Revenge Of The Jilted Bride (Ophelia)

Ophelia Sinclair was dead.

Her body weighed down with sandbags, had been tossed into the icy depths of the sea for three days, but even in death, her spirit clung on.

It was as if her emotions had run too deep and too raw to keep her soul anchored, and grief itself had become the chain that bound her. She felt the crushing pressure of the water, the suffocating stillness that surrounded her like a silent scream.

Suddenly, there was a splash-a single burst breaking the dark, endless blue of the ocean. Ophelia's soul, caught in a haze of confusion, could just make out a dark figure swimming toward her, cutting through the inky blue. The ripples in the water stirred something in her -a flicker of recognition, though her consciousness hung on the edge of oblivion.

'Is that Kenneth?' she thought, her heart-or what was left of it-stirring. 'We've been divorced for three years. What could he possibly be doing here?'

Through the blur of ocean water, Kenneth Sinclair reached for her, his face strained with anxiety. His strong arms encircled her cold, lifeless form, pulling her to the surface with a force driven by something deeper than mere survival.

Desperation etched in every muscle, he pressed his lips to hers, which were now swollen and pale, as he tried to breathe life back into her. His chest heaved, each breath carrying a desperate plea, a silent command for her to return to him, to fight against the pull of death itself.

His face was hardened and unshaven while his strong jaw was stubbled. His eyes, bloodshot and wild, brimmed with pain, though he tried to mask it with steely determination.

He unfastened the sandbags dragging her down and then carried her to shore. With shaking hands, he knelt beside her, his voice breaking as he gave her mouth-to-mouth and pressed down on her chest in a futile attempt to restart her heart, over and over. "Ophelia, you're not dying on me. Wake up, damn it. Wake up..." His voice cracked, frantic.

Water droplets dripped from his soaked hair, mingling with the tears streaming down his face, falling onto Ophelia's ghostly pale cheeks. She had never seen him so defeated, so undone.

Beside him, his assistant's voice quivered, her eyes reddened with unshed tears. "Mr. Kenneth, Miss Ophelia is... She's gone."

Kenneth's hands froze mid-press, and he slumped forward as if the life had been sucked out of him too. His fingers, long and graceful, shook as they brushed a strand of hair from her face. He cupped her cheeks gently, as if holding something too precious, too fragile. "No, she isn't," he whispered hoarsely by her ear, his voice barely audible, more to himself than anyone else.

He leaned down and wrapped his arms tightly around her, pressing his cheek against her cold forehead. "Elia, you never liked me touching you, remember? You'd always push me away when I hugged you like this. So why aren't you pushing me right now? "Please, just open your eyes and look at me, just once. I don't care if you want me to stay away from you forever or if you want me dead. As long as you're alive, I'll do whatever you want. Just, please..."

He begged like a man who had lost everything, his pleas spilling out in broken whispers, over and over, as if the sheer force of his will could bring her back.

By the time night fell, the waves crashed rhythmically against the shore, indifferent to the tragedy playing out on the sand.

A group of bodyguards, clad in black, arrived with two people their hands tied. They were forced to kneel before Ophelia's lifeless form.

Her spirit stood silently, watching from the side. One of the captives was Miles Lewis, the man she had loved so deeply. The other was Emily Hastings, the woman who had taken everything from her.

Ophelia's thoughts drifted back to three days ago. After being drained of her final worth by the Hastings family, she was sold to a sadistic man in exchange for their own gain.

In her desperate flight, Ophelia wound that man. She ran to Miles for help, only to be betrayed by Miles, who she trusted. He handed her back to that monster, where she endured unimaginable torture before finally being stabbed to death-over and over-bleeding out on the cold floor.

"Elia, let me get your revenge. Alright?" Kenneth's voice was soft, so soft that it barely touched the air, as if he was unaware the body he was holding was no longer alive.

Miles' eyes widened in terror, muffled screams coming from behind the black tape over his mouth. He shook his head, pleading for mercy with every fiber of his being.

Next to him, Emily's wedding gown was soaked in blood, her body barely clinging to life, covered in gaping wounds.

Kenneth lifted Ophelia's limp hand, placing a gun in her grey, lifeless palm and aiming it at Miles. At that moment, the world around Kenneth faded to a hushed silence, a serene stillness that belied the chaos within him.

Then, the deafening gunshots shattered the air, drowning out the seagulls' cries and penetrating the blowing wind with a chilling finality. It was a cacophony so piercing that it seemed to slice through the very fabric of reality, reverberating in everyone's ears like a haunting melody of despair.

Kenneth fired the gun in rapid succession. Each shot hit non-lethal spots with precision, but found the most excruciating parts, the agony written all over Miles' face. He couldn't scream. The pain was endless, unbearable-almost worse than death itself. Kenneth's voice was cold now, devoid of all emotion as he rose to his feet. "Bury him."

The implication hung heavy in the atmosphere, dark and suffocating. He meant for Miles to be buried alive, to suffer in silence, encased in earth, deprived of light and hope.

Just then, the Hastings family came rushing to the shore, their faces pale with panic. "Emily, don't be afraid. Mommy and Daddy are here to save you!" Emily's father's voice cracked as he tried to sound brave, but the tremor in his words betrayed his fear. 'How ironic,' Ophelia thought. 'They arrived so quickly this time. Too bad they weren't so eager to help when it was me.'

"Let go of Emily." Emily's two brothers, Harry and Nathan Hastings, charged forward, but the well-trained bodyguards blocked them with ease.

Harry shouted, his voice filled with desperation, "Kenneth, it was Ophelia who owes you, not Emily. If you want revenge, go after her. Why kidnap Emily?"

Nathan, on the other hand, was furious, his face red with rage. "Ophelia, you better tell Kenneth to let Emily go. If anything happens to her, you're dead. I'll make your life a living hell..."

Even in his disheveled state, Kenneth radiated an even more frigid and terrifying energy that made the air around him seem thicker, more suffocating. His eyes, once full of life, now held nothing but emptiness, a hollow, desolate gaze that could send chills down anyone's spine.

"Dead?" Kenneth laughed, but there was no warmth, just pure, bone-chilling cold. "She's the girl I cherished more than my life, and you people had the audacity to make her suffer like that?" His hand moved swiftly, grabbing the gun in a single, fluid motion. Without a second thought, he raised his arm.

The crack of the gunshot echoed across the beach, and Emily's forehead erupted in a gruesome spray of crimson. Her eyes stared blankly ahead, not even given the chance to close before life was snuffed out.

"Emily..." The Hastings family watched in horror as their beloved Emily crumpled lifelessly to the ground.

Heather Hastings, Ophelia's mother, fainted instantly, her body collapsing under the weight of her grief. Owen Hastings, Ophelia's father, stood frozen, his face ashen, veins bulging from his temples, while Harry and Nathan fell to their knees, utterly shattered, their souls crushed beyond repair.

Watching their beloved one die before them felt like the cruelest punishment imaginable. It was as if time had frozen, and the vibrant colors of their lives had turned into grey, leaving only the stark reality of tragedy.

Yet, as Ophelia watched from her ghostly perch, her chest tightened with a searing, familiar pain.

She should've been the one they were crying over, and she was the real daughter of Heather and Owen. But to them, she had been nothing more than a pawn in their twisted game, a tool to be used and discarded for profit.

When she was stabbed, bleeding to death on the cold floor, her parents had not been there to save her. They were oblivious to her suffering, indifferent as her body was dumped into the sea and left to rot.

Ophelia had endured twenty long years of suffering, a relentless battle against the cruel currents of life. After what felt like an eternity, she finally discovered the truth about her biological parents, a revelation that should have filled her heart with joy. However, years of longing for her family only ended up as a joke.

A bitter laugh bubbled up in her soul, tears streaming down her face as the wind carried her hollow laughter away. The irony was suffocating.

Sensing Ophelia's unspoken sorrow, Kenneth gently lifted her frail, lifeless body, cradling her in his arms as if she were made of glass. He bent down and placed a soft kiss on her cold forehead, the touch as delicate as the wind itself.Belonging © NôvelDram/a.Org.

The sea breeze tousled her blood-stained white gown, the hem fluttering eerily in the wind. Her pasty arm hung limply by her side, her head rested on Kenneth's shoulder, and her long hair flowed like ribbons, dancing in the wind.

Kenneth's tall, shadowy figure stood stark against the darkening sky, and with each step, he waded deeper and deeper into the cold, unforgiving ocean. "Don't be afraid, Elia. I'm coming with you." His voice was soft and calm, as if he was promising her nothing more than a walk in the park.

Ophelia's soul, still in the air, watched in disbelief. 'What is Kenneth doing? Has he lost his mind?' she screamed silently, her voice nothing more than a whisper in the wind. 'He's already avenged me. What more does he want? What, he wants to... die with me?" She called out to him, frantically trying to stop him, her ethereal form writhing in desperation. But there was nothing a fading spirit could do. She was powerless against the madness gripping him.

'Kenneth, you crazy fool!' she screamed in her mind, though she knew he couldn't hear her.

The waves roared louder, crashing against the shore, as storm clouds gathered overhead. The full moon, once bright and silver, disappeared behind a veil of thick, black clouds. The world darkened further as if the skies were mourning this tragic ending.

*****

Ophelia's eyes snapped open to be greeted by a blinding sea of white. Her breath hitched as the sharp, sterile scent of disinfectant filled her nostrils, stinging with its acrid presence.

'Where am I?' she thought in shock, her pulse quickening. 'Wasn't I dead?'

The soft, rhythmic beeping of machines filled the hollow silence of the hospital room. It was eerie, almost hypnotic, as if the room itself were breathing.

She sat up, her fingers trembling as she ripped the IV from her arm. The sudden pain was sharp but insignificant compared to the whirlwind inside her mind. Frantic, she bolted from the room, her bare feet cold against the sterile tiles of the hospital floor. "Kenneth... Where is Kenneth?" As she hurried through the corridor, a familiar voice from the room across drifted through the air, drawing her like a moth to a flame.

Ophelia stopped in her tracks, her heart lurching painfully in her chest. She peered through the glass window and saw a scene that made her stomach twist-the Hastings family. There they were, all four of them huddled around Emily's hospital bed, their faces drawn with worry and concern.

The sight was achingly familiar. It hit her like a floodgate bursting open, releasing a torrent of forgotten memories that came crashing down, one after another.

Desperate to ground herself, Ophelia pinched her arm hard, wincing as the pain confirmed the impossible truth. 'I've been... reborn?'

She had somehow been transported back five years and now she was twenty again. It had been just over half a year since the Hastings family had brought her back into their fold. And only yesterday, Owen and Heather had thrown a party to formally acknowledge her as their daughter.

At least, that was what she had thought. The hope that had once filled her chest crumbled the moment she arrived at the party. The Hastings family had merely used the occasion to promote Emily's upcoming movie. They never mentioned Ophelia-their own flesh and blood at the party.