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My Dead Husband Returned With Another Woman Novel Cover

My Dead Husband Returned With Another Woman

Three years after I buried an empty casket for my husband, I found him alive in a grocery store parking lot. He was rubbing a stranger's pregnant belly, smiling a soft smile I had never seen in our years of marriage. My husband, the ruthless Don of Chicago, had become "Arthur," a gentle man with no memory of the empire he ruled or the wife he left behind. To protect his happiness, I swallowed my agony and lied. "I am his cousin," I told his pregnant fiancée, Mia. I brought them home to his estate, enduring the torture of watching him give her the tenderness that used to belong to me. But my mercy was rewarded with cruelty. Dante looked at me with cold, unfamiliar eyes and slapped divorce papers onto the table. "Sign them," he demanded, his voice devoid of emotion. "I want to marry Mia before the baby comes. I want a fresh start." He didn't know I was dying of a heart defect caused by the stress of grieving him. He didn't know I stalled for two weeks not for money, but because I wanted to be buried with his name. I died the morning the deadline arrived, taking the secret of my love to the grave. Ironically, that very night, a bullet grazed his temple during an ambush, unlocking the memories he had lost. He remembered the peach orchard. He remembered our blood oath. He remembered that I was his soulmate. He ran to my brother’s gates, screaming my name, blood pouring down his face, desperate to beg for forgiveness. But my brother just stood there, blocking the entrance to the cemetery with a cruel smile. "She waited for you every single day," he spat. "And you killed her."
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Chapter 12

Elena POV

I jolted awake, gasping for air.

The phantom scent of peaches was gone.

In its place, the room reeked of antiseptic and old dust.

My chest was on fire—a sharp, stabbing pain radiating down my left arm.

I sat up, clutching the sheets, sweat trickling down my back.

It was just a dream.

A cruel, vivid ghost of a memory haunting the edges of my mind.

I swung my legs out of bed and moved to the vanity.

My hands trembled as I pried opened the velvet jewelry box.

The silver ring was there.

I picked it up.

It felt bitingly cold against my skin.

I slid it onto my finger, but my hands had grown so thin from the sickness that it spun loosely.

It didn't fit anymore.

Nothing fit anymore.

A soft rap echoed from the door.

I quickly pulled the ring off and dropped it back into the box.

"Come in," I rasped.

The door opened.

Mia stood silhouetted against the hallway light.

She was wearing a silk robe that belonged to the guest suite.

Her eyes were wide, rimmed with fear.

In her hand, she clutched the silver locket.

"Cousin Elena?" she whispered.

I turned to face her, pulling my own robe tighter around my frail frame.

"It's late, Mia. What's wrong?"

She stepped into the room, closing the door softly behind her.

She held the locket out to me.

Her hand was trembling.

"I opened it," she said. "I know I shouldn't have. But I wanted to see the picture."

My heart hammered against my ribs.

"And?"

"The picture is water damaged," she said. "You can't see the faces. But the engraving on the back... it's still clear."

She looked at me, her eyes filling with tears.

"E & D."

She took a breath that sounded dangerously like a sob.

"The guards... I heard them whispering in the kitchen. They spoke of Arthur... but they called him Dante. They said he was married. They said the Donna was heartbroken."

She took a step closer.

"E is for Elena. Isn't it?"

I didn't answer.

I couldn't.

"It's you," she whispered, the realization settling heavily between us. "You aren't his cousin. You're his wife."

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