Chapter 2

The day of my funeral broke with a bright morning.

Sunlight streamed through the funeral home's stained-glass windows, dancing across the white roses.

My framed portrait dominated the memorial hall—front and center. It was taken at last year's company gala, where I wore a bright red dress and beamed at the camera.

Beneath it lay a glass casket, and inside rested my meticulously made-up corpse.

Floating above the hall in my ghostly form, I watched everything unfold below, struck by the sheer absurdity of it all.

"Chloe, my baby girl." Mom collapsed beside the casket. Her gut-wrenching sobs pierced through me like shards of glass.

Dad, his eyes bloodshot, was supporting her. His once-straight back was now hunched, as if he had aged a decade overnight.

I drifted over, reaching out to hug them, but my arms went right through.

"Mom, Dad, I'm right here," I called out, but my voice just vanished.

The hall was packed with a steady stream of visitors—my colleagues, college classmates, and distant relatives.

Dressed in black, they walked up to my portrait with solemn faces, put down the white roses, and then offered their condolences to my parents.

Lily from the marketing department wept more bitterly than anyone else.

My best friend, Jessica Lynn, seven months pregnant, sobbed uncontrollably in her husband's arms.

Liam was the one who really stood out.

He stood at the entrance to the memorial hall in his impeccably tailored black suit, greeting each mourner with calculated grace.

His eyes were bloodshot, his face as white as a sheet. His tie hung loosely around his neck, as if grief had drained him of even the strength to straighten himself up.

He responded to each condolence with artfully trembling lips and tearful restraint—a masterclass in feigned grief.

"Mr. Goodman, I'm sorry for your loss."

"Liam, Chloe wouldn't want to see you like this."

"Mr. Goodman, the company needs you."

Liam nodded faintly to each mourner, expressing his thanks in a carefully hoarse voice.

His performance was flawless, if only I didn't already know the monster beneath the mask.

I floated right before him, so close I could count each of his eyelashes.

His eyes were red and swollen, but I knew the truth—he'd been rubbing onions last night. I saw it with my own eyes.

Pretending to bow his head in grief, he quickly stole a glance at his phone's lock screen.

There was a text from Margaret: [What do you want for dinner? I made you some soup], with a heart emoji at the end.

The corner of Liam's lips twitched upward almost imperceptibly for a split second before snapping back into his mask of grief.

A bone-chilling terror shot through me, freezing me to the very core.

"Liam Goodman!" I shrieked, throwing myself at him with all my strength. But I just went right through, almost falling over from the force.

Liam remained still, without so much as a flicker of his lashes.

Soon, the memorial service started.

As my "fiancé," Liam was called upon to deliver the eulogy.

He trudged up to the podium and fished a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket.

He began, his voice trembling, "Chloe was the most important person in my life."

The audience erupted in muffled sobs.

I scoffed.

That paper was the business pitch I'd helped him rewrite last month. He'd just grabbed it the last second.

I couldn't know more about the handwriting there.

"We first met on campus in college, and she always had such a radiant smile."

It was true that we met in college. But back then, he was the one with a bright smile.

That year, he was the student council president, while I headed the arts department.

He played and sang "Long Live" at the orientation party, having half the girls swooning—me most of all.

"She was kind-hearted, resilient, and radiated an undying zest for life."

That part was painfully true.

How kind of me to believe his every word, how strong to endure his never-ending thing with Margaret all these years, and what a zest for life—I couldn't even let my afterlife self rest in peace.

As Liam's eulogy concluded, the entire hall dissolved into sobs.

He staggered off the stage, supported by several colleagues, and slumped into his seat. Bowing his head, he buried his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking.

No one noticed him secretly checking a selfie from Margaret between his fingers—she was wearing my nightgown, posing in our bedroom.

After the funeral, Liam made a show of escorting everyone out.

As soon as the hall cleared, he heaved a long sigh of relief, loosened his tie, and called Margaret.

"Yeah, it's finally over. I'm beat. Of course I miss you." His voice was light and playful, a stark contrast to his earlier grief. "I'll be home in twenty. Wear that black lace lingerie for me, okay?"

Numb, I drift after him out of the funeral home and slip into the black Mercedes-Benz.

There was still a faint metallic smell in the car—my blood.

Seemingly oblivious to it all, Liam turned on the stereo and played some upbeat jazz.

The black Mercedes glided into the underground garage of an apartment.

It had been the place we called home. But now, it was a love nest for him and Margaret.

As the elevator climbed, Liam checked his reflection in the mirror, smoothing his hair and even spritzing some breath freshener.

I stood aside, staring at him. Once, I loved him with all my heart, but now all I felt was pure disgust.

The moment the door opened, Margaret threw herself into his arms.

She wore a silk slip dress, her hair cascading in soft waves, looking every bit like a delicate doll.

"Liam." She tilted her face up, her eyes shimmering with tears. "Today must have been hard for you, right?"

Liam instantly went all weak and tired-looking. "Mmm, at least I have you," he murmured before lowering his lips to hers.

I turned away sharply. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't block out the wet, intimate sounds of their kissing.

My gut twisted with a nausea that shouldn't even exist anymore. I floated to the bedroom to escape, but what I saw there just made my heart ache even more.

All my belongings were gone.

My skincare on the vanity, my favorite aromatherapy diffuser by the bed, and all my clothes in the wardrobe—every last trace of me had been wiped clean.

Instead, there were Margaret's dresses and designer handbags.

Among the paired toothbrushes and towels in the bathroom, none was mine.

Liam embraced Margaret from behind, his chin resting on her shoulder. "You did a great job cleaning," he murmured.

"The cleaning service came today," Margaret said softly. "I had all her belongings packed up and sent to her parents' place. You don't mind, do you?"

"Of course not. You did the right thing." Liam brushed a kiss against her earlobe and added, "Keeping her stuff around would only make it harder to move on."

I floated right in their faces, glaring at Liam down. "You're lying!" I shrieked. "You called the cleaning service yesterday, before my body was even cold!"

Of course, he couldn't hear me.

"Liam." Margaret nestled against Liam's chest. "Sometimes, I get scared thinking—what if you hadn't made her get out of the car that day because of me?"

"Shh." Liam pressed a finger to her lips. "This isn't your fault. Blame the truck driver, or maybe Chloe just wasn't careful enough."

He cupped her face in his hands, whispering, "We deserve happiness, Margie."

I froze in mid-air.

They just brushed off my death like it was nothing? Just started a brand new life together, without a shred of guilt?

Rage poured through me.

I focused all my energy and charged at the glass on the coffee table—it didn't budge.

But Margaret suddenly screamed, her fingers digging into Liam's arm.

"What's wrong?" Liam's eyes swept the room, instantly alert.

"J-Just now, it felt like someone sighed right in my ear." Margaret's face went deathly pale.

Liam let out a sigh of relief and chuckled, rubbing her cheek. "You're imagining things, darling. We're alone."

I froze.

Margaret heard me?

With every ounce of my strength, I screamed at her, "Get the hell out of my home!"

Margaret shivered violently. "Liam, I'm freezing all of a sudden."

Liam tightened his embrace. "Maybe the air conditioning's just too cold." He grabbed the remote and turned up the temperature. "Don't overthink things, hmm?"

For days, I drifted through the apartment like a ghost struck in a loop, haunting the spaces that brimmed with memories.

I watched them having sex in my bed, cooking together in my kitchen, and watching the sunset on my balcony. Each scene tore me apart from inside.

I had tried every trick I could think of to get their attention.

I tried to make noise while they were being intimate, to create distractions while Margaret was looking in the mirror, and even to scream in their ears while they were asleep. But nothing worked.

The only time I succeeded was when I made the curtains sway slightly, but Liam dismissed it as "the window not being shut right."

On the evening of the seventh day, I hovered outside the balcony, watching the setting sun stain the clouds blood-red.

Liam and Margaret were discussing their wedding plans in the living room. They wanted to tie the knot within three months after my death. They said fate always changed, and they should seize the moment.

I stared at my see-through hands, finally realizing one truth.

I was dead, and to the living, I was fading away.

At that very moment, something weird happened.

I felt my spirit getting fainter, my tether to this world slowly unraveling.

Terror grabbed me—if even my anger and pain faded, would I just disappear?

No!

I couldn't just leave like this.

Liam had to pay for his betrayal, and there was no way I'd let Margaret take my place.

During those restless hours, I gradually pieced together the dots.

That day, Liam's face changed the second he answered Margaret's call, as if he'd rehearsed it.

And that truck showed up right when it needed to.

I stared at the two wrapped up in the living room, and a fierce resolve formed where my heart used to be.

If the living couldn't hear me, then I'd find a being that could hear me.

If this world ignored me, then I'd make it see me—with every ounce of my vengeful soul.

Liam and Margaret's laughter drifted over, so piercing that I wanted to cover my ears.

But a soul had no ears—I could only let their laughter slice through me, leaving invisible wounds all over.

The sun set completely.

Darkness fell, and my revenge began.