Chapter 1

After my sister, Stella Johnson, ran me over with her car, the whole family helped her hide my body and erase all traces.

My mother, Margaret Johnson, a forensic pathologist who hated evil with a passion, used strong acid to erase my fingerprints.

My father, Colten Johnson, a strait-laced cop, destroyed every piece of evidence.

Even my brother, Edward Johnson, a lawyer who always preached fairness and justice, held Stella close, telling her he'd keep her safe, no matter what.

But what they didn't realize was that the corpse they were so desperate to cover up was actually me.

When the truth finally came out, my whole family went completely crazy.

*****

I was dead. On an empty road, a sports car came out of nowhere and ran me over.

The sensation of my bones being crushed was burned into my memory. Thankfully, the pain only lasted a moment.

When I opened my eyes again, I was shocked to see that my soul was floating in mid-air.

The sky was dark and gloomy. I watched as the girl in the sports car scrambled out, her hands trembling as she checked if I was still breathing. Then, she collapsed to the ground in terror.

She quickly grabbed her phone, sobbing as she called someone, saying she'd just run someone over and killed the person.

But the moment she spoke, I instantly recognized who had run me over. It was my sister, Stella, but she wasn't my real sister.

Less than half an hour later, my mom showed up. She was supposed to be working overtime at the hospital.

She jogged over to Stella, frowning at the pool of blood on the ground. "Didn't you tell me you were going out with your colleagues for a party? Why did you race up here?"

"I'm sorry, Mom. I just wanted to try out my new sports car. I didn't mean to hit anyone. I don't want to go to jail." Stella sobbed, crawling toward Mom.

When she saw Mom's expression soften, she quickly added, "Mom, I'm about to run for general manager. If this gets out, my whole life will be ruined."

When Mom heard that, her cold expression softened. She waved Stella over and playfully tugged at her ear. "Honestly, you've never given me a moment's peace since you were a kid. You're in your twenties now. Could you stop being so reckless?"

Her nagging didn't have a trace of real anger. Even I could tell how much she doted on Stella, and Stella, being the observant one, caught it right away.

She cried even harder, going as far as to say she'd confess and spend her whole life in prison. She kept talking about turning herself in, but all the while, she was secretly watching Mom's face.

I thought Mom wouldn't cover for Stella this time. After all, she killed someone.

But I was wrong.

Mom, wearing gloves, collected everything the body had on it with practiced, professional movements. Phone, wallet, keys, everything.

If she'd bothered to take a closer look, she'd have seen it was me. But she never bothered.

She handled the scene with icy professionalism and then poured concentrated sulfuric acid over my fingers to burn away my prints.

Even as a soul, I could still feel a sharp pain in my fingertips.

My once-soft fingertips were peeled away bit by bit, until the blood-stained bone underneath was exposed.

But Mom's face didn't change at all. She frowned at Stella, who was frozen in shock, and said, "What are you standing there for? Call your dad and get him over here to help."

Was Dad really going to help a killer?

Dad had always been strait-laced. There's no way he'd cover for his daughter and let her escape justice, right?

But once again, I was wrong.

Dad's first reaction was just like Mom's. He tore into Stella for being so reckless and acting like a wild kid.

But when Stella started bawling about going to jail, even my strict dad couldn't help but let his guard down.

He grumbled something as he rolled up his sleeves and helped Mom cover up the evidence.

When Stella backed up the sports car, my body was finally fully exposed in front of them.

It was a gruesome sight. My pretty face had been run over so many times that it was completely unrecognizable.

My fingers were so messed up from the acid that it was sickening to look at.

Blood and dirt mixed, smeared all over my decaying skin and muscle. It was enough to make anyone want to throw up.

Stella saw the mess and instantly ran off into the woods, gagging and throwing up.

Mom and Dad locked eyes for a second, then, like it was nothing, grabbed the tools they'd had ready and started chopping up my body together.

As a soul, I shouldn't feel any pain at all, but my heart hurt so much that I felt like I could break down in tears.

It started to rain, and the downpour kept getting heavier. Huge raindrops pelted their faces. I could even hear the splattering sound.

The rain was the perfect tool for washing away blood and covering up the crime, but it seriously slowed Mom and Dad down as they worked to chop up my body.

Besides, the longer they stayed here, the greater the risk of being discovered.

So, Mom and Dad sped up, chopping through my leg bones without a hint of hesitation. If one swing didn't cut through, they'd just swing again.

But when Mom touched my right leg, she paused, her movements faltering for a moment.

I followed her gaze and saw that the spot her hand was gripping was a twisted scar.

That scar was from right after I was brought back to the Johnson family, when Stella pushed me down the stairs, and I got hurt.

I still remembered how my blood stained the white carpet bright red. But Mom and Dad only noticed the blood on Stella's hands. They were so worried about her, and all they wanted was to rush her to the hospital.

Stella refused, putting on a pitiful act and saying she shouldn't have been playing around with me, which made me fall down the stairs.

Mom and Dad glanced at me lying there, silent, and said in a casual tone, "Grace is a tough girl. She grew up in a small town. Kids like her aren't afraid of pain."

But even poor kids bleed red. Getting hurt always hurt, right?