I thought I was living a dream when I married Damian — but that dream became a nightmare before the reception even began. I ended up burying my husband three days after our wedding, only to see him alive again in the back of a taxi.
Call me Paige. I’m 28, and just months ago I was the picture-perfect bride. Damian and I met in a small café where I worked part-time. He was the quiet, polite customer who always tipped well and read books over coffee. I had a crush on him the moment I saw him — those warm hazel eyes, his confidence. When he asked me out, I could hardly believe it.
Within a year we were married. On our wedding day, while we were taking pictures, Damian suddenly collapsed. I thought he was joking — until he didn’t get up. Paramedics tried to save him, but it was too late. They told me he’d had a heart attack. He was 32.
The days after were a blur. His adoptive family, controlling and cold, blamed me — saying I’d wanted his money. I barely knew his family; Damian had never introduced them to me properly.
Three days later, overwhelmed by grief and their calls, I packed a bag and took a taxi out of the city. That’s when the impossible happened.
As we drove away, the taxi driver’s voice startled me. I turned — and saw Damian’s face, those same hazel eyes, in the rearview mirror.
He told me everything.
Damian said his family had been deeply involved in a failing, shady business empire. He tried to go legit, but his parents threatened to ruin us unless he stayed. So he staged his own death — with help from people who knew how to make a heart appear to stop. The collapse, the hospital, the funeral… all faked.
At first I didn’t know what to say. It sounded like something out of a movie. He explained he faked it to protect me and to ensure the assets he built couldn’t be taken by his family.
In the quiet of that taxi, I was stunned. We drove for hours without speaking. When we reached home, I exploded with anger — “YOU LET ME THINK YOU WERE DEAD!” I yelled.
By morning, exhausted and heartbroken, I asked what we would do now. Damian said that by faking his death, everything he earned legally had been transferred to me — safe from his family’s reach. If I wanted, he said, I could sell those assets and share the profits.
Eventually, I realized I still loved him — despite the pain and betrayal. I called him. He asked where I was; I told him I’d come — but that he must never do anything like that again.
Now I’m in another country with golden beaches half an hour away. I gave up everything to escape the chaos… and it was worth it. Damian and I remarried, far from the people and pressures that almost destroyed us. We’re finally living our best life — and this time, it’s real.
