Chapter 4

"Eve, stop acting like a fucking lunatic! I am your husband! That is my child!"

Clayton's roar was deafening inside the cramped cold storage room.

Veins bulged on his neck as he violently grabbed my jaw, forcing me to look him in the eye.

"Look at me! I am the man you love most!"

Forced to look at his face, all that flooded my mind were memories of pure agony and despair.

Whenever Karina and I had a conflict, Clayton always chose to believe her, forcing me to apologize every single time.

When I was burning up with a high fever, Karina called to say a water pipe broke in her apartment, and he abandoned me without a second thought.

When I was exiled to this funeral home, Karina secretly ordered the staff to make my life a living hell.

At my most terrified, I managed to escape my room and desperately called Clayton for help.

Instead, Karina's sweet, sultry laugh answered the phone:

"Clayton is in the shower. Eve, how did you get out of your room all by yourself?"

And then the men dragged me back.

My fingertips suddenly brushed against Fulton's icy hand. It brought me an overwhelming sense of peace. It was like a lifeline, slowly pulling me back from the edge of hell.

Thank God. When they forced me into that room to consummate the sick ritual, the man on the bed had turned out to be Fulton.

Now, forced to face Clayton, I finally spoke my first direct words to him in three months.

I stared dead into his eyes and said with absolute, chilling certainty:

"He is my husband."

In that instant, the last thread of Clayton's sanity snapped.

With bloodshot eyes, he snatched the metal knitting needle off the floor and drove it viciously toward Fulton's chest.

"Then open your damn eyes and watch! He's been dead for months!"

I threw my hand out to block it, but I was a second too late.

Schlick!

The heavy needle pierced straight through my shoulder. Fulton didn't take a single scratch.

Clayton froze. He stared in horror at my punctured shoulder, watching my blood drip onto Fulton's pale, icy skin.

A long moment passed. Suddenly, like a madman, he hoisted me over his shoulder, turned, and marched toward the door.

He muttered to himself, completely unhinged.

"I don't care if you're acting. You're my wife. You're carrying my child. And you are coming home with me."

Ignoring the searing pain in my shoulder, I desperately clawed at the doorframe, refusing to be taken away.

Just then, the manager gasped in shock.

"Mr. Clayton... Did Fulton just... move?!"

Clayton didn't even turn his head. He let out a dark sneer.

"Eve, you really are something. You even bought off the manager to play along with your little ghost story? Fulton is dead. I am taking my wife home, and you all better—"

Before he could finish, a sickening thud echoed as something heavy struck the back of his head.

When he looked up, everyone in the room was staring behind him in absolute terror.

In the dead silence of the morgue, I called out sweetly,

"Darling! You're finally awake?"

Chapter 4

"Eve, stop acting like a fucking lunatic! I am your husband! That is my child!"

Clayton's roar was deafening inside the cramped cold storage room.

Veins bulged on his neck as he violently grabbed my jaw, forcing me to look him in the eye.

"Look at me! I am the man you love most!"

Forced to look at his face, all that flooded my mind were memories of pure agony and despair.

Whenever Karina and I had a conflict, Clayton always chose to believe her, forcing me to apologize every single time.

When I was burning up with a high fever, Karina called to say a water pipe broke in her apartment, and he abandoned me without a second thought.

When I was exiled to this funeral home, Karina secretly ordered the staff to make my life a living hell.

At my most terrified, I managed to escape my room and desperately called Clayton for help.

Instead, Karina's sweet, sultry laugh answered the phone:

"Clayton is in the shower. Eve, how did you get out of your room all by yourself?"

And then the men dragged me back.

My fingertips suddenly brushed against Fulton's icy hand. It brought me an overwhelming sense of peace. It was like a lifeline, slowly pulling me back from the edge of hell.

Thank God. When they forced me into that room to consummate the sick ritual, the man on the bed had turned out to be Fulton.

Now, forced to face Clayton, I finally spoke my first direct words to him in three months.

I stared dead into his eyes and said with absolute, chilling certainty:

"He is my husband."

In that instant, the last thread of Clayton's sanity snapped.

With bloodshot eyes, he snatched the metal knitting needle off the floor and drove it viciously toward Fulton's chest.

"Then open your damn eyes and watch! He's been dead for months!"

I threw my hand out to block it, but I was a second too late.

Schlick!

The heavy needle pierced straight through my shoulder. Fulton didn't take a single scratch.

Clayton froze. He stared in horror at my punctured shoulder, watching my blood drip onto Fulton's pale, icy skin.

A long moment passed. Suddenly, like a madman, he hoisted me over his shoulder, turned, and marched toward the door.

He muttered to himself, completely unhinged.

"I don't care if you're acting. You're my wife. You're carrying my child. And you are coming home with me."

Ignoring the searing pain in my shoulder, I desperately clawed at the doorframe, refusing to be taken away.

Just then, the manager gasped in shock.

"Mr. Clayton... Did Fulton just... move?!"

Clayton didn't even turn his head. He let out a dark sneer.

"Eve, you really are something. You even bought off the manager to play along with your little ghost story? Fulton is dead. I am taking my wife home, and you all better—"

Before he could finish, a sickening thud echoed as something heavy struck the back of his head.

When he looked up, everyone in the room was staring behind him in absolute terror.

In the dead silence of the morgue, I called out sweetly,

"Darling! You're finally awake?"