Chapter 2

The search for Christeen Hahn was a massive, city-wide operation, but it yielded nothing. Jaimen Cline grew more frustrated by the hour.

His assistant stood before him, head bowed. "Mr. Cline, we've checked every database, every flight manifest, every bus ticket out of the city for the last three years. There's no trace of them. It's like they vanished."

Jaimen slammed his fist on his mahogany desk, rattling a crystal glass. "Vanished? People don't just vanish! Find them!"

Ivanna sat on the plush leather sofa, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. She had just come from the hospital, her face pale and drawn.

"Jaimen," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I saw Timothy. He's so weak. He called out for his daddy."

She looked up at him, her eyes swimming with tears. "He keeps asking why his aunt won't come to save him. He's just a child. What did he do to deserve this?"

Her performance was flawless, designed to stoke Jaimen's anger and guilt. It worked.

He grabbed his phone and sent a text to my old number, a number that had been disconnected for three years.

"Christeen, I know you can see this. Get back here right now with Lily. If you're not at the hospital by tomorrow morning, I will make your mother wish she was never born."

Silence. No reply.

His rage intensified. He sent another message.

"You dare defy me? Do you think you can hide from me? I will drag you back and subject you to the Cline family's punishment. You will kneel in the ancestral hall and beg for forgiveness."

Ivanna walked over and gently placed a hand on his arm. "Don't be so harsh, Jaimen. Christeen is just scared. She loves Lily, that's all."

She sighed dramatically. "Maybe... maybe we can offer her something. Money? A house? Anything to convince her. I'll get on my knees and beg her if I have to. I'll do anything for Timothy."

Jaimen looked at her, his expression softening slightly at her apparent selflessness. His mind, however, drifted back to that day in the hospital three years ago.

He remembered the look on my face. Pure, raw terror.

"Please, Jaimen, don't," I had begged him, my voice cracking. "The doctors said it's risky. Lily has a congenital heart murmur. It's minor, but a procedure this invasive... it could kill her!"

Jaimen had brushed my concerns aside without a second thought. "The doctor also said her marrow is a 100% match for Timothy. His is a 50% match. It's a simple choice."

"He is not her brother!" I had screamed, my hands clutching his shirt. "You can't sacrifice our daughter for your son with another woman!"

His cold reply still haunted the air around me, a ghost of a sound. "He is my son. That's all that matters."

I remembered the feel of his hand striking my face, the sharp sting that silenced my protests. He had shoved me to the ground. "You have no say in this. I decide what happens to my children."

He had turned to the doctor, his voice devoid of all emotion. "Proceed with the extraction. Take more than you need. I want her to know the pain of having something precious taken from her."

The memory was so vivid, it was as if my ghostly form could feel the ache in my bones again.

Now, sitting in his opulent office, Jaimen ran a hand over his face, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. He wasn't grieving for me or Lily. He was angry at the inconvenience.

"That stubborn woman," he muttered to himself. "If she had just listened back then, Timothy wouldn't be suffering like this now."

I floated near the ceiling, a silent, invisible observer. A bitter, soundless laugh escaped me.

He was searching for a living woman to punish, to bend to his will.

He had no idea he was hunting for a ghost.