The Bride Who Vanished

Chapter 1

I was head over heels in love with Nathan Cole, and the whole world knew it.

For him, I grew out my hair into long, silky black waves. I learned to cook, cleaned up my act, and molded myself into everything he ever wanted.

After five years of chasing him, he finally said yes to my proposal.

I was delirious with happiness. So when Ivy Monroe asked to meet me that night, I didn’t hesitate.

Ivy—Nathan’s first love, his "once-in-a-lifetime" girl—had come back a year ago begging for another chance. But I was in the way, and she never got it.

That night in the hotel, she slapped a diagnosis paper on the table like it was a trump card.

“Clara Evans, I’m dying. Stage four stomach cancer. The doctor gave me three months, tops. Could you… give Nathan back to me? I won’t be around much longer anyway. Once I’m gone, you’ll still have him.”

I loved Nathan too much.

No way in hell I was giving him up—not for three months, not for three minutes.

I shook my head. “No. Not happening. Not even for a second.”

Her eyes darkened with fury and despair.

“Clara, do you really think I won’t make him hate you for the rest of his life?”

I lit a cigarette, took a long drag, and smiled.

“He’s gonna love me forever… Oh, by the way, we got engaged today.”

I flicked the butt at her feet and walked away without a backward glance.

That night, Ivy slit her wrists in a hotel bathtub.

Her suicide note was short—one sentence scrawled in red ink:

Clara, I already gave him up. Why can’t you let me go?

Right next to the note was a cigarette butt… with my lipstick mark on it.

The cancer diagnosis? Vanished.

I cried as I tried to explain it to Nathan. “She lied, Nathan! She really had cancer. She was punishing me for taking you away—don’t you get it?”

The police confirmed Ivy’s illness.

I waited for Nathan to realize he'd blamed the wrong person. To apologize. To come back.

Instead, he screamed and slapped me—twice.

“You knew she didn’t have long! Why did you push her like that? You’re a monster, Clara! You should’ve died instead!”

He cut me off completely—phone, socials, everything.

I stayed holed up in my room for two days, trying to pull myself together, thinking of ways to win him back.

Then I got a text—from an unknown number claiming to be him.

“Kneel three times in front of the bathtub Ivy died in, and I’ll forgive you.”

I didn’t think twice. I went straight to the hotel.

As soon as I stepped inside, someone pressed a towel soaked in something sweet and sharp against my nose.

When I woke up...
I was in Northern Honduras.

---

The drone of the plane’s landing gear jolted me back to the present.

A female officer leaned over and whispered gently, “Clara Evans, we’re home.”

The plane touched down, wheels kissing familiar soil.

My sister, Emma, was waiting at the arrivals gate. She ran toward me, arms flailing, crying and laughing at the same time as she threw herself around me.

My eyes burned, but not a single tear came out.

“Clara…”

Someone else said my name.

I looked up and froze.

Nathan Cole was standing next to my sister.

I didn’t recognize him at first.

My mouth opened, but no words came out.

Emma looped her arm through mine. “Come on, sis. Let’s go home. Mom and Dad have been calling non-stop, they’re going nuts.”

Nathan drove. Emma rode shotgun.

They talked about things I couldn’t follow. I had no idea what any of it meant. I just sat there, quiet.

Halfway home, Emma jumped out to grab something from a maternity store.

She came back with a big apron-looking thing in a shopping bag.

I blinked. “You cook now?”

She flinched, just a little. Didn’t answer.

Nathan looked at me through the rearview mirror, like I was trying to snoop into something I shouldn’t.

It got awkward fast. I shut my eyes and pretended to sleep.

When we got home, I stepped over a charcoal basin my mom had placed at the door—some old superstition about driving away bad energy.

Before I could say much, Emma dragged me into the bathroom.

I told her I’d already showered before the flight.

She insisted. “You’ve been through hell. You need to wash off the bad luck again.”

I stood there frozen. She quickly apologized.

“Sorry, sis. I shouldn’t have said that.”

I shook my head. “It’s fine.”

It wasn’t her fault.
I was just... fragile.

I slid into the bath. Emma gently traced the old scars on my body.

“Does it hurt?”

I tried to smile. “Not really.”

Her fingers brushed the chafed marks on my wrist.

Then she asked quietly, “Ivy slit her wrists here, right? Why do you think she did it in the bathtub?”

I sank a little deeper into the water.

“I’ll wash on my own.”

She mumbled an “okay” and tiptoed out.

I heard her whisper outside the door, “I brought up Ivy by accident. She got upset.”

Nathan paused. I expected him to lose it at the mention of that name.

But his voice came back calm.

“Let her be.”

I had no idea why Nathan was still hanging around my family.

By the time I landed in Honduras, I knew the message had been a scam. That “kneel three times” text wasn’t from him.

But his hate? That was real.
He blamed me for Ivy’s death, no doubt about it.

And I’d been missing for two years.
I assumed he’d moved on. Found someone new.

Never in a million years did I expect to see him again…

---

After my bath, I came downstairs.

Emma was at the dining table, playing with her phone in her new apron. My mom peeled shrimp for her and fed her one. Nathan and my dad stood out on the balcony, smoking, watching her like hawks.

My mom waved me over.

I picked up my chopsticks, barely managed a bite, when Emma piped up, “Can I have some Coke?”

Mom scowled. “Emma, how many times do I have to tell you? Pregnant women shouldn’t drink soda!”

Then it hit me.

That wasn’t just an apron—Emma had bought a maternity apron at that baby store.

My heart skipped a beat.

My baby sister—four years younger than me—was twenty-two.
Fresh out of college.
And already pregnant?

I swallowed my rice slowly.

“Emma… are you married? Who’s the father?”

Silence. Thick, stifling.

My dad sighed.

Emma’s eyes welled up.

Nathan set his glass down.

“Clara… the baby is mine.”

Chapter 2

My knuckles turned white from how hard I was gripping the bowl.

The chopsticks trembled in my fingers until I finally gave up and set them down.

I’m not sure what my face looked like at that moment, but it was enough to scare my mom.

She shot up from her chair, practically threw herself between me and Emma, shielding her like I might explode any second.

“Clara, she’s your sister! You can’t treat her like you did Ivy Monroe!”

It felt like someone had wrapped their hand around my heart and was squeezing tighter by the second. I could barely breathe.

I was done explaining myself about Ivy.
No one had believed me then—not even my own mother.
So what was the point in trying now?

Emma, half-hidden behind Mom, choked back a sob.

“I’m sorry, Clara. You disappeared for so long, we thought you were dead… I know you must hate me, but Nathan and I—what we have is real. Please, just let us be happy. Please.”

The pain in my chest crawled all the way to my fingertips. My voice cracked when I finally spoke.

“I stopped having anything to do with Nathan two years ago. So there’s nothing to let go of.”

Emma glanced at Nathan. Their eyes met briefly before he stepped in.

“Clara, come on. We both know that’s not true. But Emma’s carrying my child now. For the baby’s sake… please don’t hurt her.”

I slowly lifted my head and stared right at him, voice like ice.

“Did I ever say I was going to hurt her?”

But no matter what I said, they always twisted it into something ugly.

My tone got sharper. I couldn’t help it.

Mom, who had just started to relax, instantly stiffened again.

“Clara, you drove Ivy to suicide. Emma spent two full years helping Nathan get over that trauma. He’s finally let go of the hate. Don’t ruin it again. If you hurt Emma now, Nathan will never forgive you.”

And just like that, I suddenly felt sorry… for Ivy.

She took her own life to make Nathan hate me forever.

She really believed that hate would last a lifetime.

But in the end? Emma only needed two years to undo it all.

I looked at my mother—her face distorted with tension, like she was the one who had done something noble by choosing sides.

“So I should be grateful to Emma, huh? How could I ever think of hurting someone so… wonderful.”

I pushed my bowl away and stood up.

“I’m done eating. You all enjoy yourselves.”

I went back to my room and crawled into bed, pulling the blanket over my head like it could shut the world out.

I wasn’t surprised Mom was taking Emma’s side.
She always had.

When I was twelve, my parents divorced.
I stayed with Dad; Emma went with Mom.

Dad ran a trade company—always busy, always traveling.

That was when a woman started looking after me.
She wanted to marry my dad, so she treated me like gold.

Took me out of school behind his back.
Snuck me off to get a tattoo.
Covered for me when I got into fights. Even pretended to be my mom during parent-teacher meetings.

It wasn’t long before I started spiraling—hard.

Mom eventually threatened to cut me off completely.

Then I met Nathan Cole in high school, and everything changed.

He liked good girls.
So I scrubbed off the tattoo, grew my hair out, signed up for extracurriculars.
Did everything I could to become someone he might love.

Eventually, we got into the same college.

Both my parents adored him after that.

But no matter how much they liked Nathan, how could they just… let him shack up with my sister after I vanished?

Did they even stop to think about what that would do to me?

Oh, right.

They thought I was dead.

What dead girl gets a say in anything?

I don’t know how long I stayed curled up in bed before I heard a soft knock.

It was Mom. She came in holding a glass of warm milk.

She had changed into her pajamas.

“You staying here tonight?” I asked.

Her cheeks flushed slightly.

“After you disappeared… your father and I got back together. We thought maybe, if we hadn’t divorced, you wouldn’t have ended up so… twisted. Maybe Ivy would still be alive. So we decided—for Emma’s sake—we’d give it another shot.”

Of course they did.

I stared at her, numb.
My disappearance had handed them everything on a silver platter.

“That’s… great.”

She reached out and gently smoothed my hair.

I flinched.

The sudden tenderness felt completely foreign.

She left soon after.

And the entire time—since I stepped foot back in that house—not once did she ask me...

what it was like in Northern Honduras.
What I’d gone through.
How I survived.

Chapter 3

After one night of sleep, I moved into the old apartment my dad had bought for me years ago.

Everything in the house came in pairs—matching cups, twin pillows, his-and-hers toothbrushes.

It made my eyes ache just looking at it.

Mom told me it was time to get a job.
"Rejoin society," she said, like I was some kind of stray she’d rescued.

But she made it clear I shouldn’t work for my dad’s trading company.

I didn’t have to ask why.
Nathan and Emma both worked there.

“You always liked messing around in the kitchen,” she said. “Why not go help out at my friend’s new dessert café? You can start from the bottom, learn the ropes.”

I agreed, assuming she meant I’d be learning how to knead dough or make tarts.

Turns out “starting from the bottom” meant waiting tables.

I overheard her telling her friend,

“Clara’s always been a handful. This will knock the edge off her temper.”

That phrase again.

I’d heard it before—in Northern Hon.
Back then, it was Madame Jade who said it.

When I first arrived there, I thought they were going to harvest my organs.
I was wrong.

That place was darker than anything I’d imagined.

The village specialized in creating ritual objects for cults.
And their materials?
They came from living people.

Skulls. Teeth. Skin. Bones.
Even women’s genitalia—used to craft something called “meat lotus.”

They wouldn’t waste a single part.
After the “artifact” was made, the rest of the body was butchered and sold.

Nothing was ever left behind.

On my first day, I lied.
Told the guards I was in the same business back home.
Said I wanted to help. Work with their leader.

They put a rope around my neck like a dog leash and dragged me to Madame Jade.

She was in her forties.
Only needed a few questions to sniff out my lie.

She almost had me executed on the spot—until a man stepped in.

Julian Black.

They said his father was Chinese, his mother Burmese.
He was Madame Jade’s youngest and most favored lover.
Also the most ruthless killer in all of Myanmar.

She picked him herself out of hundreds.

Julian said I reminded him of his dead sister.
Said he wanted to keep me around.

Madame Jade doted on him and agreed.

But not before warning him—

“She’s wild. You’ll need to break her first.”

The dessert shop was huge.
It offered dine-in, take-out, even delivery.

I’d just finished a long shift and was about to clock out when Nathan Cole walked in—Emma right beside him.

They ordered a full tray of desserts.

Then Emma turned to me and said sweetly,

“Come join us. I even called some old friends.”

I tried to leave. She grabbed my hand.

“Still mad at me, sis?”

I forced a smile. “No, I’m just tired. Want to go home.”

“Then relax for a bit before you go. Come on, they’re all people you know.”

She pushed me down into the seat.

A few minutes later, three or four familiar faces showed up—guys and girls Nathan and I used to hang out with.

As they approached, they all greeted someone with a cheerful,

“Hey, sis-in-law!”

I nodded instinctively.

And then realized…

They weren’t talking to me.
They meant Emma.

Among the group was Sophie Grant, my former best friend.

She came over and gave my shoulder a little rub, trying to break the tension.

“Clara, I remember you used to love matcha cake…”

She turned to Nathan.

“Did you order it?”

Emma bit her lip.

“I hate matcha. So Nathan skipped it. But I’ll order it now—it’s fine.”

She waved to a server.

I stood up. “I’ll get it.”

“You’re off the clock!” Emma called after me. “Let the staff take care of it!”

Sophie’s eyes widened.

“Wait… Clara, you work here?”

“Yeah.” I sat back down.

She waited for me to explain—expecting some clever excuse, a story to justify why I was waiting tables now.

The old me would’ve had one ready.

But Ivy Monroe and Northern Honduras had taught me to keep my mouth shut.

The cake came.

Sophie reached out to grab it but stumbled, her hand catching my left arm.

I winced and jerked away instinctively.

“What happened?” she asked, alarmed.

“Old injury. Not fully healed.”

What I didn’t say was—six months ago, that arm was broken.

Someone had tipped off Madame Jade, accusing Julian and me of being lovers.

She didn’t ask for evidence. She wanted blood.

And as a test of loyalty, she ordered Julian to break my arm.

If he refused, she’d have me killed.

I’ll never forget the look on his face—cold, brutal, but something else flickering underneath.

His calloused hand trembled as it brushed against my skin.

I met his eyes, saw the grief in them, and whispered,

“Don’t hesitate.”

But he did.

So I took matters into my own hands—literally.

I grabbed his hand, pressed it against my arm, and slammed it into an iron bar.

The crack echoed through the room.

He stood frozen, stunned.

Then he ripped his hand away from mine and stormed out without a word.

I curled up in the corner, sweat dripping down my forehead like rain.

But I didn’t cry out.

Because I knew…

He’d already hurt enough for the both of us.

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