I have been rotting in a military correctional facility for five years, serving a sentence for a crime committed by my uncle’s adopted daughter. But on the fifth anniversary of my death, he came looking for me again. This time, he wanted me to take the fall for a capital offense. The culprit was Lila’s long-lost younger brother. My uncle—General Alistair Blackwood—said the boy was only nineteen, just starting his life, and far too fragile for the brutality of a cell. He said it with such casual indifference, as if he were asking to borrow a cup of sugar. He told me that since I’d already been in prison, I was used to it. "One time or two, what’s the difference?" he’d remarked. He waited a long time for me to emerge from those gates or show up at the precinct to confess. When I didn't appear, he assumed I was playing games, hiding from him after an early release. Infuriated, he kicked down the heavy oak door of the old colonial manor in the Heights. But he didn't find me. He found my best friend, Cassie, holding a five-year memorial service for my soul. As Alistair pressed her with snarling demands, Cassie’s eyes remained fixed on the silver lantern on the altar—the "eternal flame" she had kept burning for five years. Her eyes were so bloodshot they looked ready to leak crimson. Finally, she broke. She screamed. "She’s dead! She died in the second year of that sentence she served for your precious Lila! She was butchered in that prison while you were looking the other way!" ... 1 "Ha. Quite the performance." Alistair’s eyes flickered with a mockery he didn't bother to hide. The aggression etched into his brow was suffocating. "How much effort did you two put into this little drama?" "So she did six years. So what? Lila made sure she was taken care of. She sent money, made calls. Joanna had the best of everything in there. Don't pull this 'tragic martyr' act with me now." Cassie stared at the man with the stars on his shoulders, her voice trembling violently. "Every time I went to see her, she was covered in weeping sores and half-healed bruises. Why don't you ask Lila how exactly she 'took care' of her!" Alistair’s face turned as cold as a mountain winter. "This is just jealousy. Joanna is bitter because Lila is the one who’s loved, so she’s playing dead to get a reaction out of me." As the words left his mouth, he raised his heavy combat boot and brought it down with a sickening crunch. Snap. The silver lantern that had burned for five years—the light that was supposed to guide my spirit—was crushed into a twisted wreck. The wick gave a tiny, pathetic hiss. The flame vanished instantly. Hot oil splattered across the floorboards like golden blood. "What have you done!" Cassie turned deathly pale and threw herself onto the floor. A phantom pain pierced my chest, sharp as a needle. I instinctively rushed to pull her back, but my hands passed straight through her body like mist. I had to watch her ignore the searing oil scalding her palms as she tried to scoop the liquid back together, desperate to save the last scrap of my memory. "Don't touch it, Cassie! Your hands—please, it doesn't matter!" I cried out, circling her in a frantic, useless orbit. But my voice was a breeze she couldn't hear; my touch was a chill she couldn't feel. Her grief only seemed to ignite Alistair’s rage further. "How long are you going to keep this up? I don't have time for this!" He was like a wounded predator, lashing out at everything. He began smashing the offerings on the altar—the incense, the photos, the few belongings I’d left behind in the manor. "Joanna is hiding just to watch Lila suffer. She’s wicked to the core!" His tirade stopped abruptly when his eyes landed on the dark ebony casket behind the altar. For a split second, a flicker of panic—something he’d never admit to—crossed his face. "Fine. Let’s see if Joanna is actually in this box." "Don't you touch her!" Cassie shrieked, lunging at him, but he threw her against the wall with a single, brutal shove. He wrenched the heavy lid off with one hand. His pupils contracted. There was no body. No ashes. Only the camouflage fatigues I used to wear during training and the silver locket I’d worn for over a decade. "Pathetic. A bluff, just as I thought." He let out a harsh, jagged laugh. "That’s because you didn't even leave her a body to bury!" Cassie’s voice was a ragged whisper, torn by grief. "I had to bury her clothes because you let them throw her away like trash!" "Lies. All of it." Alistair’s gaze was a poisoned blade. "By the way, I assume your husband received his termination notice from the firm this morning?" Cassie looked up, her face a mask of disbelief. "I’m cutting off every cent your family has. I imagine your mother in the ICU won't last long once the hospital kicks her out. Are you sure you want to keep lying for Joanna?" No! He can't do this! I screamed into his ear, "Did you forget? After Mom and Dad died, Cassie’s mother fed us! She raised us! She knit the sweaters you wore on guard duty! How can you do this to her?" But Alistair was blinded by his own narrative. He turned his vitriol back to Cassie. "I don't understand you. You’re pregnant too—how can you watch Lila stress herself into a miscarriage while you help Joanna play these games?" "Give her up. Now. Because if she’s actually dead, I’ll dig her up and desecrate the remains myself." Cassie shook with a fury so cold it was transcendental. She pointed a finger at his face. "You monster. She’s been dead for five years, and you won't even let her rest." "If you don't believe me, go to the prison. Check the records. Do you think I could bribe an entire federal facility to lie for me?" 2 I wanted to stay by Cassie’s side, but my soul was tethered to Alistair. I was pulled, screaming and invisible, into his car as he sped toward the military prison. "Joanna Blackwood? She died five years ago." The duty officer’s words made Alistair’s expression darken instantly. "Impressive. You’ve even managed to corrupt federal officials." Alistair leaned over the desk, his presence looming. "No wonder Cassie told me to come here. You’ve all got the same script." I watched him, and a bitter, hollow laugh bubbled up in my ghostly throat. If I’d had the power to bribe a whole prison, would I have ended up bleeding out on a concrete floor while he ignored my letters? Six years ago, on the night of my promotion and my birthday, Alistair had kicked in my barracks door. He threatened Cassie’s mother’s life to force me to take the fall for Lila’s drunk driving accident—a hit-and-run that killed a man. He told me it was a mistake. He promised he’d get me a light sentence, two or three years at most. But as my only living relative, he stood in that courtroom and waived every right I had. He watched them hand me six years in a maximum-security brig. When I tried to hire my own lawyer to appeal, Alistair froze my accounts. He cut off my world. When I confronted him, he looked at me with chilling logic: "If a lawyer digs too deep, they’ll find Lila. You’re already in there. What’s a few more years? I’ve made sure you’ll be comfortable." But from the moment I stepped inside, I was the bottom of the food chain. The bruises, the broken ribs, the hidden scars—they became my skin. I begged the guards to let me call him. The answer was always the same: "Your uncle says he’s busy. Stop bothering him." Back in the present, the officer sighed, his patience wearing thin. "Look at the screen, General. It’s right there in the system. Five years ago, Joanna Blackwood died of a puncture wound to the carotid artery. Sharp object. Massive blood loss. Pronounced dead on site." Alistair stared at the screen, then let out a sharp, dark chuckle. "A sharp object? In a high-security military brig? Try harder. And Lila visited her every year to bring her supplies. If she was dead, how could she have been visited?" The officer snapped. "I don't know who 'Lila' is, but Joanna is dead! Five years! Do you speak English?" Alistair’s face was a mask of granite. "You’re making a mistake. The Head of Military Intelligence is a close friend of mine. Keep lying, and I’ll have your badge by morning." The officer stood up. "Fine! You don't believe me? Call your friend. Have him run the DNA. If I’m wrong, I’ll resign. But I’m telling you—that girl is gone." For the first time, a flicker of doubt danced in Alistair’s eyes. Ping. A message flashed on his phone: [Uncle, come home quickly. Lila’s having pains. The baby... something’s wrong.] Alistair didn't spare another word for the officer. He spun on his heel and raced back to the villa. As soon as we walked in, I saw the man I hadn't seen in six years. My fiancé, Timothy. 3 The man who once knelt before my parents' portraits and swore to cherish me forever was now gently stroking Lila’s pregnant belly. His touch was so reverent, as if she were made of fine porcelain. "Alistair, did Joanna agree to help?" Lila’s face was pale, her voice a fragile reed. She looked like a victim, even now. Alistair couldn't find the words. He looked humbled by his own failure to find me. Lila’s eyes brimmed with tears. "How could she say no? This is my brother! He was taken from me as a child, he’s suffered so much. He’s only nineteen! His life is just starting!" In that moment, I felt a strange, cold envy. As a sister, she was far more loyal to a brother she barely knew than my own uncle had ever been to me. "Don't worry, Lila," Timothy whispered, his voice thick with devotion. "I’ll turn this city upside down. I’ll find her." He pulled out his phone and sent a text. My ghost watched the words appear on a screen I could no longer touch. [Joanna, confess for Lila’s brother now. If anything happens to Lila or the baby because of your selfishness, I will never forgive you.] For six years, I’d dreamed of Timothy finding me. I dreamed of him believing in me. I never imagined that his first words to me in over half a decade would be a death threat. Lila groaned, clutching the bedpost as she tried to stand. "Never mind, Uncle. If Joanna hates me that much, I’ll go to jail for my brother instead." She cradled her stomach, weeping. "I’m pregnant. Surely they won't execute a mother." Timothy gathered her into his arms, his face contorted with pity. "Joanna is a monster. How could she force a pregnant woman into this?" I watched them, a hollow ache where my heart used to be. I was pregnant too, Timothy. When you and Alistair sent me away to protect Lila. Who pitied me then? Who cared about the child in my womb? "Rest easy," Alistair said. "I have my best men tracking her. We’ll find her." He turned to Timothy. "The due date is close. Is everything ready for the nursery?" Timothy’s expression softened instantly. "Everything. I’ve already moved my parents' trust fund and the estate in the Hamptons into the baby’s name." The memory hit me like a physical blow. [Joanna, this trust and the house... they’re for our future. No matter what happens, they are yours.] His old promises echoed in the room, mocking me. The things meant for my child were now being handed to the woman who stole my life. I looked at Timothy, and my soul felt like it was being flayed. The pain was so intense I couldn't even breathe the air I didn't need. "With you as his uncle, I know he’ll never be wanting," Lila cooed, leaning into Alistair. Alistair was quiet for a moment. "Once we find Joanna and she clears your brother... I might step back for a while. Timothy will take care of you." Lila froze. "What?" "I’ve spent years making it up to you, Lila. But I’ve neglected Joanna. Once this is over, I want to be the guardian she actually deserves." How ironic. The man who had worshipped his adopted daughter and pushed me into the abyss was suddenly talking about "compensation." Years ago, when Lila insulted a major military contractor Alistair had spent years courting, he didn't even scold her. Instead, he forced me to go to the man’s office, get on my knees, and apologize for "my" mistake. His "compensation" was too late. I was dead. I didn't want his love, and I certainly didn't want his pity. "She doesn't deserve a thing," Timothy snapped. "She brought this on herself. The hit-and-run six years ago... I still can't believe I was blind enough to think she was a good person." Lila’s eyes flickered with a brief, dark nervousness. Alistair cleared his throat but didn't correct him. "I remember when she ran to me," Timothy continued, his voice full of disdain. "She tried to tell me you two were framing her. Thank God I didn't fall for it. I called you immediately to take her away. If she’d escaped, Lila would have been the one in that cell." I stared at Timothy, my soul shaking. That night... Cassie had finally found proof that I couldn't have been at the scene of the accident. She told me to hide while she went to the authorities. I went to the only person I thought would protect me. My fiancé. All these years, I thought it was just bad luck that Alistair found me so quickly. I never knew it was the man I loved who had handed me back to my executioner. Alistair’s phone buzzed again. [General, we’ve checked every system. No credit card use, no travel, no cell signal. It’s like... she’s vanished. We’re worried something might have happened.] "She’s clever," Lila whispered, tugging at Alistair’s sleeve. "She’s hiding because she’s angry. She wants us to suffer." The small spark of worry in Alistair’s eyes died instantly at the sight of Lila’s tears. "She’s learned some tricks in prison, but no one can survive without leaving a trail. I know where she is. There is only one person in this world stupid enough to die for Joanna Blackwood." I knew what was coming. I tried to scream, to fly ahead, but I was dragged behind his car as he tore toward Cassie’s house. Cassie opened the door, expecting her husband. When she saw Alistair, her face hardened into pure loathing. "What are you doing here? Come to repent? It’s too late." She tried to slam the door, but Alistair’s military strength shoved it open. He locked the door behind him and began storming through the house like a madman. "Come out, Joanna! Stop the games! Get out here!" When he realized the house was empty of everyone but Cassie, he lost control. He grabbed her by the wrist. "Where is she?" Cassie gritted her teeth, her eyes burning with hatred. "You really want to know? If you want to see her that badly, then die. Die, and you’ll find her!" Alistair spun her around, his gaze landing on her heavily pregnant stomach. "I heard you walked three miles on your knees to that cathedral upstate to pray for this child. Is that true?" 4 My heart went cold. I knew exactly what this man was capable of when his ego was bruised. Cassie’s eyes filled with terror. She tried to bolt for the door. "Ah!" Alistair grabbed her by the hair and threw her violently onto the hardwood floor. She landed hard, curling her body to protect her stomach, a piercing scream tearing from her throat. I lunged at her, trying to cushion her fall, trying to help her up, but I was nothing but cold air. "Joanna! Are you going to watch this?" Alistair roared at the empty rooms. Silence followed. His face contorted, the darkness in his soul spilling out. "See, Cassie? This is the woman you’re protecting. She’s cold, selfish, and she’s going to let you and your baby suffer for her." Cassie was drenched in a cold sweat, her breath coming in ragged gasps. "Who... who is the cold one?" "Years ago, when your military contracts were failing, who do you think stayed up all night rewriting your proposals? Who drank herself into a stomach ulcer at those dinners just to keep your investors happy? It was Joanna! Your own blood!" She gasped for air, her eyes never leaving his. "And you? You found a girl who looked a little like her, made her your 'darling,' and spent every day since then bullying Joanna, framing her, and pushing her into a grave! Do you think your brother and sister are proud of you from the afterlife?" Alistair’s expression didn't soften. He raised his boot and placed it directly on Cassie’s nine-month-pregnant belly. "I didn't come here for a history lesson." He looked at the ceiling, shouting at the rafters. "Joanna! Remember this! Every bit of pain she feels is on your head!" "NO—!" Cassie let out a soul-shattering scream. A bloom of bright, crimson blood began to seep from beneath her, spreading across the floor like an opening flower. I fell to my knees, sobbing, pressing my forehead against the floorboards. "Please, Alistair! Stop! She has nothing to do with this! Take me! Just stop!" "Joanna! Do you want them to die?" Alistair pressed down harder. I watched as the curve of her stomach began to yield under the weight of his boot. I clawed at his leg, my hands passing through his flesh again and again. I was screaming until my non-existent throat burned. Cassie’s eyes were bloodshot, her teeth bared in agony. "You... you're a monster... it will come back to you... I swear it..." Alistair scoffed. "Karma? Where is it? I don't see it." He glanced at the growing pool of blood and checked his watch. "The karma for lying to me is already here."
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