I Died a Bride, I Woke Up a Vengeance - Chapter 1: Chapter 1
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My husband Dominick Hampton's sister, Angie Hampton, was the golden child of their family—spoiled, manipulative, and utterly shameless.
On our wedding day, she showed up in a ridiculously over-the-top princess gown, stealing the spotlight like she was the damn bride. Then, with a perfectly timed "accident," she "tripped" and dumped scalding hot water down my dress. My skin burned red, but all she did was bat her teary eyes at Dominick and whine, "Oh, Dominick, I'm always so clumsy!"
And what did my loving husband do? He patted her head like she was some helpless kitten and said, "It's not your fault, Angie. Lynda should've caught the cup better."
As if that wasn't enough, she invited herself on our honeymoon. While we were diving, she "accidentally" blocked my oxygen tube, leaving me to choke on seawater. Everyone bought her innocent act.
By the time we got home, she'd already helped herself to my jewelry, designer bags, and luxury car.
But karma's a funny thing.
When I opened my eyes again, I was back on my wedding day—right before walking down the aisle. The grand doors swung open, the spotlight hit the red carpet, and I took my father's arm, ready to make my entrance.
Then she appeared.
Angie strutted in from the opposite end of the carpet, wearing a pink monstrosity of a dress—more rhinestones than my actual wedding gown, a tiara perched on her head, looking like a wannabe Disney princess.
"Lynda, you look so beautiful today!" she gushed loudly, ensuring every guest turned to admire her instead. She waved and posed like she was at the Oscars, soaking up the attention like the narcissist she was.
Then she opened her arms for a hug.
In my past life, she'd used that moment to rip off my veil and unzip my dress, humiliating me in front of everyone.
Not this time.
As she lunged at me, I discreetly slipped a small blade from my father's pocket. When she tried to snag my veil with her necklace, I "accidentally" slashed the side of her dress.
Her gasp was priceless.
The second she moved, her gown split open, exposing way more than she intended. The crowd erupted in shocked murmurs. She scrambled to cover herself, but the tighter she held the fabric, the more it tore.
I feigned concern. "Angie, you're so… enthusiastic today."
She tried to stand, but her heavy skirt sent her tumbling—right into a puddle of champagne. The kids laughed, a few creeps snapped photos, and the livestream I'd arranged captured every glorious second.
"Stop it! Please!" Angie begged, shoulders hunched in humiliation.
Oh, now she understood embarrassment.
Dominick rushed over, draping his jacket over her like some knight in shining armor. "Angie, go change," he murmured, shooting me a look like I was the problem.
She glanced longingly at the flower petals about to fall—her big moment—but with her dress in tatters, she had no choice but to slink away.
My father placed my hand in Dominick's. "I've known you since you were a boy. Take care of my daughter."
Dominick slid the ring onto my finger, but his gaze kept darting backstage—where Angie had disappeared.
"Sorry," he muttered when I squeezed his hand. "Angie's helpless without me. I should check on her."
Before I could protest, Angie's voice chirped from the side door: "Dominick, come here!"
And just like that, he dropped my hand and went running.
As I watched him leave, one thought burned in my mind:
How the hell did I miss this in my last life?
On our wedding day, she showed up in a ridiculously over-the-top princess gown, stealing the spotlight like she was the damn bride. Then, with a perfectly timed "accident," she "tripped" and dumped scalding hot water down my dress. My skin burned red, but all she did was bat her teary eyes at Dominick and whine, "Oh, Dominick, I'm always so clumsy!"
And what did my loving husband do? He patted her head like she was some helpless kitten and said, "It's not your fault, Angie. Lynda should've caught the cup better."
As if that wasn't enough, she invited herself on our honeymoon. While we were diving, she "accidentally" blocked my oxygen tube, leaving me to choke on seawater. Everyone bought her innocent act.
By the time we got home, she'd already helped herself to my jewelry, designer bags, and luxury car.
But karma's a funny thing.
When I opened my eyes again, I was back on my wedding day—right before walking down the aisle. The grand doors swung open, the spotlight hit the red carpet, and I took my father's arm, ready to make my entrance.
Then she appeared.
Angie strutted in from the opposite end of the carpet, wearing a pink monstrosity of a dress—more rhinestones than my actual wedding gown, a tiara perched on her head, looking like a wannabe Disney princess.
"Lynda, you look so beautiful today!" she gushed loudly, ensuring every guest turned to admire her instead. She waved and posed like she was at the Oscars, soaking up the attention like the narcissist she was.
Then she opened her arms for a hug.
In my past life, she'd used that moment to rip off my veil and unzip my dress, humiliating me in front of everyone.
Not this time.
As she lunged at me, I discreetly slipped a small blade from my father's pocket. When she tried to snag my veil with her necklace, I "accidentally" slashed the side of her dress.
Her gasp was priceless.
The second she moved, her gown split open, exposing way more than she intended. The crowd erupted in shocked murmurs. She scrambled to cover herself, but the tighter she held the fabric, the more it tore.
I feigned concern. "Angie, you're so… enthusiastic today."
She tried to stand, but her heavy skirt sent her tumbling—right into a puddle of champagne. The kids laughed, a few creeps snapped photos, and the livestream I'd arranged captured every glorious second.
"Stop it! Please!" Angie begged, shoulders hunched in humiliation.
Oh, now she understood embarrassment.
Dominick rushed over, draping his jacket over her like some knight in shining armor. "Angie, go change," he murmured, shooting me a look like I was the problem.
She glanced longingly at the flower petals about to fall—her big moment—but with her dress in tatters, she had no choice but to slink away.
My father placed my hand in Dominick's. "I've known you since you were a boy. Take care of my daughter."
Dominick slid the ring onto my finger, but his gaze kept darting backstage—where Angie had disappeared.
"Sorry," he muttered when I squeezed his hand. "Angie's helpless without me. I should check on her."
Before I could protest, Angie's voice chirped from the side door: "Dominick, come here!"
And just like that, he dropped my hand and went running.
As I watched him leave, one thought burned in my mind:
How the hell did I miss this in my last life?
End of I Died a Bride, I Woke Up a Vengeance Chapter 1. Continue reading Chapter 2 or return to I Died a Bride, I Woke Up a Vengeance book page.