Two years after I died, Xavier Thorne was set to get engaged to Beatrice Vanderbilt, the heiress to a real estate empire. At the engagement gala, he took a sip of his bourbon, a cold sneer playing on his lips. "Someone once told me that I, Xavier Thorne, would never make a dime. That I’d never be anyone, never achieve anything. Now I’ve done it all. So where is she? Why won’t she show up?" I floated there, stunned. Oh. He still remembers what I said? But I’m already dead. The living shouldn't hold grudges against the dead. I really wish he’d just forget about me. 1 Xavier is now the richest man in the city. The engagement party was packed with elites. Even our old high school classmates and teachers were invited. Mark, our old class president, walked over respectfully to toast Xavier. They chatted about the old days. Suddenly, Mark asked, "Mr. Thorne, that person you mentioned earlier... who was it?" Xavier scoffed, unconsciously touching the watch on his right wrist. It was strange. I bought him that watch for graduation. It cost five hundred bucks—cheap by his current standards. It didn’t match his Armani suit at all, yet he never took it off. Mark shook his head and sighed. "That sounded like something Sarah Jenkins would say. But Sarah has been dead for so long. How could she show up?" For a split second, the air in the room seemed to freeze. Silence. Then—Crash. The crystal glass in Xavier’s hand hit the floor, shattering into a million pieces. His face drained of all color. He opened his mouth, but it took a long time for the words to come out. "What did you say? Who died?" By now, everyone was staring. Xavier was known for being cold and composed. This sudden panic made everyone wonder what scandal was unfolding. Mark hesitated, then stammered, "Sarah... Sarah Jenkins." "Impossible!" Xavier cut him off instantly. "She told me she went abroad to find her boyfriend!" "What boyfriend?" Mark looked confused. "Sarah had a hereditary genetic condition. Women in her family don't live past thirty. You... you didn't know, Mr. Thorne?" 2 My ghost stood behind Xavier, watching the chaos unfold, and I let out a long sigh. Two years ago, when I left Xavier, that is indeed what I told him. I told him I had an old flame abroad—six-foot-three, gold-rimmed glasses, a "sophisticated scumbag" type with a sexy British accent and a trust fund. It drove Xavier insane. He had stared at me, his eyes red, looking like he was about to bleed tears. "I don't believe you," he had said, gripping my wrist so hard it hurt. "Sarah, I don't believe you. You're lying." "If I'm lying, I'm a dog!" I had lied through my teeth, pulling a photo out of my pocket. It showed me in the arms of a tall man, both of us laughing. I paid a guy on Fiverr fifty bucks to Photoshop that. But Xavier didn't even look at it. He snatched it and tore it to shreds. Fifty bucks. Gone. My heart ached for the money. "Give me a reason." He threw the confetti-sized pieces on the ground and crushed them with his shoe. "We've been together for so many years. You're just dumping me?" "What else?" I rolled my eyes. "You're poor, Xavier. Your startup failed. I don't see a future with you. Do you want us to be thirty years old and still living in a cramped rental apartment?" Maybe I was too harsh. His hand, which had been gripping my wrist, slowly loosened and dropped to his side. I knew Xavier. He had pride. That was his limit. He would never beg me to stay again. So, I dragged my suitcase out of our rental. The moment I opened the door, Xavier called my name. "Sarah." He stared at me, enunciating every word. "One day, you will regret the decision you made today." I smiled lightly. "Good. I’ll be waiting for that day." 3 They say death is like a candle going out, but my soul somehow stayed tethered to Xavier. The Reaper told me it was because someone’s obsession with me was too strong, keeping me grounded in the mortal world for a while longer. So, I watched Xavier become cold, ruthless, and decisive. In two years, he tripled his status. His company went public, and he amassed a fortune. He was no longer the boy who stood outside an investor's door all night for a fifty-thousand-dollar seed fund. But hearing that I was dead, he looked terrified. He pulled out his phone and started frantically dialing my number. But I had blocked him on everything ages ago. The call would never connect. Beatrice, standing awkwardly to the side, saw his state and walked over cautiously. She gently placed a hand on his shoulder. "Xavier, are... are you okay? Who is this Sarah person?" "Get away from me!" Xavier shoved Beatrice aside. When he wanted to be mean, he really didn't hold back. "We are just a business arrangement. I'll help your family, but stay out of my personal life!" Beatrice’s face flushed red at the public rebuke. The guests looked at each other, sensing a massive scandal but daring not to speak. In the silent ballroom, the only sound was Xavier’s heavy breathing and his fingers tapping the screen, dialing over and over. Finally, he got a number from Mark. It was for my best friend, Fiona. Poor Fiona was probably asleep. It took a while for her to pick up. "Who is this?" she asked groggily. "Where is Sarah?" Xavier demanded. "Are you psycho? Sarah has been dead for two years. Why are you looking for her now?" Before she could finish, Xavier hung up. He stood there for a moment, then let out a cold, broken laugh before stumbling out of the banquet hall. His driver was waiting outside. Sitting in the back seat, Xavier hunched over, burying his face in his hands. He didn't speak for a long time. Just as they neared his villa, he took out his phone and texted his assistant: Investigate everything about Sarah Jenkins. 4 Back at the villa, Xavier went straight to his study. He sat alone in his massive leather chair. His phone rang multiple times, but he didn't answer. Eventually, he muted it. He looked just like he did years ago, sitting on the curb after being kicked out by an investor. Back then, I would have bought him a hot milk tea and shoved it into his hands. Now he was rich, so why did he still look so pathetic? I really wanted to pat his shoulder and yell in his ear: "Xavier, move on! Look forward!" Xavier sat there all night. Around nine the next morning, the butler knocked, followed by his assistant, Colin. Colin placed a file on the desk and whispered, "Boss, here is the information on Miss Jenkins." Efficient. Colin must have pulled an all-nighter too. I pouted. "Exploitative capitalist." Xavier opened the folder. It wasn't much—just seven or eight photos. I curiously leaned over his shoulder to look. Most were from two years ago. Some were clearly screenshots from street surveillance cameras; others were backgrounds of strangers' photos found online. I tsked. Colin was wasted as an assistant; he should be a PI. In the photos, the place I visited most was the hospital. The timestamps showed that after I broke up with Xavier, I didn't go abroad. I rented a tiny room in the city and lived there for a few months. Xavier stared at the photos for a long time without saying a word, his brow furrowed deep. Finally, he moved. He put the photos away in a drawer and locked it. "Drive," he said to Colin, using the desk to support himself as he stood up. "Take me to this hospital."
? Continue the story here ?? ? Download the "MotoNovel" app ? search for "386650", and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel