Dead for Three Years: My Husband's Descent into Madness

Three years after I died, my husband pinned another felony on me to protect his golden girl. It broke the internet.

Afterward, he showed up at my door with a drafted confession letter. "Arden, do you have any idea how important this project is to Vanessa? She can't have a criminal record!

How can you be so selfish? So what if the internet drags you for a bit?" "You do a few more years behind bars.

Is your freedom really more important than Vanessa's entire future?" His voice echoed in the dingy hallway, loud enough to draw out the landlord.

Before Weston could keep yelling, the old man waved a hand at him. "Stop banging. The girl who lived there is dead.

Three years ago." "Right after she got out of prison, the victims' families cornered her. Beat her to death in the street." Weston froze.

But the shock only lasted a second before his face hardened into a sneer.

He was utterly convinced this was just another one of my tricks. "She did a few years in a cell, and now she's playing the victim?" he scoffed. "If she hadn't framed Vanessa back then, I wouldn't have had to push her so hard.

She brought every bit of this on herself!" "Whatever. You tell her something for me.

She has three days to text me back." "If she doesn't, her sick little sister won't get another minute of medical treatment!" He shoved past the landlord, storming down the stairs.

The old man watched him go, letting out a heavy sigh. "Poor thing.

That little sister of hers died of heart failure ages ago…" Chapter 1 Three years after my death, the internet was still tearing me apart.

All because my husband decided to use my name—again—to take the fall for Vanessa's hitandrun. "As Arden's husband, I am truly heartbroken.

I thought her time in prison had rehabilitated her. I never imagined… she would do something like fleeing the scene of an accident.

Even I can't defend her anymore." On the livestream, Weston gripped a prewritten script. His voice trembled with fake grief.

In the live chat, hate rolled across the screen. [ "A leopard never changes its spots. Trash like her needs to be locked up forever!" ] [ "Fr!

I heard when she caught her first charge, she gaslit everyone and played the victim. How does she even show her face?" ] [ "Poor Weston.

Marrying a walking red flag like her ruined his life." ] I stared at the glowing screen. A chill settled in my chest. His wife? Weston was the victim? I laughed bitterly.

Six years ago, he held Daisy's life over my head and personally shoved me into a prison cell.

If I didn't know exactly what he was capable of, I might have actually believed the devastated look on his face.

Offcamera, Weston kept a crushed onion and a bottle of eyedrops just out of frame, forcing fake tears down his cheeks. Once the viewer count peaked, he wiped his face.

He stared directly into the lens. "I'm sorry, everyone. I need a moment to collect myself." "But I promise you this—I will personally drag Arden back here to face justice.

I will give you all an answer. Trust me. She will pay for what she did." The screen cut to black. The livestream ended.

The second the recording light turned off, the grief vanished from Weston's face.

He tossed the crumpled script onto the desk and shot a glare at his assistant. "Did you find Arden?" The assistant kept his head down, his voice barely a whisper. "Mr.

Weston… not yet. We checked everywhere she could possibly go.

No one has seen her." "Useless!" Weston slammed his hands on the desk, shooting out of his chair. "How does a living, breathing woman just vanish into thin air?

Keep looking!" "Call every single one of her contacts. Pull her bank statements!" "But sir… Arden hasn't had any friends for years.

And her bank accounts haven't shown a single cent of activity in three years…" "What are you implying? That she actually evaporated?" Weston glared at him.

The assistant flinched, shrinking back. "I'll go find her myself. If I drag her out before you do, you can all pack up your desks!" My stomach twisted.

He was going to war for Vanessa. Perjury. Public manipulation. Shoving me back into the meat grinder without a second thought. And me? To him, I was worth less than a stray dog.

Weston's black SUV soon pulled up to the dingy walkup where I spent my final days. He slammed his fist against my metal door. "Arden, get out here! I know you're hiding inside!

Playing dead won't save you!" "Vanessa's career is on the line. You are taking the fall for this!" Silence answered him. He kicked the heavy door.

The metal rattled violently. "Stop playing games!" "If you hadn't tried to frame Vanessa for stealing those trade secrets back then, she wouldn't have almost gone to jail.

I'm just asking you to pay back a fraction of what you owe her. Open the damn door!" Chapter 2 I hovered by the door frame, watching the red flush creep up this man's neck.

It was almost hilarious. Framing her? Vanessa was the one who stole those corporate secrets. Weston was the one who held Daisy’s life hostage.

Take the fall, he’d told me, or they pull the plug. I caved. I rotted in a cell for three years to save a girl who meant absolutely nothing to me. And the day I finally walked free?

I found out my little sister died while I was locked away. No money. No meds. Just a flatline. Weston pounded his fist against the metal again.

The loud thuds finally drew the landlord up from the first floor.

The grayhaired man shuffled up the stairs, freezing when he saw the towering man in the suit. "You looking for Arden?" Weston tilted his chin up. "Yeah.

Is she hiding in there?" "Open the door for me. It's an emergency." The old man shook his head. "Stop knocking. She's gone." Weston stiffened. "Gone?

What the hell does that mean?" "Dead." The landlord let out a heavy sigh. "Three years ago.

A few days after she got out, they cornered her in the alley." "Families of the victims from that old case, they said.

Beat her to death right there on the concrete." "Paramedics couldn't even save her. Such a shame. She was a good kid." Weston’s features turned to stone.

His eyes searched for the lie. A second later, he scoffed. "Dead?" "Are you kidding me?

Cockroaches like her don't just die." He stepped closer, towering over the older man. "Did she pay you to say this?

Tell her this sick little victim act won't work on me!" The landlord stared at him like he was absolutely psychotic.

He opened his mouth to speak, but Weston was already yanking out his phone. "Fine.

She wants to ghost me?" he snapped. "You tell her something." "If she doesn't text me back in three days, her sister won't get another minute of medical care!

Let's see how long she hides then!" Without another word, he shoved his shoulder past the old man and stormed down the stairs.

His heavy footsteps echoed against the concrete, fading into the distance. The landlord stood frozen on the landing.

He stared at the empty stairwell, muttering under his breath. "What a sin… Her sister passed away ages ago…" I drifted in the hallway, staring at the peeling door that would never open again.

It was so quiet. So quiet it felt like I had never existed at all. By the time Weston slammed through the glass doors of his office, the redness had barely faded from his face.

He shoved open the door to his private suite, only to freeze. Vanessa was curled up on his leather sofa. "Vanessa?

What are you doing here?" "I… I just wanted to see you." She smiled, but her eye twitched. "You're working so hard to clean up my mess." "I wanted to check in.

And… I just wanted to know. Did you find Arden?" "Not yet." Weston instantly assumed she was just stressed about the hitandrun fallout.

He crossed the room, softening his voice to soothe her. "But she can't run far.

I have Daisy right where I want her." "You know how obsessed Arden is with that little sister of hers. She'll show up.

Don't worry." At the sound of Daisy's name, all the blood drained from Vanessa's perfectly contoured face. "What is it?" Weston frowned, catching the sharp hitch in her breath. "Did the police reach out?

Is there an update on the case?" "No! No." Vanessa snapped out of it, forcing a stiff, plastic smile. "I'm just… paranoid.

I'm terrified she's actually going to ghost us and ruin the project." I floated by the floortoceiling windows, staring down at her pathetic, guilty face.

Hatred wrapped around my heart. I curled my hands into fists. Chapter 3 Daisy was only seventeen. Born with a defective heart.

Strapped to a hospital bed, waiting for a surgery we couldn't afford. That was when Weston cornered me. He offered a clean slate for "framing" Vanessa.

All I had to do was take the fall and go to prison in her place. He called it settling my debt. If I refused, he’d pull the plug on Daisy’s life support. I didn't have a choice.

I walked straight into a jail cell. For the first two years inside, the letters kept coming. Daisy wrote about the private VIP suite Weston secured for her.

The surgery was a total success. "Get out soon, Arden," her messy handwriting urged. "I miss you." But by year two, the envelopes thinned out.

By year three, the mail stopped completely. I flooded the warden's office with frantic calls. I wrote until my fingers cramped. Dead silence.

The second I walked out those iron gates, I bolted straight to the hospital. The floor nurse stared at me for a long time before dropping her voice to a whisper. "Daisy?

She passed away ages ago…" "Sudden complication. We couldn't resuscitate her." My lungs seized. Her surgery was a success. How does a perfectly repaired heart just stop?

It wasn't until I was a ghost that I heard the truth slipping from the orderlies' mouths in the breakroom. "Some woman visited her that day.

They got into a massive screaming match… I heard the kid yell, 'You're a murderer! I'm telling my sister!'" "The woman looked lethal when she walked out.

Two days later, the kid flatlined." "Administration claimed her funding dried up and the meds stopped, but we all knew it was sketchy… Who's gonna whistleblow, though?" The woman.

Vanessa. She was terrified Daisy would expose her. So she silenced a seventeenyearold girl permanently.

She staged a medical failure, keeping even Weston completely in the dark. "Weston." Vanessa's sugary voice yanked me back to the present.

She leaned over his desk, playing the supportive girlfriend. "If Arden really went off the grid… shouldn't we have a Plan B?

Find another scapegoat?" Weston paused, tapping a manicured finger against his desk. "Another fall guy?

The circle of trust needs to stay tight…" "I know, but my project launches next week. Just find someone desperate.

Someone broke and easy to control." "Toss them a fat NDA payout." She shrugged. "It's not like… this is our first time doing this." Weston stared at the wall for a few seconds before giving a stiff nod. "Fine.

You set it up. Make sure it's completely sanitized." "Don't worry," Vanessa smirked. "I always clean up my messes." They traded human lives like cheap poker chips.

I could not breathe. To them, we were just tools. Use us until we break. Toss us in the trash. Swap in a shiny new replacement. And Daisy? She was seventeen.

What the hell did she ever do to them? The ring of Weston’s cell phone interrupted my thoughts. He snatched it up. Half a second later, all the color drained from his face. "What?

The victim's family is holding a press conference? Demanding maximum sentencing for Arden?" He shot up from his chair, grabbing his tailored jacket. "I need to get to the precinct.

We have to kill this narrative before it goes viral." He pointed a rigid finger at Vanessa. "Fasttrack your end. Arden or a decoy, I don't care.

You have three days to lock this down!" "Got it." Vanessa trailed behind him, playing the doting partner right up to the door frame. "Drive safe." The heavy oak door clicked shut.

The smile melted off Vanessa's face. Chapter 4 Vanessa sank back into the sofa. Her fingers punched in a number. "It's me. Weston is getting suspicious… Yes.

He can never find out about Daisy." Her voice dropped to a lethal hiss. "The brat has been dead for four years. She's practically dust by now." "But what if Arden isn't dead?

What if she dug something up…" "I don't care what it takes. Scrub the trail again. The hospital, the orderlies, anyone who might talk… sanitize all of it." "Name your price.

I need this bulletproof." Weston threw enough money at the problem to buy a few days of dead silence. He waited for me to crawl back to him. But the threeday deadline expired.

The certainty left his face. His phone screen lit up, displaying the desperate text he shot off last night. "Arden, I'm begging you.

Take the fall for Vanessa this one time, and I'll make up for everything." "You love Daisy more than anything, right?

I swear I'll fly her to the best private sanitarium in Switzerland. Toptier meds. A lifetime of zero worries." Hilarious.

Ever since Vanessa flipped the script and played the victim, Weston never gave me a second glance. Every interaction we had was just toxic gaslighting or thinly veiled threats.

The one time he actually lowered his head to me? He did it for her. And he did it three years too late. The corporate lawyer called again, sounding panicked. "Mr.

Weston, the precinct pulled a new traffic cam angle." "No clear face yet, but the silhouette absolutely doesn't match Vanessa. We are out of time.

We need someone turning themselves in by tomorrow morning." "Understood." Weston killed the call. His jaw ticked. He mashed my contact icon one more time.

The automated operator chimed through the speaker. "The number you have dialed is no longer in service…" "Arden! You really want to push me?!" He hurled the phone across the desk.

It shattered against the far wall. His chest heaved. He reached out, jabbing the intercom button. "Pull the search team from the Southside.

Send them straight to City General." The secretary stammered. "City General?

But isn't that where Miss Daisy is…" "Exactly," Weston snapped, his voice plunging to subzero. "Go to her ward. Snap some photos and send them to me.

If the nurses ask, tell them I'm her brotherinlaw checking in." He cut the intercom. He sank into his chair, his fingers drumming a fast rhythm against the desk.

I floated above him, staring at my deactivated number on his cracked screen. Numbness coated my throat. Thirty minutes later. The office doors burst open.

A frantic investigator stumbled in. All the blood had drained from his face. "Mr… Mr. Weston…" "What? Did you get the photos?" "No…" The man gasped for air.

His entire frame shook. "The hospital staff… they said Daisy… she passed away years ago!" What?! Weston shot up. The heavy leather chair tipped backwards.

It slammed into the bookshelf with a crash. "Say that again?!" "It's true…" The investigator wiped cold sweat from his forehead. "We went to the ward.

The nurses said that bed has rotated three different patients already." "We asked for her." "They pulled the archives." "She died four years ago.

Sudden medical complication." Chapter 5 Weston froze. The blood vanished from his face.

He swayed, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the edge of the desk to keep from collapsing. "Exact date.

What was the cause of death?" "The nurses said…" The investigator swallowed hard. "November." "Four years ago. Heart failure.

They couldn't resuscitate her." "November…" Weston breathed the word. He turned pale. "Arden… Arden was still in prison." The air left his lungs. His vision hollowed out.

He stared straight ahead at nothing. A ghost trapped in a suit. The heavy office doors swung open. Vanessa clicked into the room, stopping dead when she saw his posture.

She rushed to his side. "Weston? What's wrong? You look sick." He lifted his head. The rims of his eyes burned red.

Panic fractured his usually smooth voice. "Vanessa… Daisy is dead." Vanessa's face turned to stone. It only lasted a microsecond, but floating right beside them, I caught it.

The terror flashing in her eyes. A blink later, she slapped on a mask of grief. "What?!

Daisy… how?!" She gripped his shoulders, her manicured nails digging into his jacket. "When did this happen? How are we just finding out about this?" "I don't know.

I don't know anything…" Weston buried his hands in his hair, gripping the strands tight enough to rip them out.

She instantly pulled his head against her chest, wrapping him in a suffocating hug. "Shh, breathe. This makes no sense." "The hospital messed up. Don't worry, I'll look into it.

I'll get you answers." Weston looked up at her soft, resolute gaze like she was his last lifeline. He nodded frantically. "Right." "The hospital screwed up the records.

Her surgery was flawless. She couldn't just…" "I know." She stroked his back, playing the ultimate supportive partner. "I know." "You took such good care of her. She has to be fine.

Maybe she transferred facilities." "Or moved out of state. I'll send my people. We'll find her." Her voice sounded sweet and fake.

If I hadn't watched her physically choke the life out of my little sister with that exact same pair of hands, I might have bought the act myself.

Vanessa promised an "investigation." But I knew exactly what she meant. She was just going to bury the bodies deeper. Meanwhile, the internet was completely losing its mind.

Because the "hitandrun driver Arden" refused to turn herself in, the witch hunt went viral. They doxxed me.

My face, my full name, even the address of my old apartment hit the front page of every forum.

Vile death threats, hate mail, and literal funeral wreaths flooded the hallway of that empty walkup. The boxes stacked so high they barricaded the door.

Weston scrolled through the toxic comment sections, his composure snapping completely. "Where the hell is she?! It's a total PR nightmare out there!

Does she really think ghosting us fixes this?!" His secretary stood glued to the wall, too terrified to breathe. Weston pinched the bridge of his nose, dragging in a harsh breath.

Then, the landlord's raspy voice echoed in his skull. "She's gone. Beat her to death in an alley three years ago…" At the time, he wrote it off as a sick joke.

A pathetic manipulation tactic. But now… a venomous thought slithered into the darkest corner of his mind. What if she actually died? Ice flooded his veins.

Chapter 6 He grabbed his burner phone. His thumb shook as he tapped the viral callout video. The comment section was a war zone.

Tens of thousands of users demanded maximum prison time for "that trash Arden." He swiped down, ready to close the app.

Then, a buried comment with zero likes caught his eye. [ "Wait? Isn't this woman… already dead?

I think something happened to her three years ago." ] [ "Her little sister used to be a patient at our hospital, too. Poor kid.

Just flatlined one day." ] Weston felt sick to his stomach. He tapped the anonymous avatar. Fired off a DM. "What does your comment mean? Did you know Arden?

What happened to her sister?" Every second dragged. Ten minutes later. A vibration. "I used to be a nurse at City General. I quit a while ago. Daisy was one of my patients.

Her older sister, Arden, got beat to death by a mob right outside the hospital." "Three years ago, right after she got out of prison.

Someone called the cops, but the case just… vanished." "As for the little sister… they claimed it was sudden heart failure.

But right before she died, some woman visited her." "They got into a massive screaming match in the ward. We all knew… something was off." Weston stared at the glowing pixels.

Oxygen thinned in his lungs. His thumbs slipped over the keyboard. "That woman… what did she look like?" The typing bubble bounced for a long time. "I don't remember exactly.

Just that she was gorgeous. Dressed highend, definitely old money." "Oh, wait.

I think Daisy screamed a name… Vanessa something?" The name Vanessa plunged into Weston's eyes like two redhot knives. He hurled the phone across the mahogany desk.

He scrubbed his hands over his face, as if trying to scrape off a layer of filth. "No… impossible." His voice cracked, a desperate, hollow sound. "Not Vanessa… She's too soft.

She wouldn't hurt a fly…" But the seed was already planted. Daisy's death. My death. The timeline. Vanessa's twitching eye. The hospital's sanitized records.

Weston collapsed into his leather chair. He buried his face in his hands. "No." "I need proof. It's a mistake… She wouldn't lie to me." He summoned his private investigator.

His voice shook as he spoke. "I need two things. First, find out if Arden actually died three years ago." "How it happened. And exactly who pulled the strings.

Second." "Pull every medical record on Daisy from City General.

And find out exactly who visited her room before she died." The PI shot him a loaded, unreadable look before giving a curt nod. "Understood, boss." The next twentyfour hours destroyed him.

It was a slow, agonizing execution. He ducked Vanessa's calls. He canceled her building access.

He locked himself in his private suite, staring out the floortoceiling windows as the skyline bled from blinding daylight to pitch black, and back to dawn.

Online, the cancel campaign mutated. Extremists started doxxing his personal info. A mob of angry protesters camped right outside his corporate lobby, hoisting signs.

He couldn't bring himself to care about a single bit of it. Chapter 7 A soft knock broke the dead silence of the office the next afternoon. The private investigator stepped in.

A thick manila folder weighed heavy in his hand. "Mr. Weston. I have it." Weston's stomach dropped at the grim set of the man's jaw.

He forced his spine rigid. "Tell me." The PI dropped the folder onto the desk. "Arden… she did pass away three years ago. Blunt force trauma to the head.

Massive blood loss." "Witnesses reported a mob. They beat her in the street. No arrests were ever made." Weston swayed.

He gripped the edge of the desk, his knuckles turning bonewhite.

The PI didn't stop. "As for Daisy… the floor nurses confirmed Vanessa entered her ward alone the day before she died.

They had a massive blowout." "Daisy was heard screaming the word 'murderer'. Vanessa left half an hour later. The next morning, Daisy was pronounced dead.

Cause listed as heart failure." "But…" The PI hesitated. "Nurses noted bruising around the girl's neck." "The hospital administration covered it up.

Claimed it was from aggressive CPR." Weston grew paler with every word. Ashgray. Dead. His neck turned. A slow, mechanical drag. He stared at the manila folder.

The PI watched the broken man. He let out a heavy sigh. "I'm sorry for your loss, sir." He stepped out. The heavy oak door clicked shut. Weston didn't move. He stood paralyzed.

Staring at the folder. Staring at the skyline. Staring at an empire built on a graveyard. His hand finally lifted. Trembling fingers brushed the cold, slick surface of the file.

A single tear broke free. It shattered against the mahogany. The following afternoon, another knock echoed against the heavy door.

The second team of private investigators walked in. They carried a new file. And a tiny, black voice recorder. "Mr. Weston.

It's… a lot messier than we thought." Weston's chest was still a crater of grief from the twin deaths.

His jaw clenched tight. "Explain." The PI set the recorder next to the file. "We went to City General, exactly as you asked.

But right as we moved to pull Daisy's original medical charts, we hit a wall." "Another crew beat us to the archives. We stayed completely off the radar.

Shot everything from the shadows." He slid a stack of highres glossies across the desk. Two men in plainclothes were pinning a terrified records clerk to a desk.

One man was purging the hard drives. The other was feeding thick stacks of medical charts into an industrial shredder.

The clerk looked seconds away from passing out. "We ran facial rec on the two guys." The PI paused. "They're fixers." "Kept on retainer by Vanessa's personal assistant.

They handle… offthebooks problems." Weston lost the strength in his legs