I Died a Bride, I Woke Up a Vengeance - Chapter 3: Chapter 3
You are reading I Died a Bride, I Woke Up a Vengeance, Chapter 3: Chapter 3. Read more chapters of I Died a Bride, I Woke Up a Vengeance.
The wedding barely ended before we headed straight to the villa Dad had gifted us.
Dominick claimed it was conveniently close to Angie's school, so of course he suggested she move in with us.
The second we stepped inside, Angie's jaw hit the floor. She whipped out her phone, snapping pictures like a paparazzo at a celebrity sighting.
"Dominick, this is insane! Our new home is literally perfect," she gushed.
Our home? I thought, biting back a scoff. Don't get too comfortable, sweetheart.
I fired off a text to my lawyer, Pearson Diaz: Draft me an ironclad prenup. Now.
Dad's wedding gifts weren't exactly modest—three tech startups, a Porsche, and this sprawling estate. Not to mention Mom's jewelry collection, now under my care.
In my past life, I'd been naive. Trusted Dominick blindly. Never bothered dividing assets.
Big mistake.
After my "accidental" drowning, those tech companies skyrocketed during the AI boom. Angie paraded around in my Porsche and Mom's heirlooms like she'd hit the jackpot.
Meanwhile, my body was hastily cremated on some remote island.
Dominick and Angie played the grieving family perfectly—"If only we'd taken better care of her..."
Even the cops bought it. Diving accidents happen, right?
As I'd choked on seawater, I'd believed it too—equipment malfunction. And Angie? Just a clumsy girl who needed looking after.
Then she yanked out my oxygen tube and shoved me into the abyss.
Pearson's prenup draft pinged my inbox. I tore through it, adding ruthless clauses. Not a single cent would slip through my fingers this time.
Dominick emerged from the shower, towel slung low, reaching for me. His kiss felt rehearsed—another item on his marital checklist.
Then a shriek pierced the air.
He bolted like a shot, towel nearly slipping, to Angie's room.
There she stood in a nightgown shorter than a cocktail dress, damp hair clinging to her shoulders.
"Dominick!" Her lower lip quivered as she displayed a reddened hand. "The water's boiling hot!"
Cue the dramatic ointment application and faucet adjustments. By the time he slunk back, I was feigning sleep, our backs turned like strangers.
Morning brought Angie's "homemade" breakfast—charcoal-esque eggs and mangled toast. She presented it like a Michelin-starred meal.
Dominick wolfed it down, beaming. "Look at you, mastering the stove!"
I slid the plate to our housekeeper. "I'll take edible, thanks." Then I slapped the prenup onto the table. "Sign this. Then we'll make it official."
Angie snatched it first, lips moving as she sounded out "prenuptial agreement."
Her gasp was Oscar-worthy. "You think Dominick wants your money?"
The righteous act almost worked—if not for the panic flashing in her eyes.
I shrugged. "The companies are bleeding cash. Just protecting him from my debts."
Truth was, those startups were currently Wall Street's laughingstock.
Dominick skimmed the pages, playing the noble husband. "I'd share everything with you."
"Then put up five million as collateral," I said, drumming my nails on the table.
His frown deepened. Angie hissed in his ear.
Minutes later, he scrawled his signature.
Post-wedding, Dominick left for work while I headed to my office. That afternoon, my secretary Zoya rushed in, phone in hand.
"Mrs. Hampton—isn't this your wedding dress?"
There was "SunshineAngie" on Instagram, flooded with filters, posing in my gown at our wedding venue.
Then a new post popped up:
[Diamonds are a girl's best friend! 💎]
The accompanying selfie showed her draped in Mom's legendary pink diamond necklace.
Comments exploded:
[That's the royal pink diamond! $50M minimum!]
[Wait—is that a [famous artist] painting in the background?!]
[Low-key billionaire alert!]
I smirked. Angie wasn't even trying to hide her theft anymore. Game on.
Dominick claimed it was conveniently close to Angie's school, so of course he suggested she move in with us.
The second we stepped inside, Angie's jaw hit the floor. She whipped out her phone, snapping pictures like a paparazzo at a celebrity sighting.
"Dominick, this is insane! Our new home is literally perfect," she gushed.
Our home? I thought, biting back a scoff. Don't get too comfortable, sweetheart.
I fired off a text to my lawyer, Pearson Diaz: Draft me an ironclad prenup. Now.
Dad's wedding gifts weren't exactly modest—three tech startups, a Porsche, and this sprawling estate. Not to mention Mom's jewelry collection, now under my care.
In my past life, I'd been naive. Trusted Dominick blindly. Never bothered dividing assets.
Big mistake.
After my "accidental" drowning, those tech companies skyrocketed during the AI boom. Angie paraded around in my Porsche and Mom's heirlooms like she'd hit the jackpot.
Meanwhile, my body was hastily cremated on some remote island.
Dominick and Angie played the grieving family perfectly—"If only we'd taken better care of her..."
Even the cops bought it. Diving accidents happen, right?
As I'd choked on seawater, I'd believed it too—equipment malfunction. And Angie? Just a clumsy girl who needed looking after.
Then she yanked out my oxygen tube and shoved me into the abyss.
Pearson's prenup draft pinged my inbox. I tore through it, adding ruthless clauses. Not a single cent would slip through my fingers this time.
Dominick emerged from the shower, towel slung low, reaching for me. His kiss felt rehearsed—another item on his marital checklist.
Then a shriek pierced the air.
He bolted like a shot, towel nearly slipping, to Angie's room.
There she stood in a nightgown shorter than a cocktail dress, damp hair clinging to her shoulders.
"Dominick!" Her lower lip quivered as she displayed a reddened hand. "The water's boiling hot!"
Cue the dramatic ointment application and faucet adjustments. By the time he slunk back, I was feigning sleep, our backs turned like strangers.
Morning brought Angie's "homemade" breakfast—charcoal-esque eggs and mangled toast. She presented it like a Michelin-starred meal.
Dominick wolfed it down, beaming. "Look at you, mastering the stove!"
I slid the plate to our housekeeper. "I'll take edible, thanks." Then I slapped the prenup onto the table. "Sign this. Then we'll make it official."
Angie snatched it first, lips moving as she sounded out "prenuptial agreement."
Her gasp was Oscar-worthy. "You think Dominick wants your money?"
The righteous act almost worked—if not for the panic flashing in her eyes.
I shrugged. "The companies are bleeding cash. Just protecting him from my debts."
Truth was, those startups were currently Wall Street's laughingstock.
Dominick skimmed the pages, playing the noble husband. "I'd share everything with you."
"Then put up five million as collateral," I said, drumming my nails on the table.
His frown deepened. Angie hissed in his ear.
Minutes later, he scrawled his signature.
Post-wedding, Dominick left for work while I headed to my office. That afternoon, my secretary Zoya rushed in, phone in hand.
"Mrs. Hampton—isn't this your wedding dress?"
There was "SunshineAngie" on Instagram, flooded with filters, posing in my gown at our wedding venue.
Then a new post popped up:
[Diamonds are a girl's best friend! 💎]
The accompanying selfie showed her draped in Mom's legendary pink diamond necklace.
Comments exploded:
[That's the royal pink diamond! $50M minimum!]
[Wait—is that a [famous artist] painting in the background?!]
[Low-key billionaire alert!]
I smirked. Angie wasn't even trying to hide her theft anymore. Game on.
End of I Died a Bride, I Woke Up a Vengeance Chapter 3. Continue reading Chapter 4 or return to I Died a Bride, I Woke Up a Vengeance book page.