My Husband Faked His Death, So I Held His Funeral

"Help me file a petition to have Alex declared legally dead."

She asked hesitantly, "You're giving up the search?"

My eyes burned with tears. I stared across the room at Alex, his arm still wrapped around Chloe, and struggled to keep my voice steady. "I can't find him."

Why keep looking for someone who chose to hide from me?

I ended the call and went back to the VIP room.

My assistant took one look at my face and pressed a glass of top-shelf whiskey into my hand.

"Boss, what happened to Alex was tragic. But you can't ruin your health over this. If you do, he'll never rest in peace."

I looked down at the glass. Its cold surface pressed against my palm as tears spilled down my cheeks.

I blinked back the rest and asked quietly, "Do you think a man would ever fake his own disappearance just to fool his wife?"

My assistant froze. Shock and disgust crossed her face.

"Oh my God, Vivian."

She was so stunned that she forgot her usual formality.

"If that's true, then any man who treats his wife's feelings like some kind of game doesn't deserve to live."

I wiped away my tears, set down the glass, and stood.

"You're right. It's time I let Alex go."

I turned and headed home.

The vast penthouse was deathly quiet. For the past three months, I'd come to dread that silence more than anything.

Every time I came home, I'd switch on every light, pour Alex his usual drink, and leave it on the coffee table as if he were still there.

I sat down on the sofa and picked up the antique pocket watch from the table.

When Alex gave it to me, he'd sworn it was proof that his family had accepted me.

But now, all I could hear was the irritation in his voice at the club.

"Vivian used to be sweet and gentle, but I don't know what happened to her after we got married. She became so controlling. Playing dead should teach her a lesson and get her to stop trying to control everything I do."

One of his friends laughed and teased him. "If Vivian annoys you so much, why not divorce her, take half her money, and leave?"

Alex burst out laughing. "Divorce? Not a chance. Without her, I couldn't even afford my golf club membership. I just want her to keep giving me money like an obedient dog."

Chloe poured him another drink. "I'm the thoughtful one, aren't I? We've been friends for years, and I've never once tried to control you."

"Of course, darling. You're the only one in the world who understands me."

The memory made my stomach turn.

Without a second thought, I tossed the pocket watch into the trash.

Then I opened my iPad and quickly typed out an invitation.

I sent it to New York's elite, the media, and everyone in the Stirling family's extended circle.

"A memorial service for Alex Stirling will be held at St. Patrick's Cathedral at 8:00 p.m. next Friday."

The second I hit send, messages from Alex's friends flooded my phone.

"Have you lost your mind?! What the hell are you doing? Alex hasn't even been found. How can you hold a memorial service?"

"Alex isn't dead! What will this do to the family's reputation? Cancel it immediately!"

"If Alex comes back and sees his own memorial service, he'll be furious! Think carefully, Vivian. Do you really want to upset him?"

I ignored the first two messages and replied only to the last one.

"If he's dead, he'd have every right to be angry if we didn't even give him a funeral."

Then I put down my phone and started going through everything Alex had left behind.

I'd spent most of the past three months searching the towns near where he'd disappeared, so I'd barely been home.

Apart from the bed, nothing in the bedroom had changed.

I opened the closet and froze.

More than half of Alex's clothes were missing, and the hidden compartment at the back of the safe was empty.

A bitter laugh escaped me as tears spilled down my cheeks.

I'd spent three months searching for him in Norway, nearly freezing to death in temperatures sixty degrees below zero.

I'd only come home to rest when I physically couldn't keep going.

While I'd been pushing myself to the breaking point, Alex had been enjoying himself in Manhattan.

He'd been treating me like his personal ATM.