Part 2Dead Three Years, My Wife Wants Me to Take the Blame for Her First Love

Diana practically fled the old property, totally missing Mrs. Gable's final words.

My soul, tethered to her by some invisible, suffocating thread, had no choice but to drift along.

Her cab sped through the city, eventually pulling up to Oliver's downtown penthouse overlooking the bay.

The moment the door swung open, Oliver was right there, a desperate, eager smile plastered across his face.

"D, how did it go? Did Mike agree?"

Diana paused as she took off her coat, avoiding his eyes.

"He... wasn't home."

The smile slid off Oliver's face, instantly replaced by a masterfully crafted look of guilt.

"Is he still mad at me? Mad about the time I made him take the fall? I know I put him through hell."

He looked down, his voice dropping to a miserable mumble as his eyes perfectly welled up with tears.

"Maybe we should just drop it. It's my mess anyway. I can't drag him down again."

"It's just... if I really get locked up, what are you going to do all by yourself..."

Diana always crumbled when he played this card. She immediately pulled him into a tight hug, her brow furrowing with protective anger.

"Stop talking like that. What right does he have to be mad?"

"I paid him a massive amount of hush money last time, and I took care of the victims' families! It was just a couple of years inside. It's not like I asked him to die for you. He has absolutely no reason to be difficult!"

She gripped Oliver's shoulders, her tone absolute.

"Don't worry. I will find him. He has to take the heat for you this time, no matter what."

Floating right beside the living room chandelier, I caught the fleeting, smug smirk on Oliver's lips. A coldness seeped into my ghostly core.

I never saw a penny of that money.

And those "taken care of" families were the reapers who took my life.

Oliver buried his face in the crook of Diana's neck, smiling his victorious little smile right where she couldn't see.

I reached out, desperately wanting to wrap my hands around his throat, but my fingers just phased through his flesh like smoke.

"Trust me," Diana whispered, rubbing his back. "I'll track him down. He is going to fix this."

Determined to dig me out of whatever hole she thought I was in, Diana drove back to my old farmhouse at the crack of dawn.

Morning light spilled through the shattered windowpanes of the decaying house.

She stood in the overgrown yard, her frown deepening by the second.

"These flowers..."

She crouched down, running a finger over a massive bush of dead, blackened roses.

She knew how much I worshipped my garden. Unless something physically stopped me, I would never have let them wither like this.

I hovered behind her as she pulled out her phone, taking photos of the cobwebs thick on the window sills.

Her thumb hovered over the screen for a long time before she finally called her assistant.

"I need you to trace every move Mike has made. Dig up everything."

She hung up and took a few steps closer to the porch.

My heart would have hammered in my chest if I still had one.

Right there, just past the corner, the concrete was still stained with my dried, blackened blood from three years ago.

Just two more steps.

Suddenly, a piercing ringtone shattered the silence.

It was her custom ringtone for Oliver.

She answered, and Oliver's panicked voice blasted through the speaker.

"D! I just heard the victims got their hands on new evidence. If we don't handle this right now, I'm completely screwed!"

"What?!" Diana's face drained of color. "I'm heading back right now!"

She turned and sprinted for the car, abandoning the bloodstain and the dead roses without a second thought.

I could only laugh bitterly. It didn't matter what was happening; her precious Oliver always came first.