No Longer His Ghost: My Life Begins

Cassie Baird POV:

I stared at the zero search results. My chest heaved, pulling in jagged breaths. I closed my eyes, counted to three, and forced the air out slowly. Panic was a luxury I couldn't afford. I learned that growing up in a neighborhood where crying only made you a target.

I pulled my phone from my pocket and opened the camera. I started snapping pictures of the screen, capturing the handwritten love letters and the photos with date stamps.

Halfway through the folder, a notification popped up. Storage Full.

I let out a harsh breath, opened my photo gallery, and selected the album titled "Us." Without a second of hesitation, I hit delete. Five years of smiling selfies and staged holiday photos vanished into the trash.

I went back to the camera and kept shooting.

I clicked on an encrypted spreadsheet labeled "Financial Support." The password prompt appeared again. I typed 0814.

The sheet opened. Row after row of wire transfers to a bank account in Paris.

The memo line for every single transaction read: "For Belle's Art Fund." The total at the bottom of the column was in the millions.

My fingers gripped the edge of the desk. Last month, I asked Blake for two thousand dollars to take an advanced architectural design seminar. He told me I didn't need to work, that my place was managing our home.

Rage boiled in my stomach, hot and acidic. I opened my email, attached the spreadsheet, and sent it to Juliana, my best friend and attorney.

The progress bar hit one hundred percent.

The smart lock on the front door chimed.

My entire body locked up. I whipped my head toward the hallway. Blake was home.

I yanked the USB out of the laptop. The screen instantly reverted to his standard desktop background.

I clenched the metal drive in my fist so hard the edges cut into my palm. I didn't let go.

I heard the heavy thud of his expensive leather shoes hitting the entryway floor. "Cassie," his voice rang out, laced with his usual impatience. "Is dinner ready?"

I stood up. My legs felt like lead. I leaned heavily against the desk for a second, then shoved the USB deep into the pocket of my dress.

I walked out of the study, pulling the heavy oak door shut behind me, sealing the crypt of his secrets.

Blake was standing in front of the hallway mirror, loosening his silk tie. He looked exhausted, and beneath the smell of the rain, I caught the faint, unmistakable scent of floral perfume.

I walked into the dining room. I looked at the cold Wellington and the decanted wine. My eyes were dead.

Blake walked past the table without even glancing at the food. "The board meeting ran late. I'm exhausted."

Normally, I would take his coat. Tonight, I stood frozen, staring at him.

He noticed the silence. He looked at me, his brow furrowing slightly. "Happy fifth anniversary. I'll have my assistant send your gift tomorrow."

I looked at his handsome, perfectly sculpted face. The sheer audacity of his lie hit my stomach like a physical punch. A violent wave of nausea surged up my throat.

I slapped a hand over my mouth, spun around, and sprinted to the guest bathroom. I slammed the door open.

I gripped the edges of the porcelain sink and dry heaved, my body violently rejecting the reality of my life. Tears pricked the corners of my eyes from the sheer physical strain.

Blake's footsteps stopped at the door. "Do you have food poisoning?" he asked. There was no worry in his tone. Only annoyance.

I turned on the faucet. The freezing water blasted over my hands. I stared at my pale, wretched reflection in the mirror.

I grabbed a towel, dried my hands, and turned around. I shoved my hand into my pocket and gripped the USB.

Blake checked his Rolex. "I'm taking a shower. Heat up the steak and bring it to the room."

He turned and walked toward the master bedroom.

I watched his broad shoulders retreat down the hall. Five years of swallowing my pride, of making myself small to fit his world, snapped in half.

I stepped out of the bathroom. I didn't go to the kitchen. I followed him straight to the bedroom.

"Did you really think you were going to have a peaceful shower tonight?"