Chapter 5

When his eyes confirmed the phone numbers matched perfectly, Jonathan's hands shook so violently he nearly dropped the phone. He frantically hit redial.

"Is... is Emily really..."

His voice cracked completely. He couldn't finish the sentence. He clamped his free hand over his mouth, a violent sob tearing from his throat as tears spilled over his eyelashes.

"We are incredibly sorry for your loss, Mr. Rivers," the officer said softly. "We know you two were very close.

"We recovered the victim's phone from the thief. The last five outgoing calls she attempted to make before the attack were all to your number.

"Her notes app was entirely filled with reminders about your dietary restrictions, your schedule, and your favorite restaurants.

"Please accept our deepest condolences. Once you sign the paperwork tomorrow, the coroner will release her remains to you."

The moment the call ended, Jonathan collapsed onto the hardwood floor. His eyes were totally vacant, staring blankly at the wall as tears continuously tracked down his face.

"No, how could this happen?" he whispered to himself, rocking slightly.

Charlotte quickly knelt beside him, asking, "Jonathan? Who was that? What's going on?"

His face was pale as death as he looked up, his mouth working wordlessly before he finally let out a choked sob.

"The police... they said Emily was dead.

"How is she dead? It doesn't make sense! I was listening to the earpiece! I didn't hear anything! Not a single scream!

"How could this happen? And they said she called me five times! Why didn't my phone ring?

"Why did this happen?"

He curled in on himself, burying his face in his knees, sobbing hysterically like a terrified child.

The arrogant, untouchable billionaire was completely gone.

Floating above him, I felt a strange flicker of surprise. I honestly never expected my death to break him like this.

But the surprise quickly morphed into a dark sneer.

He was the one who marched me to lure the killer out. What the hell was he crying for?

Charlotte wrapped her arms around him, pulling his head into her chest. "Jonathan, shh. It's okay. The earpiece must have malfunctioned. This isn't your fault. We didn't know the killer was actually going to show up tonight. The only person to blame is the psychopath who stabbed her."

Jonathan shook his head violently. Tears filled his eyes until he could no longer see, his voice cracking into a desperate whimper.

"No! It is my fault! I forced her to go! I threatened her! If I had just let her stay home, she'd be alive..."

Biting her lip in a show of fake remorse, Charlotte murmured, "It's my fault, Jonathan. I should have just gone out there myself."

Jonathan didn't even acknowledge her. He bit down on his lower lip so hard to muffle his sobs that his body convulsed.

A flash of genuine annoyance crossed Charlotte's face. She clearly hadn't anticipated that my death would genuinely wreck him.

But she smoothed her features instantly.

"Jonathan, listen to me. We'll go to the precinct tomorrow morning, and we'll figure out exactly what happened."

She reached out to hug him again, but Jonathan violently shoved her arms away.

"Get out," he rasped. "Just get out. I need to be alone."

He buried his face in his hands, his shoulders heaving as tears dripped between his fingers and stained the floorboards.

Charlotte clenched her jaw. Suppressing a scowl of pure rage, she stood up and marched out of the bedroom.

The moment the door clicked shut, the dam broke. Jonathan wailed, letting out a horrific sound of pure agony.

He bit his lip so fiercely that blood welled up, dripping down his chin and splattering on the floor.

He didn't care. He just kept chanting into the empty room.

"I'm sorry... I'm so sorry, Emily. I didn't know...

"I know you loved me. I know you were so good to me. I never wanted you to die. I swear to God, I thought I had the police perimeter set up..."

My ghost hovered in the corner, feeling colder by the second.

He knew how much I loved him. He knew how good I was to him. So he weaponized that love, exploiting my devotion because he knew I would never fight back.

That night, Jonathan sat on the floor by the floor-to-ceiling windows, staring at our one-sided text thread. He didn't sleep a single second.