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The Ghost Wife's Billion Dollar Tech Comeback
Today is October 14th, my birthday. I returned to New York after months away, dragging my suitcase through the biting wind, but the VIP pickup zone where my husband’s Maybach usually idled was empty. When I finally let myself into our Upper East Side penthouse, I didn’t find a cake or a "welcome home" banner. Instead, I found my husband, Caden, kneeling on the floor, helping our five-year-old daughter wrap a massive gift for my half-sister, Adalynn. Caden didn’t even look up when I walked in; he was too busy laughing with the girl who had already stolen my father’s legacy and was now moving in on my family. "Auntie Addie is a million times better than Mommy," my daughter Elara chirped, clutching a plush toy Caden had once forbidden me from buying for her. "Mommy is mean," she whispered loudly, while Caden just smirked, calling me a "drill sergeant" before whisking her off to Adalynn’s party without a second glance. Later that night, I saw a video Adalynn posted online where my husband and child laughed while mocking my "sensitive" nature, treating me like an inconvenient ghost in my own home. I had spent five years researching nutrition for Elara’s health and managing every detail of Caden’s empire, only to be discarded the moment I wasn't in the room. How could the man who set his safe combination to my birthday completely forget I even existed? The realization didn't break me; it turned me into ice. I didn't scream or beg for an explanation. I simply walked into the study, pulled out the divorce papers I’d drafted months ago, and took a black marker to the terms. I crossed out the alimony, the mansion, and even the custody clause—if they wanted a life without me, I would give them exactly what they asked for. I left my four-carat diamond ring on the console table and walked out into the rain with nothing but a heavily encrypted hard drive. The submissive Mrs. Holloway was gone, and "Ghost," the most lethal architect in the tech world, was finally back online to take back everything they thought I’d forgotten."Momma, where are you?" Paige's weak voice crackled through the phone's speakers, trembling with fear.
Joana gripped the steering wheel tighter, her heart pounding. "I'm on my way, baby. Just take deep breaths," she replied, trying to keep her voice calm, though her mind was filled with worry.
She drove as fast as she could without drawing the attention of the police. Every second felt like an eternity, and just when she thought she was making good time, she came across a red light. It felt like a cruel joke, as if the universe was conspiring against her.
The traffic light seemed to mock her, taking a really long time to turn green. Joana drummed her fingers on the steering wheel anxiously, her eyes darting between the traffic light and the road ahead. Finally, when the light turned green, she stepped on the gas pedal.
Joana's hands shook as she parked the car and sprinted into the house. "Paige, I'm hom..." Her voice caught in her throat when she saw a pair of panties on the sofa.
She approached slowly, her heart sinking with each step. The panties were pink, a color Joana never wore, and it was far too large to belong to Paige.
Heavy footsteps thudded on the stairs behind her, and Joana turned to see a naked woman bolting down the steps. Joana's eyes widened in shock as she recognized the woman, Martha, her sister.
James, her husband, appeared on the stairs, chasing after Martha. The color drained from his face when he saw Joana standing there, frozen in disbelief.
"Jo-joana, it's n-not what it looks like," James stuttered, but Joana barely heard him. The cliche excuse only fueled her anger, but she couldn't deal with it now.
"PAIGE!" Joana shouted, pushing past the two of them as she raced upstairs. Her daughter needed her, and that was all that mattered.
She burst into Paige's room, only to find it empty. Panic was all she felt as she screamed, "PAIGE! WHERE ARE YOU?"
A weak grunt from the far side of the room caught her attention. She rushed over and found Paige wedged between the bed and the wall, her tiny body limp and unmoving.
"M...Mom..." Paige mumbled weakly before her eyes fluttered shut, succumbing to the pain.
.
.
.
The call had come out of nowhere, leaving Joana wondering where James was and why he couldn't help their daughter. She had assumed he had gone out to get an inhaler, but after Paige's second frantic call, Joana grew suspicious.
James was always attentive to Paige's needs, never leaving her without checking that she had her inhaler. But now, as Joana watched her daughter being wheeled into the hospital, she wished she had driven faster, ignored that damn red light, and not wasted precious moments confronting the traitors in her living room.
"You can't come in," a nurse said, blocking Joana from entering the ICU. Helpless, she sank into a chair in the lobby, her mind racing with worry.
"Joana?" A familiar voice called out. It was Regina, her friend and a doctor at the hospital. "What are you doing here?"
Joana tried to speak, but her voice was lost in a torrent of tears. "Is it Paige?" Regina asked softly. Joana nodded, and Regina pulled her into a comforting hug.
"She's going to be fine," Regina assured her. "The doctors are doing their best."
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