ManyWriters

My husband, Damian, used my family’s fortune to become a god in the tech world. But he only ever worshipped one person: his childhood sweetheart.
When she shed a tear, he promised vengeance.
He dragged me, pregnant and pleading, to the top floor of his glass tower. He called it my “reflection chamber.” I called it a coffin. He sealed me inside the cold, humming metal and walked away.
My last breath was a prayer for the child he would never know.
I thought that was the end. But in the darkness, I opened my eyes. I was no longer in the cabinet. I was standing beside it, watching.
A ghost, trapped in his world.
Just then, his assistant’s voice crackled through the phone in his hand. “Mr. Blackwood… Mrs. Blackwood… shows no vital signs.”
I watched my husband’s face, waiting for the flicker of horror, of regret. Instead, a slow, cruel smile touched his lips.
“She’s playing games,” he murmured, his eyes glittering with a chilling light. “Contact the crematorium. If she wants to play dead, we’ll show her the consequences.”

What He Did After I Died

The truth the private investigator uncovered shattered Damian’s world.


On the day Sera returned, I had placed the Clearblue test in the bathroom and posted on my secret Instagram.


[I finally got Damian on the fertility supplements for half a year, and it worked! We’re finally having a baby!]


When a photo of Damian and Sera at Canlis surfaced online, I had commented from a burner account.


When he was helping Sera with her brand launch, I had posted:


[I married a good man. He can’t stand to see anyone suffer, just like how he helped me all those years ago.]


There were over a thousand posts, each one a testament to my self-delusion.


At the same time, the P.I. found that Sera had never cut contact with her wealthy European ex. She had initiated contact multiple times, their messages explicit and damning.


The elevator incident was a fabrication. The emergency stop button had only one set of fingerprints: hers.


Chapter 7