Victoria accepted the engagement ring because it was beautiful. Because it was priceless. Because she didn’t know it was cursed.

Alexander proposed on a rooftop. Sunset. City lights. A moment that should have been perfect.

“Will you marry me?”

“Yes.”

He slid the ring on her finger. It was cold. Too cold. Like ice that never melted.

“It belonged to my grandmother,” Alexander said. “Passed down for generations. To the first bride of each generation.”

Victoria admired it. Didn’t notice the way Alexander’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. Didn’t notice the way he watched her hand. Like he was waiting for something.

Weeks passed. The wedding was planned. The dress was fitted. The invitations were sent.

Then Victoria started dreaming. Dreams of other women. Other brides. Other hands wearing the ring.

They spoke to her. In the dreams. Told her the truth.

“The ring doesn’t bless,” one said. “It binds.”

“Binds me to what?”

“To him. To his family. To the curse that keeps them alive.”

Victoria woke up screaming. Alexander comforted her. Held her. Whispered that it was just nerves.

But Victoria researched. Found the history. Found the deaths. Found the brides who died young.

Every generation. One bride. One death. One ring passed to the next.

“You knew,” she said. Confronted Alexander at breakfast. Showed him the research.

Alexander didn’t deny it. “It’s the price of our immortality.”

“Immortality?”

“The ring keeps us alive. Young. Beautiful. But it needs sacrifice. Needs a bride. Needs death.”

Victoria ran. Left the ring on the table. Left Alexander. Left the life she had planned.

But the ring followed her. Appeared on her finger every morning. No matter where she left it.

“You can’t escape,” Alexander said. Called her. Taunted her. “The ring chooses. And it chose you.”

Victoria found a priest. An exorcist. Someone who understood curses.

“The ring can’t be removed,” he said. “Not until the curse is broken.”

“How?”

“Someone has to die. Either you. Or him.”

Victoria made her choice. Confronted Alexander. Demanded the truth about the curse.

“There is no curse,” he admitted. “There’s just poison. Slow. Undetectable. In the ring.”

“Why?”

“Because I needed the inheritance. And the inheritance requires a dead wife.”

Victoria called the police. Had Alexander arrested. Had the ring analyzed.

It wasn’t cursed. It was poisoned. And Alexander had been killing his wives for generations.

Victoria survived. Had the ring destroyed. Had Alexander imprisoned.

Some engagements ended in marriage. Some ended in death. Some ended in justice.

Victoria’s ended in truth. And that was the best ending of all.