Falling for His Dead Wife

A stack of photos was hurled straight at Elizabeth Smith's face, the sharp edges slicing into her skin like tiny blades.

She clutched her cheek, barely reacting before William Turner's voice thundered next to her ear, shaking with rage.

"We've only been married two years. Elizabeth, are you really this desperate?"

Stunned, Elizabeth bent down and picked up a photo. Just one glance and her whole body went cold.

There she was—smiling at Michael Adams, clinking glasses with him, kissing him, tangled naked with him in a hotel room...

Her hands trembled as she gripped the photos tight, her voice barely a whisper.

"This can't be real… No way... this isn't real..."

All she did was have dinner with Michael and stay the night at the hotel alone—how did these... these awful photos even exist?

"Not real?" William's voice was icy, every word laced with frostbite. Then his fist smashed into the wooden table, making the teacup rattle. He stared at her like she was dirt under his shoe.

"I knew you were willing to do anything to get your way, but I didn't think you'd stoop this low. Are you seriously denying what's right in front of our faces? Shameless!"

"I didn't…" Elizabeth's body shook uncontrollably. She reached out, clutching William's sleeve with tears building in her eyes, her voice trembling with desperation.

"William, you've got to believe me. It's not me. I swear, I didn't do this..."

"You still dare to lie?" William exploded. He grabbed her wrist so hard she could barely breathe, his grip like iron.

"You didn't meet him that night? You didn't disappear till morning? If you freaking love him that much, why did you drug me and crawl into my bed in the first place?!"

His eyes burned crimson as he spoke, and Elizabeth felt her legs turning to jelly. She nearly collapsed.

Biting her lip, eyes bloodshot, she whispered, voice laced with bitterness,

"I should've known... You never believed me."

Two years ago, he didn't. He doesn't now.

That drunken night forced them into marriage, chased away the woman he truly loved, and locked him into two long years of hatred toward her.

And now, even she almost believed those photos were real—how could she expect William not to?

Seeing the pain in her eyes, William's expression flickered for a moment, but he quickly shut it down, cold and ruthless. He shoved her away like something filthy and turned his back. His voice, thick with loathing, rang out behind him.

"Believe you? I want to strangle you with my own hands."

Her lower stomach slammed into the table edge. Pain shot through her like fire. She bent over, hands clutching the spot. Sweat and tears blurred her vision. A warm trickle ran down her leg, and in that moment, all her pride cracked and collapsed. She scrambled toward the door on her hands and knees, reaching out.

"William... help me..."

Darkness closed in.

When she next opened her eyes, the sterile scent of disinfectant told her she was in a hospital.

She turned her head—and there he was, standing at her bedside.

William's eyes were cold, like the calm right before a storm breaks.

"Awake?" he said flatly, tossing a test report onto her blanket. Then he leaned down, grabbing her chin hard.

"Three months. A bastard child. Great."

"W-what?"

She froze—pregnant?

But... how could it be three months? They hadn't even been close; they'd barely spoken…

"This has to be wrong!" she blurted out, panic kicking in. She'd never cheated—this had to be their child!

"Catherine ran the test herself. Still gonna argue?" William sneered. Tossing aside her blanket, he pressed a hand on her stomach, eyes dark.

"If it's not mine, I might as well end it here myself."