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The Ghost Wife's Billion Dollar Tech Comeback
img img The Ghost Wife's Billion Dollar Tech Comeback img Chapter 8 No.8
8 Chapters
Chapter 10 No.10 img
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Chapter 12 No.12 img
Chapter 13 No.13 img
Chapter 14 No.14 img
Chapter 15 No.15 img
Chapter 16 No.16 img
Chapter 17 No.17 img
Chapter 18 No.18 img
Chapter 19 No.19 img
Chapter 20 No.20 img
Chapter 21 No.21 img
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Chapter 24 No.24 img
Chapter 25 No.25 img
Chapter 26 No.26 img
Chapter 27 No.27 img
Chapter 28 No.28 img
Chapter 29 No.29 img
Chapter 30 No.30 img
Chapter 31 No.31 img
Chapter 32 No.32 img
Chapter 33 No.33 img
Chapter 34 No.34 img
Chapter 35 No.35 img
Chapter 36 No.36 img
Chapter 37 No.37 img
Chapter 38 No.38 img
Chapter 39 No.39 img
Chapter 40 No.40 img
Chapter 41 No.41 img
Chapter 42 No.42 img
Chapter 43 No.43 img
Chapter 44 No.44 img
Chapter 45 No.45 img
Chapter 46 No.46 img
Chapter 47 No.47 img
Chapter 48 No.48 img
Chapter 49 No.49 img
Chapter 50 No.50 img
Chapter 51 No.51 img
Chapter 52 No.52 img
Chapter 53 No.53 img
Chapter 54 No.54 img
Chapter 55 No.55 img
Chapter 56 No.56 img
Chapter 57 No.57 img
Chapter 58 No.58 img
Chapter 59 No.59 img
Chapter 60 No.60 img
Chapter 61 No.61 img
Chapter 62 No.62 img
Chapter 63 No.63 img
Chapter 64 No.64 img
Chapter 65 No.65 img
Chapter 66 No.66 img
Chapter 67 No.67 img
Chapter 68 No.68 img
Chapter 69 No.69 img
Chapter 70 No.70 img
Chapter 71 No.71 img
Chapter 72 No.72 img
Chapter 73 No.73 img
Chapter 74 No.74 img
Chapter 75 No.75 img
Chapter 76 No.76 img
Chapter 77 No.77 img
Chapter 78 No.78 img
Chapter 79 No.79 img
Chapter 80 No.80 img
Chapter 81 No.81 img
Chapter 82 No.82 img
Chapter 83 No.83 img
Chapter 84 No.84 img
Chapter 85 No.85 img
Chapter 86 No.86 img
Chapter 87 No.87 img
Chapter 88 No.88 img
Chapter 89 No.89 img
Chapter 90 No.90 img
Chapter 91 No.91 img
Chapter 92 No.92 img
Chapter 93 No.93 img
Chapter 94 No.94 img
Chapter 95 No.95 img
Chapter 96 No.96 img
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Chapter 8 No.8

No. 8

A crack of thunder shook the Manhattan skyline. Rain lashed against the massive industrial windows of the Loft.

Eulalie bolted upright in bed, gasping.

Thunder.

Elara was terrified of thunder. Since she was two, she would scream until she vomited unless Eulalie held her and sang "Golden Slumbers."

Eulalie grabbed her phone. She paced the room, the concrete cold under her bare feet.

She dialed the landline. It rang and rang. No answer. Someone had unplugged it.

She dialed Caden's cell. Voicemail.

She dialed the nanny's cell.

"Hello?" A sleepy, annoyed voice.

"Sarah? Is Elara okay? The storm..."

"Mrs. Holloway?" Sarah yawned. "Uh, Mr. Holloway is in there with her. He's... shouting a bit. Trying to get her to stop crying."

Eulalie's blood ran cold. Caden didn't have patience. He yelled when he was stressed.

"Put her on. Please."

"I can't, ma'am. He took everyone's phones. He said... he said you're harassing the family."

Harassing.

"Just check on her," Eulalie begged. "Tell her... tell her the thunder is just clouds high-fiving."

"I... I can't. Goodnight."

Click.

Eulalie stood in the dark, the lightning illuminating her silhouette. She felt like an animal trapped in a cage. She threw the phone onto the mattress. It bounced harmlessly.

In the Penthouse, Elara was sobbing into her pillow. Caden stood in the doorway, looking disheveled and furious.

"It's just noise, Elara! Grow up!" he shouted over a clap of thunder. "Your mother isn't here to baby you! Stop it!"

Elara choked on a sob, burying her head deeper.

The next morning. The rain had stopped.

Eulalie stood before her computer. She opened the schedule for the Tech Summit.

Day 1: Keynote Speech - Nexus AI.

She circled it with her mouse cursor.

She opened the chat with Jory.

Ghost: "Change of plans. I'm not just attending. I want to be on stage."

Jory: "Whoa. Are you sure? That's... a declaration of war."

Ghost: "Holloway Holdings is going to be there looking for a savior. I want them to see exactly who they threw away."

Jory: "I love it. I'll prep the demo. Welcome home, boss."

Eulalie walked to the garment rack. The Yves Saint Laurent suit hung there, black as midnight.

She ran her fingers over the silk lapel.

She wasn't a mother today. She wasn't a wife. She was a weapon.

She went to the bathroom mirror. She pulled out a temporary tattoo she had bought-a small, geometric butterfly. She applied it to the inside of her wrist, right over her pulse point.

It was a symbol. Transformation.

She looked at her eyes. They were cold, clear. The woman who begged for phone calls at 3 AM was gone.

"Let's go," she said to her reflection.

---

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