runaway marriage

I ran away three days before my wedding. Ethan, my fiancé, killed himself in our new house and left everything to me. While I was packing up his things, I saw walls covered in my pictures, the floor still stained with blood. His assistant told me, "Mr. Hayes loved you for years. His depression was severe. Seeing you, thinking of you, was the only thing that made him feel better…" Everything was terrifying, suffocating, and strangely, incredibly sad. So, when I got a second chance, faced with my best friend Liam’s escape plan, I smiled and said, "I'm not going." I wanted to see just how far gone this man who supposedly loved me was.

Ethan died three days after I ran. My dad and brother apologetically told him I’d skipped town, and as they drove away from his mansion, they got the news: Ethan had slit his wrists. He didn't make it. His will, already prepared, left everything to me. I was in Canada when I got the call from my brother. I went numb. To me, Ethan was a stranger who’d forced a marriage proposal on my family. But everything pointed to a long-standing, deep love for me.

I flew back for the funeral, stiffly accepting Ethan’s ashes. He had no family; his background was a mystery. His assistant looked sadly at the urn and murmured, "He loved you for years. His depression was crippling; only you, the thought of you, kept him going. I thought… I thought if you married him, he’d be okay. But…" He trailed off. He wasn't blaming me, but the guilt twisted in my gut. He gave me a key. "This is the estate Mr. Hayes bought for you. The house he decorated for your wedding." The place he died.

The estate was huge, with green lawns and even a private horse track. Everything was in my favorite shade of sapphire blue. The furniture, the décor, all my taste. One room was filled with pictures of me. From sophomore year of college onwards – snapshots of my life, like he’d been watching me. The bloodstains on the floor were dark and stark. It was all horrifying, suffocating. And I was so, so sad. Then the anger hit. If he loved me, why didn’t he say something? Why barge into my life, demanding marriage? How could I have ever said yes? Was this his plan all along? To die and make me feel guilty for the rest of my life? Fat chance. I donated everything, including the house. The cleaning crew ripped the photos off the walls, tossing them onto the floor to cover the blood. Ethan Hayes, with his short, strange life, vanished.

It took me three days to accept I’d been given a second chance. Three days ago, Ethan had come to my family, practically forcing a proposal down our throats. Liam, my best friend since childhood, immediately told me to run, hide out in Canada. That’s what I did last time. This time, remembering the photos, the blood, I shook my head. "I'm not running." I said, "I need to find out why he wanted to marry me."

Ethan was a big deal. He was in a meeting when I arrived. His assistant took me to his office. "He’ll be down shortly." I just nodde...