Chapter 4

We arrived at Green Hill Cemetery as a cold, persistent rain began to fall. The air was heavy and thick with the smell of wet earth.

Ethan stood before my grave, his expensive suit darkening in the drizzle. Mark held an umbrella over his head, but Ethan seemed not to notice.

The gravestone was simple, just like my family.

"Ava Miller. Beloved Daughter and Sister."

Below the words was a small, black-and-white photo of me at seventeen, my smile wide and genuine, my eyes full of a hope that had long since been extinguished.

My spirit hovered near the stone, an ache of sorrow washing over me. Next to my plot was a newer one, for my mother. The grief of my death had been too much for her heart. She had followed me a year later.

Ethan was lost in thought, his gaze fixed on the photo. For a moment, I thought I saw a flicker of something in his eyes-doubt, perhaps, or even sadness. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared.

He turned to his security team, his voice like a whip crack in the quiet cemetery.

"Dig it up."

Mark gasped. "Sir, you can' t! That' s... that' s sacrilege!"

"Do you want to be fired?" Ethan asked, not even looking at him. "Because I can arrange that. Dig. It. Up."

The security guards exchanged uneasy glances, but they obeyed. The shovels bit into the soft, wet soil with sickening thuds. They worked quickly, their movements mechanical.

Soon, they unearthed a small, plain urn.

Ethan snatched it from them before they could even brush the dirt off. He held it in his hands, a strange, triumphant light in his eyes. He fumbled with the lid, prying it open.

Then he threw his head back and laughed. It was a terrible sound, full of mockery and derision, echoing among the tombstones.

"An act! I knew it! I knew it was all an act!" he crowed, holding the urn out for Mark to see.

Mark leaned in, his face pale. His eyes widened in shock.

The urn was empty.

Of course it was empty. My brother would never leave me here for Ethan to find.

Ethan, clutching the empty urn, strode back to his car, completely missing the small, black wooden box buried just beneath the gravestone. The box that held my real memories, the tokens of my youth, and all my lingering resentments.

He didn't go home. He drove straight back to my family's house.

When we arrived, Olivia was already there, perched on the edge of the sofa, looking frail and tearful. The picture of a tragic victim.

Ethan rushed to her side, draping his damp jacket over her thin shoulders. As he did, her blouse shifted, revealing a small, intricately carved charm hanging around her neck.

My spirit froze.

It was the charm I had climbed a sacred mountain for. The one I had filled with a lock of my own hair and prayed over for weeks. The charm meant to protect Ethan, to keep him safe from harm. And now it was around her neck. My ultimate sacrifice, my deepest prayer, had been a gift for my replacement. The pain was so crushing, I thought my very soul would tear apart.

"Oh, Ethan," Olivia sobbed, leaning into him. "I' m so sorry. If... if only Ava would help me, I would disappear from your life forever. I promise." She punctuated her performance with a delicate cough, a smear of blood appearing on her palm.

Chloe, who had been standing silently in the corner, lunged at her. "You liar! You witch!"

Ethan moved faster than I' d ever seen him. He shoved Chloe aside and, with a roar of pure rage, smashed the empty urn on the living room floor. The ceramic shattered into a hundred pieces.

"If this was empty, then where are her ashes?" he bellowed, his face a mask of fury. "Where is she?"

Liam, seeing the shattered urn and understanding what Ethan had done, let out a primal scream. He launched himself at Ethan, his grief and rage lending him a strength he didn' t know he had.

They crashed into a small side table. A crystal photo frame toppled to the floor, the glass shattering.

Ethan froze.

In the middle of the broken glass was a picture of me, smiling up at him.

He stared at it, his whole body trembling. "Is she...?" He couldn' t finish the sentence. The question hung in the air, thick and heavy. "Is she really dead?"

Liam, scrambling to his feet, attacked again. "You mistreated her in life, and now you desecrate her grave in death! You monster!"

Ethan, in a sudden, desperate act of denial, reached down and clutched a handful of the broken glass. The shards sliced into his palm, and blood welled up, dripping onto the photo of my smiling face.

I felt a searing, sympathetic pain, as if my own soul were being fragmented.

Chloe pushed him away from the glass. Olivia rushed forward, pulling a silk handkerchief from her purse to wrap his bleeding hand.

Ethan' s eyes were wild, unseeing. He looked at his assistant, who was still standing by the door, and gave a chilling command.

"Take it."