Faking My Death to Destroy My Fiancé - Chapter 11: Chapter 11
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The driver had doubled back to check—and damn it all—Thomas was there too.
Cassandra would be okay. She had to be okay.
Matthew clung to this fragile hope as the night stretched into eternity. Julia's resuscitation dragged on for hours, leaving him wired and drained. The hospital walls seemed to press inward, each minute crawling by like an hour.
Only when dawn broke did he finally let his eyes close—just for a moment.
When he awoke, duty yanked him upright. He adjusted his rumpled suit, shoved his exhaustion down deep, and bolted for their engagement banquet. His fiancée should have been there already, waiting with that quiet smile of hers.
But the space where she should have been stood empty.
An icy finger traced Matthew's spine as his gaze swept the room. The murmur of guests filled the air, but Cassandra's absence screamed louder than any voice.
His phone was in his hand before he realized it. One call. Two. Both died unanswered.
By the third attempt, his hands shook so badly he nearly dropped the device. The approaching footsteps barely registered until a grave voice cut through the tension.
"Mr. Lawrence." Mr. Ban entered with a cadre of officers, his expression somber. "We regret to inform you..."
Matthew turned slowly, dread pooling like lead in his gut.
"...Forensics has confirmed the victim from yesterday's Mavel District explosion was your fiancée, Cassandra."
The world tilted violently. A white-hot crack split through Matthew's mind, his vision swimming.
"No." The word barely escaped his lips. His wide, disbelieving stare locked onto Mr. Ban. "That's not possible. You're wrong. She...she can't be—"
Mr. Ban extended an autopsy report like it was a death warrant. "My condolences," he said quietly.
The clinical text burned into Matthew's retinas:
Cause of Death: Accidental ingestion of sleeping pills. Failure to engage parking brake. Vehicle rolled into chemical plant, triggering fatal explosion.
Matthew's legs buckled. The paper trembled in his grip, Cassandra's name printed with cruel finality.
"Miss Cassandra was being treated for severe neurasthenia," Mr. Ban continued. "Frankly, we initially suspected you might have engineered this to reunite with your former lover."
The room erupted in scandalized whispers. Polite society's admiration curdled into open suspicion.
Matthew didn't notice.
Grief hollowed him out, left him gasping like a landed fish. His eyes burned crimson, breath coming in ragged bursts.
Mr. Ban's measured tone became an executioner's axe: "You had every opportunity to save her. Saw the car rolling away."
"You could've stopped it." The words dripped with quiet condemnation. "But you walked away—time after time."
"She trusted you, Mr. Lawrence. You were her only family. And you left her to die alone."
Each syllable landed like a sledgehammer. The ringing in Matthew's ears drowned out everything—thought, reason, sanity.
The unflappable titan of industry crumbled before the crowd. His knees hit marble with a crack, a wounded-animal howl tearing from his throat.
No trace remained of the polished executive—just a shattered man weeping uncontrollably, tears carving tracks through his ashen face. At some point, his raw screams drove everyone out, leaving him curled fetal on the floor, whispering broken apologies to the empty air.
"Cass...I'm sorry...God, I'm so sorry..."
Mr. Ban's hand settled on his shoulder. "Come. You should see her."
The morgue reeked of formaldehyde and charred flesh.
The explosion's toxins had ravaged Cassandra's remains beyond any hope of an open-casket funeral. Matthew stood paralyzed behind thick glass, a gas mask strapped to his face like some grotesque parody of intimacy.
What little they'd recovered was unrecognizable—just scorched fragments hauled from the wreckage by brave firefighters.
Silent tears cut through the numbness. His palms pressed against cold glass as the enormity of his loss crushed him. This wasn't how their story should have ended. Cassandra deserved sunlight and laughter, not this clinical nightmare.
Now all that remained were pieces—of her, of him, of everything they might have been—and no way to make them whole again.
Cassandra would be okay. She had to be okay.
Matthew clung to this fragile hope as the night stretched into eternity. Julia's resuscitation dragged on for hours, leaving him wired and drained. The hospital walls seemed to press inward, each minute crawling by like an hour.
Only when dawn broke did he finally let his eyes close—just for a moment.
When he awoke, duty yanked him upright. He adjusted his rumpled suit, shoved his exhaustion down deep, and bolted for their engagement banquet. His fiancée should have been there already, waiting with that quiet smile of hers.
But the space where she should have been stood empty.
An icy finger traced Matthew's spine as his gaze swept the room. The murmur of guests filled the air, but Cassandra's absence screamed louder than any voice.
His phone was in his hand before he realized it. One call. Two. Both died unanswered.
By the third attempt, his hands shook so badly he nearly dropped the device. The approaching footsteps barely registered until a grave voice cut through the tension.
"Mr. Lawrence." Mr. Ban entered with a cadre of officers, his expression somber. "We regret to inform you..."
Matthew turned slowly, dread pooling like lead in his gut.
"...Forensics has confirmed the victim from yesterday's Mavel District explosion was your fiancée, Cassandra."
The world tilted violently. A white-hot crack split through Matthew's mind, his vision swimming.
"No." The word barely escaped his lips. His wide, disbelieving stare locked onto Mr. Ban. "That's not possible. You're wrong. She...she can't be—"
Mr. Ban extended an autopsy report like it was a death warrant. "My condolences," he said quietly.
The clinical text burned into Matthew's retinas:
Cause of Death: Accidental ingestion of sleeping pills. Failure to engage parking brake. Vehicle rolled into chemical plant, triggering fatal explosion.
Matthew's legs buckled. The paper trembled in his grip, Cassandra's name printed with cruel finality.
"Miss Cassandra was being treated for severe neurasthenia," Mr. Ban continued. "Frankly, we initially suspected you might have engineered this to reunite with your former lover."
The room erupted in scandalized whispers. Polite society's admiration curdled into open suspicion.
Matthew didn't notice.
Grief hollowed him out, left him gasping like a landed fish. His eyes burned crimson, breath coming in ragged bursts.
Mr. Ban's measured tone became an executioner's axe: "You had every opportunity to save her. Saw the car rolling away."
"You could've stopped it." The words dripped with quiet condemnation. "But you walked away—time after time."
"She trusted you, Mr. Lawrence. You were her only family. And you left her to die alone."
Each syllable landed like a sledgehammer. The ringing in Matthew's ears drowned out everything—thought, reason, sanity.
The unflappable titan of industry crumbled before the crowd. His knees hit marble with a crack, a wounded-animal howl tearing from his throat.
No trace remained of the polished executive—just a shattered man weeping uncontrollably, tears carving tracks through his ashen face. At some point, his raw screams drove everyone out, leaving him curled fetal on the floor, whispering broken apologies to the empty air.
"Cass...I'm sorry...God, I'm so sorry..."
Mr. Ban's hand settled on his shoulder. "Come. You should see her."
The morgue reeked of formaldehyde and charred flesh.
The explosion's toxins had ravaged Cassandra's remains beyond any hope of an open-casket funeral. Matthew stood paralyzed behind thick glass, a gas mask strapped to his face like some grotesque parody of intimacy.
What little they'd recovered was unrecognizable—just scorched fragments hauled from the wreckage by brave firefighters.
Silent tears cut through the numbness. His palms pressed against cold glass as the enormity of his loss crushed him. This wasn't how their story should have ended. Cassandra deserved sunlight and laughter, not this clinical nightmare.
Now all that remained were pieces—of her, of him, of everything they might have been—and no way to make them whole again.
End of Faking My Death to Destroy My Fiancé Chapter 11. Continue reading Chapter 12 or return to Faking My Death to Destroy My Fiancé book page.