He’s just a parasite!” party guests whispered. Nicholas pretended not to care. In fact, he was even proud—after all, that was exactly why he had started all this.
The wedding preparations moved swiftly. Nicholas took charge of every detail—the flowers, the music, the lighting. He was the picture of the perfect groom: attentive, thoughtful, affectionate.
But beneath the surface, he was focused on one thing alone—the moment she signed the papers that would make him her legal heir. Then the big day arrived. The ceremony was held in an open-air chapel, draped in white fabric and golden ribbons, with fresh flowers everywhere.
Guests filled the seats, snapping photos as the event began. Victoria walked down the aisle in a shoulder-baring gown—conservative, yet stunning in its elegance. Nicholas stood waiting at the altar, smiling for the crowd, all while internally brimming with anticipation.
The vows were exchanged. Flashbulbs popped. Sentimental words were spoken.
The ring slid onto her finger. He was steps away from achieving everything he had ever wanted. Then, his gaze drifted—casually, unintentionally—to her left shoulder.
Just below her collarbone was a birthmark. Crescent-shaped. His smile faltered.
His breath caught. His pulse thundered in his ears. He had seen that mark before—or at least, heard of it.
Years ago, as a child, he’d overheard his adoptive parents talking in hushed voices about his birth mother—a woman who had left him at an orphanage. They’d mentioned one identifying detail: a crescent moon–shaped birthmark on her left shoulder. He hadn’t understood its meaning at the time, too young to grasp the full story.
But the image had stuck with him. And now, here it was—staring back at him from the shoulder of the woman he was about to marry. Nicholas felt the world tilt.
He wasn’t standing across from a wealthy widow anymore. He was standing across from the woman who had given birth to him. His mother.
Frozen at the altar, Nicholas stared at Victoria, his heart pounding—not from love or nerves, but from sheer terror. That mark—it couldn’t be coincidence. The shape, the location—it was exactly as he’d heard all those years ago.
Could it really be her? He had never imagined that the woman who abandoned him could’ve risen from poverty, changed her identity, amassed a fortune. But that mark—it told a story he couldn’t ignore.
A truth too horrifying to be chance. Victoria noticed his confusion:
“Nicholas, dear, are you alright?”
Guests exchanged glances. Something was wrong.
Nicholas took a deep breath, forced a smile, and instead of a kiss, touched her cheek. The ceremony continued, but inside he had already fallen apart. At the banquet, he felt nauseous.
Thoughts swarmed like bees in a ruined hive. He recalled everything he knew about his past life. Adoption papers accidentally found in a drawer.
A note about his biological mother: a young girl who gave the child to an orphanage. The only mark— a crescent-shaped birthmark on the left shoulder. And now—she was standing before him in a wedding dress.
And he had just become her husband. When the guests were busy with the cake, Nicholas quietly called Victoria. “We need to talk,” he said hoarsely.
She immediately understood—something had happened. They went into the next room. “That birthmark…” he began.
“Have you always had it?”
“Yes, since birth,” she answered, puzzled. “Why do you ask?”
Nicholas closed his eyes, gathering his thoughts. “I was adopted.
My foster parents said my real mother had the same mark. On her left shoulder. Exactly the same.”
Victoria’s face turned pale.
Her hands trembled. She took a step back, covering her mouth with her palm. “You mean… you…”
“I’m afraid you are my biological mother,” he said, and those words hit them both like a bullet.
Silence. Shock. Tears.
Victoria sat on the edge of a chair, pressing a handkerchief to her eyes with trembling fingers. “I was sixteen…” she whispered. “My parents took my son away.
Gave him to an orphanage. I never saw him again… Didn’t even know his name.”
She looked at him. For the first time in many years, she saw in his face the features of the little boy she had lost.
“Oh my God… Is it really you?”
Nicholas sank into a chair. The luxurious hall, the flowers, the guests—it all became alien, oppressive, nauseating. He had come here for money.
And ended up in a nightmare that no one could have predicted. The door burst open. Guests peeked inside, worried about the delay.
“What’s happening?” they whispered. Nicholas stood up. His voice trembled, but his resolve was ironclad:
“The wedding is canceled.
We cannot be together.”
Victoria bolted from the altar, unable to bear the unfolding scene. Her dress fluttered behind her like the wings of a wounded bird. The guests sat in stunned silence, unsure of what had just happened.
By the next day, the city was buzzing with gossip. Some whispered of betrayal, others speculated about a love story gone terribly wrong. But no one knew the real story.
A week later, Nicholas vanished. He holed up in a rundown motel, ignoring phone calls, never stepping outside. Meanwhile, Victoria, heartbroken but determined, began the painful process of verifying the truth.
And it was confirmed—through old documents and sealed records. The boy she once gave up… had returned as the man she almost married. With shaking hands, she rewrote her will—this time, removing his name.
Two months later, she received a letter. No return address. No date.
Just one sentence:
“Forgive me…”
After that, Nicholas vanished without a trace. Victoria devoted herself to charity. But every year, on their wedding anniversary, she came to the old watch factory—the place where her son was born and where their story began.
The story of their failed marriage became one of Los Angeles’s most terrible legends. An urban myth whispered about. A love story turned tragedy.
