La Esposa Del Fantasma Novels & Stories

Celeste hisses, the sharp blade that has countlessly pierced my flesh today now pressed against my throat. I spit in her face. "¡Vete al diablo (go to hell)!" I scream in her face. Her hand lashes out, delivering a sharp slap across my cheek. Despite the stinging, I meet her gaze with a defiant glare. She chuckles darkly, turning her body so we're both facing the camera. "Your wife here wants me to gut her like a goddamn fish. I hope you're still watching, Son, wouldn't want to miss her screams," she taunts, her voice dripping with malice.

My blood roared in my ears. "Ramona. God, you smell incredible. Bet you've never had anything like what I'm packing. Let me show you what you've been missing." She lay there, eyes squeezed shut, still trying to look resistant. "I'm your wife's best friend... We really shouldn't..." But her body betrayed her. Her legs had fallen open, revealing the damp spot spreading across her white panties. I tore them aside. The sight that greeted me was too much to resist. I lifted her legs onto my shoulders and buried myself between them.

If she faced criminal charges, she would lose everything. Panic took over, and she blurted out, “I’m Wendy! You can’t arrest me!” Everyone froze, then burst into laughter. “Are you insane? She’s dead. You dare impersonate her?” She screamed wildly, “I am Wendy! I am not dead! You know me! Tell them! I am your wife!” All eyes turned to me. I said calmly, “You are Stacy. My wife died long ago. You even handled the cremation yourself.”

I had been reborn. The nurse's voice on the phone grew more urgent as I remained silent. "Dr. Kingsley, please hurry to the operating room. The patient has already been brought in." … In my previous life, as soon as I received the nurse's call, I had rushed over without a moment's hesitation. It wasn't until I reached the operating table that I realized the hemorrhaging patient was my own wife, Clara, in the late stages of her pregnancy. Not long before that, we had spoken on the phone. She had told me she was at home doing her nightly yoga routine. So how had she ended up here, bleeding so profusely?

Isabella halted in front of the door, recognizing the familiar voice. "Isn't that Sheila, your husband's best friend?" Manuela whispered. Isabella nodded, sensing an urge to step back and keep her innocent gaze. Despite that, she pulled the door open. The room was illuminated, revealing her husband entangled with Sheila, his alleged best friend. They lay exposed, devoid of any sheets. Isabella shivered as coldness ran down her spine. Her heart raced, threatening to escape her mouth as she discovered her husband shamelessly cheating on their marital bed.

After waiting for almost an hour, I heard the sound of her car driving into the mansion where she was living, and at the same time, I received a message from Ben, who I had asked to stay outside and let me know when she came back and also if she came back alone or with someone. Some minutes later, I heard her footsteps as she walked towards the entrance door, and on opening the door, she didn't see me at first, as everywhere was still dark; she only got to see me after switching on the light, and the very moment she saw me, she screamed in horror like someone who has seen a ghost. Seeing the way she screamed the very moment she saw me, I almost burst into a round of laughter because this was

He was a weapon whose trigger was being pulled by a ghost. Elena stopped two feet away from him, her tattered linen shift stained with the blood of her escape, her silver eyes locking onto the blank face of her husband. Through the fated-mate bond, she reached out one last time, but she was met with nothing but a vast, hollow, and silent void. He looked up slowly, his milky eyes passing right through her as if she were nothing more than a phantom haunting his dark castle.

"You—you! What do you think you're doing?! I'll call the cops for harassment!" I yanked up her sleeve, revealing the familiar mole on her wrist. A bitter laugh escaped my throat. "Still pretending? I'm your husband, Hilary. I know every inch of your body. Most importantly, why are you pretending not to know me?" Her expression darkened, lips pressed tightly as she glared at me. "Husband? Are you insane? Keep this up and I'll scream for help." I chuckled coldly. "Go ahead. Let everyone hear. Let's see if they believe me—or better yet, we'll let your new man come and see for himself."

That deliberate, practiced fragility now only made me sick. The forbidden ritual had begun dispersing from her body as the child was delivered. My senses were sharp enough to catch the strange residue of it. And I could also detect what the excess of my blood had done to her—she had already turned. She was a ghoul now, bound to me. The overexposure had clouded her pupils. The hunger in them was ugly and obvious. Another memory surfaced. Early in Elena's pregnancy, when she had been struggling with the physical toll, she had never complained. She had just leaned against me quietly and asked if she was being a burden to me.

"Talia, I'm not interested in your pocket change." She didn't snap. She laughed, turning to the crowd. "Sorry you all had to see this. He's my husband's old benefactor—did him a favor once. Out of gratitude, I've been covering his food and clothes. Guess it wasn't enough. Now he's here trying to wreck our family." Just like that, she flipped everything—swapped me with Danny and made me the pathetic leech. I pressed my tongue to my burning cheek and walked straight at her, face cold.