She Knows I Am Dead

The echo of Declan’s defensive shout faded into the freezing wind, completely ignored by Kieran’s retreating figures. Left alone by the muddy embankment, my husband pulled out his phone. A cascade of notifications illuminated his face, but not a single one carried my name.

It had been a full twenty-four hours since I vanished.

He scooped up a jagged rock and hurled it into the rushing water.

"Keep playing this little game," he muttered, his tone clipped. "Let's see who breaks first."

Standing right beside him as a weightless phantom, I offered a hollow smile. I had never given him the silent treatment for more than three days. He was incredibly confident he had my boundaries mapped out, convinced this was just another petty protest over his undeniable favoritism toward his stepsister.

Looking at his handsome features now, my memory drifted back to the mud-soaked boy at summer camp. When I was twelve and trapped on a crumbling mountainside, Declan had risked a massive landslide to pull me to safety.

I had thrown myself into his filthy arms, weeping. He had simply wiped the rain from my cheeks.

"I wasn't about to leave you stranded," he had told me back then. "Thinking about you crying in the dark... I would've climbed a hundred mountains to find you."

I had craved that protection forever. Yet today, standing by the river after his blatant betrayal, he carried zero remorse.

That arrogant confidence lasted exactly until the fourth day of my death.

Sitting in his sprawling corporate office, Declan stared blankly at the final voice note he had sent to my disconnected number.

"Mr. Sterling, your espresso." Felix set the porcelain cup on the mahogany desk, breaking his boss's trance.

Four days. Even if I was blinded by rage, the silence should have broken. He shot out of his leather chair, snatching his coat.

"Sir, you have an important meeting," Felix urged.

"Push it back," Declan commanded.

He drove straight downtown to track down Fiona Lowell. My high school best friend was a woman pushed into teaching by strict parents, yet fiercely loyal to me.

"Fiona, someone's up front for you," a colleague called out.

Fiona dragged her feet into the hallway. Recognizing Declan, her posture went rigid.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded, barely containing her disgust.

"I know Serena's crashing at your place," Declan snapped. "Tell her this ridiculous tantrum is over. She's embarrassing both of us."

"Have you completely lost your mind?" she fired back, her voice shaking with outrage. "You’re the bastard who left her standing alone at the altar. She had to apologize to the entire crowd by herself. And you have the nerve to say she's causing a scene?"

Declan's expression darkened at the sharp rebuke.

"I didn't come here to debate my choices. Just get her out here and tell her to go home!"

Fiona stopped dead. The anger in her eyes fractured into chilling confusion.

"Serena isn't at home?" she asked.

"Quit playing games. Every single time we argue, she runs straight to your apartment."

Fiona took a step forward. "What the hell are you talking about? My grandmother is in hospice. I drove out of the city right after your ruined wedding and literally just got back. What did you do to her?"

Declan stared at her bloodshot eyes, the heavy exhaustion bruising her pale skin, and her cracked lips. She was completely drained. She wasn't lying.

Where had I been for four days?

Without another word, Declan spun around and rushed for the exit.

"Declan!" Fiona yelled down the corridor. "If you've gotten her hurt, I swear to God I will ruin you!"

Watching my best friend tremble, I reached out. "I'm sorry I couldn't keep my promise. Please just be happy."

My fingertips passed cleanly through her shoulder. The supernatural tether abruptly seized me, yanking me backward until I slammed into the passenger seat of Declan's moving car.

He gripped the steering wheel, dialing his phone.

"Felix, start looking into Serena's location—"

I let out a dry laugh. It took four days for the man I loved to start caring. By now, my body was already rotting.

Before he could finish the directive, Maya wrenched open the passenger door and threw herself at him.

"Declan!" she whined, pouting. "Why are you ignoring my texts? You've been dodging me for two days."

Terrified of exposing their illicit dynamic, Declan immediately killed the call.

"Maya, I've got a meeting," he said, rubbing his temple. "If this isn't urgent, I need to head back."

She latched onto his arm. "But my art exhibit opens today! Aren't you going to support me?"

Declan froze. He had been so absorbed in his own frustration that he completely forgot about the show she had spent a year preparing.

"That's my fault. Let's go."

Sitting in the backseat, I stared at the phone he had carelessly tossed aside. So many years wasted on the wrong man.

He drove her straight to the Azure Gallery. It was the exact prestigious venue I had fantasized about booking since childhood.

Maya and I had both studied under the former dean of Valmont University of Art. The instructor constantly praised my talent, but my passion was violently suffocated by my parents. They demanded I prepare to run the family business or serve as a supportive wife—not an airheaded artist. I painted in secret, burying my dream.

Maya was always different. As the lost daughter they had eventually found, she was spoiled endlessly. If she wanted the stars, they would pull them down.

I drifted behind them as they walked onto the exhibition floor, bitterness knotting in my chest.

"Her work is extraordinary," a guest murmured.

"She's truly blessed with talent. This *Lotus Dreamscape* is breathtaking."

*Lotus Dreamscape?*

I looked up, and my ghostly blood froze.

The massive painting in front of me was mine. I spun around, scanning the pristine walls. There were several more. Maya had hauled the stolen pieces straight from my basement studio and passed them off as her own.

A horrifying realization crashed over me. Maya would never dare claim my deeply personal work if she thought I was coming back.

She knew with absolute certainty that I was dead.

It was her. She must have been the one who hired someone to kill me.