Half a month ago, the killer appeared out of nowhere and found my boyfriend.

They had snatched Nancy Lewis, the girl he had never gotten over.

“Hey, Green, the great artist, recognize this one?”

Nancy was ghost-white, clinging to hope like it was a lifeline. Tears streaming down her face, she begged for rescue.

“Patrick, please save me! I’m terrified! Can you take me home? Please?”

I had never seen Patrick lose his composure before. His eyes, usually so calm, were filled with worry—something rare for him. Patrick was always the stoic one, his emotions carefully hidden behind a mask of calm.

The only other time I had seen him so rattled was when I threw him a surprise birthday party. That day, the rooftop was battered by fierce winds, and he was overwhelmed with work at the station, completely forgetting his own birthday. I waited for him until well past midnight. When he finally returned and saw the spaghetti I had made, his eyes filled with gratitude.

However, with Nancy in danger now, he was totally losing it. Nancy meant the world to him, and I couldn’t help but feel a pang of bitterness.

His fists were clenched tight, veins standing out on the back of his hands. He confronted the villain, “What do you really want?”

The crook pulled out two photos and handed them over. “Draw me a picture, and I’ll return your precious girl to you. Deal?”

Patrick was skeptical, his brow furrowed. “Is it really that simple?”

“Yeah, it’s that simple.”

However, there was one thing Patrick didn’t know.

The little girl in the photo, the one the crook wanted him to draw, was me as a child.

They had been after me all along.

My parents were undercover narcotics officers. After I was born, their identities remained secret. It wasn’t until they took down the leader of a criminal gang that their true identities were revealed.

They also died in the battle. That’s when their cover was blown, and my own identity made me a target too.

To protect me, the police erased every trace of me and my parents. For twenty years, I lived under the radar, just another face in the crowd.

Everything changed when the killer tracked Patrick down.

Patrick was no ordinary man; he was a legend. The go-to forensic artist for the cops, he had a knack for solving the most challenging cases. His gift? He could bring faces back from oblivion.

That day, he was lost in his work, sketching away, when police sirens sounded in the distance.

When the bad guy finally released Nancy, I saw Nancy rush into Patrick’s arms, and he held her like she was his lifeline, whispering, “Thank goodness you’re okay.”

However, what Patrick didn’t realize was that the moment he handed over that sketch, my own clock was ticking down.

Kicked out of the hospital by Patrick, I was on my own, heading home. I felt it deep in my gut—something wasn’t right.

Instinctively, I called the one person I thought could help. “Patrick, I think someone’s tailing me. Can you come get me? There are no cabs, and I’m freaking out here.”

Patrick thought I was just trying to get his attention, playing games. Furious, he snapped over the phone, “Are you messing with me again? You think this will make me come running? Let me tell you, even if you’re lying dead in the street, I won’t come looking for you. Leave me alone!”

That night, the alley felt like a black hole, and the sky seemed to weep with me.

The streets were deserted, leaving me alone with the shadows and the sound of my own heartbeat.

When the phone clicked dead, my heart sank. I tried to call for help and dial 911, but the killer behind me was one step ahead, knocking me out cold.

When I woke up, I was in an eerie, abandoned factory.

They were merciless, venting their anger by smashing my face with a shovel, breaking my bones. Yet, through it all, I clung to life.

They weren’t done with me. Not until they had their fill of torture.

To cover their tracks, they cut open my stomach and stuffed a ticking bomb inside.

As the explosion tore through the silence, I looked up at the heavens and laughed.

At last, I was free.

I never expected to linger on as a ghost.

I watched Patrick—maybe a cop, maybe a detective—calmly examining my remains as if they were just pieces of trash. He didn’t even spare me a second glance before turning away, completely emotionless.

“Hit me up if anything comes up. Got plans tonight, gotta head out.”

His friend, the forensic medical examiner, was with him. As they walked away, his friend pulled out two boxes of candy, a grin lighting up his face.

“Just tied the knot with my girl, got some sweets for you and Yasmine. Yasmine’s been hounding me for candy, but I haven’t seen her around. Could you pass these on to her? It’s our way of sending good vibes.”

The moment the words left his mouth, Patrick’s expression darkened.

The smile froze on his friend’s face, and he asked awkwardly, “Man, you still haven’t patched things up with Yasmine? It’s been over half a month?”

Patrick stopped in his tracks, his breaths coming out in heavy gasps.

“Don’t talk to me about her.”

It was as if he loathed me, turning away with a scowl etched on his face. Finally, he glanced down at the wedding favors in his hand. With a flick of his wrist, fueled by frustration, he tossed them into the trash can.

I couldn’t help but feel it was such a waste. I stared at the discarded sweets in the bin. Nobody could enjoy them now...

I trailed after him to the hospital, peering through the clear glass. There was a middle-aged woman inside, hooked up to a ventilator. I covered my mouth, tears streaming down my face as I quietly wept.

Deep down, I knew the rift between Patrick and me wasn’t something that a few words could fix. His anger at me stemmed from the fact that I was the reason his mom had ended up in the hospital. She was still there, lying in the ICU.

It had only been half a month, not long after Patrick’s own incident. The police had just brought him and Nancy back home.

His mom, Tracy, had been at the bridal shop, helping me pick out a wedding gown for my upcoming nuptials with Patrick on the eighth of next month—a date his mom had chosen.

On the way home, I didn’t see the car coming from out of nowhere, barreling toward us. I froze, but Patrick’s mom threw her arms around me, shielding me. She took the brunt of the crash and was seriously injured. Clinging to life, she was rushed to the hospital.

Patrick, with Nancy in tow, arrived. Blinded by rage, he grabbed me by the collar and shoved me to the ground.

“Why did you have to drag her into this mess? If you hadn’t been so reckless with her, she would never have ended up in that car crash! Yasmine, if anything—anything at all—happens to my mom, I could never forgive you!”

Yeah, who could forgive someone who hurt their own mother?

Ignoring the pain, I forced myself to stand. I didn’t expect his forgiveness, but Tracy was hurt because of me. All I could do was plead, “Please... let me stay. I’ll leave as soon as I know Mrs. Green is okay...”

Patrick wouldn’t even hear me out. He kicked me out without a second thought.

“Quit your act! You have no right to see my mom!”

That night, I lingered outside the hospital, unable to go anywhere. It wasn’t until I saw Tracy safely in the ICU the next day that I could finally breathe a sigh of relief.

Before I left, I caught a glimpse of Nancy comforting Patrick. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Green will pull through. I’m here, Patrick. I’ll stick by you no matter what...”

I knew when to step back, so I left the hospital quietly, not wanting to intrude.

The guilt continued to haunt me. Every dream at midnight took me back to the crash. The weight of guilt and grief was crushing. I blamed myself, convinced that I had let Tracy down.

So, I kept to the shadows during her hospital stay, only daring to visit when no one would see me.

That was before I ended up in the hands of the real villain...

I only learned about the time Patrick and Nancy disappeared after the fact. Patrick, out of love for Nancy, had handed over my portrait to a criminal.

I wonder if Patrick ever realized that he had unwittingly helped to hurt his own mother, and whether he could forgive himself.

Patrick was sitting by Tracy’s bedside in the hospital when a soft knock echoed at the door.

He opened it to find a delivery man, who whispered, “Hey, your flower order is here. Mind leaving a good review?”

Staring at the flowers in the delivery man’s hands, Patrick’s face froze in shock.

That’s when it hit me—I had ordered those flowers by phone, worried that Patrick might see me at the hospital. They were meant to be a sign of my feelings. I had even asked the florist to include a note: “Wishing Mrs. Green a speedy recovery.”

However, as Patrick read the note, his anger erupted. He tossed the card straight into the trash.

“Yasmine, you think a couple of flowers will settle your debt to my mom? No way! Forget it! Unless you come and apologize to my mom face-to-face, I’ll never forgive you!”

In a fit of rage, he threw the flowers into the trash can next to him.

I instinctively reached out to stop him, but my transparent, ghostly hand passed right through the flowers, touching nothing.

A wry smile crossed my face. Oh, how I wished... I wished I could have been there when Tracy woke up. I wished I could have told her I was sorry.

However, I was long gone…

I would never get to apologize to her face-to-face again.

Tracy was the kindest soul I knew, aside from my adoptive mother. She always made me feel special, preparing feasts for the holidays and sending Patrick to fetch me home for dinner.

She knew I was an orphan and looked after me in every way possible.

If Patrick ever got on my nerves, she’d take him to task—just to make me smile.

Such a wonderful person, now lying still in a hospital bed—all because of me. I was such a terrible person...

I was drowning in guilt when the phone rang, cutting through my thoughts.

I watched Patrick answer it. His face transformed when he heard Nancy’s tearful voice come through.

“Patrick, I’m a mess. Will you come to me? I miss you so much.”

Patrick didn’t hesitate. He grabbed his jacket and bolted.

Walking briskly, he seemed to tread lightly, as if trying not to let his emotions spill over.

“Where are you? I’m on my way!” he whispered into the phone.

He sped off, taking shortcuts.

He pulled up outside a bar—a place he used to avoid because he was protective of me when I hung out with friends. He would always show up to pick me up right on time, earning playful jabs from my friends about how thoughtful he was.

Yet, there he was, rushing out for another girl.

Patrick had always been the hero of his own story, but even he might not have realized how much Nancy meant to him. He strode through the hallway, his heart set on finding Nancy amidst the chaos of the private rooms.

He found her just as she lost a game, her cheeks flushed, surrounded by a crowd of guys urging her to drink more. Without hesitation, Patrick wrapped his coat around her shoulders, shielding her from their leering eyes.

“Let’s get you home,” he said, his brow furrowed with concern.

Nancy reached up, her hands finding the warmth of his neck. She leaned into him, her words slurred but sincere.

“You came for me. I was afraid you didn’t care, that I didn’t matter to you. Patrick, be honest... does this mean you might actually like me?” she whispered.

Patrick didn’t give her the answer she wanted.

Instead, he was determined to get her out of there. However, they were stopped by the jeers of the onlookers.

“Hey, Patrick, Nancy’s got a debt to pay. She lost, and her drink’s still full!

“We don’t let people back out of deals here. How about this… you drink the wine for her, and we’ll let you both go! Haha!” they taunted, laughter filling the room.

Patrick’s patience snapped, but he kept his cool. He grabbed the six shots lined up on the table and knocked them back without a second thought.

“Are we good now?” he asked, his voice cutting through the noise like a blade of ice.

He then lifted Nancy into his arms and carried her out.