Buried On His Wedding Day
My marriage to Lucian Hawke was hailed as the most perfect union in the mafia world.
As the daughter of the Sinclair family and him being the sole heir of the Hawke family, our marriage united the two most powerful mafia families in the Northeastern. I thought we were unbreakable.
Then, I was diagnosed with terminal cancer. As if life couldn’t get any worse, my husband's first love returned—on the very same day. That night, the man I’d been married to for years didn’t come home.
The next morning, his voice was cold, distant. Indifferent.
“I’ve got the divorce papers ready. When can you come sign them?”
I hesitated, struggling to steady my voice. “I’m still at the hospital.”
He didn’t even pause. “I don’t care if you're on your deathbed, Elara. Come home and sign the goddamn papers.”
My heart shattered, but I refused to let it show. “As you wish, Lucian.”
What he didn’t know was that I was dying—literally.
A week later, at my funeral, Lucian wearing a tuxedo, weeping at my grave, whispering regrets he should have voiced when I was still breathing.
Ironically, my funeral day, was also his wedding day with his sweetheart.
But it was too late, my love.
This time, you’ll never see me again.
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