I freaked out, but only for a second.

Immediately after, the pure rage of being broke took over.

I shoved my phone right into the shadow. The screen clearly displayed three thousand eight hundred dollars.

“I say, you’re paying for it!”

I stood my ground with defiance.

“Read it. Three thousand eight hundred dollars! Do you know what my monthly pay is? After rent and bills, I’ll be broke! Completely broke!

“You’re running a full-scale operation here every day! You cook and do poltergeist stuff while treating my electricity like it’s free!”

The dark mass seemed to hesitate.

The flickering lights steadied.

The temperature in the room rose a few degrees.

That cold voice spoke in my mind again, but this time, it carried a trace of... hurt pride?

“I don’t have any money.”

I almost laughed out loud in disbelief.

“You don’t have any money, yet you still have the nerve to act so entitled?”

I put my hands on my hips and switched into full lecture mode.

“Let’s get one thing straight, Nathaniel. We are housemates. Housemates split the bills. You cook to pay for your rent and utilities. That’s the deal. But you don’t get to blow the budget!

“From now on, we are on an energy budget. Do not leave the TV on for no reason. Keep the meals simple with just a couple of simple dishes. And no more random apparitions, especially in front of my colleagues. Do you have any idea how expensive compensations for emotional distress are?”

I said my piece.

The dark mass stayed still and listened quietly.

Only when I had finished did it slowly dissipate back into the shadowy corner.

A word echoed in my mind.

“Okay.”

I let out a long sigh of relief. I felt like a hero who had successfully negotiated a truce.

I was probably the first person in history to get a ghost to pay up.

From that day on, Nathaniel genuinely started cutting back on using utilities.

The TV stopped turning on by itself in the middle of the night.

Our dinners were downgraded from a full-course meal to just a couple of simple dishes.

Even though the meals were simpler, they still tasted as delicious as ever.

Our cohabitation settled into a bizarre kind of harmony.

Every day when I came home from work, a hot meal was always waiting on the table.

The house was constantly spotless.

I started giving him money.

I did not know if he actually needed it, but it made me feel better.

Whenever I gave him the money, I would say, “Here’s your pocket money, Nat. Buy yourself something nice. My treat.”

Even though I could not see him, I could feel the atmosphere in the house becoming warmer and more peaceful.

As for Whitley, after she was scared off that day, she had been hostile toward me in the office.

She did not dare tell anyone about the incident with the candlestick holder. No one would believe her, anyway.

Instead, she started sabotaging my work at every opportunity.

That day, the director assigned our team an urgent project with a tight deadline. He demanded a complete proposal within three days.

Our manager assigned data analysis, which was the most crucial part, to Whitley and me.

Whitley coyly smiled at me in front of the whole team. “You’re the expert on this, Casey. I’m sure you can take the lead. I’ve some family matters to attend to, so I might need to leave early.”

Just like that, she left at five o’clock sharp.

She left the entire mess for me to handle.

I was the only one left in the office as I worked overtime. My head was pounding from staring at the endless spread of data on my screen.

I did not get back to my apartment until it was almost one in the morning.

A bowl of chicken soup was waiting for me on the table, still warm.

A wave of gratitude washed over me. I drank the soup and passed out on my bed.

The next morning, my alarm blared. I opened my eyes, and the memory of my unfinished work hit me immediately.

I groaned, dragged myself out of bed, and booted up my laptop.

When I looked at the screen, I froze.

My project file was open.

It was supposed to show the half-finished data analysis.

But what I saw was the complete version. Someone had finished it for me.

And it was perfect.

The model construction, data comparison, and conclusion derivation were all clearer, more precise, and more insightful than anything I could have produced.

It had been completed at a standard beyond my own capabilities.

A small, yellow sticky note was attached to the bottom corner of my screen.

It was in Nathaniel’s familiar handwriting.

[Get more sleep.]

I beheld the miraculous proposal. I was not sure how to feel.

During the meeting on Monday, I gritted my teeth and presented the data.

I watched the director’s expression change from bland indifference to surprise, and finally, to genuine approval.

“Casey, this is outstanding work. The analysis is incredibly sharp. I had no idea you had this in you.”

I looked down as I blushed.

Whitley, who was sitting at the meeting table, scowled.

The moment the meeting adjourned, she cornered me in the pantry.

“Quite the little star, aren’t we, Casey? So, who did you steal it from? Or did you just pay someone to do your work for you?”

She was clearly jealous.

“Let me be clear. Don’t expect to climb the corporate ladder with these cheap tricks. I’ll be watching you.”

I could not be bothered to argue with her.

But the incident also served as a wake-up call for me.

Nathaniel was extremely capable.

Who was he, really?

What did he do for a living before this?

That night, for the first time, I did not talk about work. I asked about his past.

“Nathaniel, what did you do before this?

“Why do you remain in this house?

“How did you die?”

I asked a stream of questions into the still air.

The room fell completely silent.

Just when I assumed I would not get an answer, my laptop screen flickered on by itself.

A single search bar glowed in the center of the screen.

The letters appeared on the search bar one by one, typed by an unseen hand.

N-A-T-H-A-N-I-E-L S-I-M-M-O-N-S.

Nathaniel Simmons.

The results loaded instantly.

The top link was a news article from five years ago.

The headline read, [Tragedy Claims Rising Finance Star Nathaniel Simmons in Fatal Crash.]

The article was accompanied by a photo of a young man in a crisp white shirt.

He had sharp, intelligent features and an air of quiet confidence. His gaze was both calm and intensely focused, hinting at a mind that was always working.

His profile identified him as the lead analyst for Meridian Ventures.

Meridian Ventures.

That was the firm I worked for.

According to the article, the accident had occurred right outside this apartment building.