I died in a car crash. My husband was convinced I faked it.

He viciously stomped on my ashes with his foot. "Tell her the act is up. It failed."

"My mother's death anniversary is coming up. She'd better show her face and pay for what she did."

I was a ghost. All I could do was watch.

Two weeks later, he took another woman to try on wedding dresses. He planned the wedding for our anniversary.

I screamed, trying to tell him the truth. That woman was the one who killed his mother.

But he couldn't hear me.

On their wedding day, the doors burst open. The police walked in.

The slideshow of their smiling faces on the big screen vanished...

————————

1

Dorian Westbrook was two hours late when he finally blew through the doors of the funeral home in Queens. The lines of his Givenchy suit were a rumpled mess, and a vivid smear of red lipstick marked his collar.

It was clear he'd just torn himself away from a party in Lower Manhattan, fresh from a heated entanglement with another woman.

Finding an attendant, Dorian sneered, "So? Where's Elowen Beaumont's urn? Didn't you call and tell me to pick it up?"

The attendant confirmed his identity and handed him an alabaster box. Inside were my ashes.

Dorian snatched the box, his eyes brimming with scorn. "Is this really Elowen's? For all I know, you just scraped together some poor bastard's ashes to fool me."

Confusion flickered across the attendant's face. "Mr. Westbrook, these are indeed Ms. Beaumont's ashes. We have complete records..."

Dorian grinned. "No need. I believe you."

I breathed a sigh of relief. For whatever reason, my soul was still tethered to the mortal world. I figured it was because I hadn't been properly laid to rest.

He has to believe I'm dead now.

No matter how much he hated me, for the sake of our past, he would at least find some random place to bury me, right?

Before I could even savor the thought, I heard Dorian's sharp gasp. The urn slipped from his hands, crashed to the floor, and my ashes scattered everywhere.

His smile twisted into something venomous. "Oops. So sorry, my hand slipped."

Then, he ground my ashes into the floor with the sole of his John Lobb shoe.

When my gaze met Dorian's unsmiling eyes, my throat tightened, as if squeezed by an invisible hand. I couldn't breathe. I opened my mouth, but no sound came out.

He didn't stop until my ashes were nothing more than grit in the cracks of the tiles. Only then did Dorian pull back his foot, a smug look of satisfaction on his face.

He smiled at the stunned attendant. "Tell Elowen her little ploy was cute, but a total failure."

"My mother's anniversary at Woodlawn Cemetery is in a few days. She'd better show up there to atone. Otherwise, even if she really is dead, I won't hesitate to drag her name through the mud all over New York."

The threat was pure venom, enough to chill anyone to the bone. I knew Dorian meant every word.

The thought that my body had already been cremated brought me a strange sense of relief.

Before the attendant could react, Dorian took a call and got into his Bentley. Bizarrely, my soul was forced to follow.

I could only sit in the passenger seat, listening to him chat with the woman on the phone. I knew that voice well. It belonged to Lorelei Astor, the Westbrook family's ward.

When Dorian and I were still madly in love, Lorelei had told me to leave him. After I refused, she started spreading rumors about me in the art world and even hired people to ruin my gallery shows.

When Dorian found out, he'd taught Lorelei a brutal lesson, warning her that if she ever touched me again, he'd throw her out of the Westbrook home.

Now, as the conversation turned to me, Dorian's expression iced over.

"Why bring her up? Such a buzzkill. Besides, she's not really dead."

"But what if she really is dead? What would you do then, Dorian?" Lorelei's probing tone came through the phone.

My heart tightened, and I instinctively turned to look at Dorian.

In the past, he would have been heartbroken over a tiny cut on my hand, let alone the thought of my death.

He used to call me his most precious treasure.

But now, Dorian just let out a cold laugh. "Then I'd open a bottle of Screaming Eagle Cabernet and throw a party for three straight days and nights to celebrate."

I could only stare, my eyes wide with disbelief. It was only at this moment that I truly understood the depths of Dorian's hatred for me. He hated me to the bone—so much that my death was worthy of a party.

The thing is, I was dead. He just refused to believe it.

The car stopped outside the Vera Wang flagship store on Madison Avenue.

Dorian strode inside without hesitation.

My mind flashed back to the day he brought me here, right after we'd secretly gotten our marriage license.

Back then, he couldn't wait to see me in a wedding dress, holding me excitedly and telling me I was the most beautiful bride in the world.

But now, he gazed tenderly at Lorelei, who stood before him in a wedding gown. He tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and murmured, "You're gorgeous."

Lorelei lowered her head shyly. When she looked up again, her eyes were glistening with tears.

"Dorian, I can finally marry you."

I watched in horror, helpless, as Lorelei leaned in and kissed Dorian's cheek.

I wanted so badly to stop it, but my hand passed right through his body. I watched as he slid a Harry Winston diamond ring onto Lorelei's middle finger.

How could this be happening? Why would Dorian marry her?

That woman was the one who murdered his mother!

Dorian Westbrook, wake up!

I opened my mouth and screamed at him hoarsely. Grief and rage tore through me.

But soon, a chilling numbness set in. All I could do was watch.

Lorelei admired herself excitedly in the mirror.

Suddenly, she asked, "By the way, Dorian, is she doing okay?"

We both knew who "she" was.

Dorian's expression remained hard, his patience clearly wearing thin.

"Of course she's fine! It's just one of her little tricks!"

"So, are we still inviting her to our wedding?"

Dorian lowered his gaze, and a vicious sneer twisted his lips.

"Of course. After all, she's the guest of honor."

I understood immediately. He wanted me to witness his wedding. The one I had always dreamed of.

Back then, Dorian's mother, Eleonora, had vehemently opposed our marriage, believing I wasn't worthy of the Westbrook family. So we only got a license, no wedding.

After her death, having a real wedding with Dorian became an impossible dream. She had died from a stroke.

On the night she passed, phone records showed I was the last person she had spoken to. So, naturally, Dorian decided I had angered her to death.

The day Eleonora was buried, during a winter blizzard, Dorian forced me to stand at her grave for an entire night.

I remember meeting his gaze in the storm, his dark eyes filled with nothing but hatred.

He had said to me, "Elowen Beaumont, from this day on, we are mortal enemies."

From that moment, I went from being his lover to his greatest enemy. He hated me, humiliated me, but refused to let me go. He even brought different women back to our home, right in our bed.

When Dorian had noticed my red-rimmed eyes, he had laughed, patting my cheek with mocking cruelty. "Are you sad, Elowen? You brought this on yourself."

I tried to explain, but Dorian's actions only grew more extreme. He never doubted his own conclusions, simply because he knew Eleonora had disliked me.

How could he possibly believe it? That the woman he now cherished was his mother's killer?

After dropping Lorelei off, Dorian unblocked my number. He tapped the steering wheel with one hand while dialing my number with the other.

A moment later, I watched as Dorian's brow furrowed. He hurled his phone against the Bentley's window, venting his frustration.

"How dare you not answer my call, Elowen! You've got a death wish, don't you?"

But he didn't know I would never answer his calls again.

Half a month later, Dorian finally returned to the West Village townhouse we once shared. He slammed the door open and yelled, "Elowen, get the hell out here!"

He kicked open one door after another but found no trace of me. The grim look on his face deepened.

Dorian ordered his men to track my whereabouts, muttering darkly, "Oh, Elowen. If you want to run, you'd better run far. Because if I catch you, I'll break your legs."

Too bad I was standing right in front of him.

Soon, one of his men sent a set of coordinates to Dorian's phone. Dorian's expression twisted.

I looked at his phone, puzzled, and quickly recognized the location: the Dumbo loft of my childhood friend, Silas Croft.

"Mr. Westbrook, the last person Ms. Beaumont contacted was Mr. Croft. He claims to have never seen her. We suspect he may have abducted her."

Dorian said coldly, "I'm on my way."

He floored it all the way to Silas's building.

He began kicking the door, his jaw tight with tension.

When Dorian kicked the door for the third time, it swung open from the inside.

Silas's calm face appeared before him, though dark circles were visible under his eyes.

"What is it?"

Dorian gave a chilling smile. "You're hiding my woman. What do you think I'm here for?"

Silas remained expressionless. "I'm not hiding her. She's dead. Didn't the funeral home call you to pick up her ashes?"

"Oh? Elowen put you up to this too? Ha! It seems she's really determined to avoid me this time!"

Dorian refused to believe I was dead. He was convinced it was all just an elaborate trick.

He looked past Silas into the loft and shouted, "Elowen, don't think you can skip my mother's anniversary just because Silas is protecting you! I'll count to three! If you don't come out now, don't come crying to me later!"

"One... Two... Three!"

The moment he finished counting, Dorian lunged forward and kicked Silas hard, ordering his men to rush in and find me.

Silas crumpled to the floor, clutching his stomach, a flicker of fury finally breaking through his calm facade.

"Dorian, Elowen is dead! You picked up her ashes yourself! Have you forgotten? She's dead!"

Enraged, Silas grabbed Dorian's collar and slammed him against the wall.

Dorian's face was a thundercloud. He retorted mockingly, "Still trying to hide her, even now! Silas, your love for her knows no bounds! It's a pity I've already fucked her so much she's loose!"

"I suppose when I'm done with her, if you still want the used goods, I might consider letting you have her. But not now. She still has to atone at my mother's grave, so she has no time for you."

Silas's face flushed crimson. He gripped Dorian's collar with all his might and snarled, "Dorian Westbrook, you dare!"

Suddenly, he threw a punch at Dorian's face.

Almost immediately, the two of them became a tangle of flying fists and feet.

My chest ached, feeling like it would burst from the inside.

Though Silas was fit, Dorian was skilled in close-quarters combat. It only took a few moves before Dorian had him pinned to the ground.

Panic seized me, but I was powerless.

"Look at you, Silas! So pathetic! Willing to risk getting beaten to death by me for Elowen! And her? She just takes your protection for granted! A woman like that, how is she worthy of your love?"

This time, it was Silas who let out a derisive laugh. "Dorian, you're the pathetic one. You've got the wrong killer, and you're torturing the woman you supposedly love. You're more pathetic than a bum on the street."

"What did you just say?" Dorian raised his fist coldly.

Just then, another voice cut in frantically. "Mr. Westbrook, we found the traffic cam footage of Ms. Beaumont's accident on the FDR Drive! And... her autopsy report from the NYC Office of Chief Medical Examiner!"