Seven Days in Her Skin

I've been dead for three years. Right now, I'm watching my exboyfriend cook for his new girlfriend. Back then, he didn't even bother to claim my corpse.

Now, he treats this woman like absolute royalty. The Grim Reaper asked me what I wanted in exchange for my shattered soul. I want to hijack her body.

Tonight, when he wraps his arms around his precious fiancée… Will he realize it's me inside? Chapter 1 Maybe my wish was too insane.

Even the Grim Reaper, ruler of Hell, fell into a long silence. His voice was deadpan. "You wandering spirits. You die, and you stay dead.

Why can't you just let things go?" I stared at the tips of my shoes. Heat crept up my neck, and my fingernails dug hard into my palms. It wasn't always like this.

Three days before I died, Holden and I had another massive fight. Over something stupid. Over a million stupid things from the past.

I pointed a trembling finger right at his face. "Get out.

Even if you crawled on your knees and begged at my feet like a stray dog, I wouldn't spare a second glance at a loser like you." He scoffed, a cold smirk crossing his face. "Fine by me, Jade.

I'd rather be a dog than ever get back together with a psycho like you." That very night, he packed his bags.

He walked out of our cramped apartment without a single backward glance. The door clicked shut. Three days later, I suddenly craved our favorite Mexican tacos.

On the way to pick up the takeout, I shot a text to Holden. "Tacos and tequila tonight. What kind of salsa do you want?" A few minutes passed. My phone buzzed in my palm.

I opened it immediately.

Over our coupleselfie background, a single line of cold text glared back at me. [Holden: Don't talk to me until you're dead.] The next second, a massive semitruck roared past.

The phone flew from my grip. The world spun into a violent blur of concrete and screeching tires. Pedestrians screamed. I spun around, trying to see what all the fuss was about.

Then, I looked down. I was staring at my own broken body. It wasn't pretty. Actually, it was pretty ugly.

The moment the realization of my death hit me, a twisted thrill shot through my chest. A vicious thought formed. Holden is going to cry his eyes out this time.

I'd told him a million times to stop joking about death. Well, look what happened. He actually cursed me to death.

I watched as paramedics loaded my body into an ambulance, then straight to the morgue. The cops called Holden to deliver the news. Dead silence on the other end.

Then, his voice came through, slightly hoarse. "Is this some kind of joke?" He hung up immediately. The cop called a second time. Call rejected.

It wasn't until two uniformed officers showed up at his door that he finally realized this wasn't one of my sick pranks. He stood there, the door only halfopen.

Heavy, exhausted bags hung under his eyes. He listened to the cops. His expression hardened. Then, he flatout refused their request to claim my body. He didn't even blink.

He just slammed the door shut. Chapter 2 My jaw clenched until my teeth ground together. That bastard didn't just refuse to shed a tear for me. He wouldn't even claim my damn body.

Five years. We dated for five years. In the end, because my corpse remained unclaimed, I was hastily buried as a Jane Doe in a public graveyard on the edge of the city.

My soul plummeted into the Underworld. Back then, the slots for reincarnation weren't as tight as they are now. I actually scored a ticket.

I stared at the pass in my hand, then shoved it toward a little girl who died of bone cancer. I didn't want to reincarnate. If I did, my memories would be wiped clean.

Jade would cease to exist in this universe. Holden was right. I was selfish, cold, and possessed a tongue as venomous as a black mamba. I was no saint. But I still wanted to wait.

Just to see Holden shed one single tear for me. Right after I died, I didn't have any dark obsessions. Sure, Holden crossed my mind. But all I wanted was to catch that one tear.

I wasn't looking to stage some tragic ghosthuman romance. Besides, the Underworld's border control was strict.

Ghosts couldn't go up, and the living couldn't come down until their time was up.

Because Purgatory was already overflowing, the contracts to return to the mortal realm were monopolized by highranking demons. Desperate, wandering souls piled up by the millions.

To keep the masses in check, a program called the "Eye of Hell" circulated in the Underworld's black market.

By sacrificing one ounce of soul energy a day, you could watch one hour of a living person's life. The target had to be someone you had close ties with when you were alive.

The screen would automatically static out any intimate moments.

Basically, once you paid the price, you could lock onto anyone—family, friends, mortal enemies… and feed your voyeuristic cravings to your dead heart's content.

Every single day, I burned my soul energy to spy on Holden for an hour. I knew that when someone close dies, some people don't crash right away.

Psychologists call it emotional blunting—a defense mechanism. I figured Holden was doing exactly that. He probably hadn't processed that I was actually dead.

That I would never piss him off again.

Never scream at him, never complain about his dirty socks on the floor, never pick unreasonable fights because he forgot to bring me painkillers during my period. It was fine.

I could wait. I waited six months. I waited until he got a new girlfriend. His new girl was nothing like me.

I was a ninetofive programmer, permanently glued to a monitor, typing code until my eyes bled. Anastasia was a member of a toptier Broadway troupe.

She was tall, impossibly lean, with a face that demanded attention. When she smiled, she looked like pure sunshine. And the kicker? She was a massive fan of Holden's books.

She didn't call his writing a steaming pile of garbage every day, like I did. I watched them. I watched her make him colorful, healthy meals.

I watched her tug his arm, playfully demanding he take her for walks. Holden smiled more. He morphed into a different man.

He was no longer the shutin writer with zero survival skills—the guy I used to worry would starve to death in our apartment if I went on a threeday business trip.

He learned to do chores. He actually saved her birthday and her cycle in his phone calendar.

He even cut off a female friend he'd known for over a decade, just because Anastasia casually joked about feeling uncomfortable with it.

That was the exact moment my obsession clawed its way up my throat and began to wildly overgrow. Chapter 3 I refused to accept it. Acid burned the back of my throat. Five years.

We dated for five years, and it only took him six months to replace me. He just waltzed right into a shiny new life without shedding a single tear over my grave.

What made my stomach actually heave was how perfect his new girl was. She was nothing like me. It was as if Holden had erased Jade's existence. I turned into a desperate gambler.

I clung to the Eye of Hell every single day, tearing my soul apart just to find one shred of proof that he didn't actually love Anastasia.

It wasn't until I racked up a massive debt with the black market, got kicked out, and was forced to work off my tab for the Grim Reaper that reality finally slapped me awake.

Holden had moved on. It wasn't emotional blunting. He just didn't love me anymore. Real life isn't some twisted fairy tale. Nobody pines over an ex who died early.

Technically, he didn't even do anything wrong. The Grim Reaper let out a long, heavy sigh. A few days ago, Hell's soul containment system was hit by a massive cyberattack.

I used my toptier hacker skills from my past life to pull an allnighter, patching up his firewall and dragging a hundred and twenty thousand escaping evil spirits back into the abyss.

He owed me a huge favor. Still, I couldn't exactly blackmail Death.

I dropped my chin to my chest. "If you can't do it, forget it," I muttered. "I didn't say it was impossible," he replied. "But out of all the options—becoming my highranking fallen angel, or reincarnating as the sole heir of a Manhattan billionaire—are you absolutely certain this is the one you want?" "I'm certain." I knew I was an idiot.

I picked the absolute worst option on the table. But the whole point of being human is that you can't stay rational forever. The Reaper just nodded.

He'd seen too many obsessed souls.

He wasn't surprised. "Fill out a Hell transit application," he ordered. "Under 'Reason,' write down 'Unresolved Obsession.' Make sure you CC the Hellhounds and the Inquisitors. "Once the paperwork clears, we'll send a dreambridge to Anastasia.

If she consents, you get to hijack her body and live in the mortal realm for exactly seven days." The entire bureaucratic process felt utterly ridiculous.

A bitter taste coated the back of my tongue. "What if she says no?" I asked. It was an insane request. "Then you pick one of the other options," Death stated blankly.

I dragged myself back to my quarters. For my three years in Hell, I'd been crashing by the River Styx, tagging along with the Ferryman.

He was wiping down his oars when he noticed my deadeyed stare.

I spilled the whole story. "Human greed and obsession are complex," he rasped, trying to offer some comfort. "If you ask me, this Anastasia girl might not actually say no." "Why?" He spat out a single reason. "To make you give up completely." The wind howling off the River Styx was razorsharp, carrying the muffled screams of drowning souls.

I kept my mouth shut, lowered my head, and helped him scrub the grime off his boat.

Three days later, Death's personal assistant tracked me down. "Anastasia's Broadway troupe is on tour in Paris right now," the assistant said. "The Reaper told me to grant you clearance.

You need to start studying her mannerisms immediately.

We can't have you blowing your cover the second you jump in." My breath hitched. "She agreed?" The assistant shook his head. "Hold your horses.

The auditor is on vacation, and the dreambridge paperwork is still processing. You'll get a definite answer within two weeks." I didn't even flinch. That was normal.

Hell's bureaucracy was famously sluggish. Otherwise, we wouldn't have a hundred thousand damned souls backed up in the abyss.

Chapter 4 I followed the assistant to the Rebirth Corridor. He stared down at the tablet in his hands, punching in a string of serial numbers.

A sudden wave of cold dread hit my stomach. What the hell was I doing? Why was I using Anastasia's identity to see Holden? I was turning myself into a complete clown.

And even if I saw him, then what? Was I going to scream in his face, or sit down and finish those tacos we never got to eat? Cowardice gripped my throat.

I opened my mouth to tell the assistant I wanted to change my wish. Before a single sound came out, he looked up and shoved his palm flat against my back. The world spun.

When I opened my eyes, pristine streets stretched out before me. Cars rolled slowly past bright, highend storefronts.

Strangers brushed past my shoulders, speaking a language I couldn't understand. Paris, France.

Anastasia snapped into crystalclear focus, standing less than three feet away from me. She was gorgeous.

Dark hair, impossibly long lashes, and two deep dimples that made her look like she was always smiling.

Years of professional dancing gave her an entirely different kind of aura—something elegant and untouchable.

Right now, she was bundled up in a bright red puffer jacket and a fluffy white beanie, laughing as she chatted with her friends.

I zoned out for a second. "Let's hit up that bistro downtown tomorrow. I heard the Google reviews are insane." "We have a show the day after tomorrow.

Aren't you worried about fitting into your costume?" "Oh, relax! I'll just eat half." They walked right past me, giggling. A rush of warm, vibrant human energy washed over me.

It felt like an invisible string was tied to my chest, pulling me toward Anastasia against my will. "Anastasia, is your boyfriend picking you up at the airport when we fly back next week?" Anastasia bit her bottom lip, a soft smile spreading across her face. "He should be." One of her friends nudged her playfully. "Think you can get the bigshot author to sign some books for us?" "Yeah, seriously!

Get him to sign one for each of us. I need to show off to my roommate." "Anastasia, I want a personalized one!" Anastasia laughed. "No problem.

I'll tell him." I followed them in dead silence. Uninvited memories dragged me back to the past. Back then, Holden had just gotten his very first royalty check.

It wasn't much—maybe thirty bucks. Just enough for the two of us to grab some cheap tacos.

We stuffed our faces until we could barely breathe, stumbling and messing around on the snowcovered sidewalks. Out of nowhere, he dropped into a crouch.

Using his finger like a pen, he traced his signature right into the snow.

His cheeks were bright red from the freezing wind, but his eyes were blazing. "Do you think people will fight over my autograph when I finally make it big?" he asked, practically vibrating with excitement. "Sure they will," I humored him, grabbing his arm to haul him back to his feet and brushing the snow off his coat. "When that happens, you better sign a whole stack for me," I joked. "I'm going to flip them on eBay for a fortune." He flashed a massive grin. "Deal.

I'll sign a whole room full of them, and you can take your time selling every single one." Holden actually made it big.

But that signature in the snow had melted away a long, long time ago. On the third night, Anastasia's final performance in Paris came to a flawless end.

During the curtain call, she glided across the stage like a swan, delivering a perfectly elegant bow. The entire theater erupted into a deafening standing ovation.

Later that night, she FaceTimed Holden. I didn't have the guts to listen in.

I just hid out on the balcony—a ghost staring blankly into the dark, watching the snow silently fall over the city.

Chapter 5 The assistant materialized beside me. "The paperwork cleared. We're sending the dreambridge tonight." "Can I change my wish?" I asked.

He shot me a flat look, his voice dropping to a chill. "Do you think you own Hell? You just flipflop whenever you feel like it?" I snapped my mouth shut.

He didn't leave right away. Instead, he dropped into the space next to me, staring out at the snow. "Jade," he said suddenly. "You've turned into a rabbit." Tame. Quiet.

Completely harmless. I was never like this. Back in the day, I was the girl who slammed a hot coffee into the face of that creepy executive.

I was the girl who grabbed a mop and solochased away the street punks harassing Holden. I was the ghost who screamed obscenities at demons bullying kidspirits.

Then Anastasia showed up. She made me realize I was no swan. I was just a rabbit—dullcoated, ugly, and completely worthless. The snow stopped.

The assistant stood up. "Jade, I hope you're a little happier the next time I see you." He vanished into thin air. I stood alone for a second before drifting back inside.

That night, Anastasia was dead asleep in her bed. Suddenly, her brow furrowed. Her eyes snapped open.

She couldn't possibly see me, but her gaze locked dead onto my dark corner of the room. A deeply complicated expression crossed her face. "I agree," she whispered.

I had no idea why Anastasia agreed. Did she think she was some kind of saint? Or was she just high on something?

Why the hell would she let her boyfriend's ghost ex hijack her body just to get close to him? Or was the Ferryman right? Did she just want to crush my delusions for good?

Anastasia had no intention of explaining herself. She must have known I was lurking around her. For the last few days before flying back, she kept muttering to herself.

Ticking off a list of rules. "I don't eat heavy, greasy food. I only drink sugarfree sparkling water. Now that the tour is over, I have a month off back in the States.

I usually don't go out much, but I hit the dance studio every single morning." "I also have a dog named Bruno. I put him in a boarding kennel before I left.

Don't forget to pick him up." She paused. "Also, there's this young, rich heir from the same country club who's been pursuing me like crazy lately.

Keep him hidden. "Don't let Holden find out. If he keeps blowing up my phone, just ignore him. Give him the cold shoulder." I stared blankly at her.

I followed her onto the flight back to New York. I even took advantage of being a ghost and lounged in an empty firstclass seat for the ride.

After landing, Anastasia didn't rush to baggage claim. She headed straight to the restroom to freshen up her makeup. She was wearing a crisp white turtleneck sweater.

Leaning into the mirror, she swiped on her lipstick. It was a pale shade, like a sugarglazed cherry blossom.

I was zoning out watching her when she suddenly spoke. "Holden said he was picking me up. He should be here by now." She sounded like she was just talking to herself.

She capped her lipstick and headed out to grab her checked bags. I knew damn well she was saying that for my benefit. My stomach twisted into tight, complicated knots.

I froze in place for a long moment until that invisible string yanked hard at my chest, dragging me absentmindedly behind her. Grabbing the luggage. Weaving through the dense crowd.

Rounding a few corners. Gliding down the long moving walkway. Then—the arrivals exit. My heart hammered against my ribs. I subconsciously held my breath.

My eyes darted frantically across the sea of people waiting at the barricade, terrified that in the very next second, I would actually see him.

Chapter 6 Anastasia looked around the bustling terminal. Spotting her target, she pushed her suitcase and strode confidently toward the nearby Starbucks.

A tall, longlegged man stood at the back of the line. His back was to us. He wore a tailored black trench coat that sharply outlined his lean waist.

She sneaked up behind him, covered his eyes with her hands, and asked with a playful grin, "Guess who?" I stared at the back of his head. My eyes widened until they burned.

The man turned around with a hint of helpless amusement— An invisible force yanked my soul forward. A warm, physical sensation bloomed against my palms.

He gently pulled my hands down. "Anastasia, stop playing," he said, his tone thick with indulgence. He was calling someone else's name. But it didn't matter. Three years.

His face was right in front of me again, in crystal clear focus. Deepset eyes. A high, straight bridge of the nose. Pale skin that used to flush deep red whenever I kissed it.

Holden. Tremors wracked my frame. My teeth chattered. He frowned slightly.

Releasing my wrists, he reached up and pressed the back of his hand against the side of my neck. "Are you freezing? Why are you shaking so badly?" I just stared at him.

A massive lump of lead lodged in my throat. I couldn't force a single syllable out. I let him pull me out of the line and out of the dense crowd.

He shoved a piping hot Starbucks Caramel Macchiato into my hands. "Anastasia, are you okay?" he asked, his brow creasing with worry. "Why aren't you talking?

Didn't you say the tour went perfectly?" I devoured his face with my eyes. My vision blurred and burned, but I refused to look away. He had lost weight. He looked older, sharper.

But underneath it all, he was exactly the man carved into my memory. "I'm fine," I finally rasped out. A thick wetness coated my throat. "And you?

Holden, have you been okay?" He froze for a second. Then, the corners of his eyes crinkled into a soft smile. "Why are you asking that?

Didn't I promise you I'd take good care of myself?" he said. I let out a stiff hum and dropped my chin to my chest, hiding the tears pooling in my eyes. Seven days.

I only had seven days. On the drive back to his place, I pretended to nap. In reality, I kept my eyes fixed on the reflection of his side profile in the passenger window.

When he parked the car, he looked over. "You don't like it?" "What?" "The coffee," he pointed. "You haven't taken a single sip." I shook my head.

Anastasia's strict rules echoed in my brain. "Did you forget?

I only drink sugarfree sparkling water." He blanked for a second. "Sorry," he muttered, guilt flashing across his face. "I forgot." He pushed the front door open.

A massive, curlyhaired dog lunged at me, tail wagging frantically. I froze. Holden laughed from right behind me. "Surprise. Are you happy?

I picked Bruno up from the kennel early." "Yeah. Happy," I whispered. I reached out to pet his fluffy head. Bruno dodged my hand with sudden, sharp caution.

The big dog tilted his head, sniffing the air around my fingers. His aggressively wagging tail instantly dropped, tucking tightly between his hind legs.

He let out a low, nervous whine. He backed away slowly, retreating until his back hit the corner of the living room wall. He knew. He knew I wasn't his owner.

Holden scratched the back of his neck, completely confused. "What's wrong with him?

It's like he doesn't recognize you." "I was probably just gone for too long," I said smoothly. "It's fine. Give it a few days." Give it seven days.

Chapter 7 Holden gave a slight shrug, coughed twice into his fist, and turned toward the kitchen to pour me a glass of water. I stared at his back.

The words clawed up my throat, and I couldn't hold them back. "Aren't you allergic to dogs? Why did you agree to let me keep Bruno?" I used to beg for a dog.

But exactly three days after I brought a rescue puppy back to our cramped apartment, Holden was sneezing uncontrollably, tearing at his bloodshot eyes.

I had no choice but to give the puppy away. Why were the rules suddenly ripped to shreds the second it was Anastasia? His footsteps stopped dead.

He looked over his shoulder. "How did you know I'm allergic? I never told you." The breath hitched in my lungs. He hadn't even told Anastasia