Dead Wife Walking_ The Billionaire's New Obsession

The rain had stopped by the time they lowered my empty casket into the ground, but the October sky remained gray and heavy, as if the heavens themselves mourned the woman who had supposedly died three days ago. I stood behind a massive oak tree about fifty yards from the gravesite, my hair dyed black and hidden beneath a wide-brimmed hat, watching my own funeral unfold like some twisted theater performance.

Lucas stood at the front of the small gathering, his shoulders shaking with what appeared to be grief. He'd chosen a charcoal suit—the same one he'd worn to our wedding—and clutched a single white rose in his trembling hand. The irony wasn't lost on me. White roses had been my favorite, something he'd claimed to forget every anniversary when he brought home red ones instead.

"She was the light of my life," his voice carried across the cemetery, cracking with what sounded like genuine emotion. "Alice gave everything to everyone she loved. She never asked for anything in return."

Sarah stood beside him, close enough that their shoulders almost touched. She wore an elegant black dress that hugged her curves perfectly, her auburn hair styled in a sophisticated chignon. Her hand rested on Lucas's arm in what appeared to be a gesture of comfort, but I could see the possessive way her fingers curled around his bicep.

"I don't know how I'll go on without her," Lucas continued, his voice breaking as he knelt to place the rose on the casket. "She was my everything."

My stomach churned as I watched him perform this elaborate charade. The man who had planned my death was now playing the role of devastated widower with Oscar-worthy conviction. Several people in the small crowd—my former colleagues from the law firm, neighbors, a few distant relatives—dabbed at their eyes with tissues.

Mrs. Henderson from next door stepped forward, her weathered hand patting Lucas's back. "She's in a better place now, dear. Alice wouldn't want you to blame yourself for what happened."

Blame himself? I almost laughed out loud. If only Mrs. Henderson knew that Lucas wasn't wrestling with guilt—he was probably calculating how long he needed to maintain this grieving husband act before he could access my inheritance.

Sarah moved closer to Lucas, her voice soft but audible in the quiet cemetery. "You need to eat something, Lucas. Alice wouldn't want you wasting away like this."

The way she said my name—with just the slightest hint of disdain masked as concern—made my hands clench into fists. She'd perfected the role of the supportive friend, the woman who would help Lucas through his darkest hour. How convenient that she'd be there to comfort him through his grief and eventually become his new wife.

"I keep expecting her to walk through the door," Lucas whispered, loud enough for the gathered mourners to hear. "This morning I made coffee for two out of habit. I can still smell her perfume on her pillow."

Another wave of nausea hit me. He was good—better than I'd given him credit for. The man who had coldly discussed brake lines and ravines was now painting himself as a broken romantic, lost without his beloved wife.

The pastor cleared his throat, preparing to deliver the final blessing. "Alice Mills was taken from us too soon, but her memory will live on in the hearts of those who loved her. She was a devoted wife, a brilliant lawyer, and a generous soul who—"

"She was perfect," Lucas interrupted, his voice raw. "She was absolutely perfect, and I failed to protect her."

Sarah's hand tightened on his arm, and I caught the flash of something in her eyes—impatience, perhaps, or annoyance that Lucas was laying it on so thick. But she quickly masked it with a look of sympathetic concern.

"The police said it was just an accident," Sarah murmured. "Old cars, you know. These things happen."

Old cars. I wanted to march over there and ask her exactly how much research she'd done into brake line failures, how many YouTube videos she'd watched to perfect her sabotage technique. Instead, I remained hidden, my jaw aching from clenching my teeth.

As the service concluded, people began to drift away, offering final condolences to Lucas. He accepted each one with the appropriate mixture of gratitude and pain, playing his part flawlessly. Sarah never left his side, the devoted friend who would see him through this tragedy.

I waited until only Lucas and Sarah remained at the gravesite before moving closer, using the larger headstones as cover. The wind had picked up, sending dried leaves skittering across the grass between the graves.

"How long do we need to keep this up?" Sarah's voice had lost its sympathetic tone, becoming sharp and businesslike.

Lucas glanced around to make sure they were alone. "At least a few more weeks. Maybe a month. We can't look too eager to move forward."

"A month?" Sarah's mask slipped completely, revealing the calculating woman beneath. "Lucas, I've been patient for over a year. I moved back to this godforsaken town, played nice with your naive little wife, watched you pretend to love her every single day. I'm done waiting."

"Keep your voice down," Lucas hissed, but his grief-stricken posture had straightened, his true self emerging now that the audience was gone. "The insurance money won't come through for at least two weeks, and the trust fund transfer takes time. We need to be smart about this."

Sarah stepped closer to him, her voice dropping to a seductive whisper. "I've been smart about this for eighteen months, darling. I've earned my reward."

She pressed her body against his, and Lucas's hands immediately went to her waist. They kissed with the passion of lovers who had been forced to hide their relationship, their bodies molding together over my supposed grave.

The sight should have broken my heart. Instead, it filled me with cold, crystalline rage. They were celebrating my death, literally dancing on my grave while my empty casket lay six feet below them.

I pulled out my burner phone and snapped several photos, the camera's silent mode capturing their embrace from multiple angles. Evidence. Everything I was gathering now would be crucial for what came next.

As I watched them walk away hand in hand, Lucas's grief performance abandoned the moment they thought they were alone, I made a silent promise to the woman they believed they had killed.

They wanted Alice Mills dead so they could inherit her life, her money, her future.

They were about to discover that some people are much harder to kill than they appear.

And some ghosts are very, very good at haunting the living.