Dark Revenge Of A Jilted Bride: Till Life Do Us Part!-Chapter 108: Ugly Secret II
"He hasn’t been picking his calls," Ewan answered somberly, his voice heavy, weighted down by emotions he couldn’t sort through—sadness, guilt, frustration, anger—all colliding at once.
"Sandro and I returned to the house, and he wasn’t there. He hasn’t been in the company either. Not at the Whitmans’ mansion. I have no idea where he is, my love."
"Don’t my love me!" Athena snapped, far from appeased, her voice sharp with pain. "Didn’t you know of his relationship with Gianna? Didn’t Sandro?"
Ewan shook his head immediately, the movement firm, almost defensive.
"I knew there was a woman who had caught his eye," he said quietly. "He talked about her a lot... you know he wasn’t in the country then, so he mentioned bringing her down when they got married... show her to us..."
He paused, sorrow flooding his eyes, dimming them. "But he stopped talking about that when Herbert rejected the marriage. I had a feeling he might do something drastic... but he didn’t talk about it. I’m not sure why."
His shoulders slumped slightly. "I don’t think he told Sandro either. We’re just as shocked as you are, my love..."
Athena didn’t know what to do with that. Neither did the others sitting opposite her on the long sofa—her friends, sitting with old Mr. Thorne and Florence. Aiden and Susan had left the night before, immediately after the late-night discussions.
Areso was crying silently, her head resting on Chelsea’s shoulder, small, broken sounds slipping out of her chest.
She yearned to go to her friend, but the latter had dismissed them from the room after the reveal... except Athena, who, well, has been dismissed too.
Chelsea stared into the distance, shell-shocked, unable to reconcile the truth settling into her bones—that one of her best friends had lost a child, had lost her womb with it, had endured such catastrophic pain while smiling outwardly with them.
She understood too why Athena hadn’t dug deeper. Gianna had forbidden it. The latter hadn’t wanted anything discussed when she came out of the coma, and they had respected that. All of them had.
Now, Chelsea wondered if she should have gone ahead anyway. If she should have checked. But if she had—would it have changed anything?
Her fists clenched.
And who had released such information?
According to the video circulating online, Gianna had been waiting at the altar for...
Chelsea squeezed her eyes shut, shoulders quaking as the image of Gianna’s haunted expression surfaced in her mind. So alone. So unbearably lonely.
Zane.
Her fists balled tighter.
She was going to kill him when she saw him.
Her thoughts scattered when Gianna stepped into the room, a phone clutched loosely in her hand, her face rigid with calm.
Chelsea knew that expression. Knew exactly what it meant—more swallowing things down, more pushing forward as if nothing could break her.
But Chelsea was beginning to think that Gianna needed therapy. Desperately.
"So," Gianna began, stopping just short of the sofa arrangement, her posture tense, as if ready to bolt into the hallway at the slightest provocation. "I know I owe you all an explanation..."
Chelsea shook her head immediately. "You don’t. Please... take your time. We don’t expect anything from you."
The others nodded quickly—too quickly—heads bobbing in frantic agreement, making them look like startled lizards to Gianna.
She sighed, inhaled deeply, then crossed the threshold and sat on a single sofa by herself.
The looks on their faces were exactly why she had never wanted to talk about that ugly period of her life—the time she had lost everything that mattered.
"Yes, I do," she said quietly. "And I’m sorry you all had to find out on the net."
She placed the phone on the armrest, tucking one hand into her thigh as if anchoring herself. "Yes, the news is correct."
A strangled gasp escaped Florence before the older woman began to cry silently, her hands bunching into her husband’s clothes.
Gianna stilled herself, bracing against the familiar wave of pain threatening to drown her.
"Zane and I dated for about six months," she continued. A sad smile ghosted across her lips. "It was fast, but it felt genuine. And when he asked me to marry him—despite his father’s refusal—I actually found it romantic. That he was willing to let go of his father for me."
Athena snarled softly at the ghost of Herbert intruding into the story. The monster was still wreaking havoc even in death!
Gianna shrugged. "You all saw the video. He didn’t come. Left me standing at the altar after convincing me to go all out—with the dress and everything." Her mouth twitched. "Well, apart from the people. Just a handful. My family. My uncle’s. My aunt’s."
A short, bitter laugh slipped out. "Actually, I’m glad there wasn’t much of a crowd. That our affair wasn’t exactly public."
She swallowed. "It made the humiliation easier to bear."
She paused, licked her lower lip, her head dipping. "But if it had just been that... I might have moved on easily." Her voice cracked. "Then the accident happened."
She heard movement, felt someone approaching, and raised a hand instinctively, stopping them. "I’m okay. I just need to get it all out."
She didn’t look up. She didn’t care who it was.
"I lost my parents in the accident," she went on, her voice low. "It was carefully staged, no matter what the media painted. But I was too grief-stricken to check it out. It dug up memories..."
Her breath hitched. "And then... my baby."
The tears finally fell. "I lost my baby. And any chance of having another, according to the doctor who treated me."
Silence swallowed the room. Minutes passed as they let Gianna cry, let her fold into herself, let her push through it the way she needed to.
But five minutes in, Athena couldn’t take it anymore.
She jumped to her feet, crossed the room in two strides, and pulled Gianna into her arms. They collapsed together, both crying now, Athena whispering I’m sorry over and over again, like a prayer.
Gianna was too exhausted to tell her it wasn’t her fault.
That there was nothing to apologize for.
