Chapter 4

Adrianne Cummings POV:

Arthur stood beside Karter, his face grim, his posture a silent statement of support. He had witnessed everything. He knew the truth. My brother' s words, "Adrianne was pregnant," hung in the sterile air, poisoning it. Bradford lay sprawled on the cold floor, his hand still on his jaw, his eyes wide and vacant. Flora, a picture of wide-eyed innocence, had strategically moved behind Arthur, as if seeking protection from the raging storm.

Arthur pointed to the sheet-draped form on the gurney. "Internal bleeding," he stated, his voice flat, professional, but laced with a barely contained anger. "Exacerbated by the trauma of the struggle, and... the pregnancy. She suffered, Bradford. She suffered alone because you left her."

He stepped closer to Bradford, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper, his eyes boring into my husband's. "Do you know what kind of robbery this was, Bradford? No ransoms. Only one hostage released. The target wasn't the gala's safe. It was you. Or, more accurately, Adrianne."

Bradford flinched, a flicker of something akin to comprehension crossing his eyes. He sat up slowly, pushing himself against the wall, his gaze still avoiding the gurney. His usual crisis manager composure was completely shattered.

"Think, Bradford!" Arthur pleaded, his voice cracking with emotion. "Adrianne was always the one cleaning up your messes, protecting your image. She managed your foundation, cultivated your connections. Who would benefit from her removal? From your focus being elsewhere? Someone who wanted you distracted, vulnerable, or... alone."

My ethereal form watched Arthur, a profound sense of gratitude washing over me. He saw it. He understood the intricate web of my life, the silent battles I fought for Bradford, the invisible strings that were always pulling me in his wake.

Bradford looked up, his eyes meeting Arthur' s. A flicker of doubt, a momentary spark of his analytical mind, seemed to ignite. But it was quickly extinguished by a whimper from Flora.

"Bradford, please," Flora sobbed, grabbing his arm. Her voice was thin, reedy, laced with a familiar, manipulative vulnerability. "It's too much. The police... the blood... I feel so faint. Take me away from here, please. I can't breathe." She clutched her chest, her eyes darting nervously towards the covered gurney.

Arthur stepped between them, his face a mask of fierce contempt. "Don't you see it, Bradford? She's playing you! Just like she always has! This isn't about her fragility; it's about control!"

He turned to Bradford, his voice urgent. "Think about it, man! A robbery where the criminals negotiate with you? They let her go? And then disappear without a trace? No demands, no follow-up? It's a setup. A distraction. And Adrianne paid the price."

Bradford's eyes narrowed, a cold, calculating look returning to them. He was a crisis manager, after all. Logic. Strategy. He started to process Arthur's words, the gears in his mind reluctantly turning.

But Flora wasn't done. She intensified her performance, her body swaying, her hand flying to her forehead. "Oh, my head... everything is spinning. I think I'm going to collapse!" she whimpered, dramatically falling into Bradford' s arms.

"Flora, darling, what is it?" Bradford' s brief moment of clarity vanished. His attention snapped back to her, all suspicion replaced by immediate concern. He stroked her hair, his eyes filled with a tenderness that made my phantom heart ache.

Arthur scoffed, a harsh, disgusted sound. "Bradford, for God's sake! Open your eyes! She's bleeding you dry, emotionally and otherwise! Adrianne was loyal. Adrianne was real. And you threw her away for this pathetic act!"

Bradford' s head snapped up, his face hardening. He pushed Flora gently away, but his protective stance remained. "You cross a line, Arthur. Flora has been through enough. I will not have you disrespecting her, especially not now." He stood, slowly, painfully, his gaze returning to the floor, anywhere but my covered form. "My priority was to get Flora to safety. She was vulnerable. Adrianne, as you well know, can take care of herself."

Arthur shook his head, a look of profound disappointment on his face. "You truly are a fool, Bradford. A blind, selfish fool." He turned away, his shoulders slumped.

Bradford ignored him, focusing solely on Flora. "I need to get her home," he stated, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument. "She needs rest. Medical attention."

Arthur watched them, his expression one of utter disbelief. He saw Bradford as a lost cause, for now. "Fine," he finally said, his voice devoid of emotion. "Clear the scene. And then get someone to formally identify the body." He gestured towards my gurney.

Bradford, already halfway to the exit with Flora, paused. He turned back, a slight frown on his face. "Identify... what? Who needs to identify her? Her mother?"

Arthur's gaze was steely. "The process, Bradford. Someone needs to officially identify Adrianne Cummings."

The name hung in the air. Adrianne Cummings. My name. The reality of it, the finality, hit Bradford like a wave. He visibly recoiled, his face paling even further. He had avoided saying my name, avoided acknowledging the body.

Flora, clinging to his arm, looked up at him, her eyes wide. "Bradford, no! Don't look! It will only traumatize you more!" she exclaimed, her voice a desperate plea.

Bradford hesitated, his eyes flickering towards the gurney, then back to Flora. He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture of deep conflict. He hated confrontation. He hated pain. And he absolutely hated facing the consequences of his own actions.

"Flora, I..." he began, his voice trailing off.

"Bradford, I can't be alone. Not tonight. Not after everything," she whispered, her hold tightening, her head pressing against his shoulder. Her eyes, however, met mine, my spectral self, and a tiny, almost imperceptible smirk played on her lips. A flicker of triumph.

My ghost heart shattered all over again. She knew. She had always known.

Bradford took a deep, shuddering breath. He looked at Flora, then at Arthur, then at the covered form on the gurney. He couldn't. He wouldn't.

"Arthur, you handle it," Bradford said, his voice barely a whisper, turning completely away from the gurney. "Get her mother, Karter... anyone. I... I can't. Not now. Flora needs me."

He pulled Flora closer, his arm wrapped tightly around her, and without another word, he led her out of the morgue, leaving me, Adrianne, his wife, to be identified by someone else. His last glimpse was not of my body, but of the exit.

I watched him go, a hollow ache where grief should have been. He was gone. He had chosen her. Again. And again. And again.

Arthur stared after them, a look of utter disgust etched on his face. He then turned to the medical examiner. "He won't come back," he said, his voice flat. "Just... process her."

The medical examiner nodded, already moving towards the gurney. Arthur stood there, his shoulders hunched, his gaze fixed on the empty doorway. He knew what kind of man Bradford truly was. And he knew that Adrianne had deserved so much more.

My spirit felt a cold, bitter certainty. Bradford Shannon had failed me. In life, and in death.