The Avenging Bride

Jane's POV

That night, the freezing wind cut across my face like a knife. The red and blue lights from the police cars flashed jarringly, painting the snow outside the psychology lab building with an eerie blood-like glow.

I just stood there, watching uniformed officers coming and going, watching them carefully wheel out the stretcher covered with a white sheet. When I saw that familiar hand dangling from the edge of the sheet—that hand with light pink nail polish, the same hand that had high-fived me just yesterday to celebrate our paper getting accepted—my world instantly collapsed.

"NO! Sarah!"

I don't remember how I managed to rush to the stretcher, only the gut-wrenching pain that erupted from my chest, transforming into hysterical screams. I wanted to rip away that damn white sheet. I needed to see Sarah's face, needed to confirm this was all just a horrible nightmare.

"Ma'am, please calm down." A young officer blocked my path.

"Let GO of me! That's my roommate!" I struggled, tears blurring my vision. "Sarah! You PROMISED to finish school with me! Who did this to you?!"

Tyler's deep voice came from behind me. "Jane..."

I turned around to see him standing at the entrance of the lab building, his usually gentle face now twisted with complex emotions. There was shock in his eyes, pain, and something else I couldn't quite read. In the moonlight, his shadow stretched long—as endless and hopeless as this night felt.

"The coroner's preliminary assessment indicates accidental death during experimentation," a middle-aged officer approached and informed us coldly. "The deceased suffered asphyxiation when equipment malfunctioned during a deep sleep experiment."

Accidental? My mind went blank. Sarah was the most meticulous researcher I'd ever known. How could she possibly make such a basic mistake?

I knelt in the snow, letting the cold flakes melt against my cheeks. Everything around me became a blur, except for one voice growing clearer in my heart: I would uncover the truth. Whatever the cost, I would get justice for Sarah.

That was three months ago.

Now, I stand at the entrance of the church, dressed in an immaculate white wedding gown, my arm linked with Professor James Morrison's. Sunlight streams through the stained-glass windows, bathing the interior in a warm golden glow. The sweet scent of lilies fills the air as the organ plays the "Wedding March," and all the guests rise, watching us with adoring eyes.

In this moment, I am the happiest bride in the world.

Morrison gently caresses my hand, his voice soft against my ear. "Ready, my love?"

I look up at him, this man so respected in academic circles. With his handsome features and scholarly demeanor, his brown eyes full of devotion. Any woman would be proud to marry such a man.

"Ready," I answer softly, my face blooming with the most radiant smile.

We slowly walk down the aisle, with guests on both sides offering their blessings. Flower petals drift down from the ceiling, like a scene from a fairy tale. By the time we reach the altar, the pastor is ready.

"Jane," the pastor's voice is solemn yet warm, "do you take James to be your husband, to love and cherish him, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?"

I feel tears welling in my eyes, my voice slightly trembling. "I do."

Morrison tenderly places the wedding ring on my finger—a brilliant diamond that sparkles in the sunlight. We gaze deeply into each other's eyes before sharing a passionate kiss as everyone watches. Thunderous applause erupts throughout the church, everyone celebrating the newlyweds.

A perfect wedding, indeed.

But at the reception, the atmosphere isn't quite so harmonious.

I glide among the guests with a champagne flute, elegantly playing the role of the blissful bride. Morrison proudly introduces me as his wife, and whenever someone compliments me, I bashfully lower my head before looking at my husband with eyes full of adoration.

But I hear the whispers.

"God, how could she marry Morrison? Sarah's only been dead for three months..." a female psychology graduate student mutters to her companion.

"I heard Sarah and Morrison were dating before she died. Jane basically stole her friend's boyfriend!" another adds, thinking their voices were low enough, but I hear every word crystal clear.

Nearby, several older professors shake their heads:

"This Jane, she seems so innocent, but who knew she could be so calculating."

"Professor Morrison is such a catch. Jane must have had her eye on him for a while. Going after him right after Sarah's death—absolutely shameless."

"Just another unsavory alliance in academia."

I maintain my smile, pretending I haven't heard a thing.

Morrison approaches, tenderly wrapping his arm around my waist. "Darling, you look tired."

"Just overwhelmed with happiness," I nestle against his chest, feeling his warmth and heartbeat.

As night falls, the guests gradually depart. Morrison and I return to our new home—his luxurious Victorian mansion. This will be my home for the next few months, or perhaps years.

Alone in front of the bedroom vanity, I begin removing my makeup. The woman in the mirror looks so beautiful, so happy, as if she truly just married the man of her dreams.

I slowly take off my diamond earrings, my fingers trembling slightly, either from exhaustion or from anger suppressed for too long. As I wipe away the last trace of lipstick, the mirror finally reveals the real me. Without foundation, my face appears pale and cold.

I take out my phone, my fingers hovering over the screen for a few seconds before sending a brief message: "Operation commenced."

After putting down the phone, I whisper to the mirror. "Sarah, I'm in. Morrison thinks he's won, but the game has JUST begun."