Chapter 3

3

If I hadn't arrived in time, they might have killed him that day.

That night, I cried as I applied ointment to his wounds. I asked him why he was so stupid. It was just a shop.

Beau had looked at me stubbornly and said, "No. This is where we met. We decorated this place together. I can't let it go."

Back then, he must have loved me so much that he was willing to die for our memories.

He fought so hard to save it from others, yet now, he was the one destroying it.

I looked back at the ruins. The place I had visited so often in my afterlife was now just a pile of dust.

I slumped to the ground.

Beau stared at the wreckage with a cold sneer.

"I won't allow a single trace of my humiliation to remain in this world."

To him, our time together was nothing but a disgrace.

As the dust swirled around him, a woman stepped out of the car and draped a coat over his shoulders.

She was flashy and sophisticated. Standing next to Beau, they looked like a perfect power couple.

"Let's go. It's filthy here with all this dust. It was just a dumpy old shop anyway, I don't know why you insisted on coming."

I recognized her. Her name was Portia Fairchild. She had chased Beau at the same time I did.

Back then, the moment she found out he was blind and poor, she had run for the hills.

How were they together now?

It looked like Beau relied on her quite a bit.

I was terrified. Even in death, I didn't want Beau to be fooled by a woman like her. I followed them into the car.

Inside, Beau leaned his head on Portia's shoulder, looking exhausted.

"I'm lucky to have you. Otherwise, I would have lived in darkness forever," Beau murmured.

Those words hit me like a lightning bolt. My ears began to ring.

Portia smiled and ran her fingers through his hair.

"Silky, it's because I love you. I'm not like Lyra. I wouldn't leave you when you needed me most."

Beau's face twitched at the mention of my name.

"She doesn't even belong in the same sentence as you. That piece of trash... just hearing her name makes me sick."

The hatred in his eyes was vivid. It felt like my heart was being ripped out.

It wasn't true. I was the one who donated the corneas. How did Portia take the credit?

I clenched my fists, my shoulders shaking with rage.

Portia chuckled. "Well, we're getting married soon. You need to look your best."

Beau leaned back into her embrace.

My mind went blank.

Beau was getting married? To a liar?

I felt like I couldn't breathe. I looked at his hand and noticed the diamond ring on his finger.

A sharp, stabbing pain spread through my entire being.

If I had known my sacrifice would be stolen by someone else, I wouldn't have died in silence.

But it was too late.

Beau stared out the window, his grip on his phone so tight his knuckles turned white.

I could see his screen. It was open to the last text I ever sent him.

"I'm sorry. I hope you find happiness."

I had sent that with the last bit of my sight before the surgery. Back then, I truly meant it.

I stayed by Beau's side for a long time. So long that I lost track of time.

Time doesn't mean much when you're a ghost.

"Still nothing?"

Beau sat in his office, looking up at his assistant with impatience.

"I'm sorry, sir. We've been searching for a week. There's no trace of Lyra Delancy."

The assistant bowed his head.

"Useless! All of you are useless! Is it that hard to find one woman? I don't believe she just vanished. Keep looking! Even if she's dead, dig her out of her grave!"

Beau hurled a file across the room. His eyes were bloodshot.

He was right. If he wanted to find me, he'd have to dig me up.

I found it almost funny. Why was he so obsessed with finding me?

He seemed to have everything he wanted now.

"One more thing," Beau called out as the assistant reached the door.

"Since we can't find her, go to her mother's house. Give them some pressure."

A dark shadow crossed his face.

I had a terrible feeling. I rushed back to my mother's house as fast as a spirit could.

I underestimated how fast Beau's men could move. When I arrived, the house was a disaster.

Everything was smashed. My elderly mother was kneeling on the floor, trembling.

A thug held a baseball bat against her forehead.

"Listen, old lady. Where is your daughter? Tell us, or I'll make sure you're begging on the streets by tomorrow."

Seeing the wreckage and my mother begging for mercy broke something inside me.

My mother looked like she had given up on life. She slowly reached out, picked up my memorial plaque, and threw it at the thug's feet.

"My daughter is dead! She died four years ago! Why don't you ask your boss who gave him his eyes? My daughter owed no one anything, but she gave everything to Beau Montgomery!"

Her voice was raw and cracked, her eyes filled with tears.