Ghost Marriage Novels & Stories

" Two guards in black immediately moved in, ignoring Nellie's struggle as they dragged her toward the exit. Around them, guests lifted their phones, snapping pictures and laughing under their breath. Voices overlapped, mocking how pathetic the Scott siblings were, laughing that people like them might as well be dead. What they didn't know was that I was already dead. And Nellie was suffering from the same illness I had. She didn't have much time left either.

"Ms. Granger, your purchase of our staged death service is successful. When the time comes, we will erase your identity and arrange a death that meets your expectations so that you can leave without worries," the staff member on the other end of the phone said politely. I responded with a flat hum. "Set it for three days from now. I need time to pack my things." After hanging up, I dragged my aching body back toward the hospital room. I had barely reached the door when I ran into my husband, James Lambert. The moment he saw me, concern flooded his face as he hurried over.

Mia asks, her brow furrowed with concern. I take a deep breath, glancing at Will, who nods subtly, encouraging me. “You have to promise not to tell anyone,” I say, my heart racing. “Little Frida’s future depends on it.” They all nod, the seriousness of my tone sinking in. “We promise,” Lila assures me, her eyes wide with anticipation. I take another breath, my heart pounding in my chest. “The marriage… it’s a scam. Will and I are just friends. We got married because it was the only way he could get custody of Frida.”

Then the rider lifted both hands. Not in surrender. With caution. Like someone approaching a wounded animal. Their voice came out distorted through a modulator. “Ghost,” they said softly. Everything inside me stilled. Only three people ever called me that. One was dead—Saint. One should’ve been dead—Shade. And the third… The third was an ally long buried in the dark. A ghost from my old life. The rider reached up and slowly—very slowly—removed their helmet. My breath caught.

He drummed his fingers on the table. “Ghost. No last name. Adopted by Christopher Blackwell as a child. No blood relatives listed. No history of lasting relationships.” Vladimir put special emphasis on that word before trailing off. “Greymount, you said you sensed something earlier?” “I have commitment issues.” Snatching the olive from my drink, Ghost placed it between his teeth. “My favorite food is pancakes and I last took a shit this morning. I’ve also been having this reoccurring dream lately—”

His death sent Eliza into a steep decline, and within two weeks, she followed him to the grave. Clara was their only child—or so it seemed. As their nominal son-in-law, I begrudgingly arranged a modest funeral. The event was desolate; no mourners came to pay respects. With minimal effort, I had their bodies cremated and buried alongside Clara, sealing their twisted legacy in the same cold ground. After the funeral, I returned to their home to sort through their belongings. It was then, while rifling through a dusty bookshelf, that I discovered two paternity test reports wedged in a hidden crevice.

And now, when we met again, I was already bones in the ground—and she had become a powerful, influential billionaire. But Nicky was sick. And she needed me. So she came looking for me—the man she hated with every fiber of her being—and unleashed her vengeance on everyone I loved. But I was already dead. Suddenly, Adeline's cold voice cut through my thoughts, pulling me back. "If Samuel won't show himself, I'll just have to turn up the pressure." My stilled heart lurched. The next instant, Adeline gave the order. Her men swarmed my elderly father and hanged him alive—right there, in front of my grave.

Ghost was the thing that preceded me into rooms — the knowledge of what I was capable of, moving ahead of me like a shadow cast by something not yet visible. Ghost was the reason people paid what they paid. Ghost was the reason I had survived in a world that disposed of people with the casual efficiency of a man clearing a desk. And now Ghost was dead. Officially. On the morning news. Declared deceased by a police department that had never once come close to finding me and was now closing the case with the confidence of people who had confused absence with conclusion. I almost laughed. The almost-laugh died somewhere in my chest before it reached my face.

“You are so strange I almost thought you were not Hwagu!” Hwagu chuckled, break the hugged, “So if I'm not Hwagu, you think I'm some sort of ghost appearing infront of you?” Mariya shookt to hear such a words, as if he was trying to convey a possibility, so she shouted, “Ghost aren't real!” “You sure?” “You're not the ghost even they were real!” Mariya smiled, as if to say something, then she continued, “The ghost have never been so handsome as yours. You will still want to be a ghost?”

I wasn't cursed by a witch or something, I didn't do or say anything wrong that could put me in such position, well if you don't count the fact that I went back to see the painting behind Connor's back. But, just because I came behind his back doesn't mean I'll get stuck in the painting! But I'm not even stuck in the painting am I? That's not how it works is it?, if I was stuck in the painting I won't able to move right? And this doesn't seem to be Connor's prank either, she was able to move through me like I'm some ghost, I'm not a ghost right? I have to die before becoming one, this is really frustrating.