Chapter 3

"I'm doing this for our future children. Keaton, are you still thinking about Isabelle? You still keep her photo on your desk!" Rebecca snapped.

Keaton shouted, "Shut up! You have no right to mention her!"

Every fight ended the same way. Keaton lost his temper, and Rebecca broke down in tears. I listened in, cold and detached, like I was watching some soap opera that had nothing to do with me. Their so-called love was built on my "death," so fragile it could shatter at any moment.

It was time to add the first weight to this fragile balance.

I spent the last of my cash at a gift shop, picking out a simple black box.

Then, I fished a pinky ring out of my pocket.

Keaton gave it to me before I went to prison. Platinum, simple design, our initials, K & I, engraved inside. He said a pinky ring symbolized independence, singledom, and above all, a vow.

He wanted me to know that even if I was locked away, his heart would stay with me, and when I got out, we'd trade it for a real wedding ring.

That ring was supposed to be buried with my "ashes" on the day I was "cremated."

But I brought it out with me. For five years, it was the only thing I held onto. And now, it was my sharpest weapon.

I slipped the ring into the box, no note, no message. Then, from a payphone, I ordered a same-day delivery to the top floor of Maple Technology, marked for Keaton's eyes only.

Once I was done, I headed to work like it was just another day.

That night, I made sure to get to the office early. I slipped on my earphones, but the feed from the bug was dead quiet. Keaton hadn't shown up yet.

It wasn't until nine that I finally heard the office door swing open. Keaton's footsteps sounded heavy, and then came the rustle of him tearing into the package.

And then, silence, as if the room itself had died.

The silence stretched on for over a minute.

I could almost see his face go pale as he realized he was looking at the ring.

A sharp crash echoed, like a glass knocked off the desk.

Right after, Keaton's heavy, strained breathing filled the air, fear barely contained.

"Who... who's playing tricks on me?" Keaton muttered, his voice trembling ever so slightly.

He pulled open a drawer and started searching for something. Then I heard him dial a phone number.

He said, "Hey, is this the private detective agency? I need you to look into something for me... Actually, not someone, but where something came from.

"I got a same-day delivery this afternoon, but the sender's details were bogus. I want to know who really sent it."

I pulled off my earphones, a cold smirk playing on my lips.

Perfect. He was finally getting spooked.

This was just the beginning. Dead people couldn't send packages. So where did that ring, meant to be buried with my ashes, come from? Was it just some twisted prank, or was there something even more terrifying lurking beneath?

Once the seed of doubt was planted, it would spread like wildfire in his mind, devouring every last shred of his sanity.

For the next few days, Keaton was a mess. He kept pacing around the office, restless and distracted. More than once, I peeked through the door and saw him frozen in front of my framed photo, his face twisted with anxiety and fear.

Rebecca picked up on Keaton's weirdness, too.

"Keaton, you've been so distracted lately. What's going on?" she asked.

"It's nothing," Keaton replied, his voice icy.

"Is it because of that package? I asked the front desk. They said it was an anonymous box. What was inside?" Rebecca pressed.

"I said it's nothing! Can you just leave me alone?" Keaton's roar exploded in my earpiece.

Rebecca was startled. After a long, awkward silence, she finally spoke up, her voice small and shaky. "You weren't like this before... Do you not love me anymore?"

"That's enough!" Keaton snapped, cutting her off. "I'm tired. Just go home."

Hearing Rebecca's footsteps as she left, sounding hurt and defeated, I slowly rounded the corner, pushing my cleaning cart.

I deliberately skipped the mask, just kept my head down under that oversized baseball cap, brim pulled low.

As I passed Keaton's office, I "accidentally" lifted my head, shooting him a quick look out of the corner of my eye.

Inside, Keaton was pacing by the floor-to-ceiling windows, restless and agitated. For a split second, our eyes met.

He froze, eyes wide, staring at me as if he'd just seen a ghost.

My face still looked so much like Isabelle's, but years of hard work had left it pale and gaunt. Those eyes that should have faded away five years ago now shone with a cold, chilling light from the shadows.

I didn't stop. I ducked my head, pushed my cart, and slipped away like a startled shadow, vanishing down the hallway.

Even after I was gone, I could feel his gaze piercing right through me, like he was trying to see if I was real.

I knew that from this moment on, the flawless world he'd built on lies finally had its first real crack.