The Billionaire Hid Our Daughter to Break Me

Bruno Gilbert had clung to consciousness by sheer will.

Then that calloused hand of his had brushed against my cheek. "If I die, let it be my way of atoning. All I want is for you to forgive me, and to take Rosie and live a good life."

Of course Bruno didn't die. And I softened. I struggled and agonized for months, and in the end I chose to forgive him.

But never once did I imagine that what I'd get in return was being toyed with like a fool for four whole years.

The sound of the two of them carried on late into the night.

Bruno lit a cigarette, brow furrowed as he stared at the shut front door.

"Where the hell did she go? It's this late and she can't even call to say she's safe."

Irritated, he reached for his phone and dialed my number.

In the dead silence, a shrill ringtone suddenly cut through the air, coming from the locked nursery next door.

The hand holding his cigarette froze in midair.

A flicker of glee shot through Irma Finch's eyes before she arranged her face into worry. "Bruno, why is Ruth in there? Those things we just said... do you think she heard all of it?"

Face dark, Bruno buttoned his shirt, pushed her aside, and strode toward that closed door.

My spirit drifted behind him, watching his palm clamp down on the handle, his knuckles whitening from the force.

He hesitated a few seconds. Then, click.

The door swung open.

I lay there, body rigid, curled under the blanket with my back to him.

Bruno stared at my back and tugged the corner of his mouth into something almost self-mocking.

"Ruth Stephens, since you've already heard it, there's no point hiding anything from you. Yes, I sent Rosie to Harborisle. But you brought this on yourself. Who told you to throw your family's weight around and force Irma to drop out of school back then? And then threaten me with divorce?"

His voice was ice-cold, carrying the certainty of a man handing down charity. "As long as you drop that high-and-mighty act of yours from now on, the position of Mrs. Gilbert is still yours, and no one else's."

The air went terrifyingly still.

When Bruno had waited a long moment and heard nothing, his expression turned vicious. "Giving me the silent treatment? Fine. Let's see how long you can keep it up."

He slammed the door and stormed off in a fury.

I gazed helplessly at his enraged back, wanting to call out for him to stop.

No matter how much he loathed me, we were still husband and wife, weren't we? Cremate me soon, so I could go find Rosie, instead of being chained here beside my own corpse.

But what I couldn't manage in life, how could I possibly do in death?

What I never expected was that, after only ten minutes, he came back.

In his hand he dragged a small, stumbling figure.

It was Rosie!

The daughter I had ached for, day and night, for four years!

"Didn't you go mad for four years trying to find her? I brought her back from Harborisle ages ago. Are you satisfied now?"

Bruno gave a cold laugh and tossed the crying child toward the corner of the bed, then swept out with Irma at his side.

Animal!

How could he lock a sobbing child in with a corpse?

Rosie pounded on the door until her little palms went swollen, and still it never opened.

The room was very dark, and she was frightened of the shape rising under the blanket on the bed, too scared to make another sound.

So she huddled in the corner, buried her face against her shoulder, and shivered now and then.

I knelt before her in despair, desperate to wrap her in my arms. "Rosie, don't be scared, Mommy's here. Even as a ghost, Mommy would never hurt you..."

But again and again my spirit passed straight through her tiny body.

Cried out and exhausted, Rosie finally fell into a deep sleep beside the corpse.

When morning came, Rosie sat up, rubbing her swollen red eyes, and looked timidly at me lying on the bed, my face mottled blue.

A long while passed before she seemed unable to hold it in any longer, and spoke in a small voice. "Lady, can you wake up? I'm so hungry..."