Paula's POV
I thought death would be quiet.
Peaceful.
Some kind of soft fade into black where pain stops and you float into nothingness, maybe finally get to sleep without waking up crying.
But it wasn't like that.
At least not for me.
It was rage. White-hot, screaming rage that curled around my spirit like fire that wouldn't stop burning.
I hovered above the cliffside, staring down at my own body like I was some ghost watching someone else's tragedy. But it was my tragedy. That was my blood soaking into the rocks. My broken hands. My lifeless eyes still wide open. And it was them who put me there.
Noah and Cassie stood above, framed by moonlight, looking down like they were admiring a job well done.
I should've haunted them right then. I should've grabbed them by the throat and yanked them over the edge with me. But I couldn't touch them. I couldn't scream, nor could I even blink.
I wasn't a person anymore.
Just... a powerless audience member watching from the front row seat.
Cassie lit a cigarette, something I have never seen her do. She did it so casually like she hadn't just murdered her stepdaughter. Like this was just another Tuesday.
"Push her further," she said, waving her hand. "We don't want any rescue parties thinking she crawled halfway back to life."
Noah didn't say anything at first. He just knelt down beside the edge and shoved my body again with his boot. My head lolled. My arm twisted.
I wanted to tear him apart.
"She was pregnant," he finally muttered.
Cassie rolled her eyes. "And whose fault is that?"
"You think she was lying?"
Cassie turned to him. Slow and sharp. "It doesn't matter. She's gone. It's done. And now the estate is ours. Fully. Finally."
He didn't argue. Not really. It seems this was what he truly wanted.
I floated after them, not knowing how. My body stayed behind, but my soul clung to them like smoke.
We made it back to the house in minutes that should've taken longer. Maybe time didn't work right for spirits and ghosts. Maybe I was speeding through the world like a force no one could see or feel.
They stormed into the kitchen like nothing had happened. Cassie poured herself a drink. What appears to be whiskey. Three fingers, no ice.
Noah's hands were shaking.
"Do you think she knew about us," he said. "This whole time?"
"She probably did. That little idiot was smart, but she was too weak to fight back though." Cassie took a sip, licked her lips. "That's the good thing about women like Paula. They cling to hope even when it's choking them. Even when the signs are smacking them in the face. Well, that is good for us."
"You think anyone will ask questions?"
Cassie scoffed. "She's been spiraling for months. She's got no friends, no allies, no pack ties since her father cut her off from council meetings. Everyone's already whispering about how she hasn't been the same since your so called wedding. She was pointless as a person, just a low hanging fruit that we have plucked off."
Noah dropped into a chair, rubbing his temples. "You are cold."
She smirked. "And you're not?"
He didn't answer that. And he didn't have to.
I watched them rehearse the lie they would tell anyone who gives a fuck. Word for word.
"She left a note," Cassie said. "You'll find it in her journal. You'll cry on cue, say she was distant lately. Say you tried everything."
"Her car is still at the cliff."
"Good," Cassie said. "That helps."
"You think they'll believe she jumped?"
"Paula Whitmore," she said with a twisted smile, "was a broken, grieving orphan who lost her father, and couldn't keep her man, and her mind. Of course she jumped. No one will question it."
I screamed. I don't know how, but I screamed. It didn't sound out. It didn't shake the walls or make a dent. It tore through me and went nowhere, like bleeding into a vacuum.
I'd been killed.
Betrayed.
And now I was being erased.
But it got worse.
It always gets worse because when it rains it pours.
Cassie turned on some music, soft jazz, like this was a date night, and sat on Noah's lap. Her hands slid under his shirt.
"Stop," he said, grabbing her wrist. "I can't. Please not now."
Cassie frowned. "You're getting sentimental."
"For goodness sakes, she was my wife."
She pulled her hand away and stood. "Please. You've been screwing me since before the wedding. Don't act like you give a fuck now just because she is dead."
I froze.
Wait.
Before?
"You said—"
"She was a means to an end, Noah," Cassie snapped. "You married her for the estate, just like I seduced her father for the Whitmore name. We made a deal. Remember? We get it all."
"You said we'd wait. That we'd play the long game."
"I did," she said, her voice venom now. "And then you got stupid. You started to really act like you loved her. Probably started to think that maybe she was good for you. You even started to second guess our plans."
"I never loved her."
She stepped close. "But you hesitated tonight."
Noah stood. "I pushed her, didn't I?"
"And I cleaned it up," she said coldly. "Just like I cleaned up the old man."
Silence.
My breath, if I still had one, caught in my chest.
"What?"
Cassie smiled. "You think that heart attack came out of nowhere? He was healthy. Pretty fit for an old man. That stubborn bastard wasn't going anywhere until I made sure he did."
Noah looked sick. I wanted to punch him anyway.
"You poisoned him?"
She raised her glass. "Cheers, darling."
I couldn't breathe, nor could I cry. But the rage in me pulsed like it was alive.
She killed him.
That nasty bitch killed my dad.
He never got to walk me down the aisle because he suddenly got sick, and now I knew why.
They had been lying from the very beginning. Manipulating everything. And I let them. I walked right into it. Smiling, loving, and willfully blind.
My hands curled into fists that didn't exist.
Let me come back. Just give me one chance.
And then… everything shifted.
The house faded. The walls disappeared. Cassie's smug smile blurred into fog. Time broke apart like glass, and I was falling again, but not like before. Not down. This time it was inward.
Into something darker and colder.
Silence wrapped around me. Not the peaceful kind. The kind that waits.
And then—
A voice.
Low and deep. It wasn't male or female. Just ancient.
"Do you want revenge, Paula Whitmore?"
I froze.
The fog coiled tighter.
"Do you want to make them bleed? To tear down what they built with your bones? To take back what was stolen from you?"
I didn't speak, but something inside me screamed: Yes.
The voice echoed, smooth and cruel.
"Then you must make a deal."