Everyone knew Alistair Vance, New York’s ruthless tycoon, adored his late wife. After her fatal crash, his hair turned white overnight—and his relationship with his son soured into hatred. When he finally agreed to remarry, I was a candidate. While others served gourmet dishes, I offered Gorgonzola-stuffed olives. While they played concertos, I did Tai Chi. And when asked about Alistair? "You have a mole on your left butt cheek." That night, I was chosen. Alistair pressed a gun to my temple. "Who sent you?" I glanced sideways—where his dead wife’s ghost was shrieking: "That’s impossible! My intel was perfect!" Lies. She’d also called him "a softie underneath." 1 The moment the cold barrel of the gun pressed against my temple, I’ll admit it: I was terrified. "Wait!" I cried, shamelessly kneeling on the marble floor. "Mr. Vance, you've got the wrong idea!" Alistair tilted his head, his eyes narrowing as he studied me. His wrist twitched, and the gun pressed harder against my skin. "The wrong idea?" He let out a short, humorless laugh. "I've clawed my way to the top of this city for decades. Do you really think you can play me for a fool?" I nervously wiped a bead of sweat from my forehead, daring to glance up at him. His features were sharp, his presence overwhelming. He was a handsome man, but in a way that made you afraid to look him in the eye. Forty years old and he held the city in the palm of his hand. He was right; you couldn't fool a man like him. Alistair paused, then abruptly pulled the gun away. He took a cigarette from a case on the table and lit it with a casual flick. He took a long drag, exhaling slowly, as if lost in a memory. "You knew what Eleanor and I ate on our first date. You knew her favorite exercise. And you knew..." His voice turned sharp. "It must have taken quite an effort to dig all that up." "I'll give you three minutes to tell me everything. Otherwise, I have ways of making you talk." My heart hammered against my ribs. I was beginning to realize he was far more dangerous than I had imagined. A wave of regret washed over me for ever taking this job. My eyes flickered to the side again, unable to help it. Alistair couldn't see her, but the ghost of a woman dead for ten years was zipping back and forth in a frenzy. She kept muttering to herself. "This shouldn't be happening, how could this happen?" "I know what I told you was right! Alistair loves gorgonzola, and he always loved watching me do my Tai Chi..." "So what went wrong?" The problem, lady, is that a normal person wouldn't know about the mole on his left ass cheek! It was my own fault for being an idiot and just repeating everything she told me. The second the words left my mouth, I knew I’d screwed up. The ghost, Eleanor, floated over to me, offering an awkward smile. "Don't worry, honey. Let me think. Maybe he's just trying to scare you." Scare me? I turned my head just in time to see Alistair calmly load a fresh clip into the gun. Thump— I lunged forward and wrapped my arms around his legs. "Mr. Vance, I have a secret." 2 I have a secret. I’ve been able to see ghosts since I was a child. After going through the whole cycle of terror, fear, breakdowns, and despair, I finally came to accept it. I even learned to ignore them, to treat them like they weren't there. Until a month ago, when this ghost named Eleanor started haunting me. "Sweetie, you can see me? Oh, that's wonderful! Can you do me a favor?" "Why are you ignoring me? Honey, sweetie, helloooo..." "You're the only one who can help me, I'm begging you. If you help me, I'll give you ten million dollars." That's when I couldn't pretend anymore. I snapped my head around. "How much!?" "Ten million!" Seeing me waver, Eleanor floated closer, her voice a seductive whisper. "Really, it's just a small favor. I just need you to go check on my husband and my son. Ever since I died, their relationship has gotten worse and worse. They're practically enemies now. Just go to my house and help me with a few little things." I hesitated. She quickly added, "My husband is a wonderful man. He looks a little cold, but he's kind and gentle, and very easy to manage." "Don't be afraid, sweetie. I'll be there to help you." "Before I died, I hid a bank card. It was my secret little slush fund. If you agree to help, I'll give it to you!" "It has exactly ten million, one hundred twenty-five thousand, three hundred and forty-four dollars in it!" Damn. She remembered it down to the dollar. It had to be real. I was tempted. Insanely tempted. I'm Zara Thorne, the second daughter of the Thorne family. But despite the title, I was treated worse than the maids. I’m the illegitimate one, the family disgrace. I was desperate to escape that house, to leave the country, to study abroad—but all of that required money. After thinking it over and over, I gritted my teeth and agreed. 3 And now I was regretting it. Deeply. Clinging to Alistair's leg, I said, "Mr. Vance, the truth is... your wife has been speaking to me in my dreams." It was better to say she came to me in dreams than to say I could see ghosts. Both were absurd, but the former was slightly more believable. Alistair froze, his eyes cast downward as he seemed to consider this. Just as I was about to breathe a sigh of relief, his hand shot out and clamped around my neck. "You're a liar," he hissed. "If she could appear in dreams, why wouldn't she come to mine?" His grip was crushing. I couldn't breathe. My face started to turn red as the air was squeezed from my lungs. Eleanor yelped in terror and started spinning around me. "What do I do, what do I do? Why is Alistair like this?" I clawed at his hand, forcing the words out one by one. "Because. She. Still. Blames. You." Alistair's pupils contracted. His hand went slack. "What did you say?" he asked, his voice a hoarse whisper, as if he couldn't believe what he'd heard. I collapsed to the floor, coughing violently until I could breathe again. Looking up at him, I repeated, "Because she still blames you." "You know exactly how she died, don't you? You had a fight. She ran out of the house in anger, and that's when the accident happened." "If you had just given in, just for a moment, she might never have died at all." "Mr. Vance, your wife is still angry with you. That's why she won't enter your dreams." For a moment, the cold, hard mask on Alistair's face shattered. His expression became a storm of conflicting emotions. Doubt. Regret. Guilt. They warred across his features. The veins on the hand holding the gun bulged, and his breathing grew ragged. Terrified, I scooted away, praying he wouldn't accidentally pull the trigger. Alistair stood frozen like that for several minutes. Then, all at once, the tension drained out of him. His spine, once ramrod straight, seemed to curve. He scrubbed a hand over his face. "I deserve it," he muttered to himself. Then, looking like a man lost in a daze, he turned and walked out of the room. I heard the family's butler, Mr. Davies, ask, "Sir, what should we do with the young lady?" "Find a guest room for her." "Very good, sir." 4 Lying on the soft bed in the guest room, I was trembling with the aftershock of my near-death experience. Eleanor, however, was still muttering beside me. "I don't actually blame him. He looks so sad. It makes me sad, too." I was speechless. "Lady, if I hadn't said that, I'd be dead right now!" "I know, I'm not blaming you. It's just... I feel a little sad." "..." Fine. The longer a ghost sticks around, the fuzzier their brain gets. I could understand. I ignored her and fell asleep. When I woke up, the fear had subsided. I saw her floating by the window, a lonely, translucent figure. I felt a pang of pity for her. I spoke up. "Hey, you never told me. What were you and Alistair fighting about that night?" Eleanor paused, her expression turning melancholic. "It was because..." BANG— A loud crash echoed from downstairs. It sounded like the front door had been slammed open. Then, a boy's raw voice, spitting the foulest, most vicious words. "Alistair Vance! You dare bring another woman into this house! How dare you! Do you have any respect for my mother's memory?!" "Come out! Are you too much of a coward to face me?!" "Alistair! You spineless bastard!" Ah. The little terror of the Vance family was home. Eleanor had told me her son was only seven when she died. Ten years had passed. Now he was seventeen, the prime age for rebellion. And it was common knowledge throughout the city that this father and son did not get along. While my mind was racing, I heard frantic footsteps pounding up the stairs. They stopped right outside my door, followed by a series of violent kicks. "Is that woman hiding in here?! Get the hell out!" The butler tried to intervene. "Young Master, the lady inside is a guest!" "Guest my ass! She's another one of Alistair's little whores!" Hey! This kid had a seriously foul mouth. Furious, I jumped out of bed, strode to the door, and yanked it open. I glared at him. "What do you want?" After a few seconds of a staring contest with Rowan Vance, I suddenly realized how much he looked like his father. The nose, the mouth—they were practically identical. But his eyes were softer, more like Eleanor's. His handsome face, however, couldn't hide the fact that he was a spoiled brat. Rowan gave me a disdainful once-over. Then he sneered. "Someone like you thinks you can just walk into my house? Get lost." Rage churned in my stomach. Eleanor floated over. "Oh, my baby boy is so big now." "He's so cute." I rolled my eyes. Before I could even form a sarcastic thought, I heard her next words. "Honey, slap him." I froze for a second, then a wicked thrill shot through me. I raised my hand and smacked Rowan right across his handsome face. SMACK— Rowan's head snapped to the side. He was completely stunned. He turned back to me, his eyes wide with disbelief. "You hit me?!" The butler's face darkened. "Miss Thorne, while you may be a guest, I don't think it's appropriate for you to strike the young master." "You fucking bitch, you hit me!" Rowan exploded, lunging at me like a wild animal, his expression promising to tear me limb from limb. Mr. Davies, fearing things would escalate, grabbed him around the waist. "Young Master, please, calm down!" I stumbled back a few steps. I glanced at Eleanor and whispered, "Okay, what's next?" Eleanor: "Huh?" I scowled. "What's the plan after the slap? You didn't think this through before you told me to hit him, did you?" The ghost just stared at me blankly. I rolled my eyes so hard I almost passed out. I'd been played again! The commotion was so loud it finally brought Alistair out. "What is going on?" The moment his voice rang out, Rowan froze. He shook off the butler's grip and turned to his father, his eyes red. Well, half his face was red, too. Alistair saw his son's cheek, and his own face instantly darkened. Rowan's voice was filled with hate. "Alistair Vance, you're a real piece of work. The anniversary of my mother's death is in two days, and you choose now to bring this woman home and let her hit me... Aren't you afraid my mother is watching you from heaven?" Alistair's gaze shot toward me like a dagger. "You hit him?" "Who gave you the nerve?!" Rowan scoffed. "Why are you pretending? As if she'd dare to touch me in this house without your permission." All three of them—father, son, and butler—were now staring at me. I blinked once, twice, then collapsed onto the floor. "Oh, my. What happened? I think I was dreaming. Wait, wasn't I asleep? Why am I on the floor?" "Why... why are you all here? And what happened to this handsome young man's face? Why is it all red?" Rowan looked at me with disgust. "What the hell are you playing at?" I shook my head, feigning confusion. Then my eyes lit up, and I scrambled over to Alistair's side. "Oh, Mr. Vance! I just dreamed about your wife again!" Alistair's gaze was ice-cold. It was clear he didn't believe me anymore. I swallowed hard and continued my bullshit. "It's true." I pointed to the windowsill. "In the dream, she was leaning on the windowsill, looking at the flowers. She said the rosebush in the courtyard was a birthday gift she planted for the young master on his fifth birthday." "She looked so sad. She said her son has gone astray, and if she had the chance, she'd really like to discipline him. She even asked if she could borrow my body for a bit. I got scared, and that's when I woke up." "Young Master Vance, please don't tell me I actually hit you?! Oh god, I didn't mean to, I think I was possessed..." As soon as I said that, all three men froze. Alistair instinctively glanced at the butler. Mr. Davies quickly said, "Sir, I assure you, I have said nothing." But Rowan was getting agitated, focusing on the wrong thing. "What are you talking about? How did you know about the roses? Who told you?!" He paused, his eyes narrowing at his father. "Did you tell her? What right do you have to talk to her about my mother?" "Alistair Vance, my mother must have been blind to ever fall for you!" SMACK— The other cheek got a slap, too. This one from his father. The air in the hallway instantly froze. Even Eleanor stopped flying around, staring blankly at her son. Rowan touched his face, but instead of getting angry, he laughed. The look he gave his father was terrifying. It was like he'd snapped. He shoved the butler aside and ran down the stairs. "Sir, it's raining outside! The young master is furious. If he runs out like this, something bad could happen!" "Then go find him!" The butler looked conflicted. "If you don't go, sir, I'm afraid we won't be able to bring him back. You know his temper. What if he gets hurt..." Alistair closed his eyes, his chest heaving. Before he left with the butler, he gave me a long, unreadable look. I immediately bowed and scraped. "I'll be good and stay put, Mr. Vance. Don't you worry." 5 God, they were insane! This father and son were both completely nuts! This place was dangerous. I had to leave. In a matter of seconds, I made up my mind. I turned to Eleanor. "What exactly is the favor you need? Spit it out. I'm doing it, and then I'm gone." Eleanor looked downcast. She sat on the windowsill, gazing at the roses in the courtyard. The rain was beating them down, a pitiful sight. "I originally wanted you to help mend their relationship..." What? An abstract task like that? No way I could help. I was about to refuse when she continued, "But I never realized things had gotten this bad. Asking you to help with this... it's really asking too much." Good, she understood. "So, you..." "I don't know," Eleanor said. "I'm a little lost myself now. I don't know what else we can do." I flopped onto the bed. Whatever. I'd just take it one step at a time. I had finally realized that I was stuck with a completely unreliable ghost. This ten million was not going to be easy to earn. I couldn't sleep, so I turned to talk to her. "You still haven't told me. What did you and Mr. Vance really fight about back then?" Eleanor floated over and lay down beside me. Her presence was chilly, but I didn't mind. I was ready for the tea. Her pale, thin lips parted. "I... don't remember." Me: "..." What a waste of my emotions. Time for sleep! I wasn't too mad about not getting the gossip. I knew that's how it was with ghosts. The longer they wandered the earth, the more their memories faded. The first things to go were the memories of their death and the time leading up to it. "I'm sorry, sweetie. You should get some sleep." Eleanor didn't need to sleep. Bored, she floated out to wander around the house. A little while later, she came back. Seeing I was still awake, she crouched beside me and started humming a soft tune. I paused. "What's that song?" "Just something I made up. I used to sing it to Rowan to help him sleep. Is it bothering you?" "No." I buried my head in the pillow. "It's beautiful. Can you sing it again?" "Of course." I grew up in an orphanage and was only recently taken in by the Thorne family, where I was met with nothing but scorn. I'd never experienced something as comforting as being sung to sleep. To think that one day, a ghost I barely knew would be the one to give me that... It was a strange feeling. Drifting off to Eleanor's gentle melody, I finally fell asleep.
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