Ghosts Don't Wear Pearls

POV: Nova

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The Coldwell estate sat behind wrought-iron gates like it had secrets it didn’t want to share. Everything was too polished, too perfect. The hedges sculpted like they were afraid to grow out of line, the gravel so smooth under my tires I barely heard a crunch as I rolled in. The engine of my bike growled once before I killed it. The quiet that followed pressed against my ears like a warning.

The front door opened just as I pulled off my helmet. Jace stood there, leaning on the frame with a small smile. He looked like the house had tried to make him one of its parts. Hair neatly combed. Collared shirt. That pressed kind of clean you only get from people-pleasing too often.

“You look like trouble,” he said, stepping down.

I hopped off the bike and smirked. “And you still look like a lawyer’s intern.”

He hugged me briefly, his cologne soft and forgettable. Familiar. Safe.

“Come in,” he said. “Dad’s in his study.”

We walked through the house together. The chandelier above the foyer sparkled in that overdone way rich people liked. Everything still smelled like lemon polish and fake warmth. Genevieve’s signature scent. The scent of trying too hard.

She was in the living room, sitting on the cream leather couch like she owned the blood in the walls. Legs crossed, glass of something icy in hand, a smirk blooming the second she saw me.

“Well, well,” she said. “The prodigal biker returns. Try not to get chain grease on Jace, dear. I just had that shirt pressed.”

Her daughter, Aspen, was beside her. Same shade of venom in her grin. Same glittery lip gloss.

Jace ignored them. “Dad’s in the study. Upstairs.”

I nodded and moved to walk past, trying not to breathe too deep. Her perfume always made me feel like I was choking on rose petals.

“Cute jacket,” Genevieve added as I passed. “So casual. You really do commit to the starving artist aesthetic.”

I didn’t stop. I didn’t blink. I didn’t care. Until I saw it.

The necklace around her neck.

White pearls. Small, delicate, resting on her collarbones like they had every right to be there. But they didn’t. I’d seen those pearls on another neck. Softer. Kinder. My mother’s.

I stopped cold. Turned.

“Where did you get that?”

Genevieve looked down like she hadn’t even remembered she was wearing it. Then her smile widened.

“This old thing?” she said, fingers brushing the pearls. “Your father gave it to me. Wish he’d gone for something bigger, though. This one looks so cheap.”

My blood burned. Not just at her words but at the ease with which she wore something sacred. Like it was hers. Like she had earned it.

I didn’t answer. I didn’t snap. I just turned and walked. Straight up the stairs, two steps at a time, until I reached the study.

The door was closed. I didn’t knock. Just pushed it open and stepped in.

He was behind his desk, papers in hand, glasses low on his nose. The room smelled like aged books and old scotch. It looked the same. Nothing ever changed in here.

“Why the fuck would you give her mom’s necklace?” I said.

He looked up slowly. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t sigh. Just raised one brow.

“Welcome, Nova. So nice to see you. How are you?”

I stared at him.

“Answer me.”

He leaned back in the chair, dropped the pen he was holding.

“No one was using it. I thought it would look good on Genevieve.”

“No one was using it?” I repeated. “Are you serious? That was mom’s. You can’t just drape her memory around someone who never even liked her.”

He stood. Tall. Calm. Annoyed.

“Watch your tone.”

“No,” I said, stepping forward. “You took down her pictures. You packed up her things. You stopped saying her name. And now you’re dressing your new wife in her jewelry. Do you know how messed up that is?”

His jaw tensed. “That necklace was sitting in a drawer for years. Your mother is gone. I have a wife now.”

“She’s not gone,” I said, voice low. “You just buried her faster than the grave did.”

He looked away. Not because I was right. Because I hit something too raw.

I turned to leave.

“Nova,” he said.

I stopped but didn’t turn.

He came closer. His hand rested gently on my shoulder, then moved to the back of my head. He kissed my forehead.

“Take care of yourself, please.”

“We wouldn’t argue so much if you didn’t pick them over me,” I said.

He didn’t answer.

I walked out.

Jace was waiting in the hallway, hands in his pockets. He looked at me and frowned.

“You okay?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

He didn’t push. Just squeezed my hand. Brief. Reassuring.

I made it to the front door. My hand was already on the handle when Genevieve’s voice cut across the room.

“Make sure you didn’t steal anything on your way out, darling. Would hate to count my jewelry later and come up short.”

I didn’t answer. Didn’t look back. Just walked out, slammed the door behind me, and let the sound echo in my ears like applause.

The cold bit into my skin as I threw my leg over the bike. Helmet on. Engine rumbling. I peeled off down the driveway like I was trying to outrun something I couldn’t name.

---

Home again. I dropped my keys into the bowl by the door. Peeled off my jacket. My shirt. My boots.

I fell face-first onto my bed. Groaned into the pillow. Checked the time.

10:30 PM.

I pulled myself up. Walked to the closet. Pulled on the red lingerie set. Strappy. Bold. The kind that made silence feel obedient.

Light makeup. Red lips. Wig. Mask.

I clicked on the camera. Adjusted the lighting. My voice dipped low, just loud enough to command attention.

“Look at my good little boys. All eager and waiting for me.”

Let the games begin.