Echoes of the Dead

I was dead.

My mangled body lay at the bottom of the cliff, while the woman who just murdered me threw herself into my husband's arms. "I'm so sorry, Roman." She buried her face in his chest, her shoulders trembling as she squeezed out fake tears. "She was blackout drunk before she left.

She kept cursing your marriage, saying she'd rather die than look at you ever again." Six years of a secret marriage.

My husband and I were supposed to finalize our divorce the moment I returned to the States. But his rumored new fling couldn't even wait a few days.

She murdered me and staged it as a suicide. Too bad she didn't know one crucial detail: I'm severely allergic to alcohol.

Roman stared dead at her, a bonechilling smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. "Is that so?

What else did she say?" Chapter 1 Right before the overseas press junket kicked off, I ran right into Elara. She closed the distance with a bright, plastic smile. "I'm Elara.

You must know who I am, right, Fallon?" The air in the room instantly thickened. Just last week, paparazzi had caught her sneaking around late at night with my husband, Roman.

It all but confirmed her status as his shiny new girlfriend. I gave a noncommittal hum.

Her gaze dragged unapologetically over my haute couture gown, a provocative sneer pulling at her lips. "Fallon, this outofseason dress looks so vintage on you.

Doesn't Roman ever buy you anything nice?" I shot her a glacial look, eyeing her like a cheap piece of fast fashion. "When you've survived in this industry as long as I have, then you can talk to me about taste.

Now, step aside.

You're blocking my light." Once we were out of earshot, my manager, Simone, couldn't hold back. "You haven't even signed the divorce papers yet, and this pickme is already parading herself in your face." A dull ache throbbed behind my ribs.

I forced a dry, selfdeprecating laugh. "It's happening soon anyway." Right before I flew out, Roman and I had a massive blowout. The trigger?

The suffocating avalanche of PR articles painting him and Elara as Hollywood's newest It couple. He had just returned from set, still wearing the exhaustion of the shoot.

When I confronted him, he slumped onto the sofa and rubbed his temples. "We're just costars. Reading into it is pointless." My lungs burned.

My voice cracked as the volume rose. "Then what is the point? Your latenight rendezvous?

Letting the whole damn world think you two are sleeping together—" "Enough, Fallon." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "You were the one who insisted on keeping this marriage a secret." The oxygen left the room.

My throat snapped shut. I knew exactly what he meant. I was the one who demanded the secret marriage, so when rumors of his flings exploded, I had no right to play the victim.

But he never bothered to clear the air, either. After a suffocating stretch of silence, I finally asked, "Do you have feelings for her?" Roman let out a heavy exhale.

The exhaustion in his voice hardened into sharp impatience. "Drop it. I'm exhausted." I stared at him as he kept his eyes closed, shutting me out.

Over the past few years, his career had skyrocketed. Winning Best Actor had given him an untouchable, magnetic aura.

But somewhere along the line, the chasm between us had cracked wide open.

Every biting argument, every icy silent treatment that followed, had slowly bled this longdistance marriage dry.

My voice sounded hollow when I finally found it. "When I get back stateside, we'll file for divorce." Roman opened his eyes.

The living room was drowned in shadows, masking whatever flickered in his gaze. He didn't say a word. A moment later, he looked down and sparked a lighter, lighting a cigarette.

The brief flash of orange illuminated his face. Still unbothered. The realization hit me like a physical blow. He was agreeing by default. A cold, sharp cramp twisted in my stomach.

The love had burned out a long time ago. All my probing, all my desperate questions—I was just humiliating myself.

Chapter 2 After the press event wrapped, I took some time off with Simone, planning to clear my head in a neighboring country.

Before catching my flight, I drove out to Lover's Cliff, a local tourist trap. The sky hung low and gray. The cliffs were deserted.

I sat near the edge, stared at the bleak horizon for a while, and unlocked my phone. Roman and Elara's names were plastered across the top trending topics. I tapped the link.

It pulled up Roman's latest video interview. The host leaned in. "Is there someone special in your life right now?" He froze.

A heavy beat of silence passed. "Yes." The air punched right out of my lungs. The host gasped, prying for a name, but he deflected with practiced Hollywood politeness.

The comment section was a feeding frenzy. [Obviously it's Elara. Do you even have to ask?] [The innocent sweetheart and the Alist actor.

The ultimate power couple!] I scrolled through the toxic sludge like a masochist until my thumb froze over one specific reply. [And to think people actually spread rumors that Roman was secretly married to Fallon.

That typecast villainess couldn't even hold a candle to our rising star Elara.] The user had tagged Roman directly at the end.

It had escalated to this point, and neither of them had stepped up to deny it. In this industry, silence was a loud, undeniable confession.

A reckless, destructive impulse clawed its way up my throat.

Even if we were about to sign the divorce papers, I was going to drag this secret marriage into the blinding light of day.

I hit quoteretweet from my official verified account, tagged Roman, and hammered out a spiteful caption. [I'm so sorry for holding you back all these years.] My thumb hovered over the send button.

Then, a blunt, explosive agony shattered the back of my skull. The horizon violently spun. My phone flew from my numb fingers, clattering against the rocks.

I fought through the blinding nausea and dragged my heavy head around. Another vicious strike crashed down. A sickening crunch of splintering bone echoed in my ears.

Hot, thick copper flooded my vision. Elara stood over me. Her knuckles were stark white as she deathgripped a metal pipe slick with my own blood.

A deranged, bonechilling smile stretched across her face. "You old bitch! You've been hoarding him for far too long!

The second you're dead, the spot next to him is mine!" She lunged forward, shoving her hands hard against my chest. It happened in a fraction of a second. My motor skills failed me.

The world tilted sharply on its axis. The ground vanished from beneath my boots. I plummeted backward into the abyss, the wind roaring brutally in my ears. Then, a deafening crack.

A flock of crows scattered into the gray sky. My body shattered against the jagged rocks below.

As my consciousness bled out into the cold dirt, a single agonizing thought looped in my shattered brain. Even if she was desperate to take my place, Roman and I were already over.

Why did she have to kill me? The exact moment my lungs stopped expanding, my soul detached, floating weightless into the frigid air.

I watched with chilling clarity as Elara kicked my phone over the edge.

She methodically wiped down the murder weapon, disposed of her bloodspattered clothes with practiced precision, and strolled back to her luxury hotel suite like she had just finished a morning jog.

Meanwhile, my mangled corpse lay rotting at the bottom of a dark, freezing ravine. A piece of forgotten trash waiting to be discovered.

Back in the penthouse, Elara cracked open a massive, bulging folder. It was filled with candid photos of me. Shot from the shadows. Me reading scripts on set. Me eating at a diner.

Me sitting in the privacy of my own living room. A violent shudder ripped through my phantom spine. An icy paralysis gripped my limbs.

Elara's voice was laced with a venomous, giggling glee. "You old bitch. I have tolerated your existence for so many damn years.

Every single time I looked at your face, I wanted to violently vomit." She erupted into a hysterical, breathless laughter, her manicured nails ripping every single photograph to shreds.

Confettilike scraps fluttered down, burying the expensive hotel rug. The entire scene was straight out of a psychological thriller. But it still made zero sense.

Where did this psychotic, deeply rooted hatred even come from?

Then, Elara picked up her pristine phone, logged into a burner social media account, and typed out two simple words. [Mission Accomplished.] When my eyes locked onto the handle of that account, a violent tremor shook my entire soul.

Chapter 3 It was Roman's deranged, obsessive stalker. The one who had planted hidden cameras in my house and camped out on my front lawn.

After discovering my marriage to Roman, she started frantically mailing me dismembered animal carcasses and letters written in blood.

She even hacked into my security system to track my private itinerary, constantly lurking in the shadows, plotting how to make me disappear permanently.

Fortunately—or so I thought—the stalking had abruptly stopped two years ago. And Elara had officially debuted in the industry exactly two years ago.

A phantom chill violently raked down my spine. It all made sense now. This innocent, sweet girl was a psychologically twisted psychopath.

She had harbored a lethal, deeprooted hatred for me all along. After posting on her burner, Elara switched back to her verified account.

By now, the trending tags linking her and Roman had started to cool down.

She meticulously typed out a strategically delayed, infuriatingly ambiguous PR statement. [Please don't jump to conclusions, everyone!

Roman has always been a senior actor I deeply admire. Our new movie is hitting theaters soon, so please give it lots of love!] [P.S.

It's been raining a lot lately, so watch your step and stay safe out there! Don't slip and fall!] The engagement metrics instantly exploded.

The comment section devolved into an absolute frenzy. [Senior actor I admire. Wink wink.

We get it, let's leave the lovebirds alone!] [Can't wait for the movie!] [Omg, Elara telling us to stay safe!

She cares about us so much!] A bitter, hollow laugh ripped from my throat. To them, she was a pure, harmless angel. In reality, she was a sadistic, coldblooded murderer.

After posting the update, Elara aggressively refreshed Roman's homepage, her thumb swiping down over and over, clearly expecting him to post a matching response.

But his feed remained dead. Elara clicked her tongue in annoyance and dialed Roman directly.

The second the line connected, her voice morphed into a sickeningly sweet, syrupy whine. "Hey, Roman… I ran into Fallon today." She pushed out her lower lip, twisting her features into a mask of pure victimization. "She called me a homewrecker.

She said I was shameless." She forced a dramatic sniffle. "She called you a cheating bastard, too.

She said your marriage just makes her physically sick." She leaned so hard into the performance that real, crocodile tears actually spilled over her lashes.

Icy needles pricked at my phantom fingertips. I was forced to stand there and watch her effortlessly flip the truth on its head. I was dead. I was utterly powerless.

I couldn't make out Roman's muffled voice through the receiver. I could only watch as Elara's tears magically vanished, replaced by a sick, triumphant smile.

It had to be some sickeningly sweet, pacifying garbage he was feeding her. Right before she ended the call, Elara cooed into the mic. "Okay.

Whatever you say, I'll listen." A massive, gaping crater caved in right where my heart used to beat.

Even as a ghost, a violent, phantom agony tore through every shattered bone and rotting nerve ending of my mangled corpse, making my ethereal form violently shake.

If Roman ever found out that his shiny new fling was his deranged stalker from years ago… the exact same psycho who just butchered his wife… I wondered if his perfect, stoic mask would finally crack.

But he probably never would. Humming a cheerful, upbeat pop tune, Elara bent down and picked up a torn scrap of my face from the carpet. "See?

Roman fell out of love with you a long time ago. With you dead, all he's going to feel is relief." Nausea clawed at my throat. I couldn't stomach another second.

I drifted backward, phasing right through the glass window. Thick, suffocating storm clouds swallowed the moon, plunging the night into pitch black.

I floated forward, adrift and aimless. Over jagged mountains, sweeping rivers, endless concrete jungles, and the vast, dark ocean.

I eventually drifted to the shores of Denmark, the homeland of the Little Mermaid. The moonlight fractured across the rippling waves as countless ships returned to the harbor.

This was the exact spot where Roman and I had first met. I was seventeen, wandering the cobblestone streets of a foreign country, when a mugger snatched my purse.

A teenage boy with familiar features had sprinted after the thief without hesitation.

When he handed my purse back, out of breath, and asked in our native tongue, "You from back home?" That was the moment our story began.

Chapter 4 We survived the crushing isolation of moving overseas together, clawing our way up from absolute zero.

Back in those rough, dirtpoor years of our youth, I would excitedly paint pictures of our brilliant future.

He would just sit beside me, smiling, his eyes overflowing with pure devotion.

But after we finally walked those red carpets and tasted the limelight, the chasm between us ripped wide open. Until we hit the point of no return.

Eventually, I drifted across continents and oceans, finding my way back to Roman. Inside our pitchblack living room, Roman sat motionless on the sofa.

Shadows swallowed most of his face, hiding whatever was running through his head. Crash.

A framed photo from the entryway suddenly plummeted to the hardwood floor, shattering into pieces. Roman whipped his head around. Our eyes locked.

The phantom breath hitched in my throat. His stoic expression snapped me back to reality