Chapter 3

Inside the conference room, the executives barely dared to breathe. They all kept their heads down, afraid to draw her attention.

"Get out. All of you."

Fiona's voice was hoarse with exhaustion.

Once the door closed, she was alone in the enormous office. Except for me, floating beside her.

She stood there for a long time, like a statue. Then, slowly, one step at a time, she walked over to the trash can in the corner. She bent down and picked the broken phone back up from a pile of discarded papers.

I knew she wasn't picking it up because she missed me. She wanted revenge.

Fiona wanted to find me, flaunt her success, and humiliate me. She wanted to rub my failure in my face and make sure I knew I was beneath her.

Fiona unlocked the phone and opened the third email. It had been scheduled to be sent two years earlier.

"Fiona, I'm getting married. My bride's a city girl with wide hips, perfect for having kids. We've already had a son. Don't bother coming to the wedding. I'm afraid you'll be jealous when you see how well I'm doing."

After reading it, she gave a cruel smile.

She pulled out her latest high-end phone and dialed the number listed at the bottom of the email.

I watched her fingers tap the screen as her lips moved silently. She must have been rehearsing countless insults in her head.

Fiona wanted to tell me how rich and powerful she was now, and how many men were chasing after her.

She wanted to tell me I was a complete and utter loser, destined to spend the rest of my life stuck in the gutter.

Instead of connecting, the call was answered by a cold, automated voice.

"The number you have dialed is not in service."

Fiona froze. The mocking smile on her face stiffened.

I floated in front of her, watching the bewilderment spread across her face.

Oh, Fiona, that number had been disconnected five years ago. In Northern Marova, phone numbers belonging to the dead weren't kept.

Fiona tried calling again, unwilling to believe what she'd just heard.

"The number you have dialed is not in service."

The result was the same.

"Billy Carter!"

She snarled at the phone, her voice filled with anger at being made a fool of.

"You're avoiding me, aren't you? Did you leave me a fake number? Just you wait! I'll turn over every stone to find you."

Fiona thought I'd deliberately changed my number to avoid her. Her anger had completely clouded her judgment.

She suddenly grabbed something from her desk and hurled it to the floor.

A sharp crack rang out. It was a small clay doll, smashed to pieces.

I'd made it for her as a child, molding it out of mud from the fields. She'd called it ugly, yet she'd always kept it by her side.

She brought it all the way from our remote mountain town to the big city and placed it in the most prominent spot on her office desk. Now it had become an outlet for her rage.

The broken pieces of the clay doll cut her hand. Bright red drops of blood fell one by one onto the expensive wool carpet, spreading into a small, dark red stain.

I wanted to cover her wound, but my hands passed through her body again and again.

"Fiona, please stop. You'll hurt yourself."

Just then, the office door swung open.

Walter had been escorted out earlier, but now he'd returned. Somehow, Walter had made his way back upstairs.

He took in the mess on the floor and the blood on Fiona's hand. His eyes turned cold.

"Stop calling."

He didn't raise his voice, but his words hit hard.

"That number belonged to a dead man."

Fiona looked up at him with bloodshot eyes, glaring furiously.

"You're working with him! You're both trying to deceive me."

Walter shook his head and spoke slowly, enunciating every word.

"Five years ago, the person who owned that number died at a scam center in Northern Marova."

"Dead?"

Fiona laughed as though she'd heard the most ridiculous joke in the world. There was a hint of madness in her laughter.

"Mr. Bennett, you're so determined to help that loser scam me out of money that you'd even go so far as to wish him dead?"