It was a gloomy day. The sea breeze was strong, and the salty smell got right up your nose. Sylvia Clayton lay on the ground in a white dress, soaked to the skin. Her eyes were shut tight, wet hair spread messily around her head. She looked peaceful—almost like she was just napping.

But the people crowding around her told a different story—cops, reporters, all gathered with cameras clicking nonstop.

Despite it all, Sylvia lay there quietly. Her face, still lovely, carried no sign of life anymore. She would never open her eyes again.

"Lucas Chandler's wife found dead on the beach just three days after the wedding"—the reporters had the headlines pretty much ready to go.

This was huge—everyone's camera was working overtime trying to catch every angle.

The chaos at the shore went on, while no one noticed the sleek black Maybach parked up on the bridge nearby. In the back seat sat a man, features sharp and perfect like something carved out of marble—deep-set eyes, defined nose, thin lips. His attention wasn’t on the scene below, though. He was focused on a live feed playing on his tablet. It showed everything happening down there in real time.

Just then, the lead investigator came into the frame. He stared straight at the camera like he could see right through the screen.

The moment the officer spoke, the man tossed the tablet onto the empty seat beside him with a dry click. He slid on a pair of sunglasses, his face completely unreadable. Not even a shred of grief—like the woman who died down there wasn’t his newlywed wife or anything.

Later that night, he sat by the fireplace, cozy in soft white loungewear with a brown Hermès throw over his knees, a management book resting on top. One hand turned the pages, the other held a warm cup of coffee. The fire crackled but didn’t reflect in his eyes.

Suddenly, the phone on the table rang. Philip Ward, the assistant who’d been staying quiet nearby, walked over, checked the screen, and handed it to him.

“Mr. Chandler, a call.”

Lucas Chandler—CEO of Chandler Group, one of Linchuan’s top three corporations—notorious for being ruthless and unemotional. With wealth and power that basically ruled City A, everyone expected him to be devastated. But aside from a hint of sadness at the press conference, he'd been distant—cold even, like an outsider watching from the sidelines.

On the phone, a deep male voice spoke quickly, and Lucas held the phone to his ear without saying a word, his other hand brushing lightly against the open page. Only after the other side finished talking did he finally answer, his eyes dark and hard to read.

“Got it,” he said, then hung up and stared into the flames. They flickered, but his gaze stayed icy.

Philip lowered his head and quietly asked, “Mr. Chandler, did they find the killer?”

Something flickered in Lucas’s eyes for a split second—so quick it might’ve just been the firelight.

“Vanessa Walton. Murder and disposal.”

His voice was eerily calm, lips barely moving, then his eyes dropped back to the book.

“Never thought she’d serve herself up like that. She kills Sylvia, and now you’ve got something on her. You can crush her dad’s company and be done with Sylvia. Isn’t that what you've always wanted...”"Done talking? Then get out," Lucas Chandler cut Philip Ward off mid-sentence. His voice, lower than the temperature outside, sent a chill down Philip's spine. Philip froze for a second, then turned and left without another word.

The living room quickly settled into silence again. Lucas sat there, flipping through a book as if nothing had happened. The fire crackled in the fireplace, filling the room with a false sense of warmth.

But this quiet space wasn’t as empty as it looked.

Someone had heard everything. Technically, not a person anymore.

Sylvia Clayton floated mid-air, her form translucent. She was no longer alive—just a wandering soul. She came back just to see Lucas one last time, never expecting to uncover the entire ugly truth all at once.

Turned out, she'd been nothing but a pawn in someone else’s game. She threw away her life with the Phantom Guild, abandoned her skills as a thief, and willingly became Lucas’s mistress for two years, thinking that love would pay off in the end. But just three days into marriage, she ended up murdered and dumped like trash by Vanessa Walton, her biggest rival.

And death didn’t bring peace. Nope, just more brutal truth shoved in her face. No matter how hard Sylvia tried to deny it or how much it tore her apart, Lucas just sat there reading like none of it mattered. Like everything had gone just as planned.

What a joke.

Hovering in the air, Sylvia let out a laugh—loud, hollow, but completely unheard. It didn’t even matter who killed her anymore. What mattered was, in that moment, she finally saw how blind she’d been. Thinking back on the last two years of her life, all she felt now was fury and betrayal.

"Lucas Chandler! Even as a ghost, I swear I’ll make you pay!" Her voice ripped through the air, sharp and haunting. Tears rolled down her cheeks—tears of heartbreak, anger, and sorrow. She’d loved that man like a fool, and look where it got her.

She didn’t know whether to cry or laugh as her form flickered, growing fainter. With one last look filled with hatred, she vanished into the night.

The streets were buzzing with life. As evening lights flicked on, the city looked like a pretty girl all dressed up—bright and charming.

Inside a Starbucks, two young women sat by the window—one radiant and seductive, the other graceful and serene. Both stunning, almost like they stepped right out of a painting.

"Sylvia? Sylvia?" Vanessa Walton called her name twice.

Sylvia, who had been staring out the window blankly, snapped out of it like waking from a nightmare. She looked at Vanessa, stunned. How was she even sitting in front of her killer?

She could still remember how Vanessa ended her life. Heart pounding, Sylvia stared around the café. Her eyes landed on her phone—it was on the table, and the lock screen clearly showed the date: May 26, 2014.

Her whole body jolted.

She was alive again. She had actually come back. And not just to any random time—it was exactly a week before her wedding with Lucas Chandler.

Vanessa, watching Sylvia’s odd reaction, narrowed her eyes and asked softly, "Are you okay, Sylvia? You don’t look so good."

Sylvia scoffed internally. Rebirth really had wiped the blinders off. The hatred in Vanessa’s eyes—she could see it now, clear as day. And to think Sylvia used to be so eager to marry Lucas, completely ignoring how danger had been sitting next to her all this time. That blindness had cost her her life.