight out of the hospital.
Back at the house, I dragged the wedding dress out from under my bed. The one soaked through with blood.
The dried red on the white satin had gone stiff. Crusted into the fabric like a scab I couldn’t peel off.
I stripped off the hospital gown, piece by piece. Pulled the dress on.
The zipper caught where the satin had dried into the wound on my back. I clenched my jaw and forced it up.
It hurt.
Compared to what he was about to pay, it was nothing.
I picked up the helmet. Slid the folded ultrasound out. Tucked it into my pocket alongside Grandma Ellie’s signed proxy transfer.
Then I went to my wedding.
The venue was a private vineyard estate in Napa. Chandeliers overhead like a sky full of stars.
Three hundred guests. Champagne glasses clinking.
The first person I saw was Grandma Ellie. Front row. Face lit up with anticipation, like she was waiting for something wonderful.
I closed my eyes and mouthed I’m sorry to the only woman who’d ever loved me like family.
I looked up.
Hunter was at the altar. Suit pressed sharp. Cufflinks glinting.
Chloe was standing right beside him. In a white dress. Smiling so wide it hurt to look at.
A guest nearby leaned in and whispered to her friend.
“I heard the bride’s just a placeholder. The one Hunter actually wants to marry is Miss Ashford over there. Isn’t it?”
Chloe lowered her lashes. Modest. Shy.
She didn’t deny it.
Then I walked in.
“Is… is that… the bride?”
Gasps rippled through the crowd. Hunter frowned. Turned around.
He stopped.
The whole room stopped.
Barefoot. In a wedding dress soaked in blood. I walked down the aisle. One step at a time.
Behind me, the red-and-white train dragged a long streak of blood across the marble floor.
In my arms, Ethan’s burned helmet.
Hunter’s pupils shrank.
I stopped. Looked at him.
I smiled.
Behind me, the giant screen lit up.
Image one. Garage security footage. Hunter shoving a five-million-dollar performance bond in Ethan’s face. Forcing him to sign the waiver. Black and white. Time-stamped. Undeniable.
Image two. The lounge. Hunter with Chloe on my brother’s scorched fire suit. His mouth on her throat.
Image three. The ultrasound.
The physician’s notes printed clearly in the bottom right corner:
[7 weeks gestation. Fetal demise due to blunt force trauma. Emergency procedure performed.]
Underneath, in smaller print:
Patient presents with fresh abdominal contusions consistent with physical assault.
The room exploded.
Three hundred pairs of eyes snapped to Hunter. Whispers surged like a tide, drowning out the wedding march completely.
Hunter’s face went white. Then red. Then something worse.
He charged at me.
“NORA! HOW DARE YOU!”
I didn’t move. Didn’t run. Didn’t flinch.
I just let my eyes drift, slow and calm, toward the front row.
Grandma Ellie had gone bone-white. And she was on her feet.