Falling For My Dead Husband's Ghost

The rain was a relentless drumming against the windows of the Maybach, a sound that vibrated deep in Amelie Glass's bones. Each drop that slid down the black-tinted glass felt like a countdown.

The car slowed to a stop. Through the blur of water, she saw it. The Hyde family mausoleum. It wasn't a tomb; it was a cathedral of the dead, a monument of marble and granite that clawed at the midnight sky, grand and grotesque. This was to be her home.

The driver's door opened and closed. A moment later, her own door was pulled open. A black umbrella shielded her from the downpour.

"Welcome to your new home, Mrs. Hyde."

The voice belonged to Mrs. Gable, the housekeeper. It was a voice without temperature, flat and cold as the marble facade before them. Her face was a mask of stern lines, her eyes like chips of ice.

Amelie's stomach twisted into a knot so tight it stole her breath. She took the offered umbrella, her fingers brushing against Mrs. Gable's gloved hand. There was no warmth there. Of course there wasn't.

She stepped out of the car, her thin black silk dress instantly feeling inadequate against the damp chill. She followed the housekeeper up the sweeping stone steps to a pair of massive, ornate doors.

Mrs. Gable produced a heavy, old-fashioned key. The lock turned with a groan that echoed in the stormy silence.

The interior was cavernous and cold. In the center of the room, bathed in a soft, ethereal blue light, was a futuristic-looking cryogenic preservation pod.

"According to the agreement, you will remain here to hold vigil for Mr. Byron Hyde for 365 days," Mrs. Gable stated, her voice echoing slightly in the vast space. "This is the sole condition for your brother, Leo, to receive the best medical and legal protection."

Amelie's gaze was fixed on the small metal plate on the side of the pod.

BYRON HYDE.

Followed by the dates of his birth and his death.

A shiver that had nothing to do with the cold snaked its way up her spine. She had married a dead man.

Mrs. Gable gestured towards a small, recessed area to the side. It was furnished sparsely: a narrow bed, a small table, and a door that presumably led to a bathroom. It was a cell, decorated in shades of grief.

"Your duties are companionship and absolute obedience. Food will be delivered once a day. Do not attempt to leave. The security system was designed by former Mossad agents."

The warning was delivered with the same lack of emotion as the welcome.

Amelie just nodded. For Leo, she would endure anything. She had to.

"I will leave you now."

Mrs. Gable turned and walked away, her heels clicking on the polished stone floor. The heavy doors swung shut behind her, the sound of the lock turning again, a final, deafening boom that severed Amelie from the world.

She was alone.

The only light came from