His Dead Wife's Shadow

Name: His Dead Wife's Shadow
Rating: 5.0 (1 reviews)

UntitledRose

Romance | Ongoing

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I've never known love. Not from my parents-because I never had any. Not from the people who raised me-only bruises, silence, and fear. So when a cold, powerful man offers me a marriage contract, I don't ask why. I just say yes. I married a man who can't love me. Not because he's heartless-but because he already gave his heart to someone else. His dead wife. I look just like her. That's why he chose me. A contract, he said. No feelings. No future. But then he touched me like I mattered. Spoiled me. Protected me. Made me feel like I belonged. Now I'm falling for him... But if he ever sees the real me-not her ghost- Will he still want me? And when I eventually have to leave him, just as his wife did, will he ever forgive me?

R18+ Modern Revenge Flash marriage

Chapter 5 Marry Me

06-12 22:34

Chapter 1 Lookalike

Alina's POV

The bleach stung my hands again.

They were already raw from scrubbing the floor twice this morning, but Mrs. Halston said it still "smelled like poor people." Whatever that meant.

I knelt beside the staircase, brushing the same spot for the third time, praying they wouldn't find a new reason to scream at me today.

"Are you deaf and dumb now?"

Cassie's voice sliced through the silence like broken glass. "I told you to clean my makeup brushes twenty minutes ago! Do you want another warning?"

I froze. Not because I wanted to disobey. But because my body was already trembling from the cold and fatigue, and I couldn't tell if I'd collapse if I stood up too fast.

"I-I'll do it now," I said quickly, keeping my head down. Always keep your head down.

She tossed her lovely thick hair over her shoulder and laughed. "God, you're so pathetic. No wonder your real parents gave you away."

That one landed. Like it always did.

Behind her, Mrs. Halston appeared in the hallway, frowning like my existence offended her.

"What did you break this time, Alina?"

"N-Nothing, I-"

"Then why are you stuttering like an idiot? Do you want me to take your dinner again?"

I shook my head. My stomach had already learned not to expect food anyway.

Cassie leaned against the railing, scrolling through her phone with one perfectly manicured finger. "It's honestly embarrassing to even have you in this house. I keep telling Mom we should've sent you to one of those shelters. At least you'd be surrounded by your own kind."

My own kind?

The unwanted? Trash?

I clutched the rag in my hand tighter and forced my voice to stay calm. "I'll clean your brushes, Cassie."

Her laugh echoed behind me as I walked away, shoulders low, eyes on the floor. "You hear that, Mom? Our little stray can follow instructions if you insult her enough."

I didn't cry. Not anymore.

Tears only gave them more to mock. More reasons to call me weak.

But tonight, when the house was quiet, when I'd cleaned every room, folded every towel, and earned the right to breathe for five minutes...

I would close my eyes and dream of being anywhere else.

Even if it would never come true.

– Damien's POV –

The penthouse was too quiet.

It always was these days.

I sat in the chair by the window-her chair. The one she used to sit in while reading, her legs tucked under her. She used to say the view made her feel calm. Alive.

Now, it just made me feel empty.

My wife has been gone for two years.

Cancer took her. Slowly. Cruelly.

She was the only person I ever let in. The only person I ever loved.

Since then, I haven't looked at another woman. Haven't wanted to. What was the point?

The phone on the table buzzed. I didn't want to answer, but I did.

Miller (my assistant): "Sir, there's trouble at one of your warehouses. Down in the poor district-Lower South. A gang's trying to scare your manager into paying them off. Should I take care of it?"

I didn't say anything right away. Just stared out the window.

"Send the car," I finally said. "I'll deal with it myself."

---

Lower South – Two Hours Later

The air was thick with smoke and garbage. Buildings were falling apart. The streets were loud and messy.

My car stopped beside the warehouse. People moved out of my way. No one said anything, but I could feel their eyes on me. They knew who I was.

I fixed the problem fast.

Didn't raise my voice. Didn't need to. One warning from me is enough.

I was about to leave when I saw her.

A girl, dragging two big trash bags behind a diner. The bags were almost bigger than she was. She looked tired. Dirty. Her shirt was old and stained. Her arms were covered in bruises.

She lifted one bag toward the dumpster, but it slipped. Hit her leg. She flinched in pain.

Then she looked up.

My heart stopped.

Her face.

It looked exactly like hers.

Like my wife.

Same eyes. Same mouth. Same expression.

But this girl looked scared. Broken. Like she'd been hurt all her life.

She saw me. Her eyes widened. Then she quickly looked away.

But I didn't. I just stood there, frozen, watching her disappear behind the dumpster like a ghost.

It wasn't her. I knew that.

But somehow, it felt like she had come back.