After My Husband Stuffed Me in the Sandbag

I thought returning to wealth meant happiness. I was wrong—it was the entrance to hell.
My celebrity husband Ryan uses me as his personal punching bag every night, calling it "method acting." Meanwhile, my perfect sister Stella whispers in his ear: "Ruby did everything during her street years. You need to show her where she belongs."
When I called for help while holding my three-year-old Lily, crying, my family only said: "Tonight is Stella's Golden Globe night. Stop causing drama."
On that final night, as the rope tightened around my neck, I finally understood—
I should never have came home.
Three days after my death, they finally stepped into the mansion. Not to save me, but to confront me about my "disappearance."
Until Lily's trembling finger pointed at that sandbag...