Nineteen Weddings, Nineteen Death Sentences

The red carpet to Adrian Thorne's side was never paved with flowers. It was a killing floor, meticulously designed. Two years. Nineteen wedding attempts. And every single one ended in blood. The fifth attempt: brake failure on the bridal car. I spent three months in the ER with a shattered left arm. The twelfth: botulism at the menu tasting. I had my stomach pumped and nearly asphyxiated on the table. The eighteenth... that remains my waking nightmare. I fell down a marble staircase polished to a lethal shine, losing the child I never even got to hold. Everyone called me the "Thorne Curse." For a long time, even I believed it—that bad luck was just etched into my bones. Time and again, I crawled out of pools of my own blood. I did it for a decade-old promise of repayment. I did it for the man I had loved for ten years. Then came the nineteenth attempt. A floral arch weighing hundreds of pounds collapsed during our vows, crushing me into the ICU. Ribs snapped, organs bleeding, I fought for three days just to claw my way back to the living. But the moment I woke, through the crack in the door, I heard Adrian’s voice. "Mr. Thorne, that was too close. If Elinor had actually died..." "I didn't have a choice." Adrian’s tone was so cold it felt foreign. "Her father died saving me. I’m shackled by that debt. But I love Serena. She is the only one I want to marry." His voice dropped, lethal and precise. "To clear the path for Serena, I don’t care if I have to stage nineteen accidents or ruin Elinor beyond repair. I will do whatever it takes." Lying there, staring at the map of scars on my body, something inside me finally shattered. I realized my suffering wasn't a twisted joke of fate. It was a love letter to another woman—his devotion to her, carved into my very skin. Since his "debt of honor" kept him from kicking me out, I decided to play the villain and cut the cord myself.