Chapter 1

I died in the year my husband, Jonathan Herring, hated me the most.

Unable to endure his relentless emotional abuse and cold shoulder any longer, I decided to overdose on pills and end it all.

At the funeral home, Jonathan watched the flames roaring in the chamber, and he smiled.

"Someone as filthy as her doesn't even deserve to have her body kept intact," he sneered.

When the staff handed him the urn, he flipped it over with one hand.

My ashes were scattered across the floor in an instant.

He'd always believed I killed his crush, Emily Fuller.

That was why he spent years scheming and manipulating, all just to savor this moment.

When everything was done, he walked right over my ashes and left without a second glance.

But not long after, Jonathan was on his knees, crying and begging the funeral home to return my ashes to him.

*****

When Jonathan heard about my death, he was busy signing an eight-figure contract.

His secretary, Warren Todd, rushed in, looking serious.

"Mr. Herring, your wife... she's gone," Warren said.

The pen in Jonathan's hand froze for a moment, leaving a small, dark stain on the paper.

He slowly looked up. "She's dead?"

"Yes, the police are saying it was suicide," Warren replied.

The room suddenly went dead silent.

Jonathan was quiet for a few seconds and then slumped back in his chair, letting out a long sigh.

I drifted over to his side, and to my surprise, his eyes were rimmed with red.

The sunset cast its glow on his face, just like the look I used to love most about him.

I didn't get why he was crying. I thought he was crying out of happiness.

After all, he'd waited so many years, and he'd finally avenged Emily.

Emily was his first love, the girl he could never forget.

Back in college, they were a couple everyone envied.

And me? I was just a nobody, always lurking in the background, quietly crushing on him from afar.

I always thought I'd just keep my feelings bottled up forever, but then Emily got diagnosed with a terminal illness.

She didn't want to drag Jonathan down, so she reached out to me in secret.

Emily told me she could see unconditional love in my eyes.

She asked me to take care of Jonathan after she was gone, to be there for him through his hardest days.

She went off to some place nobody knew about to fend for herself.

She left without saying goodbye to anyone.

I promised Emily I'd keep her secret.

But Jonathan believed I was the reason they missed their final goodbye.

He thought something I said was what pushed her over the edge.

So he pretended to develop feelings for me, acting like he was genuinely moved by my sincerity.

All the while, he schemed behind my back, telling me he loved me, undermining my position at work, and turning my family against me.

After he'd drained every last bit of usefulness from me, he finally revealed what he was really after.

He even told me he'd never loved me.

That was brutal.

Whenever I thought of the icy stare Jonathan used to give me, my heart twisted a little.

Before I realized it, I was already in the car with him, stuck by his side.

From the way we were headed, it looked like we were on our way to the funeral home.

I never expected him to come see me, not even one last time.

When we got there, my body was already in the furnace.

Through the iron doors of the crematorium, my once-living body was engulfed in flames.

I glanced at Jonathan, standing by the viewing window.

He was motionless, staring at the fire, his face impossible to read.

The staff member came over carefully. "Mr. Herring, do you want to see her one last time?"

"No need," Jonathan said coldly. "Make sure there's nothing left."

I let out a wry, self-deprecating chuckle. I reached out, wanting to brush his cheek like I used to, but my hand went right through him.

It turned out that, when one was dead, even something as simple as touching people became a luxury.

I had no idea how long the flames raged.

All I knew was, when the door finally swung open again, what used to be a whole person, almost a hundred pounds, had been reduced to scattered fragments, all crammed into that tiny square box.

The staff member held the wooden box and respectfully handed it to Jonathan. "My condolences, Mr. Herring."

Jonathan didn't reach for it. He just stared at the photo on the box for a few seconds, lost in thought.

It was a picture of me, smiling happily.

But honestly, after I learned why Jonathan really got close to me, I never took another picture of myself again.

Even this happy-looking photo of me was cut out from a picture of the two of us together.

Jonathan looked indifferent as he brushed his hand over my photo. There was nothing real left to touch.

Suddenly, he gave a mocking smile. "Condolences? Why would I mourn a killer?

"People like her... filthy to the core, don't even deserve to have their bodies left whole."

With those words, hatred flickered in Jonathan's eyes. He swung his hand, sending the urn crashing to the ground.