Ava Bell POV:

The sterile white conference room hummed with the low murmur of police officers. Maps of the crime scene were projected onto the wall, red circles marking key areas. Coffee cups littered the table, half-empty, forgotten.

Detective Miller, a seasoned veteran with tired eyes, cleared his throat. "Alright, listen up. Coroner's report just came in."

A palpable tension filled the room. The officers exchanged uneasy glances. They knew what was coming. The details of my final moments.

"Cause of death: blunt force trauma to the head, followed by strangulation. Extensive bruising, consistent with a prolonged struggle. Multiple defensive wounds on her forearms and hands." Miller's voice was flat, clinical, but a hint of disgust crept in. "She fought hard."

My ghostly form hovered in the corner, unable to feel the horror, but remembering it all. The terror. The pain. The desperate, futile struggle for air.

"No clear identification yet," Miller continued. "The body was disfigured. Dental records are being checked, but it's slow going. And we're confident the condo wasn't the primary crime scene. She was moved."

Carter, seated at the head of the table, ran a hand through his perfectly coiffed hair. His jaw was clenched, his knuckles white as he gripped the edge of the table. He was agitated, a barely contained storm.

"I want every lead followed," he said, his voice sharp. "Expand the search radius. Check every abandoned warehouse, every remote property in a fifty-mile radius. I want surveillance footage from every road leading to that condo. Someone saw something."

He paused, his eyes narrowing. "And I want a more thorough autopsy. Every fiber, every trace. And this identification, Miller, it needs to be expedited. This firm represents the developer. We can't have this hanging over our heads."

He stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. "I'm heading back to the crime scene. Keep me updated." He strode out of the room, his long legs carrying him away from the gruesome details, back to the cold, hard logic of the case.

He's so focused on his client, on the case. He still doesn't see me.

I remembered another gift I had given him, a small, silver compass, beautifully engraved with his initials and a tiny, almost invisible, star. It was meant to be a symbol of guidance, of always finding his way back to me.

"So you'll always find your way home," I had whispered, pressing it into his hand. He' d smiled, a rare, genuine smile, and tucked it into his pocket. A fleeting moment of connection.

Then, Cecelia had walked in. Her eyes, sharp and calculating, immediately fixed on the compass. "What's that, darling?" she' d purred, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. She snatched it from his hand. "Oh, a little trinket from Ava? How... quaint."

Her fingers, adorned with expensive rings, had toyed with the delicate silver. Then, with a sudden, vicious twist, she had snapped it in half. The sound had echoed in the silent room, a tiny, metallic death knell.

"Cecelia!" I' d cried out, my voice breaking. I lunged for her, my hands shaking. "Why would you do that?"

Carter had grabbed me, pulling me back with a force that surprised me. "Ava, stop it! What's wrong with you?" he' d demanded, his eyes blazing with anger.

"She broke it, Carter! She broke my gift to you!"

"It's just a cheap piece of junk, Ava! Don't make a scene! Cecelia didn't mean to." He'd turned to her, his voice softening. "Are you alright, sweetheart? She didn't hurt you, did she?"

Cecelia had clung to him, her face buried in his chest, a theatrical sob wracking her body. "She's always so jealous, Carter. Always trying to get between us."

"That's enough, Ava!" Carter' s voice was cold, lethal. "Get out of here. I don't want to see you right now."

He' d locked me in my room, the one he said was mine in our apartment. The compass, broken, lay on the floor, a testament to her cruelty and his blind devotion. I had curled up on the bed, my body aching, my heart shattered. The darkness of the room had mirrored the darkness in my soul. I was trapped, a prisoner in my own life.

Ava Bell POV:

Carter knelt beside my body again, his gloved hand hovering over my cheek. His brow was furrowed, a flicker of something akin to sadness in his eyes.

"No one deserves this," he murmured, his voice softer now, almost a whisper. "No one deserves to die like this."

You say that now, Carter. But when I was alive, you were the one who pushed me towards it. I wondered what he would say if he knew it was me. Would he still claim I deserved better? Or would he twist it, somehow, to be my fault? He was a master at that too.

His gaze drifted from my face, down my arm. He stopped at my wrist. There, a small, faded tattoo. A delicate, winding vine, with tiny, almost imperceptible thorns. It curved around my wrist like a protective bracelet.

I had gotten it years ago, after a particularly harsh rejection from Cecelia. It was a symbol of resilience, of growing despite the pain. It was small, discreet, barely noticeable unless you looked closely.

I remembered Carter' s reaction to it. "What's that monstrosity, Ava?" he' d asked, his eyes filled with disdain. "Looks like something a troubled teenager would get. Can't you hide that with a watch? It's unprofessional."

Now, he stared at it. Will he recognize it? Will it finally click?

He leaned even closer, examining the faded lines. Then, he straightened up. "Just a tattoo," he stated, his voice devoid of emotion. "Probably from years ago. Another irrelevant detail for the report."

My ghost heart sank. Of course. Irrelevant.

"Mr. Rios, we found this inside her." A forensic technician, a young man with glasses, approached, holding up a clear plastic evidence bag. Inside, nestled among folds of what looked like torn fabric, was a small, worn sketchbook.

Carter took it, his eyes narrowing in professional curiosity. He didn't open it immediately. "Analyze it," he ordered. "Every page. See if there are any clues, any names, anything that can help us identify her."

Just then, his phone vibrated. A distinct, melodic ringtone. Cecelia's. It was the only custom ringtone he had. He snatched it from his pocket, his stern expression immediately softening.

"Cecelia, darling. Are you alright?" His voice was laced with concern, a stark contrast to the cold efficiency he used for everyone else.

"Oh, Carter," Cecelia's voice, high-pitched and fragile, drifted from the phone. "I'm just so worried. About everything. This... this murder. It's so close to us. Are you safe? And Ava... have you heard from her?"

Her concern was a performance. I knew it. He didn't.

"I' m fine, sweetheart. Don't worry. I'll make sure you're safe," Carter promised, his eyes scanning the desolate condo, as if searching for an unseen threat to her. "As for Ava... she's probably just being dramatic again. Trying to get attention. You know how she is."

"Yes," Cecelia sighed dramatically. "Always causing trouble. I just hope she hasn't done anything to endanger herself, or worse, you, my love."

"She wouldn't dare," Carter scoffed. "She knows her place. If she's pulled one of her stunts, she'll regret it. Just focus on resting, Cecelia. I love you. I'll be home as soon as I can."

He hung up, the tenderness vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. He looked at the sketchbook in his hand, his eyes hardening.

"Find out what this girl was up to," he commanded the technician, referring to my lifeless body. "And quickly. We can't have this distraction on our hands."

Distraction. That's all I ever was to him. A distraction. Even in death. His words, overheard by my observing spirit, were a fresh wound, a confirmation of his unwavering blindness.

Ava Bell POV:

Carter' s phone rang again, a jarring buzz in the quiet, sterile office. He glanced at the caller ID, his brow furrowing slightly, a flicker of irritation crossing his face. It was Davian Ortega, his law partner and friend.

"Davian," Carter answered, his voice clipped.

"Carter, have you heard from Ava?" Davian's voice, usually calm and measured, was laced with genuine concern. "She missed her appointment at the clinic. And she's not answering her phone. I'm worried."

Carter exhaled slowly, a sound of profound annoyance. "Ava? What appointment are you talking about? And why are you 'worried'? She's probably just off on one of her self-pitying tangents."

"The cardiac clinic, Carter," Davian said, his voice sharper now. "The one for her heart condition. She was supposed to have a follow-up. You knew about this, right? She told you she had a severe heart condition."

He told you, Carter. I told you. Over and over.

"Heart condition?" Carter scoffed, a harsh, disbelieving sound. "Please, Davian. She probably made it all up to avoid donating to Cecelia. You know how manipulative Ava can be. Always trying to get attention."

"That's not fair, Carter," Davian countered, his voice firm. "Ava isn't like that. And even if you think she is, she's been unreachable for days. Something feels wrong. You've changed, man. You really have."

"Don't you dare question me, Davian," Carter growled, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "My fiancée is fighting for her life, and Ava is just being her usual, dramatic self. If you're going to side with her, then maybe you should reconsider whose side you're on." He paused, his voice softening with feigned sincerity. "Cecelia needs me, Davian. I love her."

He loves her. He always loved her. And I was just the girl who loved him. The words echoed in the hollow space where my heart had been.

Carter hung up abruptly, slamming his phone onto the desk. He ran a hand through his hair, his face flushed with anger.

"Unbelievable," he muttered, pacing the office. "The nerve. Davian, of all people."

A junior associate, a nervous young man named Mark, looked up from his computer. "Everything alright, Mr. Rios?"

Carter stopped, forcing a semblance of calm. "Just Ava, creating drama as usual. Davian thinks she's missing. Probably just looking for attention." He waved a dismissive hand. "She'll turn up eventually, looking for sympathy."

Mark nodded, though a faint frown creased his brow.

"You know, Carter," Miller, the detective, said, leaning against the doorframe. He had just walked in, having heard the tail end of the conversation. "You need to be careful. People sometimes forget what's real when they're too close to a situation."

Miller' s words were meant as a warning, a subtle nudge, but Carter just bristled.

I remembered Carter's wedding day. He had looked so happy, so radiant, standing beside Cecelia. I had watched from the back, a silent observer, my heart both soaring and shattering for him. I wanted his happiness, even if it wasn't with me.

Then, the first social event after their wedding. A gala, glittering with the city's elite. Carter insisted I come. "You're family, Ava. You need to be seen."

I felt like a fish out of water, my simple dress lost amidst the designer gowns. My hands trembled as I held a champagne flute. I was nervous, intimidated by the opulence.

Cecelia, draped in silk and diamonds, glided over to me, a predatory smile on her lips. "Look at you, Ava," she purred, her voice carrying just enough for those nearby to hear. "Still clinging to Carter's coattails, are we? Trying to make an impression? You look utterly out of place."

My face burned. I wanted to disappear.

"Cecelia, don't," Carter said, his voice low, but he didn't intervene. He just watched, his expression unreadable.

"She's right," I whispered, my voice barely audible. "I don't belong here."

"Then leave!" Cecelia hissed, her eyes glinting with malice. "Go back to your little studio and hide. You're embarrassing Carter."

I turned and fled, tears blurring my vision. Carter didn't stop me. He watched me go, and then turned back to Cecelia, his hand resting on her back reassuringly.

That was the night I knew. Truly knew. My place with Carter was gone. It had never really existed.