I used to be the most promising composer of my generation. But while I was working on my latest piece, my husband Charles Lambert's childhood friend destroyed everything I had.

She slashed my face, stole my compositions, and set fire to my house—leaving me to burn alive alongside the kitten I'd just adopted.

Then, as if my death were just a spark for her success, she posted my compositions online, claiming I'd plagiarized her.

And people believed her. Everyone did. Strangers on the internet sneered and spat my name, and my own husband, Charles, chose to believe her over me.

Even the International Musical Society rescinded my award and handed it to her without a second thought. My students, who once followed me loyally, were now fawning over her.

I became the laughingstock of the entire internet—mocked, discredited, erased.

It wasn't until a week later, when someone stumbled upon the charred remains of my lakeside studio, that they found what was left of me.

It's been a week since I died, and finally, someone found my body.

The fire had devoured everything in its path, leaving nothing behind. The authorities couldn't identify me by my belongings, so they had to wait for the DNA results to match me with missing persons reports.

Somehow, my soul drifted to where my husband, Charles Lambert was.

I thought he'd be frantic, desperate to find me after my disappearance. But the first thing I heard him say wasn't panic or grief.

"Hasn't she been hiding all this time because she feels guilty? Ari, don't be scared. When she comes back, I'll make her get on her knees and apologize to you."

His expression was cold and indifferent. But his voice—his voice was soft and gentle as he cradled Arianna Quinn, his childhood sweetheart, in his arms.

It was a tenderness he had never shown me. Not once. He could barely speak two words to me without sounding annoyed. But here he was, murmuring to her like she was the most fragile, precious thing in the world.

And this was the same man who had shamelessly clung to me, begging to marry me no matter what. Foolish orphan that I was, I believed him. I gave him everything—my heart, my trust, my life.

We had shared a love of music. We both had a great gift for music, but he struggled with composing.

I had dreams of studying abroad to hone my skills in performance. My mentor had secured me a rare spot. But Charles had persuaded me to give it all up, to abandon that dream and focus on composition instead.

"You're so gifted," he'd said. "Even if you give up this path, there will always be another. Why not become a composer? One day, when I perform, I'll play the pieces you wrote just for me. With your compositions and my performing skills, we'll be unstoppable. The audience will cheer for us. We're perfect together and destined to be celebrated!"

I believed him. I believed in that beautiful future he painted for us. So I ignored my mentor's advice, turned down the offer to study abroad, and stubbornly pursued composition.

The journey wasn't easy, but I pushed through. Eventually, I succeeded and became recognized for my compositions. Even my mentor, who had been disappointed in me for giving up the opportunity to study abroad, softened when she saw my achievements.

It wasn't until much later, during a conversation with my mentor, that I found out something shocking.

The spot that I gave up? It went to Arianna, Charles's precious little Ari. And the worst part? It was recommended in my name.

It was hard not to suspect that Charles had schemed it.

I turned to confront him, demanding answers. But all I got was his dismissive reply, "You didn't want it anyway. Giving it to someone else would've been a waste. At least this way it helps Ari. She's all alone at school, with no one to look out for her. Poor thing."

And then, like he was being the reasonable one, he added, "You're going to be my wife. You should be more generous."

He seemed to forget I was an orphan. I'd always been alone. There was no one to support me, no one who ever pitied me. I had to be strong for myself.

"Alright, stop making a fuss," he had said, brushing me off as usual. "I'm busy right now. We'll talk later when I'm free."

Busy. That's what he called it—being preoccupied with taking care of Arianna, doting on her like she was his world.

"You don't need to worry," he comforted Arianna. "If she doesn't apologize to you, I'll divorce her."

His words jolted me out of my memories.

Divorce?

I heard him continue, "Honestly, I've been wanting to divorce her for a while now. If it wasn't for her being pregnant with my child, I wouldn't bother dealing with her at all."

Pregnant?

I instinctively placed a hand on my stomach.

So that's it. I'm pregnant.

I had thought the nausea and the fatigue were just a reaction to the cat fur. I had planned to find a new home for the cat after my masterpiece was done.

But no, it wasn't the cat. I was pregnant.

It all made sense now.

Everything.

No wonder Charles had insisted on dragging me to a checkup the day before I left for my retreat at the lakeside cabin. No wonder he had been so unusually attentive during those days.

It wasn't because he cared about me.

He wanted a child.

I'd always thought I was careful, that I had taken every precaution. There was no way I could get pregnant.

But now, it seemed like Charles had done some tampering. He must have switched out my birth control pills. He had wanted this all along—to make me pregnant.

And yet, I had told him before that I wasn't ready for children. Growing up, I'd never had enough to eat, which left me severely anemic. The thought of pregnancy terrified me. It wasn't just risky; it could be fatal. One mistake and I could lose everything—both the baby and my life.

I was scared to death of getting pregnant.

He had nodded and acted understanding. But behind my back, he had done this.

I shifted my gaze to them, still struggling to believe what I was seeing. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe it was all just a misunderstanding, an accident.

But then I heard Charles's voice. "But no matter what, we have to wait until Sabrina gives birth to the child before we can divorce."

"But I'm mad jealous!" Arianna whined, pouting in his arms.

He pulled her closer and said comfortingly, "You've always been frail. You catch a cold if the wind blows too hard. Having a baby would be too hard on you. It's not good for you."

"So you're letting Sabrina have your baby instead?" she teased.

"She's my wife," he said. "Of course, she has to give me a child!"

His tone shifted, growing more heated. "Who does she think she is? If I hadn't taken pity on her and married her, who would've wanted to marry a penniless orphan? She even said she didn't want a child—how ridiculous! I bet she's just making excuses, perhaps still holding out hope for someone else!"

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. These words, dripping with contempt, were coming from Charles, the man who always put on such a good show in front of me. He had always played the part so well.

Ari looked up at him, her voice sweet and syrupy as she traced circles on his neck. "Sabrina is your wife, so what am I to you, Charles?"

He grabbed her hand, kissing it as he whispered, "Sabrina is just my wife. But you, Ari, are the only one I love."

And with that, they kissed, completely lost in each other.

I couldn't bear to watch any longer. I wanted to turn away, to escape. But no matter how hard I tried, I found myself rooted to the spot, unable to step away from Charles.

So there I sat, helpless and frustrated, forced to witness their intimate moment unfold right in front of me.

*

I waited until I couldn't feel anything anymore. Until the numbness set in, and they finally stopped kissing and let my poor eyes rest.

Charles's phone rang, breaking the silence. I glanced at the screen and saw the caller ID—it was one of my students.

Instantly, worry gnawed at me. What would happen to them now that I was dead? What about their half-finished graduation projects? Who would help them?

"Professor Lambert, is your wife with you? I need to speak to her," I heard the voice over the phone, a voice so familiar it pulled me toward it. I instinctively reached out, forgetting for a moment that I was no longer solid, no longer real.

My ghostly hand passed right through the phone, slipping away, while Arianna caught it instead.

"Hello, I'm here," she said. "What do you need?"

"Oh, nothing much," my student replied. "I left the new gift I bought in your music room. When you have time…"

"I'm a little busy lately," Arianna interrupted smoothly. "Just email your composition to me, and I'll check it."

"Oh, okay. So, about my composition?" He sounded hesitant.

"Consider it passed," she said, almost carelessly.

"Thank you, Mrs. Lambert! You're so kind, not like that old stiff. She's always pushing us to revise everything a thousand times—it's so annoying! And can you believe she even plagiarized your work? Disgusting! Thank goodness the school fired her and assigned us to you. I can't imagine how much more we'd suffer if we were still stuck with her!"

The voice was too familiar. Too painfully familiar. One of my students. One of the students I had stayed up late for, fixing their revisions, working until the early morning to guide them.

They'd always been slow to send their drafts back, and I had thought, maybe they just weren't that talented. Maybe it was hard for them.

But now, hearing this... It wasn't that. They just didn't care. They had never wanted to do it properly.

That hurt more than anything Charles had done to me. More than the pregnancy he had trapped me with. All my time, my effort, my care—it had all been wasted.

And he called her "Mrs. Lambert." They all knew all along, didn't they?

My students, everyone. They knew about Charles and Arianna. Everyone knew, but me.

I stumbled a few steps back, struggling to breathe, even though I no longer needed to. I had thought, once you died, you wouldn't feel any pain. But no. My heart still hurt. And there I was, stuck, forced to listen as my student kept pouring out his complaints to her—complaints about me.

It wasn't until Arianna frowned, clearly losing interest, that Charles finally took the phone from her and ended the call.

"Enough about that annoying Sabrina. I've already cut off her cards. It won't be long before she comes crawling back, begging me to forgive her. And when she does, I'll make sure she apologizes to you."

"Good," Arianna said, her voice turning saccharine again. "I will wait for you to get revenge for me!"

Charles reached into his pocket and pulled out a necklace—a necklace I recognized immediately. It was one I had been admiring for months but couldn't bring myself to buy because it was far too expensive.

There was no way Charles could've afforded something like that. Not with his money.

Unless... he'd touched my savings.

"I picked this out just for you. Do you like it?" Charles said gently.

"It's beautiful! Put it on me, Charles!" Arianna chirped.

"Of course," he replied, slipping the necklace around her neck as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

I glared at the two of them, my heart pounding with a fury I couldn't act on. If only I could take solid form, I'd tear their smug, deceitful faces apart.

When had Charles gained the right to use my money? The money I had worked so hard to save—the money I had set aside to donate to an orphanage.

"By the way, Charles, do you want to come to tomorrow's apology event?" Arianna asked casually, as if it were just another social gathering.

"Of course! I'm still her husband, after all. If she's holding an apology event, I have to be there!"

I was stunned. What apology event?

How could I, a person who was now nothing more than a shadow, be attending any sort of event?

"She better apologize to you in person," Charles continued, his voice hardening. "Or don't blame me for not showing any mercy!"

"Charles, don't be angry. Sabrina would be upset if she knew I went ahead and organized this event for her without asking," Arianna said.

"Hmph! She plagiarized your work, and you're the bigger person for giving her a chance to apologize. She has no right to be upset!"

So that's what this was about. The entire apology event—this humiliating farce—was planned by Arianna.

"I've also invited Professor Madison Lynn," she added casually.

Professor Madison Lynn. My mentor. She had been more than just a teacher; she had been my lifeline, helping me through both my academic struggles and personal hardships.

When I had stubbornly insisted on switching majors, she had been the one to fight against it, urging me to stay. And now, I regretted not listening to her more than ever.

Hearing Arianna's words made my heart race with panic.

Professor Lynn was elderly. Her health, especially her heart, was fragile. If she found out about my situation—about everything that had happened—it could be a devastating blow to her. I couldn't imagine what might happen if something went wrong at that event.

I never expected this. Arianna had stolen everything from me, and still, it wasn't enough for her. She wouldn't even spare my mentor.

I was spinning in circles, frantic, helpless. But there was nothing I could do.

After all, I was dead. And in the very way I had always feared most. A double death, with a baby inside me.

Only, it didn't happen on the hospital's operating table like I had imagined. No, I died in my lakeside cottage, alongside a little kitten who thought it had finally found a home, a new life.

My beloved husband had betrayed me.

The student I had trusted resented me.

I had no family left—just an aging mentor, who had no idea about the truth.

I thought about it all night, trying to come up with a plan. Who could possibly avenge me now? By dawn, I still had no answers.

Before the apology event even started, Professor Lynn arrived.

She leaned on her cane, walking unsteadily with each step, but her voice was as sharp as ever.

"I do not believe my student would plagiarize," she declared, loud and unwavering. "Sabrina would never plagiarize! Where is she? Unless I hear her own up to it, I will never believe she could do such a thing!"

Her words came just as the early media attendees began to file in. Spotting the commotion, they hurriedly set up their cameras, ready to catch every moment on tape.

My heart clenched, and my eyes filled with tears. My professor—this graceful, world-renowned woman—was now standing up for me in her old age, trying to clean up the mess I'd left behind.

Her face flushed with emotion, and her hands gripping the cane turned white from the strain. She was too old for this, too fragile to endure such stress.

No, I couldn't let her suffer this. I looked to Charles, hoping that he might remember the days Professor Lynn had also guided him. Maybe, just maybe, he'd ask someone to take her away before things got worse.

But he did nothing.

Instead, he stood by, letting Arianna humiliate my mentor in front of the entire crowd.

With a smirk, Arianna produced my manuscript, flicking the papers into Professor Lynn's face as if they meant nothing.

"Look for yourself. This is all my original work."

The papers fluttered to the ground.

Professor Lynn, already so old, struggled with her legs. Yet she fought to keep her dignity. Gripping her cane tightly, and using all her strength, she crouched down and picked up the scattered pages.

And I—I could only stand there, with tears streaming down my face, helpless to do anything but watch.

Professor Lynn clutched my manuscript, her expression growing more agitated. I knew she recognized my handwriting—how could she not?

But before she could say anything, Arianna snatched the manuscript from Professor Lynn, muttering, "Don't even think of destroying the evidence."

Her movements were hasty, betraying her guilt.

Startled by the sudden action, Professor Lynn lost her balance and fell to the ground.

The scene was a media frenzy. Instead of offering help, the crowd focused on taking pictures, capturing humiliating shots of the once-graceful professor.

I was frustrated. My beloved mentor was being degraded, and all I could do was watch helplessly.

"Sabrina didn't plagiarize!" Professor Lynn's voice rang out, filled with pain yet unyielding. Even as she lay there in a vulnerable position, she defended me with all the strength she had left.

Arianna, meanwhile, stood victorious, leaning smugly against Charles. Her face was full of disdain.

"Old lady, if you have something to say, stand up! I can't hear you from down there," she taunted, her voice dripping with cruelty.

Professor Lynn, desperate, turned her pleading gaze toward Charles. "Charles, Sabrina didn't plagiarize!" Her voice trembled with hope, searching for any shred of decency left in him.

But I knew it was futile. Charles and Arianna had conspired together from the beginning.

"Professor Lynn, I don't know whether Sabrina plagiarized or not, but I'm sure Ari wouldn't lie," Charles said coldly, his gaze hard as he looked down at his former mentor. There wasn't even the slightest inclination to help her up.

"You can't expect me to cover for Sabrina just because you favor her," he added, indifferent to the pain in her eyes.

"You—!" Professor Lynn was too weak to argue further, collapsing in defeat, her breath shallow. "Sabrina would never plagiarize…"

Arianna waved her hand dismissively, her voice light and carefree. "Well then, who's going to prove it? Who can stand up for her?"

"I can."