Part 1The Best Ghost Money Could Buy

I died while he was flirting with the florist.

I haunted him for three years over it.

The moment I materialized, scaring off his date, the girl trembled: “Your place is haunted!”

He looked unbothered, smirked, and said: “Yeah. A really hot one.”

* * *

The beauty screamed "You’re sick!" and bolted.

Ethan Vance walked her to the door politely: "Won't you stay? She’s actually very understanding!"

The girl was too terrified to hear him.

She just shrieked in humiliation: "I came here to see your cat do flips! Go to hell!"

Ethan chuckled, closed the door.

He turned to see me, arms crossed and furious, completely unfazed by my spectral presence.

"Which one is this, this month?"

He sounded bored, not mad at all.

"The third," I said proudly.

Ethan flopped onto the sofa, and I bounced right off him—my ghost self lifted a foot in the air.

"Molly, are you trying to make me a monk?"

Ethan pointed to himself: "Three years of celibacy, thanks to you."

I scoffed: "Look how healthy you are now."

When we were dating, he was a wreck.

He gave a dry laugh: "My body's fine, but living just feels meaningless."

I couldn't argue with that. Ethan used to be a total playboy.

He was handsome, rich, successful, and a guaranteed catch.

I fell for his vibe: that lazy, seductive quality.

He was a Black Baccara rose in full bloom, intoxicating and dark.

When I was falling hardest, he gave me the cold truth: "I will never get married, and I won't be devoted to just one person. I live for the moment. I won't be responsible for anyone."

He was cool, collected, and totally reckless.

Yet, we were stuck in a messy, two-year, on-again, off-again cycle.

Our story ended when the blood soaked the concrete.

The last sound I heard was the dull thud of a bat hitting my head.

Before the attack, I had quickly wiped my phone. The last message I received wasn't from Ethan; it was a photo from a friend.

Ethan was holding flowers, and the florist was smiling up at him.

A perfect pair.

I knew it. The playboy wasn't going to turn his life around for me.

My last thought before I faded was:

"I wonder if Ethan Vance will still have the nerve to date the florist when he finds out I'm dead?"