Chapter 1
Three years after my death, my husband, a defense attorney, came looking for me again. This time, he wanted me to take the fall for his childhood sweetheart, Marley Deleon, in a murder case.
He showed up at my house with a fabricated confession in hand, only to find the place completely empty, not a trace of me left behind.
Out of options, he grabbed the owner of the restaurant downstairs and demanded to know where I was.
The man looked at him strangely.
"Bethany Matthews? She's been dead for years. I heard it was that old murder case," the owner went on. "The victim's family wasn't satisfied with the verdict. The day she got out of prison, they cornered her in an alley and beat her to death."
Lawson didn't believe a word of it. He was convinced the owner had been paid off to help me fake my death.
In a rage, he flipped the table, dishes crashing to the floor.
"She only served a few years! I even paid her compensation!" he roared. "How could she play dead?"
"You go tell her this," he barked. "If she doesn't show up in three days, her mute father can forget about ever keeping a roof over his head."
With that, he strode out, stepping over the mess without a second glance.
The restaurant owner spat after him.
"Disgusting. He calls himself her husband but didn't even know her father's been dead for years. Absolute trash."
*****
"Lawson, you have to help me! I really don't know who else I can turn to..." Marley Deleon was crying her heart out, her words tangled with regret.
In the office, Marley threw herself into Lawson Thomas's arms right in front of me, sobbing uncontrollably.
Lawson gently patted her back, his voice so gentle it felt almost foreign to me now.
"Don't be scared. As long as I'm here, nothing will happen to you," he promised.
"But... but this is a murder case! What if the cops trace it back to me..." Marley choked out.
"There's no 'what if,'" Lawson cut her off, his tone ice-cold. "I'll make Bethany take the blame for you. She owes us more than she could ever repay. She'll be paying for it the rest of her life."
I drifted above, watching the drama play out below with detached indifference, my soul trembling.
I owe them?
Yeah, he believed I owed him a marriage, years of fake affection, and even my life.
But was that really true?
Lawson snatched up the freshly printed confession from the desk, a vicious grin playing at his lips.
"Don't worry. I've got more than enough ways to make her sign," he said, snatching up his car keys and rushing out.
I was pulled along behind him, as if some invisible tether had me tied to his back seat.
He slammed the gas, and the car roared toward the rundown apartment I had once called home.
The stairwell reeked of mold and stale takeout.
Lawson pinched his nose, each stomp of his shoes echoing against the walls as he charged up the stairs. When he reached my rusted security door, he pounded on it like he owned the place.
"Bethany! Get out here! Stop playing dead!" he shouted.
Not a sound came from inside.
His curses grew harsher with every strike.
"I know you're in there! Three seconds! If you don't open up, your dad will end up sleeping under a bridge tonight!"
The neighbor across the hall peeked out, curiosity on their face, but Lawson's glare made them retreat immediately.
"What are you staring at? Never seen a couple fight before?" he barked.
He kicked the door until his legs burned, until finally it sank in: I wasn't there.
Frustration simmered. He stomped back down and barged into the tiny restaurant I used to haunt.
The owner, carrying a plate of braised meat, almost collided with him.
"Hey, watch it! Why the rush?" the man started, but Lawson cut him off.
"Where's Bethany? Hiding here with you?"
The owner hesitated, unease flashing across his face.
"Looking for Bethany? She's been dead for a long time."
"Dead?" Lawson barked a laugh, sharp and incredulous. "You kidding me? Bethany doesn't die. She's tougher than a cockroach. No way she's gone!"
The owner set the plate down, wiped his hands, and said bluntly, "She really is dead. The day she got out of prison, the victim's family ambushed her in an alley. Beat her so badly you couldn't even recognize her."
Lawson stared him down for a long moment before yanking the tablecloth.
Plates and bowls flew, shattering; soup splattered across the floor.
"Bullshit! You took her money and are covering for her, right?" Lawson spat. "She only served a few years, and I paid her compensation! What right does she have to play dead on me?"
Panting, his finger nearly poking the owner's nose, he growled, "You tell her: three days! Three! If she doesn't show, her mute father will end up begging on the streets!"
With that, he strode out over the wreckage.
The owner watched him go, spat in disgust. "Calls himself her husband, but doesn't even know her father is dead. What a joke."