Chapter 1

I'd been dead for three days, and Martin still had no clue.

He was out on a fancy boat, admiring lanterns with Agnes, the tutor's precious daughter, just back in town.

That was, until his personal attendant burst in, stumbling and crashing into the table loaded with fancy food and wine.

"My lord! Something terrible has happened at the manor!" the attendant gasped.

Martin was in the middle of tucking a flower into Agnes's hair, his hand perfectly steady, his gaze frosty with annoyance.

He said, "What now? Is my wife trying to hang herself again? Or is it another round of chest pain? Tell her I'm sick of these attention-seeking games."

The attendant dropped to his knees, blood trickling from his forehead where he'd banged it.

He stammered, "N-no, my lord. The authority just sent word. Bandits broke into Fletcher Manor. Lady Isabel... her body is already cold in the front hall."

The white hairpin fell from Martin's hand and shattered on the floor.

*****

I was dead. My soul was floating above, staring down at my own corpse lying in a pool of blood.

This was the inner courtyard of Fletcher Manor. Once the height of luxury, it was ravaged like wild animals had torn through it.

The display shelves were toppled, the contents of the dressing table scattered everywhere, and all the gold, silver, and jewelry were gone.

This was what the bandits left behind after their rampage.

The windows were flung wide open, and the wind was whistling straight through.

I stared down at my own corpse, eyes bulging, a snapped instrument string twisted tight around my neck, and the deep purple marks looked like they were embedded in my flesh.

I looked terrible when I died. I tried to cover my face, but my hand just went right through my body.

Then, it all came back to me.

Three days ago, Martin Fletcher and I had a huge fight. It was all because Agnes Durham was back.

Martin said, "Isabel, Agnes doesn't have anyone in Caerleon. What's the big deal about her staying at Fletcher Manor for a while? Can you quit being so jealous?"

I shot back, "If she's here, I'm gone."

Martin just gave a cold, mocking laugh and swept out without another word.

"Fine, then you can keep this huge Fletcher Manor all to yourself. When you finally come to your senses, send someone to fetch me from my study," he said coldly.

He was gone for three days straight. He didn't come back at all.

The only one who showed up was that notorious bandit, Ghost Hand, who climbed right over my wall.

Night was falling, and Martin still hadn't come back.

I tried to float out of the manor, and to my surprise, I actually managed it.

I drifted over to Velvet Haven, the biggest pleasure house in Caerleon.

Sure enough, Martin was there.

The private room was cozy and scented. Agnes sat across from him, her fingers dancing over the strings of her instrument.

"Martin, it's getting late. Aren't you heading home?" Agnes asked.

She looked up at him, her eyes sparkling with warmth, her voice sweet enough to make anyone's heart flutter.

Her makeup was on point. She didn't look anything like the scared, lonely waif she pretended to be.

Martin held his wine cup, a barely noticeable frown on his face. He looked a little irritated.

He said, "No, I'm not going back. That woman's still pissed off. If I go home, it'll just be more drama.

"Agnes, don't worry about anything. Just stay here. Fletcher Manor might be huge, but it can't even give you a proper place. That's on me."

His voice carried a hint of guilt. But underneath that guilt, I could hear the resentment in his voice, like he was sick of me making a fuss.

Agnes flashed a gentle smile, set her instrument aside, and walked over to refill his glass for him.

She said softly, "Let me keep you company for a few more drinks. Maybe you'll cool off. Isabel only acts that way because she cares about you so much. She just can't bear to have me around."

Martin didn't say a word. He just tipped his head back and finished his drink in one go.

Even though my heart had stopped beating, it still throbbed with a dull, relentless ache.

Martin was always fussy about his wine set. Nobody was allowed to touch it. But when Agnes did, he just let it slide.

Everyone said that if the Durham family hadn't fallen from grace and Agnes hadn't been exiled, there was no way someone like me, a merchant's daughter, would've ever become Martin's wife.

Now that she was back, I guessed it was time for me, the stand-in, to step aside.

After a few drinks, Agnes glanced out the window at the deepening night, her expression growing uneasy.

She asked, "Martin, I've heard things in Caerleon have been pretty chaotic lately. That bandit, Ghost Hand, still hasn't been caught... I'm a little scared. Could you escort me back to the villa?"

As she spoke, she gently tugged at Martin's sleeve.

I looked at Martin. He barely hesitated. He stood up, grabbed his cloak, and put it on.

"Alright, I'll walk you back," he said.

The moment he stood up, I felt my soul tremble.

Martin knew things were dangerous in Caerleon, and he knew Agnes got scared.

But did he ever think about how scared I am too?

Did he have any idea how terrified I was that night, when that bandit pried open my window with a knife?

I sent my maid out, risking her life to get word to him. But where were him?

In the carriage, the brazier was glowing, filling the space with warmth.