Wedding Night: My Husband Asked Me to Kill Myself

Isadora

I'll never forget that night. Not because of the million-dollar royal wedding, not because of the media's wall-to-wall "fairy tale princess" coverage, but because it was the first time I witnessed true malice in its purest form.

My shoulders were trembling as I peeled off that twenty-pound custom wedding gown. Not from nerves—though there were some—but from excitement. Finally, finally I could start my new life.

"This thing's heavier than I imagined," I muttered to my reflection, fingers working through hair that had been shellacked in place all day. The woman in the mirror looked flawless: perfect makeup, elegant posture, like a princess straight out of a fairy tale.

Wonder what they'd think if they knew this "princess" used to wrestle in circus tents.

The sound of the door lock turning made me spin around. Sebastian walked in. His face, considered perfection incarnate by women worldwide, now wore an expression I'd never seen before. Cold. No, worse than cold. Disgust.

"Hey, husband." I tried to keep my voice light and cheerful. "Today was absolutely perfect, wasn't it? You looked—"

"Isadora." He cut me off, closing the door behind him. Click. Like the sound of something ending. "We need to talk."

My smile froze on my face. "About what?"

Sebastian moved to the center of the room, hands clasped behind his back—the same posture he used during formal speeches. Except now, there wasn't a trace of warmth in his eyes.

"I need you to kill yourself for my true love."

The words hit the air and the entire room fell silent. I blinked, making sure I'd heard correctly.

"What?"

"You heard me perfectly." Sebastian's voice was terrifyingly calm. "I don't love you. I never have. I love Margot Rivers, the war correspondent. I'm going to marry her and spend my life with her. And you... you're an obstacle."

My brain raced, trying to process this information. "Wait, are you joking? Is this some kind of... dark wedding night humor?"

"I never joke." He walked to the vanity and opened a small box I hadn't noticed before. "Look, I've even prepared options for you."

I watched him remove four items from the box, arranging them neatly on the vanity surface. A bottle that looked like champagne, a small silver dagger, and...

"Doesn't the balcony count?" I asked, my voice slightly hoarse.

"Of course it counts. Jumping is also an option." Sebastian said mildly, like he was discussing tomorrow's weather. "The poison is fastest—you'll be done in ten minutes. The dagger requires some courage, but if you know the right spot, it's quick too. The balcony would look like an accident."

I stared at those objects, feeling reality begin to peel away. "You're insane."

"I'm perfectly rational." He stepped closer, those blue eyes that had captivated countless women now looking like ice. "Isadora, you have to understand. My love for Margot is pure, sacred. She's a real woman—brave, independent, with ideals. And you..." His gaze traveled up and down my body. "You're just a political tool."

"A political tool?" My voice started shaking, but not from fear. From rage. "I'm a living, breathing person!"

"You're an obstacle," Sebastian corrected coolly. "As long as you're alive, I can't be with Margot. Divorce would cause scandal, affect my inheritance rights. But if you died..." He shrugged. "A young princess's tragic death would make me a sympathetic widower. After an appropriate mourning period, I could marry Margot."

I stepped back, bumping into the edge of the bed. "You actually think I'll go along with this insane plan?"

"You don't have a choice." Sebastian's voice grew even colder. "Pick one, Isadora. I'll make sure you die with dignity. Poison, dagger, or balcony?"

I looked at him—this man I'd just promised to love for life. It wasn't my heart breaking—my heart was already used to betrayal. It was something deeper, some last vestige of faith in human nature.

"Do I have any other options?" I asked.

Sebastian frowned. "What?"

I lifted my head, meeting his eyes directly, and gave him my sweetest smile. "Can I choose to die from pleasure?"

The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees instantly. Sebastian's face contorted, rage twisting his features into something ugly.

"You shameless whore!" He lunged toward me, grabbing the poison bottle. "Since you have no shame, I'll choose for you!"

But in his fury, I saw opportunity. The moment he reached for me, my muscle memory kicked in. Those skills learned in the circus.

'Never underestimate a woman pushed to the edge, Sebastian,' I thought coldly. 'Especially one who grew up in a circus.'