Chapter 1

Three years after I died, nothing grew near the estate.

The grass turned black. The trees twisted inward, skeletal and choking. Anyone who wandered too close collapsed within hours—fever dreams, screaming fits, unexplained wounds opening across their skin.

The tabloids called it a plague. A curse.

They called it me.

The headlines screamed: "Dead Detective's Vengeful Spirit Terrorizes Town—Former Fiancée Breaks Silence."

Serena had no choice. The board was watching. Her new luxury development—the crown jewel of her empire—sat less than two miles from my rotting estate. Investors were pulling out. The press was circling.

So she did what she always did.

She came to finish me off.

---

The black SUVs rolled up the gravel drive in a slow procession. Rain hammered the windshields. The manor loomed ahead—

Serena stepped out first. Designer boots. Black trench coat. Her face was beautiful.

Julian climbed out behind her. Golden-haired. Soft-eyed. The picture of wounded innocence.

She pulled him close, shielding him from the wind.

"Stay behind me," she murmured.

The Occultist emerged last. Dr. Miriam Ashford. Grey hair pulled tight. Wire-rimmed glasses. She carried an old leather case, buckles clicking as she moved.

Serena surveyed the estate.

"God. Even dead, my husband Ethan's a nightmare."

Julian's voice was small. Trembling. "Serena, are you sure we have to do this? He's my brother. Maybe we should just—"

"Your brother?" She turned, eyes cold. "Your brother was a liar and a cheat. He's dead, Julian. And he's still making my life hell."

She looked back at the house.

"I should've buried him at sea. Let the sharks have him."

But she didn't know.

I was standing right next to her.

My ghost. Invisible. Weightless.

And my body?

Rotting beneath her feet.