The Family's Regret, Too Late Now

Chelsea's POV:

"It's alright, my love," Corbin said, still stroking Ivy' s hair, his back to the door that held my deceased body. "Don't let her theatrics upset you. She'll come around eventually."

Emilio, ever the protector, glared towards the unseen door. "She always makes a show of it. Honestly, it's exhausting. Acting out like this, after everything."

Erland, leaning against the antique fireplace, let out a frustrated sigh. "I swear, sometimes it feels like she enjoys causing drama. She's never been one to face consequences gracefully."

Ivy carefully moved away from Corbin, her hand subtly reaching for her arm. She rubbed a patch of skin, a faint red mark visible on her porcelain wrist. Her lower lip trembled ever so slightly.

"What's wrong, darling?" Corbin asked, instantly alert, his eyes narrowed with concern. "Did she hurt you earlier?"

Ivy quickly dropped her hand, shaking her head. "No, no, it's nothing, Corbin. Just a little scratch from… from the struggle to get her phone. She was quite resistant." Her voice was barely a whisper, filled with a feigned bravery.

Corbin' s face darkened, a storm brewing in his eyes. "A scratch? She dared to lay a hand on you?" His voice was low, dangerous. "After all you've done for this family, for her?"

"She has no shame!" Emilio spat, his fists clenching at his sides. "No remorse for the data breach, no respect for you, Ivy, who has only ever shown her kindness."

"This is unacceptable," Erland added, his voice tight. "She needs to be brought out. She needs to apologize, properly. She needs to understand the depth of her disrespect."

Corbin slammed his hand on the armrest of the sofa, the sound echoing through the room. "Mrs. Gable! Go get her. Bring her here. She will apologize to Ivy, and she will face the consequences of her actions immediately."

Mrs. Gable, still standing by the door, wrung her hands. "Sir, I… I tried earlier. She… she was very unwell."

"Unwell?" Corbin scoffed, his eyes blazing. "She's a master manipulator. This is just another one of her games. Bring her out, Mrs. Gable! Now! And if she resists, make sure she understands that this time, there will be no leniency."

Mrs. Gable's shoulders slumped. She offered a small, defeated nod before turning and shuffling back towards the hallway, her footsteps heavy with dread.

My spirit watched her go, a ghost of a smile touching my non-existent lips. They truly believe I'm still in there, playing games. The delusion is almost comical, if it weren't so tragic. They always saw me through the lens of their preconceived notions, never truly looking, never truly listening.

I remembered the "incident" Ivy had just alluded to. It wasn't a struggle, not really. Ivy had cornered me in the hallway, her smile too wide, her eyes too bright. She had pressed a small vial into my hand. "It's a new allergy medication for your condition, Chelsea. Your father insisted I give it to you. He worries about you."

I had looked at the vial, my brow furrowed. "But my medication is usually distinct. This looks different."

"Oh, it's a new formulation," Ivy had said, waving her hand dismissively. "Much stronger. Just take it." She had then pulled my hand to my mouth, forcing a few drops in before I could react. That's when I had seen it – the faint red marks on her wrist, from where she' d accidentally spilled some of the liquid, a potent allergen, on herself. She was so close to me, her breath sweet, her eyes devoid of any concern. It was a calculated move, not an accident. I felt the familiar constriction in my throat almost immediately.

Then she had feigned a struggle, twisting my arm to make it look like I was resisting, securing my phone from my pocket. "Oh, Chelsea, why do you always have to be so difficult?" she' d sighed, loud enough for a passing maid to hear.

And now, here I was, or rather, here my body was, suffering the consequences of their blindness. Their unwavering belief in her, their absolute dismissal of me. The pain, once acute, had faded into a dull throb in my ghostly chest. It was a numb acceptance. Death was a release, after all.

A few minutes later, Mrs. Gable returned, her face ashen, her fingers twitching uncontrollably. "Mr. Gibson," she stammered, "She… she isn't responding."

Corbin stiffened, a flicker of irritation in his eyes. "What do you mean, 'not responding'? Is she refusing to come out?"

"I… I knocked, sir. I called her name. There' s no sound. No movement. Not even…" Mrs. Gable swallowed hard, her voice barely a whisper. "Not even breathing, sir."

Emilio snorted, a disbelieving sound. "Don't be ridiculous, Mrs. Gable. She's just playing dead. A new low, even for her."

Ivy gasped, a high-pitched, fragile sound, clutching Corbin's arm. "Oh, no! Could she… could she have done something drastic, Corbin? She has always been so emotional." Her eyes, wide with fake fear, sought confirmation from Corbin.

Corbin's face, though still tinged with anger, now held a flicker of something else. Something unsettling. "This is too far, Chelsea!" he roared, standing abruptly. "This childish game has gone on long enough! She's trying to scare us, make us feel guilty. It's despicable!"

He strode towards the hallway, his powerful frame radiating fury. "I'll go myself! She will apologize. She will acknowledge her betrayal. And she will learn that this family cannot be manipulated!"

My spirit watched him, a silent observer of his futile rage. You're too late, Father. But the words, like my breath, were lost to the void.