My Wife’s Engagement Party Funeral

Start Reading

I used to think I had the most fiercely loyal, devoted girlfriend in the world.

For seven years of long-distance, Caroline demanded a level of transparency that bordered on obsession. She needed my location shared at all times; she required a text if I so much as stepped out of my London office to grab a coffee. I thought it was love. I thought she just missed me.

But today, Caroline vanished.

I called her over a hundred times. It went straight to voicemail. I tried her executive assistant, her driver, the housekeeper at her New York estatenothing. A cold, suffocating panic set into my chest. I bought the most expensive, earliest flight out of Heathrow, crossing the Atlantic, terrified something horrific had happened to her.

When my cab finally pulled up to the wrought-iron gates of her Hamptons estate, a black Maybach was already idling in the driveway. The rear door opened, and Caroline stepped out.

A wave of dizzying relief washed over me. I took a step forward, the words Why weren't you answering? already forming on my lips.

Then, she smiled. It was a radiant, intoxicating smile I hadn't seen in person for months. She walked around to the passenger side, opened the door herself, and murmured in a voice dripping with honey, "Your carriage awaits, my prince."

A man stepped out of the car. Without missing a beat, he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her flush against his chest.

I froze. The breath was punched out of my lungs.

Caroline was cheating on me. And the man burying his face in her neck was Tristan Cole. My estranged mothers illegitimate son.

My hands shook so violently I had to grip my phone with both hands as I stumbled backward behind the manicured hedges. I hit her contact and pressed call.

Out in the driveway, a ringtone pierced the quiet air. Caroline pulled back, glancing down at her screen. A flicker of profound annoyance crossed her perfect features. Her thumb hovered over the red 'decline' button.

Tristan caught her wrist, his lips curling into a smirk. "You should probably answer it. Otherwise, my dear big brother is just going to keep blowing up your phone. Its killing the mood."

Caroline let out a soft, breathless laugh. "Who was it that pinned me down yesterday and forbade me from looking at my phone? Feeling generous today, are we?"

Tristans eyes darkened with raw, unfiltered lust. "Thats only because the sounds you were making were driving me crazy. I couldn't bear the thought of anyone else hearing you."

Her gaze turned heavy, hooded with desire. "Is that so? Then we'll just have to pick up where we left off tonight."

Only then did she swipe right to answer.

Standing less than fifty feet away, I fought back the bile rising in my throat. I dug my nails into my palms, forcing my voice to stay steady. "What are you doing?"

Caroline immediately let out a weak, raspy cough. "Nate, baby," she croaked, playing the part of an invalid flawlessly. "Im so sorry. Ive been running a terrible fever since yesterday. Ive been in and out of consciousness. I didn't even hear the phone. I'm so sorry I worried you."

I squeezed my eyes shut. The darkness offered no relief. "Is that so?" I managed to choke out. "You shouldn't be alone. Maybe I should fly back to the States to take care of you."

A microscopic pause. Then, her voice returned, gentle and entirely composed. "Your work in London is too important. I could never ask you to drop everything for me. I'm feeling much better now, really. Just focus on yourself, okay?"

I stared at her through the leaves. I searched her face for a single twitch of guilt, a fleeting shadow of remorse.

There was nothing. Just the calm, practiced mask of a liar.

"Okay," I whispered into the receiver. "I understand."

I hung up before the sob could break free.

Seconds later, my phone buzzed. A text from Caroline.

I feel awful for missing your calls, baby. I ordered a cake to be delivered to your flat. Things are crazy at the firm today, but Ill FaceTime you the second Im done.

She attached a little pleading emoji. It looked so sincere. So deeply, convincingly loving.

If I hadn't been standing right here, watching Tristan trail his fingers down her spine, I would have believed her. I would have eaten that cake feeling like the luckiest guy in the world.

A sharp, stabbing pain radiated through my chest as I watched them walk into the house, their silhouettes melting together.

Why? my mind screamed. Why Tristan?

Caroline knew. She knew better than anyone breathing that Tristan Cole was the physical embodiment of the worst trauma of my life.

When I was fifteen, my mother had an affair. The fallout didn't just break our family; it destroyed my father. I watched a brilliant, vibrant man wither into a hollow, depressed ghost. He drank until his liver gave out, losing fifty pounds in six months. I remember kneeling on the hardwood floor, begging my mother to come home, just to visit him. She looked at me, adjusted her designer coat, and said, Tristans father gets jealous easily. I can't.

I watched my dad die of a broken heart. It was slow, agonizing, and entirely their fault.

Caroline grew up next door. She was my sanctuary during those dark years. When my dad passed, she held me as I thrashed and screamed, staining her shirts with my tears. She cursed my mother. She cursed Tristan and his father. She looked me in the eyes and swore, Your enemies are my enemies, Nate. One day, I'm going to ruin them for you.

The ghost of her vow echoed in my ears, mocking me. Now, she was doing exactly what my mother had done.

Perhaps even worse.

I was shivering violently when Rosa, Carolines long-time housekeeper, stepped out to retrieve the mail. She jumped when she saw me standing by the gates. "Mr. Brooks! Good lord, what are you doing out here in the cold? Come inside, let me make you some tea!"

She thought the cold was making me tremble. She didn't know the ice was in my veins.

I stretched my lips into a polite, agonizingly stiff smile. "I'm fine, Rosa. I'm not cold."

Rosa looked at me, her eyes darting toward the main house, then back to me. Pity pooled in her gaze. "Mr. Brooks... did you... did you see?"

The confirmation felt like a physical blow. "So, they're here often," I stated flatly.

Rosa turned pale. She wrung her hands. "Mr. Brooks, please don't take it to heart. Miss Pierce is just... she's just having a bit of fun. A distraction. I see the way she looks at pictures of you. You're the one she truly loves."

My jaw felt wired shut. "Right. I understand. Please, Rosa, don't tell her I was here."

Rosa let out a heavy sigh and nodded. "My lips are sealed. Take care of yourself, sir."

I dragged my numb legs down the winding driveway. As I passed the sprawling glass greenhouse, I stopped dead in my tracks.

Years ago, Caroline had imported hundreds of rare white camelliasmy late fathers favorite flowerand filled the greenhouse with them, just to make me smile.

Now, the camellias were gone. The entire greenhouse was overflowing with vibrant, aggressive Birds of Paradise.

Tristans favorite flower.

If this was just a "distraction," just a fleeting moment of physical boredom as Rosa claimed, why the flowers? Why erase my ghost from her home so entirely?

A sickening dread consumed me. I stumbled to a nearby hotel, checked into a sterile room, and dialed Carolines number one more time.

She picked up on the second ring. Her tone was light, teasing. "Miss me already, baby? I thought we were doing FaceTime later?"

Hearing that bubbly, innocent voice superimposed over the image of her in Tristans arms made me want to rip my skin off. I dug my fingers into the hotel mattress. "I just... I was thinking about the camellias in the greenhouse. Could you send me a picture of them?"

Dead silence on the line.

Then, her voice pitched up in feigned surprise. "The camellias? What brought that up? Sure, hold on, Ill take a picture when I get home."

"Okay," I said blankly.

Suddenly, the unmistakable shatter of glass echoed through the phone, followed by a mans low curse.

"Jesus, you're so clumsy," Caroline snapped instinctively, the sweet tone vanishing. "Just leave it, don't touch the glass, Ill get it"

She stopped, suddenly remembering I was on the line.

"Nate, my new assistant just dropped a tray of glasses," she lied, her breathing a little quicker now. "I have to go help him clean it up. Talk later."

Click.

The dial tone hummed against my ear, a monotonous soundtrack to my absolute humiliation.

Thirty minutes later, my phone dinged. An image of the greenhouse, bursting with pristine white camellias.

I zoomed in. In the bottom right corner, a timestamp watermark from a photography app. October, last year.

She didn't even bother to check the photo before sending it. That was how stupid she thought I was. How easily managed.

I dropped the phone. I covered my face with my hands and started to laugh. The laughter scraped against my throat, hollow and terrifying, until it broke into heavy, scalding tears that slipped through my fingers.

In my minds eye, I was dragged back seven years.

Caroline wasn't the polished, untouchable CEO of Pierce Holdings back then. She was just a girl who followed me everywhere. Once, some older guys from a rival school harassed her. I fought three of them off, ending up with a split lip and a bruised rib.

As she dabbed antiseptic on my face, she cried, calling me an idiot. But then she smiled, her eyes shining with raw adoration. You're the best thing in this world, Nate. I'm going to cling to you for the rest of my life.

When we graduated, my mother handed my fathers massive corporate empire over to her new husband and Tristan. I was left with a tiny, struggling subsidiary in London. I had to leave to salvage what was left of my father's legacy, to become a man worthy of standing beside the heiress to the Pierce fortune.

At JFK airport, Caroline sobbed into my chest. She gripped my jacket like she was trying to fuse our ribs together. Wait for me, Nate. Give me a few years to take full control of the Pierce board, and Ill buy back everything they stole from you. Well bring you home.

We thought it would be a year. Two, tops. It had been seven.

Last year, she finally became the undisputed CEO. I asked when I could move my operations back to New York. She gave me excuses. Market volatility. Board pushback.

Now the truth was painfully clear. She didn't lack the power to bring me back. She just didn't want me here.

I didn't sleep a wink that night. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw my fathers emaciated face. Hatred, violently mixed with the pathetic remnants of my love for Caroline, tore through me until I felt physically ill. I wondered, in the darkest hours of the morning, if this was how my father felt right before he gave up.

As dawn broke, a calendar notification popped up on my screen.

Anniversary.

It was our seventh anniversary. I stared blankly at the screen. A few hours later, Carolines text arrived precisely on schedule.

Happy Anniversary, my love.

I had your gift flown in overnight. Make sure you sign for it.

Im so sorry I can't fly out to see you this year. The merger is taking all my time. Be a good boy and forgive me, okay?

The merger. Right. I was a glutton for punishment, so I opened my laptop. I paid a private investigator Id used for corporate due diligence a hefty rush fee to pull all of Tristan and Caroline's private social media accounts.

For the first six years of my absence, Tristans feed was devoid of her.

Then, last year, Tristan was appointed as a VP at Pierce Holdings. His first post about her was a photo of her corner office door.

My new boss is a nightmare. She rides my ass all day. Definitely punishing me for someone elses sins. But I don't tap out.

The posts continued, standard office grievances, until mid-May.

Well. Shit. I just slept with the boss.

The post had over a hundred thousand likes from his obnoxious trust-fund circle. The comments were begging for details. I scrolled down until I found his reply.

Worst luck ever. She got blackout drunk at a gala. I took her back to her penthouse, and she thought I was her boyfriend.

I looked at the date on the post. My blood turned to freon.

May 14th.

The anniversary of my fathers death.

Every year on May 14th, I shut my phone off. I sit in silence. I mourn the man they broke. And on that exact day, while I was drowning in grief over my father, Caroline was in her bed, tangled in the sheets with the son of the man who killed him.

It was a surgical strike to my soul.

With a morbid, masochistic drive, I kept scrolling.

Turns out the Ice Queen is actually a softie. Shes literally knitting me a scarf while I watch the game.

Mentioned offhand that I like Birds of Paradise. Came to her place today and shed ripped out her entire greenhouse of stupid white flowers for me. Kinda touched.

And then, the most recent post. Uploaded three hours ago.

Boss lady ditched her 7-year anniversary to play video games with me at the Plaza. I think we know whos winning this war.

Some of the comments called him out, telling him he was trash for being the other man. Tristan had pinned a reply to the top.

Who says Im the other man? She just said yes.

Attached was a photo. Caroline, looking breathtakingly flushed and happy, holding up her left hand. On her ring finger sat a massive pink diamond.

I couldn't breathe. My eyes locked onto the dress she was wearing in the photo. It was an emerald-green silk slip. I had designed it myself. I spent three months working with a tailor in Mayfair to get the draping perfect for her body. I gave it to her for our anniversary last year.

She was wearing my love letter to her while accepting another man's ring.

The hotel walls began to close in. I gripped my chest as a visceral, agonizing panic attack ripped through me. I was drowning.

The post went viral within his circles. Soon, my phone began to detonate. Calls from mutual friends. Some wanting gossip, some genuinely concerned. And then, my mothers name flashed on the screen.

I swiped to answer.

"Nate," her crisp, emotionless voice came through. "I assume youve seen the news about your brother and Caroline."

I said nothing. I let the silence hang.

"Listen to me," she continued, her tone patronizing. "People in our tax bracket don't operate on fairy tales. Infidelity happens. I need you to be mature about this. Don't spiral and make a mess of things like your father did"

"Do not put his name in your mouth," I snarled, my voice vibrating with a rage so profound it scared me.

She paused, clearly irritated. "I am calling to give you reality. The Brooks and Pierce families need this alliance. Since Caroline has chosen Tristan, I expect you to bow out gracefully. Don't throw a tantrum and embarrass me in the press."

A dark, broken laugh scraped its way out of my throat. "Oh, now you care about being embarrassed? Where was that shame when you were driving my father to put a gun in his mouth?"

Knowing she couldn't win the moral high ground, she snapped, "That was between adults. It has nothing to do with you."

I hung up. I blocked her number.

My screen was a chaotic mess of notifications. That blown-up photo of her engagement ring mocked me, painting me as the ultimate, castrated fool.

Then, Carolines name flashed on the screen. One call. Two calls. Three. Frantic, back-to-back.

I stared at the screen, swiped into my settings, and blocked her across every conceivable platform.

I called my executive assistant in London. My flight back wasn't until tomorrow, but I needed out of New York now. I booked a red-eye to Texas.

Everyone always said I was exactly like my father. We shared the same quiet disposition, the same fierce loyalty. But they were wrong about one thing. I wasn't going to die over a woman who betrayed me.

At 4:00 PM, a frantic pounding echoed through my hotel room door.

I opened it, and before I could blink, a body slammed into my chest. Caroline wrapped her arms around my neck, burying her face against my collarbone. She was trembling, her eyes red and swollen.

"Why weren't you answering?" she choked out, her voice ragged. "Do you have any idea how terrified I was? I thought something happened to you!"

I stood entirely still. Slowly, mechanically, I peeled her arms off me and took a step back.

"What is there left to answer?" I asked, my voice terrifyingly hollow. "Didn't you just say yes to Tristan's proposal?"

She flinched as if Id struck her. Panic flared in her eyes as she reached for my hand. "Nate, you have to understand. Tristan... his father was just a mistress. He grew up with nothing, no respect. I can't let him live out his life without a proper title. I just"

She saw the utter revulsion in my eyes and switched tactics, her voice dropping to a desperate whisper. "The marriage laws are different in Europe, Nate. We can still be together. Ill fly to London. We can have a private ceremony. Well still be legally married over there. Youll still be my husband."

It was so absurd, so profoundly grotesque, I couldn't even summon the energy to yell. I just stared at her. I was looking at a stranger. A monster wearing the skin of the girl I loved.

Footsteps pounded down the hallway. Tristan skidded to a halt outside the door. He took one look at me, dropped to his knees, and put on a masterful theatrical display.

"Nate, its my fault! Please, hate me, but don't blame Caroline! I'm so sorry!"

Looking down at his facea younger, sharper version of the man who ruined my familya primal, violent urge surged through me. I raised my fist.

Caroline lunged forward, grabbing my arm with shocking strength. "Nate, stop! Im the one who made the mistake, not him! Be rational!"

My arm dropped. I looked at where her hands gripped my forearm, then slowly raised my eyes to hers. "You're both at fault. But I'm the one bleeding. Tell me, Caroline. What exactly do you expect me to do?"

Tears spilled over her lashes. Guilt and something akin to pity swam in her eyes. She squeezed my hand, practically begging. "Nate... for the sake of our seven years together. Please. Can you just find it in your heart to be forgiving?"

I looked at her pleading face. I let the silence stretch until it was suffocating.

Then, I gave a single, slow nod.

Caroline gasped, a look of euphoric relief washing over her. She threw her arms around my torso. "I knew it," she wept into my shirt. "I knew you were stronger than your father. I knew you would understand."

She used my dead father as a weapon to secure her own peace of mind.

A chilling, terrifying calm settled over me. I smiled against the crown of her hair, my eyes dead.

Suddenly, Tristan let out an exaggerated gasp, patting his pockets. "Oh noCaroline, I think I left the security fob for the penthouse at the front desk."

Caroline pulled away instantly, wiping her eyes. She barely looked back at me as she took Tristans arm. "Let's go get it. Ill call you tonight, Nate," she tossed over her shoulder.

I watched them walk down the hall. As they turned the corner, the last miserable shred of love I harbored for Caroline Pierce evaporated into nothing.

The next morning, I flew out.

I didn't go back to London. I had my security team intercept a police report of a horrific, fiery car crash on an isolated stretch of highway outside the city. Through a massive payout and some digital ghosting, my identification was planted at the scene.

The only way to cleanly sever a tie this gangrenous was amputation. From today onward, Nathaniel Brooks no longer existed.

It wasn't until late that evening, after she had finished coddling Tristan, that Caroline remembered to call me.

When it went straight to an automated dead line, she tried my London office. Then, starting to panic, she pulled strings to get an emergency contact at the American Embassy.

"Nathaniel Brooks?" the officials voice filtered through the line, solemn and apologetic. "Miss Pierce, I am so deeply sorry. Mr. Brooks was involved in a multi-vehicle collision early this morning on his way to the airport. There were no survivors."