---- Chapter 9 Chloe stood amidst the shouting, her face pale and streaked with tears and dirt. She was still clutching a piece of her wedding dress in her hand, the white fabric a stark, painful symbol of her betrayal. Mark tried to pull her away again, his voice a harsh whisper. "Chloe, let' s go. We can fix this. We' Il go on our honeymoon, forget any of this ever happened." She shook her head, pulling her arm from his grasp. "No," she whispered. It was a small word, but it was filled with a new, terrible finality. She wouldn' t be going with him. Sarah stepped between my family and Chloe, her expression one of deep exhaustion. "You should go, Chloe," she said, her voice softer now, tinged with a strange mix of pity and pain. "He wouldn' t have wanted this. He wouldn' t have wanted to see you like this." The words seemed to finally reach Chloe. She looked at my grave one last time, her body shaking with a sob she tried to suppress. Then, without another word, she turned and walked away, a ghost in a ruined wedding dress, leaving Mark standing there alone, sputtering with rage and humiliation. As | watched her disappear down the hill, a sense of peace settled over me. It was over. The storm had passed. The truth, ---- in its own brutal way, was out. | felt the ties that bound me to her, to the pain and the love, finally begin to loosen. | was free. In the weeks that followed, life, for the living, began to move on. My parents, heartbroken but practical, knew they couldn' t manage my small game studio. They had seen Sarah' s unwavering loyalty, her deep love for me and for our shared work. One evening, they sat down with her in my old studio. "We want you to have it, Sarah," my father said, his voice thick with emotion. "The company. It was Ethan' s dream. You were a part of that dream. We want you to carry it on." Sarah initially refused. "I can't. It wouldn't be right. It was his." "He would have wanted you to have it," my mother insisted, her eyes pleading. "Please. It' s what he would have wanted." Sarah looked around the studio, at the concept art on the walls, at my empty chair. She finally nodded, her own eyes filling with tears. "Okay," she whispered. "For Ethan. |' Il do it." A new fire was lit in her. She threw herself into the work, not just as a developer, but as a leader. | watched her spend long nights learning about business management, marketing, and finance. She was determined to make my last game, "Chloe "'s Star," a success. She was determined to build my legacy. One night, while working late, she was looking for a specific asset file on my backup drive. She clicked open a folder labeled 'Personal,' a folder she had never looked in before. Inside, she found something unexpected. It wasn't code or ---- game assets. It was a collection of videos. Short, candid clips | had taken over the years on my phone. She clicked on a file. It was a video of me and her, years ago, at an arcade, laughing hysterically as we failed miserably at a dance game. She clicked another. It was us, pulling an all- nighter in college, fueled by pizza and energy drinks, arguing playfully over a piece of code. She found dozens of them, a hidden library of our friendship. "You saved all these?" she whispered to the empty room, a sad smile on her face. "You nerd." Then, her phone rang, jarring her from the memories. It was the caretaker from the cemetery. "Ms. Clark?" the man' s voice was grave. "I'm sorry to bother you so late. But you need to come down to the cemetery. There' s been a problem at Mr. Miller' s grave. It looks like someone tried to... dig it up."