The Ghost We Keep

Cipher's POV

The day started like hell and only got worse.

I walked into the office, and my new secretary was already sitting with one leg crossed over the other in the most intentional way possible. Her skirt barely qualified as fabric, and her blouse looked painted onto her skin.

“Good morning, Mr. D’Amato,” she said, leaning forward just enough for her breasts to nearly spill out.

“That skirt isn’t office-appropriate.” I didn’t bother looking up from my tablet.

She blinked. “Oh, I didn’t realize it was—”

“I did,” I cut her off, flipping the page on my notes. “The next time you show up in anything that short or look me in the eye like you’re undressing me, I’ll fire you without severance.”

Her face fell. She mumbled something about getting coffee and disappeared.

That should’ve been the end of it.

But it wasn’t. The second meeting was worse.

A boardroom full of overpaid executives, and across from me sat Delilah Grant, the regional director of one of the biggest conglomerates in America. Late fifties, lips too red for her age, and a reputation for making everything transactional, including intimacy.

We presented. My numbers were clean. My projections, stronger. It was a no-brainer.

When the others left, she didn’t.

“Close the door,” she said to her assistant. The girl hesitated, then obeyed.

Delilah turned to me, a slow smile on her glossy lips.

“You’re a hard man to reach, Mr. D’Amato.”

I leaned back. “You reached me just fine.”

She stood, walked slowly around the table, heels clicking like a countdown.

“I’ve seen a lot of young men crash after trying to climb this high this fast.” She ran her fingers over the edge of the table. “But you, Cipher… You’ve got presence. Magnetism.”

I didn’t move. “And a proposal that will increase your market margin by twelve percent.”

She laughed softly, then planted both hands on the table and leaned in.

“What I want can’t be calculated in margins.”

I stared at her. “You’re married.”

“So are you.”

“I actually honor my vows.”

“Even though she has no past? No power? I thought you were smarter than this.” She scoffed.

My fists clenched. “If you think you can buy me with sex, you’ve overestimated yourself.”

Her face twisted, ugly and wounded.

“Your loss,” she hissed.

“No,” I said, standing. “Yours.”

I left the office early.

I didn’t want to go home, but I didn’t want to be anywhere else either.

I needed… peace.

I needed her.

Even if I barely spoke to her. Even if I couldn’t let myself touch her without drowning in guilt. She was still the only place that felt quiet.

But when I walked into the mansion and saw her standing in that thin, transparent fabric, I knew the day wasn’t done with me.

She turned, smiling with her lips glossed, and her eyes full of hope.

Hope I didn’t deserve it.

Hope I didn’t ask for.

I wanted to look away, but I didn’t. I watched her walk. Watched her pour the wine. The way her hips moved. The way her robe slipped down one shoulder.

She looked like every other woman who’d tried to throw herself at me today, and that was the problem.

She wasn’t them.

And whatever had gotten into her had better get out, fast.

In the bedroom, I tried to play along. I let her touch me. Let her kiss me.

But the more she reached for me, the angrier I got.

Angry at the women who used their bodies like bargaining chips. Angry at Delilah’s threats. Angry at myself for letting Sophie become just another reminder.

So I snapped.

I said the worst things a man could say to someone who’d done nothing but try.

I threw her on the bed and spat venom like a coward, calling her names that made my chest ache the second they left my mouth.

And then I watched her fold in on herself like I’d struck her across the face.

When she ran, I didn’t stop her.

And that… was my greatest sin.

Hours passed.

I sat in the dark, no lights on, the only sound in the room was the slow ticking of the old grandfather clock at the end of the hall.

She didn’t return.

Where the hell could she have gone?

She had no one. No past. No family. No friends.

I made sure of that.

I looked at my phone. Nothing.

Something pressed against my chest, sharp and burning.

What if she never comes back?

What if she ends up like Emilia…?

The thought twisted my gut so violently that I had to stand, and just as I reached for my keys, my phone rang.

It was an unknown number.

I hesitated a little before answering.

“Mr. D’Amato?”

“Yes.”

“This is Dr. Bruce, from Soteria Medical Centre. Your wife, Sophie D’Amato, was brought in tonight. She’s stable for now, but...”

The rest of the words blurred.

Hospital.

Accident.

Unconscious.

The steering wheel groaned under my grip as I raced through the city like a madman. Rain was coming down now, a slow drizzle, smearing streetlights across the windshield, but all I could see was her.

Bent, broken, and bloodied.

Just like Emilia.

It was happening again.

My chest tightened.

Please don’t die.

Please… not again.

I could still hear the metal crunching from Emilia’s crash. The gurgle of her breath when I found her on the side of the road. The lifeless fingers still gripping the edge of her swollen belly.

She hadn’t spoken.

Not once.

Not before they pronounced her dead with our baby still inside her.

I slammed my hand against the steering wheel. Once. Twice.

Sophie wasn’t supposed to get hurt.

She was supposed to stay safe. Hidden. Tucked away from the chaos I lived in.

And now I’d driven her away...straight into the same fate that stole everything from me once before.

I didn’t deserve her, but I wasn’t ready to lose her either.

Not now.

Not like this.