Chapter 2

I remember the day it all truly started to unravel.

I had been offered a solo exhibition in Paris. It was the chance of a lifetime, a validation of years of struggle. All I needed was the visa.

I came home to find Olivia in tears and Noah looking grim.

"What's wrong?" I asked, my heart pounding.

"The visa," Noah said, holding up the torn pieces of my application and passport. "I'm so sorry, man. I was trying to help you organize your papers, and I accidentally knocked over a bottle of ink cleaner. It was a complete freak accident."

I knew he was lying. I could see it in the slight smirk he couldn't hide. He had destroyed my dream.

Olivia, however, bought the story completely. She rushed to comfort him.

"It's not your fault, Noah. It was an accident."

That night, I confronted him. He just laughed.

"You're too naive, Ethan. You don't have what it takes to succeed. I do."

The fight was ugly. I told Olivia he did it on purpose. She called me paranoid. She said my "artistic temperament" was making me see enemies everywhere.

"I'm done, Olivia," I told her, the words tasting like ash. "I'm leaving. I can't do this anymore."

I packed a bag. I was ready to walk away from everything. But she stopped me. She begged me to stay. She said she couldn't live without me.

Now, as a ghost, I finally understand why. It wasn't about love. It was about what I could give her.

I float back to the party. Noah is putting on a show. He "trips" near the staircase, clutching his arm and crying out in pain.

"Noah!" Olivia rushes to his side, her face etched with worry.

"I'm okay, I'm okay," he says, wincing dramatically. "It's just my old shoulder injury acting up. You remember, from when I tried to stop that mugger from grabbing your purse?"

He' s a master. He weaves his lies with threads of truth. There was a mugger, but Noah didn't do a thing. He hid behind a car while I chased the guy down and got my jaw broken for my trouble.

Olivia helps him to a chair, her touch gentle and concerned. "You're always so reckless, always trying to protect everyone."

The crowd murmurs in approval. "What a hero." "He loves her so much."

I want to scream. I want to tell them he's a fraud, a parasite who has latched onto my life and is sucking it dry.

I remember all the times he pretended to support me.

"This painting is a masterpiece, Ethan," he' d say, standing in my studio. "You just need the right connections. Let me handle the business side. You focus on the art."

He handled it, all right. He handled it by stealing my contacts, badmouthing my work to galleries behind my back, and slowly, methodically, isolating me from the world.

Someone at the party, a distant cousin of Olivia's, pats Noah on his "injured" arm.

"You two should just get married already," the cousin says loudly. "It's obvious how much you care for each other. Olivia deserves some happiness after all she's been through with Ethan."

Olivia flushes but doesn't pull away from Noah.

Noah gives a sad, noble smile. "My only concern is Olivia's happiness. And Ethan's recovery, of course."

He' s so good at this.

Olivia pulls out her phone. My ghost-heart, a thing of memory and pain, lurches. She's looking at my contact photo. Her thumb hovers over the call button.

She' s thinking of me.

Just as she's about to press it, her phone rings. The caller ID says "Dr. Alex Chen - International."

Dr. Chen. The specialist from Switzerland.

Olivia answers, her brow furrowed. "Hello?"

I can hear Dr. Chen's voice, clear and professional, through the phone.

"Hello, Mrs. Hayes. This is Dr. Alex Chen. I'm calling about the final invoice for your treatment. We were trying to reach your husband, Ethan Miller, as he was the primary account holder."

Olivia looks confused. "My treatment? Noah handled all of that."

"No, ma'am," Dr. Chen says patiently. "Mr. Davis facilitated the initial consultation, but Mr. Miller paid for everything. It was quite a substantial sum. More importantly, he was the directed blood donor. Your condition, PNH, is extremely rare. Finding a match for the platelet transfusions you needed was nearly impossible. Mr. Miller was a one-in-a-million match. He flew here every six weeks for a year to donate for you. He saved your life, Mrs. Hayes. He told us not to tell you, said he didn't want you to feel indebted."

The world seems to stop. The party noise fades into a dull hum.

Olivia's face is a mask of shock. She looks from her phone to Noah, who has gone pale.

Guests near them fall silent, listening.

"He… he did what?" Olivia whispers.

"He was incredibly dedicated," Dr. Chen continues. "He said you were his whole world. Anyway, the final bill is settled, but we just needed to confirm for our records. Please give him our best."

The line goes dead.

Silence hangs in the air. Everyone is staring at Olivia, then at Noah.

"What a man," someone breathes. "To do all that in secret."

Olivia's gaze is fixed on Noah, her eyes wide with a question he can't answer.

Noah recovers quickly. He forces a laugh.

"Oh, Ethan," he says, shaking his head with a look of fond exasperation. "Always so dramatic. That's just his way of trying to make you feel guilty, Liv. A grand, self-serving gesture. He loves playing the martyr."

He takes her hand. "The real sacrifice is being there day to day. Helping you with your recovery. Managing your life so you don't have to worry. That's love, not some secret, dramatic trip to Europe."

Olivia looks at Noah' s hand on hers. She looks at his concerned face. And slowly, she nods.

She believes him.

She chooses to believe the comfortable lie over the inconvenient truth.

And I, the ghost with the worthless knowledge, can only watch as she dismisses the greatest sacrifice I ever made for her.

She doesn't know. It wasn't just my blood. It was so much more.