Chapter 1

I watch the wake from the corner of the grand ballroom, a place where I once hosted glittering parties. Now, I'm just a cold spot in the air. A month has passed since my funeral, but the scent of lilies still hangs heavy, a sweet, cloying smell of decay.

My husband, Governor Marcus Thorne, stands by the roaring fireplace. He isn't grieving. He's simmering, his knuckles white around a glass of whiskey. His entire career, his power, this very roof over his head-it all came from me, from my family's name and money. A fact he both used and hated.

His chief of staff, Isabella Rios, is at his side. Izzy. I took her in years ago, a hungry intern with sharp eyes. Now she looks pale and fragile, leaning on Marcus for support. She's supposedly dying, a rare form of aplastic anemia. And I, her perfect genetic match, was her only hope for a bone marrow transplant.

That's the story Marcus tells himself. It's the lie Izzy fed him.

He believes I faked my own death to spite him, to deny him the one thing he needs to save his precious Izzy. He thinks I'm hiding somewhere in this sprawling estate, playing a cruel game.

My little brother, Leo, only ten years old, walks towards him. He' s small for his age, swallowed by a black suit that was once our father's. After our parents died, I became his legal guardian. He was my whole world.

"Marcus," Leo's voice is a thin whisper. "People are leaving. You should say goodbye."

Marcus turns, his eyes landing on Leo like a predator. He sees me in Leo's face, in the stubborn set of his jaw.

"Where is she, Leo?"

"She's gone, Marcus. She's dead."

Marcus' s hand moves so fast I barely register it. The sound of his palm connecting with Leo' s cheek echoes in the silent room. Leo stumbles back, a red handprint blooming on his pale skin.

"Don't lie to me," Marcus snarls, his voice low and dangerous. "She put you up to this, didn't she? This little performance."

He doesn't see a grieving child. He sees a pawn in my imaginary game. He straightens his tie, his public mask slipping back into place. He strides to the center of the room, his voice booming with false authority.

"Thank you all for coming," he announces to the remaining guests. "But this charade is over. My wife, Elara, is playing a sick joke. She is alive and well, hiding in this house. I will find her."

A wave of confusion and shock ripples through the crowd. I scream, a silent, useless sound that no one hears. I am a ghost, a powerless witness to his madness. He is destroying my memory, my family, all based on a lie whispered in his ear by the woman who orchestrated my death.