THE EX-WIFE HE NEVER DESERVED

Eli Blake's POV

"You're not supposed to be alive."

Slowly, I turned my head and pulled the brim of my black cap down. The old man selling coffee from a rusty cart near the corner of Lexington and 7th had said those words. He looked away and muttered a prayer under his breath as if he had seen a ghost. Our eyes met for only a second. He might have.

The city was still the same. Both burnt coffee and exhaust smell the same. Everyone was too busy to notice the ghost moving through their worlds because they were too busy caring about other people. I was not here to be seen, though. I came here to make things right.

As I changed the strap on my backpack, the weight of five years felt like bricks against my spine. Every step toward the city centre was like putting a bandage on an old wound. The skyline was full of lies. There was a man in one of those glass towers who had seen me burn.

Even though people were honking and giving me the middle finger, I crossed the street while the light was still red. I no longer cared about noise. Not after the silence of hiding, the emptiness of being no one. Eli Blake had no history. No past. Elara was the one who had died.

As I entered the underground train station, the rush of air from a passing train hit me like a wave of memory. I stood still. People pushed past, annoyed, muttering, but I didn't move. I remembered the last time I was here. Rain. Screams. Smoke. And Daniel's face twisted in something between fear and rage. He'd been holding my wedding ring in his palm like it was poison.

"You're lying. You would never leave me," he had said.

But I did. I had to. I would not be alive now if I had not done that.

The train came in with a screech, and I got on board. It was almost empty. Okay. I sat by the window and watched the dark tunnel go by quickly, like strobe lights on pain. I took out my phone and read the article again. The one that brought me back.

"Amid Scandal, Donovan Enterprises to Name New CEO."

Daniel. He always gets back on his feet. Always putting gold over the rot. I saw the picture and stopped scrolling. He looked more aged. Less sharp in the jaw and eyes that look more tired. Even more shockingly good-looking. Still dangerous.

My phone rang. "Are you sure you are ready for this?" asked Mara in a message.

I did not reply. I did not know. But that never stopped me before.

The train came into Union. I got up. The city was full of noise and people who did not want to wait. As I walked east, I saw vendors, glass skyscrapers, the smell of cheap perfume, and people with goals. When my boots hit the ground, they sound like war drums. With each step, I got one step closer to the life I used to have and the life I would give back.

I got to the building.

The Donovan Tower.

47 stories wrapped in glass about greed. The business that used to be mine as well. Without a doubt, not legally. Before he thought I was going to die, Daniel made sure I signed away everything. I never did it for the money, though. I did it because I thought he loved me.

The guards at the front door did not even look. Another black woman and another shadow. It was too cold to be real in the lobby, which was white and white cool. As I looked at the silver "D" on the wall, I thought about the last time I was here, happy as can be in heels and a wedding ring.

I went back outside. I was not here to take chances. I had a plan. And waiting is part of plans.

I walked across the street to the building. A café with dark windows and no Wi-Fi sounds like my style. I got coffee without cream and sat by the window that faced the tower. Looking at. Waiting. I put my hands around the mug as if it could hold me down and stop the shaking.

It is been three hours. I saw him.

Out of a black SUV, he walked. His suit fit his sins like a glove, and his tie was darker than his soul. Dear Daniel Donovan. My husband. Those who killed me. I did not see him. Of course not. I was just bones and ash to him.

I saw her, though.

She walked with him. Blonde. Legs for days. A dress that sticks to you. He said something funny, and I laughed like it was gospel. It did not bother me. I could not breathe. Even though my stomach was tight, my face did not change. I had learned how to be empty for five years.

I paid for my coffee and walked out.

One block. Two. I turned into an alley and pulled out my phone again. This time, I opened the file I had been building for years. Documents. Photos. Secrets. Everything he thought I didn't know. Everything I would use to tear him down. This wasn't about love anymore. It wasn't even about revenge.

It was about justice.

I got to the apartment door that I was renting with a fake name. The building was old and had a mouldy and cigarette smell. The best kind of place to disappear. I went up to the third floor, opened the door, and walked out into the dark.

Mara was there.

She sat down at the table with her laptop open. The light from it lit up her brown eyes. It was not a question; she just said, "You saw him."

I said "yes" and threw the bag to the ground. "The same as always."

"Is that good or bad?"

"Both," I said.

She turned the screen toward me. "We got a hit on the email you sent to the whistleblower. They replied."

I leaned in. The message was short. A single sentence.

"I know what he did to you. Meet me at midnight."

My heart kicked hard. "Where?"

Mara clicked the message. The reply expanded to show an address.

I stared at it.

It was the cemetery.

The one where my grave still stood.