Chapter 2: Watching My Own Death

When I opened my eyes again, I was floating. Above my own corpse.

It was like waking from a dream, weightless and cold. I looked down and saw myself sprawled on the floor, blood everywhere.

So ghosts are real, after all.

I felt surprise, then a strange kind of peace. At least I could still watch over Riley, even if I couldn’t touch her.

Dawn had broken. The house was silent, inside and out.

Sunlight crept through the curtains, painting golden stripes across the mess. The world outside kept turning, oblivious.

My husband, Mason Miller, had already fired all the housekeepers, forcing me to be the maid so he could abuse me without restraint.

He’d made sure I was alone, that no one would hear my screams. It was all by design.

So even during the day, no one would come to the house.

Neighbors kept to themselves. Nobody wanted to get involved with rich people’s problems.

I realized Mason was waking up—his snoring stopped.

A chill ran through me. I hovered near the ceiling, watching as he shifted on the couch.

I ignored him and rushed upstairs, slipping into the bedroom.

It was effortless now. No locked doors. No heavy limbs. I floated like a breeze through the hallway.

Sure enough, Riley was curled up under the covers, eyes squeezed shut, her pillow soaked with tears.

She looked so small, so fragile. Her bunny was clutched tight in her arms, her hair damp with sweat and tears.

She’d wet the bed, but she didn’t dare move. Just fell asleep like that.

My heart ached so much. I bent to touch her face, but my hand passed right through.

I tried again, desperate, but there was nothing. I could only watch.

Downstairs, Mason shouted in surprise.

His voice was rough, panicked. I could hear the thud of his footsteps as he stumbled into the kitchen.

He must’ve found my body.

A sick satisfaction flickered in me. Let him be scared. Let him panic.

Soon, he started cutting me apart.

Even as a ghost, I felt it. A chill ran through me.

It was like ice water down my spine, a horror that didn’t fade just because I was dead.

Mason’s cruelty was on full display.

He worked quickly, methodically, as if he’d done it before. I wanted to look away, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t look away.

Yet he was the man my family had chosen as the perfect son-in-law.

They’d called him a good catch, a real gentleman. They’d never seen him behind closed doors.

In the beginning, my parents wanted Vanessa to marry Mason—the families had already agreed on the match.

There were dinners, meetings, polite conversations about terms and the future. It was all so civilized.

Mason’s family, the Miller Group, was the city’s leading company, and Mason himself was handsome and promising.

He was the kind of man people admired from afar—tall, well-dressed, always smiling for the cameras.

Vanessa liked him, too. They’d even dated.

She used to brag about it, showing off the jewelry he bought her. For a while, it seemed like a fairy tale.

But then Mason got caught up in a scandal—he’d abused a girl at a bar and accidentally killed her. It blew up everywhere.

It was all over the news for weeks. My parents pretended not to watch, but I saw them reading every article.

My parents and brother got worried, afraid Mason was a monster, so they decided not to let Vanessa get too close to him.

They whispered behind closed doors, making plans, weighing options. Vanessa was too precious to risk.

But they couldn’t offend the Miller family, so they had me marry him instead.

It was a business decision, dressed up as family duty. No one asked me what I wanted.

“Charlotte is our real daughter—she’s a better match for Mason.”

I could still hear Mom’s voice, full of forced pride.

“Our Charlotte is gentle and virtuous, not like Vanessa, who’s always running around and nothing like a proper girl!”

But it always felt like a warning.

“Vanessa refuses to have kids—she’s still a child herself. Better not marry her off yet, or she’ll embarrass us!”

Their words stung, even when I knew they weren’t really about me.

That’s what my parents said at the time.

I remembered every word, every sideways glance.

Every word was full of disdain for Vanessa, and in the end, the Miller family agreed to marry me.

Looking back, that so-called disdain was just another kind of love.

It was a bitter truth, but it made sense. They’d sacrificed me to save her.

I gave a bitter laugh and floated into the bathroom to watch Mason dismember me.

The scene was surreal, like something out of a nightmare. I wanted to scream, but my voice was gone.

He was pale, cursing nonstop as he hacked at my bones.

His hands shook, sweat pouring down his face. He muttered to himself, blaming me for everything.

To comfort himself, he kept insulting me.

He spat my name like poison.

Calling me trash, saying I’d been used by hundreds of men, that I wasn’t worthy of him.

The words were familiar, echoes of old arguments. I’d heard them all before, just never with so much venom.

That I deserved to die!

He said it over and over, like he was trying to convince himself.

I didn’t understand—how was I trash?

I’d done everything they asked. I’d tried so hard. Was it ever enough?

Mason’s muttering gave me the answer: “Don’t blame me, you slut. Vanessa told me—you slept with who knows how many men in that town, even had a kid. How dare you marry me?”

He clung to Vanessa’s words. Used them to justify every bruise. Every scar.

“You deserved everything I did. You dying is your own fault!”

He spat on the floor, wiping his hands on his jeans. The smell of bleach filled the room.

So it was Vanessa behind it all.

The realization hit me like a punch. She’d poisoned him against me from the start.

No wonder. When I first married Mason, he was kind. Respectful.

Those early days were almost sweet. He brought me flowers, called me beautiful. It hadn’t lasted long.

One day, gentle. The next, a stranger.

Vanessa, you’re ruthless.

I never stood a chance, did I?

Even after I’d lost everything, you still wouldn’t let me go.

I wanted to hate her, but all I felt was exhaustion. There was nothing left to fight for.

At sunset, Mason finally finished.

The sky outside was streaked with orange and purple, the world moving on without me.

He packed my body into bags, filling two big freezers.

He worked quickly, wiping his brow, glancing nervously at the clock.

He cleaned the living room until it was spotless, leaving no trace.

He scrubbed every surface, humming under his breath. By the time he finished, it looked like nothing had ever happened.

I didn’t know when Riley got out of bed, but she was crouched by the second-floor railing, nervously peeking downstairs.

Her small face was pale, eyes wide with fear. She clung to the banister. Silent as a ghost.

Mason glanced up at her, his voice cold as a demon’s. “Riley, what did you see?”

His tone was sharp, dangerous. Riley shrank back, barely breathing.

Riley didn’t dare answer.

She shook her head, lips pressed tight. Her bunny dangled from one hand, forgotten.

“I said, speak!”

His shout echoed up the stairs, making her flinch. She looked like she wanted to disappear.

He roared, making Riley shake her head in fear. “No… I don’t know…”

Her voice was barely audible. Trembling with terror.

My heart ached with both pain and rage—I wanted to tear Mason apart.

But I was powerless. Just a shadow in the room.

I screamed, but the sound went nowhere. All I could do was watch.

Mason snorted, grabbed some bread from the snack cabinet, and tossed it upstairs.

Just tossed the bread like she was a stray dog.

“Don’t come downstairs. If you do, I’ll break your legs!”

His words were ice cold. Riley nodded, clutching the bread to her chest, and disappeared into her room.

She closed the door softly, as if afraid it would wake the dead.

Mason didn’t linger. He grabbed a bag of meat and hurried out into the night.

He moved fast, glancing over his shoulder. The front door slammed behind him.

Riley crept out, peering down the stairs for a long time before trembling her way down.

She moved slowly, every step hesitant. I hovered beside her, desperate to help.

My heart pounded—what was she doing?

I wanted to stop her, to tell her to go back, but I was just a ghost, helpless.

She walked to the fridge and pulled open the lower freezer.

Her hands shook as she tugged at the handle. The cold air made her shiver.

My head was hidden among the frozen meat.

I watched as she searched, her eyes wide and scared.

“Mom…”

Her voice was small, broken. She reached out, but stopped short, afraid.

She called out, voice shaking.

The word echoed in the empty kitchen. I wanted so badly to answer.

My tears fell.

I wept for her, for myself, for all the things we’d lost.

She’d seen everything.

I wondered if she’d ever be able to forget. If the nightmares would ever fade.

The days that followed were when Mason disposed of my body.

Each day blurred into the next, a grim routine. He moved like a man with a plan, careful and cold.

Every day, he took some of the remains out. Sometimes he’d bring parts back to freeze again.

He was paranoid, always checking the locks, always looking over his shoulder.

Even in a bustling city, it’s not easy to get rid of a body.

There were cameras, neighbors, garbage men. He was careful, but not careful enough.

At least my head stayed frozen in the fridge the whole time.

It was a small comfort, knowing Riley could find me if she needed to.

Riley was careful. She only snuck downstairs after Mason left, checking on me, then running back to her room in tears.

She moved like a ghost herself, silent and invisible. I wished I could hold her, tell her it would be okay.

She ate, drank, and used the bathroom all on the second floor, surviving on snacks and bread.

Her world shrank to a handful of rooms. She drew pictures on the walls, talking to her bunny when she was lonely.

Even for an adult, this would be suffocating. Hopeless.

I watched her grow thinner, her eyes hollow. She was so brave, but so alone.

My heart ached beyond words. Eventually, I floated out of the house, desperate to find a way.

I wandered the streets, searching for help, for justice, for anything that could save her.