My name is Aurelia. I died at twenty-two, murdered by my husband, Carlos Sterling.

To seal a family alliance, my parents forced me to take the place of their adored adopted daughter, Bianca, and marry the most handsome—and most brutal—man in New York.

As I lay dying from his torture, I used the last of my strength to make my eighth call for help. My family's impatience was the only answer I got.

My brother, Connor, roared at me to just go and die. In the end, I did as he wished.

After my death, my three-year-old daughter, Stella, used her children's tablet to live-stream the video of my frost-covered head in a walk-in freezer to my mother.

Now, my soul is tethered to the ceiling, a cold observer watching them spiral, one by one, toward their breaking points.

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1

I knew I was dying. The wound in my abdomen bled relentlessly. The air grew thick with the warm, metallic scent of my own blood, so strong it was nauseating.

"Mom... I'm not going to make it," I whispered. "Can you please come get Stella?"

Stella was only three, asleep upstairs, oblivious to the nightmare unfolding in the living room.

The blood flowed faster. Shards of a crystal decanter that once held expensive whiskey were scattered around me, glittering like malevolent stars.

My husband, Carlos Sterling, was slumped on the sofa, snoring heavily in the stupor that followed his latest bout of violent rage.

My mother, trying on a new pair of diamond earrings in her Chicago mansion, sounded muffled and distinctly irritated. "What is it now, Aurelia?"

"I'm dying—"

The phone was snatched away. Connor's voice cut in, sharp and cold with fury.

"Every time you call, it's 'I want a divorce' or 'He's going to kill me.' Must you always be so dramatic?"

I fell silent.

Maybe it was the blood loss, or maybe I was just numb, but a profound exhaustion seeped into my bones. A familiar, bone-deep weariness.

Ever since I was a child, I was forced to give up my toys, my snacks, my parents' affection—all for Bianca, the clever, cunning orphan my parents adored.

I learned to muffle my own voice, to become smaller, quieter, less visible, so that she could shine.

At eighteen, I was traded like a lamb to the slaughter to Carlos Sterling—heir to Manhattan's most powerful syndicate. A political marriage.

I had tried to be a good wife, to soothe the demons inside him. I had failed.

Every day became a careful calculation—how to hide the bruises, how to make them fade faster before the next public appearance, how to survive just one more night.

At twenty, the darkness in my mind had grown into a forest, denser than any I had ever navigated.

Only Stella's smile kept me from getting lost in it forever.

And now, at twenty-two, a shard from Carlos's favorite decanter had sliced deep into my abdomen, tearing an artery.

Strangely… the exhaustion was gone.

For the first time in years, I felt something close to peace.

"This isn't an act, Connor," I whispered, my voice wet and weak. "I'm really dying. Please... just this once. I don't want Stella to find me."

In the seven years since they chose Bianca over their own daughter, I had only called seven times.

Three times to ask them to get me out of this marriage.

Four times because I was injured.

This was the eighth.

Only seven times. This was the eighth. Not so many, were they?

"Then just go die!" Connor snarled, his voice a final, callous roar.

"If you die, we'll come for the child. It's as simple as that."

Connor hung up.

The eighth time. The eighth failure.

A grim, blood-flecked smile tugged at my lips. I slid down the wall, the warmth seeping out of me along with my life.

My instincts—usually a frantic, fluttering thing in my chest—were still.

I turned my gaze to the stairs. It was quiet. Stella was either still asleep... or, more likely, huddled trembling under her covers, too terrified to make a sound.

The thought hurt more than the gash in my belly.

My little baby, scared and alone, and I couldn't even lift a hand to comfort her.

What would happen to her after I was gone?

Left here... with that monster?

My phone buzzed in the spreading pool of my blood.

It took every last ounce of my strength, but I forced my blurring vision to focus.

It was Bianca.

"Hey, Aurelia. I'm hosting a charity gala. The whole family is here to support me. So, you know, no one's really in the mood for your drama."

"I just don't get it. You've already lost. Why can't you just accept it and disappear?"

Bitterness rose in my throat. I wasn't fighting. I hadn't been for years.

I was just trying to keep my daughter alive.

A desperate, final surge of adrenaline flooded me. I fumbled for the phone, pressing it to my ear.

I was about to beg the person I hated most in the world.

"Bianca..." My voice was a raw, wet gasp. "I'm sorry. I was wrong. I shouldn't have… tried to compete with you. I'll cut myself—deeply, as many times as you want. Please… just come get my daughter. Please."

She loved making me hurt myself, but even for her, this was a new level of cruelty.

The words tore from my throat, taking the last of my dignity with them.

"Wait, what?" Bianca's response was first shock, then a slow-blooming excitement. "Are you serious? You'd really cut yourself? Then do it! Let me hear it!"

My hand trembled violently as I reached for it.

The small paring knife was still on the table.

And then—

A line of blood bloomed across my forearm.

The pain was a clean, sharp explosion on my skin.

Another. And another. And another.

Each slice was a searing note of agony, and I forced myself to keep going.

My vision blurred. Fire shot up my arm, the flesh swelling as the blade bit deep.

"I'll... do anything..." I choked out. "Please... just take my daughter. Please..."

Another slice. And another.

Until my arm was just a humming, numb thing of fire.

Bianca's laughter burst from the receiver. Bright. Triumphant. Vicious.

"You really did it? Oh, this is just priceless. Seven years, Aurelia. You finally broke."

Yes. I was broken.

"Come… get Stella…" I whispered, my words slurring as consciousness began to fray.

Bianca's tone snapped, suddenly sharp as a razor's edge.

"Aurelia? I thought you said 'my daughter'? Still trying to sneak your way back into the family?"

I tried to speak again.

Stella. Please...

No sound came out. Only a wet, broken rasp from my throat.

"Cat got your tongue, Aurelia?" Bianca taunted, her voice dripping with contempt. "Or did I finally strike a nerve?"

In the background, my father's deep, authoritative voice cut in.

"That's enough, Aurelia. Stop this attention-seeking drama."

"I have a meeting with the Sterling executives in two weeks."

"I'll see you then."

Two weeks.

After all these years... he was finally coming.

Too late.

My vision darkened, the world splintering and slipping away.

I'm sorry, Stella. Mommy couldn't escape this cage.

If there is a soul...

If there is anything after this...

I will watch over you.

I opened my eyes.

I was floating above my own body.

So ghosts were real.

Morning light filtered through the tall windows. The Sterling mansion was dead silent.

Carlos had fired all the household staff years ago. He preferred it this way—no witnesses, no interruptions. Just me, trapped in this gilded cage, his silent servant... and the outlet for all his rage.

My ghostly form felt no pain, no weight.

And yet, a deep, visceral chill coiled inside me.

Carlos was waking up.

I didn't linger.

I turned and drifted upstairs, passing effortlessly through the closed bedroom door.

Stella was a small, trembling lump under her blanket.

The sheets were wet.

She was too afraid to get out of bed. Not even to use the bathroom.

Something inside me fractured.

"My baby..."

I reached out, desperate to soothe her, to brush her messy hair back from her face as I always did.

My hand passed right through. It touched nothing.

I couldn't even comfort my own child.

A roar came from downstairs.

Carlos had found my body.

I froze. Then slowly... I drifted back down.

What I saw next carved a void in me deeper than death itself.

Carlos stood over my remains, his face a mask not of grief, but of pure, unadulterated irritation. And calculation.

He dragged my body across the floor, leaving a dark smear. He vanished for a moment, returning with a knife, thick plastic bags, and a tarp.

He worked methodically. Coldly. Efficiently.

The sound of a blade parting flesh echoed softly in the silent room.

There was no hesitation. No reverence. Not a single shred of the bond that was supposed to tie husband and wife together.

Only practiced butchery.

Even as a spirit, I flinched away.

This was what he really was.

And my family had handed me to him with a smile.

Originally, the marriage alliance had been for Bianca.

The Sterlings were the top syndicate. Carlos—powerful, dangerous, the heir apparent.

Bianca had been thrilled.

Until the rumors started to circulate.

A dead woman. A night of play that went too far. A scandal that couldn't be hushed up.

Suddenly, my parents hesitated.

Not about the alliance—that was never in question.

About her.

So they rewrote the plan.

I could still hear their voices, as clearly as if they stood beside me now.

"Aurelia is our biological daughter. Her blood is purer. She is more worthy of the Sterling heir."

"She's obedient. Docile. Easy to manage. Not like Bianca."

"Bianca is too delicate. She's not ready to bear children. Aurelia will give you a strong heir."

Every word had sounded like a sacrifice.

But none of it was for me.

Every flaw they attached to Bianca was a shield.

Every virtue they praised in me was a chain.

I drifted into the kitchen, a morbid spectator to my own desecration.

Carlos was sectioning my remains, sealing them in thick plastic bags.

One. Two. Three.

"Stupid bitch..." he muttered under his breath. "Had it coming..."

His lip curled.

"Filthy little liar..."

Liar?

His voice rose, defensive, almost frantic.

"Don't look at me like that! Bianca told me everything!"

My world grew even colder.

"She said you were never clean," he snarled. "Messing around with other men when you were just a girl… always seducing them… letting them touch you…"

Every word was a blow.

"She said you'd do anything for attention. That I was the one who had to take someone else's used goods."

The truth slammed into me.

Bianca. Of course, it was her.

That's when it had all changed.

We'd had a few tense but peaceful months after the wedding.

Then, after a family gathering where Bianca pulled him aside, the beatings had started.

You won, Bianca.

You took everything from me. Wasn't that enough? Why poison the well until I was dead?

By nightfall, Carlos was finished.

My remains were sealed in heavy bags, stacked in the two large walk-in freezers in the basement storeroom. Out of sight, out of mind. Erased.

He scrubbed the living room clean until the smell of bleach and artificial pine masked everything.

Until it was as if I had never existed at all.

A small figure appeared at the top of the stairs. Stella.

Carlos looked up. In the dim light, his eyes held a faint sheen.

"Stella," he said slowly. "What did you see?"

She froze.

"I asked you a question."

His voice dropped, laced with the quiet command of authority.

"N-nothing..." she whispered, shrinking into herself.

His gaze lingered on her.

"Stay upstairs," he said coldly. "If you come down again, I'll break your legs."

She scrambled back up the stairs and vanished from sight.

Carlos grabbed a bag and walked out into the night.

The front door clicked shut.

Silence returned.

The moment the door closed, Stella crept back down.

She didn't go to the kitchen. She went to the basement door, struggled it open, and took small steps down into the cold.

I followed her, my fear a knot tightening with every step she took.

She went straight to the larger of the two freezers.

With a little grunt, she pulled the heavy lid open.

Icy mist spilled out, swirling around her tiny frame.

Among the frost-covered packages of meat, one shape was unmistakably human. My head.

"Mommy?" her small voice echoed in the concrete room.

I had no tears left to cry, but my soul wept.

She saw everything.