I Am The Ghost He Remembers

I am Ava Monroe, wife of Chicago's infamous kingpin, Cillian Vance—and the shield he chose for the woman he truly loves.

In the third year of our marriage, I was attacked by his enemies for the eighth time. When Cillian and his men arrived to "rescue" me, negotiations had been going for less than five minutes when Scarlett's call came through.

"Cilli, I slipped on the yacht! My knee is killing me... Please, can you come? I need you right now."

…

The moment Cillian turned to leave without a second thought, a truck slammed into my car. Shards of glass pierced my abdomen, blood gushing out. His bodyguards handled it just like the previous seven times—they paid off the police and sent me to the hospital.

In the ambulance, I overheard one of them wondering aloud if I’d even last long enough to see Scarlett dump Cillian. They all burst out laughing. I was the only one crying.

My mission to save the kingpin had failed. And I was about to be erased by the System.

Cillian, I won't live to see that day.

————————

1

A long sigh echoed in my ear. It was the doctor. "Mrs. Vance, your last miscarriage already damaged your uterine lining. After suffering this kind of trauma again... I'm afraid you won't be able to conceive."

I stared at the white chandelier overhead, my own voice sounding distant. "I understand. It's fine."

After the doctor left, the System’s familiar, monotone voice filled the silence. "Mission failed. Erasure protocol will be initiated. Do you wish to restart the mission—to continue trying to save him?"

I slowly shook my head. "Erase me."

"Command confirmed. Erasure protocol initiated. You have 72 hours remaining."

...

I closed my eyes, the silence in the room suffocating. But a strange, masochistic impulse drove me to open Scarlett Reed's Instagram live stream.

That day, she was filming a makeup tutorial in the Chicago penthouse Cillian had bought for her, sitting before a massive mirror. The girl wore a man's custom shirt that was clearly two sizes too big, her hair thrown into a messy bun as she fiddled with a set of professional makeup brushes. Her cheeks held a healthy, rosy glow, and her smile was devastatingly sweet.

"This shirt? Oh, it's my boyfriend's. Custom Armani. I couldn't wear any of my own clothes because last night... well, things got a little too passionate." She glanced shyly at someone just off-camera. "I never thought my first kiss and… well, my first everything would happen on the same night…"

A man's deep, magnetic voice drifted from off-camera. "Sorry, baby. I'll be gentler next time."

The live stream's comment section exploded.

'Scarlett finally got her mystery man! Share more couple content!'

"That might be a little difficult. My boyfriend's work is… sensitive. It’s not really convenient for him to be on camera."

As she spoke, her sleeve brushed against a palette of foundation. Scarlett let out a small gasp, and then a long, strong male arm reached into the frame, carefully rolling up her sleeve. A million-dollar pink diamond ring glittered on her finger. "Doesn't matter if it gets dirty. I'll have someone send you a new one."

Her face flushed an even deeper red. She giggled, then was suddenly pulled out of the frame. The distinct sounds of kissing and breathless laughter followed from off-screen.

Among the scrolling comments, one caught my eye—'I swear I just heard Cillian Vance's voice.'

The man's voice sounded again, much colder this time. "Boring."

The live stream abruptly ended. I set down my phone and drifted back into a hazy, drugged sleep.

In my dream, I was tidying his study and accidentally got a speck of dust on a handmade, ten-thousand-dollar Italian suit. I apologized immediately, but he flew into a rage, snarling that I had no right to touch his things. He threw the suit out like garbage. From that day forward, I never saw another one of his personal belongings in our home.

At the end of the dream, all I could see was Cillian's back—the same view I’d had countless times over the past three years, as I lay in agony and he rushed off to be with Scarlett.

When I woke again, half-conscious, the first thing I saw was a pink diamond ring, glittering faintly in the dim light of the hospital room. My gaze traveled up. Scarlett, now in a simple Chanel suit, was elegantly sipping soup from an exquisite thermal container.

My assistant stood beside her, her expression pained. "I'm so sorry, Mrs. Vance. The private chef only prepared one serving of soup. Miss Reed saw it and… well, she said she wanted to try some."

"Oh, my gosh, I didn't know this was yours. I'm so sorry, Ava." Scarlett’s amber eyes widened, her long lashes fluttering as a sheen of tears welled up—as if she’d only just now realized she was stealing soup from a critically injured woman.