The Man Who Found His Ghost

I faked my death to escape a husband who despised me.

I gave his dying mistress my kidney and my life force just to ensure he' d be safe.

I thought I was finally free, until he showed up at my animal shelter five years later.

Hudson Holland spent a decade making me feel small, culminating in a public humiliation on our tenth anniversary.

He didn't know I had uncovered a plot against his life that only my complete disappearance could stop.

So I vanished.

I left behind a suicide note, a burnt wedding ring in a fiery bus crash, and a healed Adaline by his side.

He was supposed to be happy.

Instead, he spent years hunting for ghosts, consumed by a regret I no longer cared about.

When he finally tracked me down to the coast, I looked him in the eye and told him I' d rather be dead than be his wife again.

I told him to leave and never come back.

But when a violent gang broke into my sanctuary to hurt my animals, Hudson didn't hesitate.

He threw himself in front of a knife to save a scruffy terrier I loved.

Now, the man I swore to hate is bleeding out in my arms.

And I have to decide if I' m going to let him die.

Chapter 1

Jamiya POV:

The world blurred around me, a dizzying kaleidoscope of crystal and silk, but everything snapped into jarring focus the moment his voice, sharp and laced with disdain, cut through the clamor of the Holland Gala. My heart hammered, a frantic bird trapped in my ribs, because I was here again. In this moment. The moment my life shattered the first time.

Hudson Holland stood on the raised platform, his eyes, usually cold and calculating, burning with a raw, public fury that was all directed at me. Tonight was supposed to be the celebration of our tenth anniversary, a corporate spectacle. Instead, it was my public execution.

"A decade," he spat, his voice amplified by the room's hushed awe. "Ten years of a farce. A contract. Not a marriage." He glanced at me, his gaze sweeping over my carefully chosen gown like it was dirt. "Jamiya Morrow. You trapped me in this, just like your grandfather trapped mine."

A collective gasp rippled through the gathered elite. My face burned. He never held back. Not when it came to me. The shame was a physical weight, pressing down on my chest. It felt exactly like it had the first time. The crushing certainty that I was nothing more than a burden, a chain around his neck.

I gripped the edge of the champagne flute so tightly my knuckles ached. This was it. The Holland Gala. The exact night, ten years ago, when he had publicly humiliated me, solidifying my place as the unwanted tether to his empire. But this time, something was different. This time, I knew the cost of staying. I knew the corporate