Chapter 3

I thought death would bring complete release and that I'd finally stop running in circles around Abbie.

I was wrong.

My soul didn't fade away. Instead, it was bound to Abbie's side by some cruel curse.

Whenever I got more than 30 feet away, a ripping pain tore through me.

I had no choice but to float behind her, following her into the backstage area of the National Folk Music Competition.

Abbie's assistant, Olivia Clarke, was helping her unpack her things from the workshop.

I watched helplessly as the ring I had left behind, still warm from my touch when I gave it up, was casually tossed into the corner of the desk alongside hers.

Abbie glanced over, her face twisted in utter disgust. "Throw that trash away. It ruins my mood just looking at it."

Olivia swept the rings straight into the trash bin.

Floating in midair, my spirit shuddered hard. It turned out my heart could still ache even after death.

Around noon, Abbie pressed her temples, looking exhausted, and let out a couple of soft coughs.

For the past five years, every single day at this hour, I would pretend to be theater support staff just to have her butler, Andy Stewart, deliver a bottle of homemade mulled apple cider to her. But today I was dead, so naturally, no one sent it.

Noticing her cough, Olivia hurried out to a local shop and bought a cup back for her. "Ms. Johnson, try this to soothe your throat."

Abbie took a single sip, and her eyebrows instantly knitted together.

"Why is it so sickeningly sweet? Did they change the kitchen staff today?"

Irritated, she slammed the paper cup back on the table, brown liquid splashing everywhere. "Throw it out. I'm not drinking this."

I let out a bitter smile. How could artificial syrup from a store ever compare to the natural sweetness I had spent three hours brewing and straining three times?

Just then, Abbie's phone buzzed on the desk.

Looking down, I caught the name flashing on the screen—Ivan.

The irritation and coldness in her eyes vanished in a heartbeat.

Without even checking the important contestant files in her hand, she answered the call right away with a rare softness in her voice. "Hello, Ivan?"

"Abbie, are you free tonight? I just came back and really want to see you."

Abbie glanced down at her jammed schedule, but the corners of her mouth curved into a rare smile. She canceled everything without a second thought. "Sure. I'm wrapped up here. I'll head over to you now."

I floated right behind her, following all the way to the entrance of the five-star hotel designated for the competition.

Dressed in a tailored suit, Ivan was already waiting there for her.

Spotting her approach, he walked up with a smile and naturally slipped an arm around her shoulder. "Abbie."

Abbie's body stiffened out of reflex for a brief moment, but she didn't pull away, letting him lead her inside with his arm wrapped around her.

At the restaurant on the second floor, Ivan gallantly pulled out a chair for her and ordered a whole table of dishes.

Midway through the meal, he picked up a piece of asparagus and placed it onto Abbie's plate.

She didn't get angry. Instead, she lowered her head and ate it.

Floating near the ceiling and watching her eat that piece of asparagus, I felt like a blade was being driven straight into my chest.

A year ago, I had tried to serve her the exact same dish. She smashed the plate, leaving a sharp cut across my skin, and called me a repulsive piece of trash.

It was the exact same gesture.

When Ivan did it, it was sweet intimacy after a long separation.

When I did it, I was just a repulsive piece of trash.

If she loved him so much, why did she ever come near me in the first place?

Ivan seemed to be in a fantastic mood. A flawless, gentle smile was pinned to his face the entire time.

He thoughtfully ladled a bowl of seafood chowder and pushed it toward Abbie.

Abbie looked up at him. Her tone carried a rare warmth and concern as she asked, "Are you feeling better? Last time I saw you, you were coughing pretty badly."

I floated in midair, watching the scene play out.

So, she could speak softly and care about someone after all. That tenderness just never belonged to me.

Ivan paused for a second before letting out a self-deprecating chuckle. "Just my chronic pharyngitis. It's fine as long as I don't stay up late. After all… Nobody spends the whole night brewing mulled apple cider for me like back then."

Abbie lowered her eyes slightly. "Did none of your girlfriends after me take good care of you?"

"How could I have the heart to look for anyone else?" Ivan looked deep into her eyes, his face full of deep devotion and silent grievance.