They signed the contract.
I, Phil Goodman, swear never to speak a word of my wife-to-be's mental status in public.
Signed, Phil Goodman.
I, Elizabeth Willows, swear to do no harm to Phil Goodman till death do us part.
Signed, Elizabeth Willows.
It was a perfect day for a wedding, the most grand event on Upper East Side's 95th Street in Manhattan, New York.
Every billionaire was present.
The bride, Elizabeth Willows, looked stunning, but her husband? He was something else.
What was that rumor?
"He's a psychiatrist?"
"Yes, I heard he's the only one who agreed to marry her."
"I heard she's a psycho..."
"Shhhhh!"
Elizabeth heard their whispers but paid no heed as she graciously accepted greetings and gifts from the guests.
A bright smile was plastered on her red-painted lips. Her chocolate-brown eyes gleamed against her porcelain skin, accentuated by her fiery red hair.
Melody Brent, the supermodel everyone knew was the cause of Marla and Markody Tucker's infamous divorce, approached her. Despite Melody's notoriety, no one dared mention it publicly.
"Congratulations, dear," Melody said, her smile as acidic as her tone.
Elizabeth didn't return the smile. Instead, she glared.
"Your husband is very handsome," melody continued, as Elizabeth's eyes trailed up and down her figure.
Melody shot her a dirty look. "I mean, why would he want something like..." she paused, hiding a laugh.
Elizabeth was amused. The nerve of this woman to think they were of the same class simply because she was now engaged to the CEO of Shield.
"Something like what?" Elizabeth asked, her tone cool.
Melody beamed, her green eyes sparkling with false confidence, the same eyes that had captured countless Hollywood hearts. Elizabeth tsked inwardly.
Men have such poor taste.
A flicker of fear crossed Melody's gaze, but she masked it quickly. Deep down, she was jealous.
Elizabeth was rich, an heiress, a billionaire, and married to the man Melody had been chasing for years. After all, he wasn't called the Handsome Doctor for nothing.
Elizabeth sipped her wine, watching the party below from the rail.
Melody leaned closer, as if to intimidate her. "Does it hurt?" she whispered.
Elizabeth arched a brow, confused.
"His cock, that thing was so big in me," Melody murmured wickedly by Elizabeth's ear.
Elizabeth blinked but kept her composure.
Melody smirked. "Oh, don't look surprised, hon. A handsome man like that has had—and will always have—many women."
She stood beside Elizabeth, her orange haute couture dress a dull comparison to the magnificence of Elizabeth's wedding reception gown.
"Congratulations... Can't wait for your divorce," Melody said bitterly, bumping shoulders with her as she walked away.
Elizabeth observed the elite crowd with elegance, her gaze sweeping over the mansion's golden chandeliers and grand interiors. Slowly, she turned, taking deliberate strides toward Melody.
Melody was now engrossed in conversation with another man, shamelessly flirting. She leaned over the railing, twirling her dark hair, her large chest on full display.
In a split second, she was falling.
It was almost slow motion, the horror in her green eyes evident, as though she couldn't believe what was happening.
From above, the devil watched, sipping wine like it was a soap opera.
Melody crashed into the wedding buffet table. A scream tore through the crowd as her blood flowed over the glasses of wine, creating a macabre masterpiece.
The terror was palpable.
Phil's icy blue gaze locked onto Elizabeth's dark eyes. She smiled, her lips forming the words:
"Till Death Do Us Part."
Amen.