Revenge13 min read
After the Dress: I Ran Toward Him
ButterPicks11 views
I wake up to the smell of roses and makeup, and for a second my head is a bell ringing.
"Miss, are you awake?" the makeup artist asks, her voice soft as satin.
"Am I... alive?" I whisper, and the room spins like the last page of a nightmare.
"I—" I clutch my temple. Blood and glass flash in my mind. The car. The crash. The cold. "No. No, I died."
I bite the inside of my cheek until I stop tasting metal. Memory hits like a slap. My father begged me to sign a paper. He told me it would fix the company. I signed. Later I learned the paper cost a hundred million. He lied. My sister smiled while she lied. My fiancé promised me forever and then traded me. I died with betrayal in my mouth.
"Miss, your wedding—" the makeup artist says.
"I need to call Agustin." I find his number as if my fingers already knew it.
"You're calling Agustin Ortega?" she asks.
"Yes. Now."
"Why? It's your wedding day."
"Because," I say, "he loved me once."
The phone rings and rings until his voice comes like a thrown knife.
"Why are you calling me on my wedding day?" Agustin's voice is low and cold.
"Agustin Ortega," I say, because saying his name steadies me. "Please. Come to the Silverbay Hotel. Take me away. I will leave my wedding. I will go with you."
There is a pause that stretches too long.
"Miss Amelia Schroeder, you are getting married today," he says finally. "What are you planning?"
"Run with me." I say it too loudly. "Please."
His laugh is a razor. "You want to humiliate them?"
"Yes."
"Fine." He says, and his "fine" is colder than the weather. "Don't regret it."
The line goes dead.
I lock the door of the dressing room. My heart drumming, my hands shaking, I do the thing I did in the other life and the thing I swore I would never do again.
I run.
Outside, the world is all bells and silk. Photographers shoulder each other. Guests in suits smell like perfume and money. My heels sink in and then break. I tear at my veil. I run until my calves burn and the crowd gasps.
"Stop!" my so-called fiancé Kendrick Jansson shouts, brandishing his anger like a weapon. "Amelia! Come back!"
"I will not marry a liar," I cry. "Get away from me, Kendrick. Get away."
"You—" He looks stunned, then furious, then desperate. "Amelia, you can't humiliate me!"
"I already am."
Agustin's car stops like a dark promise. He opens the rear door. He looks at me like he owns the sky.
"Get in," he says.
I smell his scent—wood and cold rain. I get in as if I'm climbing into a new life. I slam the door. The crowd roars.
Kendrick stands still as if somebody struck him.
"You're making a scene," he tells Agustin.
"She chose me. Get out of the way," Agustin answers. His voice is smooth. He does not look like a man who begs.
I fall asleep in the back seat with tears on my cheeks. When I wake, I'm at his estate: a house like a fortress and a heart not made for me—yet.
"Get out," Agustin tells me, voice hard.
"Please," I say, and my lips tremble. "I like you. I like you. I like you."
He stares at me the way people study rare animals.
"You're lying," he says, and then, "Kiss me."
I do something that should shame me. I kiss him. He tastes like coffee and regret. He pushes me away, anger and old hurt written all over his face.
"You lied to me before," he says. "You used me."
"No. I hated you once," I say. "I didn't know. I was a fool."
"You're nothing but performance," he says. "You will live like that until you learn."
He orders a room for me. He walks away like he chose the path of an executioner.
I call my uncle Rafael Braun. I tell him everything. He answers like an anchor: "Leave it to me. Sleep. Don't move."
I sleep and wake to a new plan. The next morning, the whole city is whispering.
"She ran with Agustin Ortega," they say. "She left her wedding."
Kendrick makes promises he cannot keep. He begs. He begs to the crowd, and the crowd laughs. I stand under the lights and hand my phone to my uncle. He speaks like a man who will not be fooled. He fronts a quiet storm and speaks softly to the elders. He tells them I will not go back.
That afternoon Agustin returns me to his mansion. He sits like a king and I sit like a girl who decided to change everything.
"Be honest," he says. "You kissed me. Was it to hurt Kendrick or to show me what you mean?"
"I like you," I tell him straight. "Not for your money. For your quiet. For when you let slip that you cared. I will not lie."
He puffs out a laugh that should be cruel and then isn't. He looks at me like a man surprised by a mirror.
"Then work for me," he says suddenly. "Tomorrow, be my secretary."
I blink. "What? Why?"
"You want my attention. It's the easiest way to get it."
I accept because I think this is my chance. Because my old life fell apart and this man who once wept at my death now sits like an altar and waits for me.
The first day in his office is a storm.
"You are my secretary," he says. "You will not be my scandal."
"Okay," I say. "I won't."
"Good." His eyes hold mine. "You will wear sensible shoes."
"Yes, sir." I make him laugh once—he laughs like a sound that surprises him. It becomes one of the tiny victories: I made him laugh.
The office murmurs. Some of Agustin's friends—Gage Ellis, Cal Romano, and Erik Sandoval—watch me like a new play. They are rough men with bright smiles. At lunch, Agustin tucks a napkin into my lap because mine is crooked. My heart skips.
"You're ridiculous," I say.
"You're messy," he answers.
"I am messy because I loved a liar," I whisper.
He looks at me for a long time.
"I will protect you," he says.
That afternoon, my phone buzzes. It is Kendrick. He begs. He tries to trade. He spills the truth about the contract I signed in my other life. He meant to trap Agustin. I feel bile. I feel the old world. I vow to set things right.
I confess to Rafael Braun that I will give back the money. Rafael says, "If you do this, you will be a debt to our name. But I will help. We will do this cleanly."
I dig. I work. With Agustin at my side, we find out how Kendrick and my sister, Galilea Belyaev, schemed. They planned a fake contract, a shell company, and false signatures. They counted on my silence. They counted on me believing lies.
"Show them the proof," Agustin says one night, determination carved into his jaw. "Let's take them down."
I prepare for the one thing I promised myself: to expose them where everyone watches.
The banquet is at the old city hall. Guests are all the people who once praised the family and accepted smiles of betrayal.
"You're doing this public?" I ask Agustin, hands trembling.
"Yes," he answers. "Public. With the cameras. With the world."
The lights go bright. The mayor opens the speech. Then Rafael stands up. He starts slow. He speaks about honor, about truth. My pulse travels like electricity.
"Please watch," Rafael says. "This is Amelia's proof."
I hand the file to him. Photographs, bank transfers, the signatures. Rafael opens his mouth and reads. The room breathes in.
Kendrick stands in front of me, proud and pale. Galilea holds her face like porcelain. My father Carlos Oliver sits in the row, his hands cold.
Rafael reads each line. The aides look shocked. The social feeds light up.
"This contract," Rafael says, "was manufactured. The signatures are forged. The account is in a shell company Kendrick Jansson controls. The money moved through three intermediaries and ended in an account controlled by Galilea Belyaev."
Kendrick snorts. "This is slander," he says. "You have no proof."
"Then listen," Rafael says. "Listen to the audio. Listen to the messages."
The crowd leans in. Agustin stands beside me. He holds my hand, strong and steady. Cameras pan. Phones record.
"Play it," I say.
A speaker cracks and the recordings come alive. Kendrick's voice—clear, smarmy—explains step by step how he and Galilea set the trap.
"Make her sign. Tell her it's a loan. She will be grateful and give us her family credit," Kendrick says in the tape. "Then when the money's gone, we will have the shares and nothing to fear."
Galilea's voice comes out too. "We will be rich. We will have everything. Poor Amelia will be used and discarded."
The hall goes cold. People close their mouths like doors. Phones click. An aunt clutches her pearls. A cousin gasps. The city reporter stands up.
"That is your voice," Agustin says to Kendrick. "Saved on a phone you used."
Kendrick's face drains. He laughs a short, ugly laugh. "It's fake," he says. "She had motive."
"Motives stack under evidence," Rafael says. "You thought we'd be too small. You thought we'd not fight."
People surround Kendrick. Someone in the back says, "Arrest him!" But cameras force calm.
Kendrick tries to speak. "I didn't—"
"You did," Rafael says. "You used your girlfriend and your sister. You did this to steal our business and money. You called it 'a plan.'"
Kendrick's mouth works. He looks like a puppet whose strings have been cut.
Galilea, her teeth clenched, tries to live in denial.
"We have witnesses," Rafael says. "We have bank records. We have messages. We have your signature."
Kendrick's eyes flick to my father. Carlos Oliver's face is a map of shame. He turns away.
"You're done," I say, with a voice that is both small and volcano-strong. "You took our home and our mother's dignity. You pushed our grandfather to the edge. You turned my family against me."
The room is a river. Some people cry. Others cheer. Phones record like a rainstorm. The social feeds light up.
Kendrick stands up, chest heaving. He steps onto the stage, as if he wants to fight.
"You're making a circus," he snaps. "You ruined my name!"
"I ruined nothing," I say. "You wanted everything."
Kendrick's smile falls. He is used to control. He has no control now. Around him, his supporters melt.
Galilea runs out of the hall as if the cold has burned her.
"Look at her," the mayor says into the mic. "She stood beside him as he plotted."
"Stop!" Galilea screams at me as she storms back into the hall. "You liar! You made these up!"
"Make them show you," Rafael says. "Do you want the bank statements read out? Do you want the witnesses on record?"
Galilea's eyes go wide. The hall presses in. The mayor calls for order, but there is no order to be found.
A loud entrance door slams. People turn to see my uncle's security bring in printed screenshots: video frames of Galilea signing documents. Step by step. Each time the camera slows, Galilea's face is there beside Kendrick's. The room breaks like glass.
Then I ask for the most humiliating proof: the messages where Galilea brags about spending the money on jewelry and dresses, and the photos where she shows off the very watch Kendrick had bought with the stolen money. The crowd sees everything.
Galilea screams, "It's a setup!"
"Your excuses evaporate in light," Rafael says. "You called him 'my profit' in a message. You asked him how to hide transfers."
"Stop!" she screams, voice cracking. "You can't do this to me. I have friends. I have dignity."
At that, a dozen phones show messages from acquaintances who had been paid to stay quiet. They turn on her. A cousin pulls out a printed receipt and reads aloud how he was paid to keep the truth hidden. The crowd gasps again.
Kendrick's face crumples. He wants to strike me. He wants me to be small and repentant. He wants to kneel and beg. He wants to be returned to power. But power has slipped.
Now comes the worst: I ask the press to broadcast live to the city. "Read everything," I say. "Everything."
"Are you sure?" Agustin asks, hand on my shoulder.
"Yes." I lift my chin. "Public truth."
The anchors read the statements. The cameras close in on Kendrick. He stands smaller and smaller under the lights.
"How can you..." he begins, and then his voice dies under the stream of evidence.
Galilea collapses into a nearby chair and hides her face. Her friends whisper. The mayor looks like he swallowed a stone. The reporters scratch notes as if this were the rip-roaring end of a novel.
Kendrick tries to deny, then to weep, then to threaten. At first, bravado. Then denial. Then pleading. He tries to say he was pressured. He turns toward his few remaining allies.
"Please," he begs, voice thin. "I can pay it back. I can—"
"Pay us back?" Rafael says quietly. "You don't have the money. You used ours for your life. You have ruined lives."
The crowd begins to chant with a strange, terrifying rhythm: "Shame! Shame! Shame!"
Kendrick drops to his knees, finally.
"Don't," I say. I have something else in mind.
"Don't what?" Kendrick cries.
"Stand up," I say. "Look at the people who were with you. Look at how small and empty your words have become."
He stands. He looks around. He wants the power to appear again like a suit he can put on. It is gone.
I want the world to remember the exact moment his empire of lies burned to ash.
"You're fired from the family," Rafael tells him. "From your positions. Your contracts are null. You will face legal action, and you will never sit in this room again."
Kendrick's face screws up. He is mortified, then frightened, then small. "You can't—"
"You did this," I say. "You cost us our home and our past. I will not be quiet."
The press is relentless. The feeds spread like wildfire. People mutter. People stand. The mayor announces a formal investigation.
Then, as Kendrick is dragged away in disgrace, something else happens. Galilea, the woman who smiled while stealing, stands up, walks to the center, and addresses the crowd with a voice that tries to be strong but is brittle as glass.
"I didn't know—" she begins.
"You did," Rafael says. "You took money from a child's inheritance."
"Please," she begs. "I—"
The reporters demand an apology. She tries to kneel. She tries to cry. People shout. Someone records a live video of her pleading for mercy.
"How could you?" a woman shouts from the back. "She stole my neighbor's donation at that same gala!"
Galilea's face collapses from defiance into fear. Her supporters unfriend her on their phones in real time. Her posts tank. The luxury dresses she wore are now evidence displayed in a slideshow. Each person in the room turns a new face to her: scorn, betrayal, disgust.
Kendrick is taken away. Galilea is left to fail publicly. Her expression collapses: pride, then denial, then rage, then pleading, then collapse.
"Don't record this!" she shrieks, but the crowd records anyway.
A throng takes to their phones and live feeds. Her name trends. Her face circulates. She is stripped of her posture and forced into a small, hot corner of shame.
She tries to bargain. "I'll pay back every cent!" she offers, voice small.
"Start by telling us where the accounts are," Rafael says.
She names a bank and then chokes on her answers. She begs. She pleads. She tries to buy time. The cameras don't blink. People clap like judges.
"You're finished," someone nearby says, and it's true. She will never hold the same face in the same crowd again.
I watch them with a cold, clean fury. I feel nothing like triumph. I feel like someone who pulled a thread and watched a rotten wall fall. I wanted them to hurt, yes; but what I want most is to stop the rot before it eats us all.
After the hall clears, Agustin takes my hand and squeezes it.
"You did well," he whispers. "You stood and you told the truth."
"Is that vengeance?" I ask.
"It's justice," he says. "And you have it."
We stand in the empty hall. The chandeliers hum. The city breathes outside.
At dinner that night, there are whispers and empty chairs. My father is gone. He sends a message of denial. He is ashamed.
"Amelia," Agustin says later as he walks me to a taxi. He stops, looks at me properly, and for the first time since I woke up in the hotel dressing room, he smiles. "You made me laugh." The smile is a sunrise.
"I saw it," I say. "It warmed me."
He pulls me closer. "You cannot imagine how I hated the idea of loving you. Yet here I am."
"Then don't hate it," I say.
He cups my face and for a second the world stills.
"I won't."
There are other moments. He plucks a grey hair of worry from my forehead and tucks it behind my ear and says, "You forget to eat sometimes, my little disaster." He takes off his jacket and covers my shoulders when I shiver and says, "Stay under this blanket. I will be right back." He reaches for my hand when we step into crowded rooms, fingers probing like vows. He whispers, "You are clumsy and brave," when I drop a stack of papers at the office, and the way his voice hushes my panic is a small miracle.
One night, I sit on his lap in the office and we eat the pastry I burned my fingers to make.
"You did this for me," he says, with something like a crack in his usual armor.
"I did," I answer. "Because you stayed."
"I loved you before you loved me," he says, and it is not boastful. It is the truth he'd been keeping like a coin.
"I am not the same woman who hurt you," I promise.
He looks at me like he believes me. For the first time, I feel home.
Weeks go by.
Kendrick is disbarred from the companies. Galilea's name is wiped off the registry of friends. My father finds men to blame and hides. My stepmother Wilma Sherman pretends not to know anything. The family shrinks.
Rafael puts the money back in place using paperwork and careful lawyering. The companies right themselves. Agustin and I rebuild what was broken like two people building a small house of trust.
We are not naïve. The world will keep trying to hurt me. But Agustin holds the map and I hold the hammer.
At a garden party arranged by Rafael as a soft celebration, Kendrick stumbles through the crowd like a ghost. Someone points a phone at him and he freezes.
I step forward.
"You're banned from the company," I tell him calmly. "And from our lives."
He looks at me. His face has the color of regret. "Amelia—"
"You chose to use me and the man who loved me," I say. "You have nothing left."
He tries to apologize. The crowd laughs. His allies leave. He falls to the ground like a broken marionette.
Galilea stands nearby. She watches his disgrace as if waiting for a different ending, but there is none.
She approaches me with wet eyes and—strangely—no armor left.
"I'm sorry," she whispers. "I was stupid. I was hungry."
"Then give back what you stole," I say. "Publicly. Tell everyone what you did."
She starts to say words but stops. Her hands tremble. The cameras are on her now. She begins to cry, the kind of wet, real cries that strip the last of the stage from her.
"Do you forgive me?" she asks.
"Forgiveness isn't a free ticket," I say. "You must fix what you broke. You must face the law. You must apologize in public, to your grandfather, and to the people you hurt."
She nods. The cameras take it all in. The world will not let her vanish.
I go back to Agustin's side.
"You were magnificent," he says and kisses my temple.
"Not magnificent," I say. "Just alive."
He wraps his arm around my shoulders. "You are mine," he says. "I am yours."
We are more than words. We are a team of scars and soft places. We are a repair job and a love that will be louder than old lies.
At night, when the house is quiet and the moon is crooked like a secret smile, I pull out the old photograph he kept in his drawer. I ask, "You loved me ten years ago?"
He nods. "I waited."
"For me?"
"For you," he says.
I press my forehead to his. "Then wait no longer," I whisper.
"Never again," he promises.
Outside the city hums. Inside, we close the door on the wedding dress and the past and we keep the jacket he tossed on the floor—the jacket I washed and still keep because it smells like him and because some night I'll need to remember that the man who once hated me now cannot imagine life without me.
And when I walk past the dining room, the family records sit on a shelf. The world saw what happened tonight. The feeds hum. Truth has a currency all its own.
"Amelia," Agustin says softly.
"Yes?"
He kisses me like a promise. "Stay."
"I will," I say.
The End
— Thank you for reading —