Dark Wedding Revenge
She thought she escaped him after the divorce. But the day she walked down the aisle to marry her fiance, CEO Billionaire Gerald "Gerry" Forster, she never knew she would be a widow moments after the minister pronounced them man and wife. Struck in the back as bullets riddled the ceremony, she watched her new husband die in her arms—she knew the one person responsible—her manipulative, dominating ex-husband—Greysen LaChance—she just needed to prove it. Would Bianca Lawson Forster prove Greysen was responsible—or be sucked back into his world?
Prologue
She thought she escaped him.
For three years, Bianca Lawson lived like a woman learning how to breathe again—slowly, painfully, as if every inhale still carried the ghost‑pressure of Greysen LaChance’s hand around her throat. The divorce had been brutal, public, humiliating. But she survived it. She survived him.
And she truly believed she was free.
Until the day she married Gerald Forster.
The Wedding
The ceremony was held at the Forster estate—white roses, champagne silk runners, a string quartet playing something soft and hopeful. Bianca walked down the aisle feeling light for the first time in years. Gerry waited for her at the altar, smiling the way only a man who had never known cruelty could smile.
He touched her cheek when she reached him.
“You’re safe now,” he whispered.
She believed him.
The minister spoke. Vows were exchanged. Rings slid onto trembling fingers. And when the words “I now pronounce you man and wife” echoed through the garden, Bianca felt her heart finally unlock.
Then the world shattered.
A crack—sharp, metallic—split the air behind her.
Bianca flinched.
Gerry jerked.
Another crack. Then another. Then a rain of them.
Screams erupted as guests dove for cover. The quartet scattered, instruments crashing to the ground. Bianca felt Gerry’s body slam into hers, heavy, collapsing, dragging her down with him.
She hit the grass.
He didn’t get up.
Blood soaked through his white suit jacket, warm against her palms as she pressed them desperately to his chest.
“Gerry—Gerry, stay with me—please—”
His eyes were already losing focus.
The gunfire stopped as suddenly as it began.
Silence swallowed the garden.
Bianca screamed for help, but she knew—she knew before anyone else did—that her new husband was gone. She felt it in the way his body slackened, in the way his breath didn’t return, in the way her own heart cracked open like a fault line.
She looked up, shaking, wild‑eyed.
And in the chaos—running guests, overturned chairs, the minister crawling for cover—she saw one thing clearly:
A man standing at the far end of the garden.
Watching.
Not fleeing.
Not hiding.
Just watching.
Greysen LaChance.
Her ex‑husband.
His expression was unreadable—calm, almost curious. As if he were studying her grief. As if he were savoring it.
Then he turned and walked away.
The Aftermath
The police questioned her for hours. Security footage was “inconclusive.” Witnesses were “confused.” The shooter “could not be identified.”
But Bianca knew.
Greysen had always told her:
“You don’t leave me. You only think you do.”
She had laughed then, thinking it was just another manipulative line.
Now she understood it was a promise.
Gerry’s funeral was small, private, suffocating. Bianca stood beside the casket, numb, hollow, unable to cry anymore. Every condolence felt like a lie. Every whisper of sympathy felt like a blade.
She wasn’t grieving only her husband.
She was grieving her freedom.
Because Greysen had reached out from the shadows and ripped it away.
The Investigation
Detective Mara Vance took the case—a woman with sharp eyes and a sharper instinct for predators.
“You think your ex-husband did this,” Mara said.
“I know he did.”
“Then we need proof.”
Bianca nodded, but inside she felt the old terror rising. Greysen didn’t leave proof. Greysen erased it. Greysen controlled narratives, people, entire rooms with a single glance.
He had built an empire on intimidation and charm.
And she had once been the jewel of it.
Now she was the threat.
The Return
Three weeks after the funeral, Bianca found a single envelope on her doorstep.
No stamp. No address. Just her name.
Inside was a photograph.
Her wedding day.
The moment Gerry fell.
And behind her—barely visible, almost a blur—Greysen’s silhouette.
On the back, in his handwriting:
“You were always meant to come home.”
Her hands shook so violently she dropped the photo.
She wasn’t imagining it. She wasn’t paranoid. He wanted her back.
And he was willing to kill to make it happen.
The Choice
Bianca Lawson Forster had two options:
Prove Greysen murdered her husband. Or be dragged back into the gilded cage she once escaped.
But Greysen LaChance didn’t just want her return.
He wanted her obedience.
Her silence.
Her fear.
And Bianca—broken, grieving, furious—felt something inside her shift. Something dark. Something sharp.
She picked up the photograph.
She stared at his handwriting.
And she whispered:
“Not this time.”
Because she had been his victim once.
She would not be again.
She would become something he never expected—
His reckoning.
