My Ghost Saw Her Kiss The Man Who Killed Me

PROLOGUE

All fingers pointed at me.

I was the rapist who deserved a thousand deaths.

And the victim& was my own wife.

She was the one who testified against me, the one whose hatred sent me to prison.

In that concrete hell, I was cornered, beaten, and left to die by a man she considered her savior.

On my deathbed, I begged to see her one last time.

Her voice over the phone was colder than the steel of the prison bars. A monster like you should have died long ago.

And then, she did something I never could have foreseen.

After my death, she stood before my tombstone, and swallowed a vial of poison.

She killed herself for me.

01

It began on a night of relentless rain.

I saw her from across the street, a silhouette being forced toward a derelict construction site, slung over a stranger s shoulder like a sack of grain.

Daphne.

A primal rage I didn t know I possessed erupted in my chest.

I charged forward, a guttural roar tearing from my throat, and threw myself at the assailant.

We fought in the mud and the downpour, a desperate, brutal struggle under the skeletal frame of the unfinished building.

He was strong, but my fury was stronger.

I finally managed to land a decisive blow, sending him sprawling into a pool of murky water.

I scooped Daphne into my arms, her body limp, her face pale against the storm-darkened sky.

I dragged us both out of that cursed place, my only focus getting her to safety.

But a searing agony ripped through my gut the knife wound I d barely registered in the heat of the fight.

My legs gave out beneath me.

The rain-slicked concrete rushed up to claim me before everything faded to black.

02

The next time I opened my eyes, the world was sterile white and smelled of antiseptic.

A hospital.

A wave of relief washed over me. Daphne was safe. That s all that mattered.

A nurse bustled in, checking my vitals with practiced indifference.

My wife, I rasped, my throat raw. Daphne Moreau. Is she alright?

The nurse paused, her expression unreadable. She s fine. Physically.

The odd emphasis on that word sent a sliver of ice through my veins.

Before I could ask more, two police officers entered the room, their faces grim.

They didn t ask how I was. They didn t thank me for my bravery.

They handed me a single folded document.

My hands trembled as I opened it.

The words swam before my eyes, stark and brutal against the crisp paper.

It was a lawsuit.

A formal complaint, filed by Daphne Moreau.

The charge was rape.

And the accused& was me, Rowan Shepherd.

The sterile white room began to spin, the rhythmic beep of the heart monitor flatlining into a deafening roar in my ears.

I was the monster who had attacked her on that rainy night.

That was her story.

That was the truth the world would now believe.

03

My sentence was three years in a cage of steel and stone.

And on the day of my release, I died.

I died in the damp chill of the prison infirmary, one day before I was supposed to walk free.

My body was a canvas of torment, my bones shattered, my lips bloodless.

My very soul felt thin, a translucent wisp teetering on the edge of oblivion.

But I didn't fade away.

Instead, I found myself floating, an unseen spectator in a world that had already buried me.

I drifted towards the prison gates, drawn by a familiar, painful pull.

And I saw her.

Daphne.

She stood amidst the small crowd of families waiting for their loved ones, a vision in a stunning white dress that seemed to defy the gray, overcast day.

The wind played with the hem of her skirt, making her look ethereal, alive. So incredibly alive.

The heavy gates groaned open.

The woman who had been the picture of serene poise a moment ago was suddenly electric with anticipation. Her eyes, wide and hopeful, locked onto the figures emerging from the shadows.

A breathless joy illuminated her entire being.

My phantom heart ached with a love that had survived death itself.

Daphne& The name was a silent whisper on my non-existent lips. I reached out, my spectral hands desperate to touch her, to feel her warmth one last time.

But my hands passed through empty air.

She ran right through me.

A blur of white fabric and expensive perfume, a ghost passing through a ghost.

And she threw herself into the arms of the man walking behind me.

Corbin Vaughn.

04

Corbin, you re finally out, Daphne s voice was thick with emotion, a warmth I hadn t heard in years.

She wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his chest. The wind is cold today. Here, put this on. Don t catch a chill.

She held out a jacket, her movements filled with a tenderness that felt like a knife twisting in my soul.

Corbin Vaughn, her so-called savior, licked his lips, a picture of manufactured innocence.

Daphne, I m fine, he said, his voice a soft, gentle murmur. You came all this way for me& Shouldn t you be checking on Rowan today?

He feigned reluctance, even as his hands slid into the sleeves of the jacket she offered.

I wasn t listening to his hypocritical performance.

My gaze was fixed on the cuffs of the shirt he wore.

A bespoke shirt, with a single, unique detail.

On the left cuff, instead of a standard button, was a tiny, hand-stitched starburst.

I knew that shirt.

Daphne had given it to me for my birthday. I d carelessly lost one of the antique family heirloom cufflinks that went with it. Terrified she would be angry, I d spent an entire night with a needle and thread, my clumsy fingers painstakingly sewing that tiny starburst she loved, trying to replace the irreplaceable.

Now, that shirt, with my pathetic, desperate token of love, was on him.

The sight was a physical agony, a fresh wound layered over a thousand old scars.

Corbin s mention of my name pulled me back to the present.

Daphne s face, which had been so soft, hardened instantly. She rolled her eyes, a gesture of pure, unadulterated disgust.

Husband? Don t call him that. He s just a rapist who deserves to die in prison! He should never get out!

Her voice was sharp, cutting through the cold air.

Corbin, if it weren t for you, who knows what that animal would have done to me. You re too good, too kind. He s the reason you were locked up in there for so long, wasting the best years of your life.

05

According to the official story, the one Daphne believed, Corbin had arrived to save her from me, her attacker.

In the ensuing struggle to subdue me, he d struck me in the back of the head with a cinder block.

We were both sent to prison.

He got six months for assault with excessive force.

I got three years for a crime I didn t commit.

Of course, I remembered none of this. I only remembered saving her, then blacking out.

Corbin just smiled, a vague, noncommittal expression on his face. He glanced back at the closing prison gates, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.

We were still a married couple, after all, he said, his tone dripping with false magnanimity. If Rowan hadn't acted on impulse, if he hadn t hurt you& maybe things wouldn t have ended this way.

My spectral fists clenched. I wanted nothing more than to smash that perfectly composed face.

Don t, Corbin, Daphne s voice was tight. Don t say his name. It makes me sick.

Her body trembled.

Every time I close my eyes, I see him. That crazed look on his face as he slammed me against the wall, his hands tearing at my clothes& I just&

She trailed off, shuddering.

When she looked up again, the raw hatred simmering in her eyes hit me with the force of a physical blow. A bitter, metallic taste filled my mouth the flavor of absolute despair.

I couldn t help the ghost of a wry smile.

Yes.

In her world, in the story she had to tell herself to survive, I was the monster in her nightmares.

But I wasn't.

The truth was, the trauma of the real attack had been too much for her mind to bear.

In her terror, she had latched onto a defense mechanism. She had rewritten reality.

Her subconscious, refusing to accept the horror of being violated by a stranger, had cast me, her rescuer, as the villain.

06

The relentless, grinding pain began again, a phantom echo of my death.

My bones, being snapped one by one.

Even without a body, the agony made my vision white out.

That's how I died. Beaten to death by inmates on Corbin's payroll. A slow, brutal, agonizing end.

In the present, Corbin gently patted Daphne's back. "It's okay, Daphne. It's all over now. You have me."

They clung to each other, a perfect portrait of devoted lovers framed against the grim backdrop of the prison walls.

I straightened my spectral form, the memory of my last, desperate phone call rising like bile.

I had begged the guards, my voice weak and broken. They took pity on me, letting me make one call.

Daphne, I d whispered, the pain making each word a monumental effort. Please& come and see me. I m& I m dying. I swear it.

Her reply was instant, merciless. Rowan, I wish you were dead. I never want to see you again, do you understand?

Her voice was laced with irritation. Is this some new pathetic game? You think if you say you re dying, I ll come running?

Let me tell you something. It s impossible! Because of you, Corbin s future, his career, everything was put on hold! A person like you owes the world an apology, and the only way you can deliver it is by dying!

She slammed the phone down.

I clutched the receiver, a hollow, rattling sound echoing in my chest.

A pale, bitter smile formed on my lips.

I didn't lie, Daphne.

I really did die.

I died on a damp, cold night, the day before I was meant to be free.

And now I'm just a ghost, doomed to wander the earth and watch you live the life you stole from me.

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