Chapter 1 The day after Julian Vance’s engagement party, his assistant handed me a plane ticket. “It’s time for you to go,” he said, his gaze fixed on a point just over my shoulder. “And don’t come back to New York. Ever.” He let the threat hang in the air. “Mr. Vance has a great many ways to ruin a person.” All those years with Julian, I had been the envy of everyone, bathed in a light that wasn't my own. Now, my exit was so pathetic it was almost comical. “Alright,” I said, my voice perfectly even. That night, the flight plummeted from thirty-thousand feet. I never planned on dying. In my version of the future, I take Julian’s five million dollars and disappear to some sun-drenched corner of Europe, far away from the wreckage of my life. The rest of my days would be a quiet succession of small joys, mine and mine alone. But in the screaming chaos of the fall, all of that was ripped away. There was nothing left but a searing, helpless rage. That ticket wasn’t a fresh start. It was a death sentence. My last meeting with Julian flashed in my mind. We hadn’t spoken in over two months. He’d been consumed—arranging Ava Monroe’s divorce, settling her and her daughter, a whirlwind of activity that finally, belatedly, reminded him he still had a girlfriend. So he carved out an hour and came to my apartment. His apartment, really. A sprawling penthouse in a part of Manhattan so exclusive I couldn’t have afforded to breathe the air without him. Not long ago, we were tangled in the sheets of the master bed, his arm heavy around my waist as I playfully dragged my nails down his back, leaving faint red trails on his skin. But now, after just weeks of silence, we were strangers. We sat at opposite ends of the long dining table, the polished wood a continent between us. “What do you want?” he asked. Direct. Cold. I didn’t bother with pleasantries. Three years of my youth. I told him they were worth five million dollars. Yes, I had loved him. I admit that. But that love had withered and died the day I realized I wasn’t the masterpiece, just the preliminary sketch. A placeholder until the real thing came back. He nodded, his expression unreadable. “Fine.” Then, the final turn of the screw. “But you can’t stay in New York. She doesn’t want you in the same city.” She. What could I do? I could only nod. If I refused, Julian, with his infinite resources and nonexistent patience, would find a way to force me out. And it would be far messier. He named a city on the West Coast. “I have properties there. Pick one. It’s yours.” So generous. I managed a smile. “Okay.” He gave a slight nod. “And we won’t see each other again. You can do that, can’t you?” My very existence was an inconvenience, an unsightly smudge on their perfect reunion. “Of course,” I replied. I was an orphan who had clawed her way through college. I came to New York chasing rumors of opportunity, fell into some modeling work, and started to enjoy it. The flash of the camera, the fleeting sense of being seen. Then I met Julian. He pursued me with the kind of grand, sweeping gestures you only see in movies, and within two weeks, I was his. He didn’t like me working, so my world, once expanding, had shrunk to the size of him. For years, the only people I knew were his friends. I had no roots here, no one to miss. I should have been thrilled to fly away and never look back. But fate, it seems, has a twisted sense of humor. I was dead. And I was staring right at Julian Vance. He couldn't see me, of course. I was just a ghost. Chapter 2 I’d always cared about my appearance. Before boarding the plane, I’d had my hair professionally styled and wore a touch of light, natural makeup. I hadn’t worn my makeup like that in years. Julian never liked it. How naive I’d been, molding my entire existence to his preferences. I only learned later that his "preference" was a lie. He liked me in heavy, dramatic makeup because only then, with my eyes winged and my lips a slash of red, did I truly resemble her. Ava Monroe. The Oscar-winning actress, famous for her cascading waves and smoldering glamour. Now, in some small mercy from the universe, I looked just as I had before the crash. My hair was perfect. My makeup, immaculate. No trace of the violence of my death. Standing in Julian’s office, I studied my reflection in the polished glass of a framed photograph and breathed a sigh of spectral relief. My eyes drifted around the room. The leather of that couch… the view from that window at midnight… Memories, sharp and unwanted, pricked at me from every corner. Finally, I let my gaze settle on him. He was twenty-seven, a titan of industry with the kind of power most men only dream of. The greatest failure of his life had been watching the woman he loved marry someone else. But now, the one that got away had come back. A storybook ending. Even his assistant, Arthur, wore a smile when he entered the office. “Mr. Vance, the nursery is all set up,” he reported. “And the pieces Ms. Monroe selected yesterday have been delivered.” Julian murmured a soft, “Mm.” He set down a contract, massaged the bridge of his nose, and then picked up his phone. He stared at the screen for a long time. I drifted closer, curious. But before I could see, the screen went dark. Then I heard him speak. His voice was quiet. “How is she?” Arthur paused for a fraction of a second. “Ms. Monroe is on set, sir. Not far from here. Would you like to visit her later?” I’d seen one of Ava’s films. She played the princess of a fallen kingdom—beautiful, brilliant, a woman who loved and hated with equal ferocity. She clawed her way back to power through sheer force of will. If I were just another moviegoer, I would have adored her. But I wasn't. Our first meeting had been a masterclass in humiliation. She’d looked me up and down, a small, knowing smile on her face. “Do you know how much you look like me?” I’d nodded. “People say that. I take it as a compliment.” Her laugh was a dry, rustling sound. “You’ve been with him almost three years, haven’t you?” “Yes.” She arched a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “Let me save you some time. He was in love with me three years ago.” Three years. And not a single person had ever told me. I’d been a fool, a stand-in for a ghost. I later found out that every script she’d ever accepted had been hand-picked by Julian, quietly steered onto her path to ensure she never faced a single setback. Her career was a monument to his unseen devotion. And me? I had nothing. To the world, I wasn't Chloe. I was just “that woman you always see with Julian Vance.” Chapter 3 Arthur finished his update, but Julian remained silent, tapping a sleek fountain pen against his desk. After a long moment, he asked, “She should have landed by now, right?” The question seemed to come from nowhere, but Arthur, ever the consummate professional, didn't miss a beat. He glanced at his watch. “Yes, she should have.” It took me a second to realize. He was asking about me. A flicker of something—conscience, maybe? Too bad. I hadn't made it to the other side of the country. My journey ended last night, in a fiery wreck. Julian’s face showed nothing at the confirmation. He just woke his phone again, staring at the blank screen. This time, I was right beside him. I saw it clearly. It was our text thread. Thirty minutes ago, he’d sent a message. [If you ever need anything, contact Arthur.] In the past, I would have replied in seconds. Hearing Arthur’s response, a cold, humorless smile touched Julian’s lips. He leaned back in his chair. “Good.” Then, another question. “Has she tried to contact you?” Arthur shook his head. “No, sir. Not since I gave her the ticket.” Silence descended again. The air in the room grew heavy, thick with unspoken things. Arthur hesitated. “Sir, would you like me to place a call to Ms. Devereaux?” Julian finally looked up, his eyes veiled. It was impossible to know what he was thinking. “No,” he said, his voice flat. “From now on, I don’t need to be updated on her affairs.” He glanced one last time at our message history. The silence on my end was absolute. His thumb paused over my name for a fraction of a second before he pressed ‘Delete Contact.’ Chapter 4 And there it was. It wasn’t concern. It was housekeeping. A final, formal severing of ties. A wave of impotent fury washed over me. Damn it, I died! My plan had been to land, settle into my new mansion, and then have the supreme satisfaction of blocking his number myself. He’d stolen even that from me. I swung my leg back and kicked him hard in the thigh. Or, I tried to. Back when things were good, when he wasn’t a remote, untouchable figure, I had a habit of giving him little kicks when he annoyed me. It was an instinctive, fluid motion. But this time, my foot passed right through him. No impact. No feeling. Nothing. Which, of course, only made me angrier. After Arthur left, Julian worked for hours. I tried to leave the office, to explore my new, incorporeal existence. But every time I neared the door, I was snapped back to his side, like a dog on an invisible leash. It didn't take long to figure it out. I was tethered to him. Maybe because his money had put me on that plane. My killer, my anchor. A pity I hadn't come back as a vengeful spirit. I could have at least haunted him properly. Just then, a voice echoed in my mind, calm and bureaucratic. [There you are.] I jolted. "Who are you?" [Post-Mortal Affairs. We had a system glitch. Everyone from your flight is temporarily bound to the person they were closest to in life. Sorry for the inconvenience.] Relief washed over me. "Can you take me now? And listen, I had a lot of money I didn't get to spend. Can that roll over to my next life?" A trust-fund baby. That was my dream. The voice sounded apologetic. [Not my department. But given the traumatic nature of your demise, I can probably get you a more peaceful exit next time around.] Great. "Fine. Just get me out of here. I'm ready to reincarnate." [Not yet. We have to wait until your funeral is concluded.] "Why?" [Your soul has established a new tether to the mortal plane. The funeral rites sever that tie. From what I can see, the services for the other victims are already being arranged. You're… well, you’re a bit of a special case. Doesn't look like anyone's noticed you're gone.] The words were a blade to the heart. With that cheerful update, the voice vanished. I sighed, running through a mental list of everyone I knew. The list was pathetically short. It looked like I was going to be a lonely ghost for a very long time. Hours later, Julian finally packed up. Ava had called, asking him to pick her up from the studio. I followed him down to the garage and into his car. I didn't look at him. I watched the city lights blur past the window. Skyscrapers like glittering spines, streets flowing with rivers of light. It was all so beautiful, a dream I had woken up from too soon. A profound sense of unfairness settled over me. All those years, all that potential, erased by one failed love affair. And that five million dollars… I hadn’t spent a single cent. It was outrageous. Tears I couldn't shed burned behind my eyes. When we arrived, Ava emerged from the studio and melted into his arms. Julian’s body went rigid for a second, then relaxed as he returned the embrace with a faint smile. “How was it? Are you tired?” he asked. She nodded, launching into a story about her day. Her voice was captivating; she could make the most mundane event sound like a scene from a movie. They walked to the car, fingers interlaced, matching engagement rings catching the light. I had to admit it, as much as it galled me. They looked perfect together. Just then, two women walked out of the studio behind them, deep in conversation. “Did you see the news?” one said. “That flight that went down last night? Over a hundred people, no survivors.” “I saw,” the other replied, her voice shaky. “I was supposed to be on that flight. I had a ticket and everything for a vacation. This last-minute role saved my life. I have the luck of the gods.”
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