Died Alone, My Spirit Watches

Adrianne Cummings POV:

Bradford' s hesitation, his half-step towards my covered body, faded into the indifference of his retreating form. My spectral self watched him leave, Flora clinging to his arm, her triumphant smirk a chilling tableau. He was gone, again, choosing the illusion of vulnerability over the harsh truth of his betrayal.

Arthur, his face a mask of grief and fury, finally gave the nod to the medical examiner. The gurney was wheeled away, my body a silent testament to a love that had never been enough. Arthur made a call, his voice tight, to my mother-in-law, Bradford' s mother. The poor woman, always caught between her son' s arrogance and my quiet resilience, would be devastated. She actually cared.

Then, Arthur called Karter again. My brother. The one person who would truly fight for me.

My spirit followed Bradford and Flora. He' d driven them to a private hospital suite, far from the chaos of the morgue. Flora was already tucked into a pristine bed, a picture of delicate distress. Bradford hovered over her, fussing, murmuring reassurances about the lemon cheesecake he' d promised her.

He was still convinced I was playing a game. A sick, twisted game designed to make him feel guilty. The irony tasted like ash.

Suddenly, a loud commotion erupted outside Flora' s suite. The door burst open, and Karter stood there, a force of nature, his eyes burning with an inferno of grief and rage. He was a man possessed, his face streaked with tears, his fists clenched. Arthur was right behind him, his expression grim.

"Bradford!" Karter roared, his voice shaking the very walls of the opulent suite. "You heartless bastard! Where is she? Where is Adrianne?"

Bradford, startled, spun around, his face paling further. He instinctively stepped in front of Flora, shielding her from Karter' s wrath. "Karter, calm down! What is this? Adrianne is fine. She's just… being difficult."

Flora whimpered, clinging to Bradford' s arm, her performance Oscar-worthy. "Oh, Bradford, who is that terrifying man? He'll hurt us!"

"She's dead, Bradford!" Arthur cut in, his voice sharp, brutal. "Adrianne is dead! She was murdered in that basement, hours after you left her there!"

The words, stark and unforgiving, hung in the air. Bradford stared at Arthur, then at Karter, then at the floor. His lips parted, but no sound came out. He looked… lost. Not grieving, but utterly bewildered, like a child who couldn't comprehend a shattered toy.

Karter, seeing Bradford' s vacant stare, snapped. "You don't even care, do you?" he snarled, his voice thick with unshed tears. "You look more concerned about your precious Flora, who is clearly fine, than the wife you abandoned to die! The wife who was carrying your child!"

Bradford finally looked at Karter, a flash of something unreadable-fear? denial?-in his eyes. But he didn't respond to the accusation of child. He only looked at Karter with haughty indignation.

"Karter, this is inappropriate! You' re upsetting Flora!" Bradford exclaimed, his voice regaining a semblance of its usual authority. He was still prioritizing Flora, still dismissing the horrifying truth.

That was Karter' s breaking point. He lunged, a wild animal, his fist connecting with Bradford' s nose with a sickening crunch. Blood spurted, and Bradford stumbled backward, clutching his face. Flora shrieked, scrambling behind the bed.

"You arrogant, self-serving piece of trash!" Karter screamed, pummeling Bradford with furious blows. Arthur, this time, didn' t even pretend to intervene. He merely watched, a grim satisfaction on his face.

"Adrianne was better than you! She loved you, you fool! She built your empire, protected your name! And you left her to die for this simpering little whore!" Karter' s voice cracked with the force of his grief and rage. He pointed a trembling finger at Flora, who cowered behind the bed, her face a mask of genuine fear now.

My spirit watched, a cold, detached sense of justice settling over me. Karter was giving him what he deserved. My brother, my steadfast, loyal brother, was avenging me.

Bradford, blood streaming from his nose, stumbled against the wall, collapsing onto the floor. His eyes darted between Karter's enraged face and Arthur's stony disapproval. For the first time, he looked truly vulnerable, truly broken. But still, the grief was absent. Only shock and fear.

"Adrianne… she didn't… no…" he mumbled, his voice thick with blood and confusion, shaking his head in disbelief.

"She did, Bradford," Arthur said, his voice low and dangerous. "And it's all on you."

Karter, panting, his knuckles bruised, stepped back. He looked at Arthur, his gaze still burning. Arthur simply nodded, a silent acknowledgment of the pain, the truth.

The fury in Karter' s eyes dimmed slightly, replaced by a profound sadness. He looked at my crumpled body in the morgue, and then back at Bradford. What was left was a chilling resolve.

My spectral self watched Karter, a surge of love and gratitude washing over me. He would get justice for me. I knew it. He would not rest until every person responsible, including Bradford, faced the consequences.