Chapter 3: The Ghost of the Bride

Evelyn stared out the window of her French class, but the rolling clouds outside blurred into white noise. Ms. Beaulieu was rambling on about irregular verbs and past participles, but Evelyn wasn’t there—not really.

Her body sat neatly at a desk in the second row. But her mind... her mind was in a church, under a floral archway, staring down the aisle at the two people who had destroyed her.

Mia’s laugh echoed in her head. Logan’s hand wrapped around her waist. The betrayal played like a broken film reel—scene after scene, skipping but never stopping.

She closed her eyes and let herself drift backward.

It had started innocently. Of course it had. Most tragedies do.

Logan Carter had been the older boy every girl whispered about. Rich, elegant, and just dangerous enough to make him irresistible. He’d transferred in his senior year—new money, new name, new power.

He noticed Evelyn first. Or at least, that’s what she’d believed.

He was charming in ways that felt personal. Remembering small things she said in passing. Giving her his jacket when the cafeteria was too cold. Smiling like she was a secret he wanted to keep.

And when he kissed her—softly, under the bleachers after Homecoming—it felt like something out of a novel.

She was sixteen. And stupid. And enchanted.

She didn’t notice how he pushed her to abandon her art club to spend more time with him. How her grades slipped. How her world began to orbit around his.

By seventeen, she was living in his world completely—driving his car, wearing his gifts, taking his advice as law. She called it love.

But it wasn’t love.

It was control.

Then there was Mia.

Sweet, loyal Mia. Her best friend since eighth grade. The one who braided her hair for dances, who cried when Evelyn cried, who knew every secret Evelyn ever had.

But Mia was always watching. Measuring. Smiling just a little too wide when Evelyn shared things about Logan.

Looking back, Evelyn could see the signs. The way Mia’s voice would get sharp whenever Evelyn said something negative about him. The way Mia always found a way to be around Logan, even when she wasn’t invited.

And the day Evelyn got engaged at eighteen—in a flurry of roses and rooftop lights—it was Mia who insisted on planning the wedding. Mia who controlled every detail. Mia who whispered reassurance, even as Logan grew colder, more distant.

Evelyn’s parents had been uneasy. Her mother asked her if she was sure, if Logan was really the one. Evelyn brushed it off. Her father had stopped asking questions entirely.

She had thought love was supposed to be difficult. That growing pains were normal. That Logan’s cold silences were just stress.

She had been so, so wrong.

The night before the wedding, she had a dream. It was hazy now, but she remembered a voice—a warning—telling her not to trust the people closest to her.

She woke up crying.

She should have listened.

Instead, she smiled through the ceremony prep. Laughed with Mia over cake flavors. Kissed Logan on the cheek when he told her she looked “acceptable” in her dress.

The wedding day felt like a fever dream. The makeup artists, the photographers, the strangers telling her she was the luckiest girl in the world.

She wasn’t lucky.

She was a puppet.

And when she heard them—Logan and Mia, whispering in the shadows about her death—it all unraveled.

She didn’t even get a chance to scream.

Just a push.

A fall.

Then... silence.

A sharp knock at the classroom door snapped her back to the present.

Ms. Beaulieu glanced up. “Yes?”

A student aide stepped in. “Principal wants Evelyn Monroe in the office.”

Evelyn stiffened. “Me?”

The aide nodded. “Something about your transcript.”

Ms. Beaulieu waved her off with a mild frown, and Evelyn grabbed her bag, trying to quiet the thundering in her chest.

In the hallway, she took a deep breath. The walls felt tighter here, like they were listening. She walked slowly, letting her thoughts drift again.

She had been dead.

The truth of it settled like a cold weight in her chest.

She had died on her wedding day. Betrayed by her fiancé and her best friend. Her life had ended in whispers and blood-stained lace.

And now she was here—again. Sixteen. Awake. Alive.

Given a second chance.

But why?

To undo the damage?

To punish the people who hurt her?

Or to change something deeper?

She didn’t know yet. But she intended to find out.

In the principal’s office, the secretary smiled kindly at her. “Have a seat, Evelyn. Mr. Rowe’s just finishing up a call.”

Evelyn nodded, taking a seat. Her fingers trembled in her lap.

Then she heard the name through the office door. A deep, unfamiliar voice.

"...Vale."

Her breath caught.

Vale? That name wasn’t supposed to come into her life for another six months.

Lucien Vale.

Logan Carter’s rival. The one person who had stood against Logan, quietly, powerfully. And the only one who’d ever warned her to be careful.

She had ignored him then. Thought he was bitter. Jealous.

But Lucien had been right.

What is he doing here—already?

She leaned in slightly, trying to listen closer.

The voice was calm, cold. “...I’ll be attending here until further notice. My father’s decision, not mine.”

Evelyn’s heart skipped.

Lucien Vale. A name tied to fire and danger. But maybe, this time, tied to answers.

When the door opened, a tall figure stepped out—dark hair, broad shoulders, eyes like smoke and secrets.

He glanced at her once. And paused.

A flicker of recognition. Confusion. Something else.

Evelyn’s throat dried.

Lucien’s voice was cool. “You’re Evelyn.”

It wasn’t a question.

She nodded slowly. “And you’re Lucien.”

For a moment, the world felt suspended. Like a string had been pulled tight between them.

Then he gave her a small, unreadable smile. “Nice to meet you. Again.”

And just like that, he was gone.