On my wedding night, my husband, Gavin, died suddenly in bed, leaving me a multibilliondollar estate. Everyone urged me to remarry while I was still young.

My best friend even secretly set me up with a guy—broad shoulders, narrow waist. He wasn't as handsome or wealthy as Gavin, but he was young and attentive.

On the day he proposed to me, floating livechat comments suddenly flared across my vision. [Don't accept the proposal! Your best friend introduced him on purpose!

She knows your late husband's spirit is right beside you!] [The second you take that ring, you confirm you're a golddigging, unfaithful snake!] [Your exhusband turns completely dark from betrayal.

When he returns to life, you're the first one he strangles!] [And your "best friend" saves his broken soul, claiming his devotion and his billions for herself.

They live happily ever after for forty years—a storybook romance.] Looking at the man holding out a diamond ring, I paused for a few seconds and chose to believe the floating text.

I slapped him across the face. ... Dylan clutched his cheek, reflexively shouting at me. "Are you out of your mind? I'm asking you to marry me!

What the hell is wrong with you?" I didn't have time to process his sudden shift in demeanor. Gavin was a possessively intense man. When he was five, he got into a fight at school.

His father boasted that with their wealth, he could have anything in the world—yet Gavin only ever clung to me.

That was when I gained a "brother." He took care of me like a miniadult.

From the time I was one until I turned eighteen, even my mother complained that he kept too tight a leash on me. Gavin never paid her any mind.

When I was nineteen, a local thug on the street merely whistled at me.

Gavin had every delinquent in the neighborhood run out of Charleston overnight—a move that kept the city on the "Top Safest Cities" list for five consecutive years.

Honestly, at first I didn't believe the floating text overlay. Because on our wedding night, I had held Gavin until his body turned icecold and rigid.

I watched with my own eyes as his coffin was sealed and lowered into the ground.

But considering I was literally seeing floating text in midair—something equally absurd—what if it was real?

Realizing Gavin's ghost had been watching me with Dylan for three months made me shudder uncontrollably.

Even the gentle breeze felt frigid. "Cass," my best friend, Whitney, looked at me in total confusion. "You and Dylan have been together for months.

You said it yourself—you two fit together like a favorite sweater. Isn't marriage the natural next step?

What's going on with you?" Before I could answer, a burst of text rolled across my field of vision out of the corner of my eye.

A chill ran down my spine. [Saying you fit together like old clothes right in front of the dead husband?

She's implying you're completely intimate inside and out!] [For three months, he's been following you. He's heard plenty of this.

Accepting the ring is the final straw that breaks him.] In hindsight, I realized Whitney "had" constantly dropped loaded, suggestive hints in front of me.

I had never actually done anything with Dylan. I used to think it was just cheeky girltalk between best friends.

Now I saw it clearly: if Gavin's ghost was truly standing beside me, she was deliberately provoking him—trying to turn his devotion into toxic hatred toward me. "When did I ever say that?" It was perhaps the first time I had ever called her out.

Whitney's face froze slightly. "Well, Whitney's not wrong," Dylan said, his expression a mix of confusion and impatience. "We were bound to be that close sooner or later.

What is wrong with you today? I love you, and you love me. Why won't you accept my proposal? Don't you want me by your side?

Could you really bear to walk away from us?" More comments flashed in the air: [The girl he actually loves is your best friend.

He even bought the ring in HER size, then lied saying he was nervous and got the wrong size!] [Three days! He revives in three days!

Don't fall for their words!] I grabbed the ring from Dylan's hand. Ignoring the barrage of glowing text, I slid it onto my best friend's ring finger. A perfect, flawless fit.

Dylan visibly panicked. "It... it was my first time proposing. I was so nervous that I got the wrong size." Even his exact line matched the text. A deep dread settled in my chest.

If the comments were right about Gavin returning in three days, and if I had accepted Dylan's proposal, I wouldn't just miss out on the multibilliondollar estate—I'd be choked to death by a husband consumed by vengeance.

If he was coming back in three days, I'd wait and see if it was real! "You've misunderstood," I said coldly, looking at Dylan's expectant face. "I only ever saw you as a friend." "A friend?" Dylan looked utterly stunned.

A moment later, he grabbed my hand, adopting a helpless, patient tone. "Cass, don't be petty. I know you're upset about the ring.

We can go pick out a new one right now!" Whitney also took my hand, smiling gently. "He's right. He was just nervous.

Just say yes so you two can get married—then my mind will finally be at ease." [Of course she'll be at ease.

Once the ring is on, your exhusband goes on a killing spree.] [She's ruthless.

And you never did a single thing to wrong her.] Looking at the face I had known for ten years, I suddenly felt like I was looking at a complete stranger. "Why are you so desperate for me to marry him?" Whitney blinked, caught off guard. "What has gotten into you today?

Didn't you always say how much you liked Dylan?

You said he was young, that you were sick of Gavin's oldman energy, that you and Dylan..." Gavin was only two years older than me, but his demeanor made him seem far more mature.

He loved buying me soft, pastelcolored clothes. Outsiders often misunderstood, thinking he was much older.

Once, an admirer taunted him, calling him an "old man," which drove Gavin so wild with fury he ended up hospitalized from high blood pressure. "I'm older than you," he had once whispered to me. "If I die before you, there won't be anyone left to protect you." That had always been a thorn in his heart.

And I had "never" once expressed disgust toward him. She was fabricating lies! Gritting my teeth, I slapped Whitney hard across the face.

The next second, Dylan shoved me to the ground. "Are you insane?!

Whitney isn't in good health—how could you hit her?!" He pulled the startled Whitney into his arms, his eyes brimming with concern.

He didn't even glance down at me where I lay on the floor.

I wasn't stupid; I knew where his true priorities lay. "The ring was my mistake," Dylan snapped. "If you're mad, take it out on me.

Don't blame Whitney!" In his haste, all his masks slipped away. Dylan didn't love me at all. I said nothing, looking down at my scraped, swelling knee.

Noticing my injury, Dylan froze for a split second, then belatedly came over to pull me up, guilt flickering in his eyes. "I'm sorry, Cass.

Let me take you to the hospital right now." I dodged his reaching hand. "Whitney looks so pale.

You should take her first." Dylan opened his mouth, thought of something, and nodded hastily. "Fine. I'll drop Whitney at urgent care, then come back for you.

We'll go pick out a ring together afterward." He swept Whitney up into his arms and rushed off. When I went to the urgent care clinic to get my knee bandaged, I ran into them again.

Dylan was leaning over Whitney, gently massaging her temples with his thumb—just as he used to do for me. After Gavin died, I had been consumed by grief.

A multibilliondollar fortune dropped into the lap of an unprotected woman was a ticking time bomb.

Extended relatives hurled insults and plotted against me; combined with the grief of losing my husband, I hadn't even dared to step out of the house.

That was when Whitney brought Dylan into my life. He stayed by my side, pulling me out of the dark shadow.

I loved Gavin, but he was gone; I had no choice but to bury my love deep inside.

I had genuinely believed Dylan was sincere. "Cass!" Dylan's eyes lit up when he saw me, and he walked over quickly. "Don't worry, Whitney's fine—she was just startled.

Let's go pick out a ring now. Whitney has great taste; she'll help pick the best one for you." "I'm not marrying you," I said flatly.

His expression stiffened. "I made one small mistake—why can't you forgive me?

To marry you, I even sold my childhood home in my hometown just to put down a deposit on a townhouse for us." He pulled a keycard from his pocket and offered it to me. "Cass, I'll work hard to be a good husband and make you forget all your past pain." [Yeah, and YOU get to pay the mortgage while HE never works a day in his life.] [He'll demand the newest sports car, and when you die, he won't even claim your body.] I let out a cold laugh. "Did you buy it in full?" Dylan looked like a cat whose tail had been stepped on. "Well... it's a mortgage, but I'll pay it off myself!

Cass, you have to trust me!" Whitney suddenly let out a soft sigh. "I know you care about money, Cass.

Back then, you told me that if Gavin hadn't been so wealthy, you never would have married a controlling freak like him.

You said Dylan was different—that you actually loved Dylan, but never loved Gavin." I smiled coldly.

Whitney's expression relaxed slightly, thinking she had won. "Once you and Dylan are married, you'll be family.

Who pays the mortgage doesn't matter." Dylan smiled too. "Yeah, we're family. Don't be so distant. As for Gavin, stop dwelling on him.

You hated how he controlled every aspect of your life anyway. Now that he's dead, you should be happy.

No one can stop us from being together now." [Wife using her own money to support another man... the exhusband is about to pass out from rage.] [Stop digging your own grave!

Tell these two snakes to get lost!] "Finished?" I asked quietly. Dylan blinked, nodding. The next second, I slapped him across the face. Whitney gasped.

Before she could speak, I slapped her too. "You helped me through my grief, and I appreciated that. But you have no right to insult Gavin!

I loved him with everything I had, and I never, ever resented him!" I glared at Whitney. "You keep fabricating these vicious lies.

Anyone listening would think Gavin's ghost was standing right here, and you were deliberately trying to make him hate me!" Whitney's eyes quivered.

Cold sweat broke out on her forehead. "Gavin is dead! How could he be here? And... and you "did" say those things! You just... you just forgot..." I didn't bother arguing further.

The more said, the worse it got. If Gavin really was beside me, these lies were slashing at his heart. I turned and walked away. Behind me, Dylan yelled in frustration, "Cassidy!

I've already notified both our families! The invitations are sent out! The wedding is in two days! Go home and pull yourself together!

Don't make your mother worry—her health isn't good!" ... I returned to the estate Gavin and I had shared. The staff stayed on the ground floor; I was alone on the second floor.

Lying in bed, I felt an icy chill permeating the entire room. [Your exhusband is staring right at you.] Seeing the text, panic surged through me.

I frantically pulled out Gavin's framed photograph, clutching it to my chest as I declared to the empty room, "Gavin, my love... you're the only one I've ever loved, from start to finish." Eventually, I drifted into a fitful sleep, only to see Gavin in my dream.

His obsidian eyes were fixed on me, unblinking.

His icy fingers clamped around my jaw, repeating over and over: "You lied to me." My lips trembled as I tried to explain, but suddenly his hands shifted to my throat, squeezing tightly. "Ah!" I snapped open my eyes, gasping for air.

Drenched in cold sweat, I ran to the bathroom mirror. There were no marks on my neck, but the sensation of suffocation was terrifyingly real. "No... I didn't take Dylan's ring.

Gavin won't kill me." I splashed cold water on my face, trying to reassure myself.

Dylan hadn't just invited relatives; he had sent invitations to his former college classmates and even leaked news to online followers who tracked my life after Gavin's death.

A widow moving on after just three months?

Online commentators assumed I had trapped Gavin in a honeypot scheme, swarming my social media accounts to label me a husbandkilling leech.

Trembling with anger, I posted a video clarifying that I had no intention of ever remarrying. Nobody believed me. To catch a break, I went back to my mother's home.

My mother had cooked a full table of dishes.

Just as I picked up my fork to eat, the floating comments flared again. [Your mom is furious that you won't give your money for your brother's wedding dowry, so she sold you out!

The food is laced with muscle relaxants. Once you eat, she's dragging you straight to the venue to marry Dylan!] [He paid her $500,000 in cash.

Whether you want to or not, you're getting married. Your exhusband is about to go full villain mode!] My hand froze in midair.

I hadn't given my brother money because his girlfriend was a known scammer; I didn't want my family swindled.

Besides, during our marriage, Gavin had given my family generous financial support, telling me he would take care of my parents so I wouldn't have to stress.

And now, my own mother was selling me out for half a million dollars. "Mom," I said, setting my fork down. "I'm not marrying Dylan." Her face instantly turned dark.

She clutched her chest, gasping as if suffocated by grief. My heart pinched, but before I could speak, she snapped, "If you don't marry him, who else will take you?!

Look at the internet—everyone says you cursed your husband! If you don't marry Dylan, you'll die alone! The venue is booked! The invites are out!

If you refuse now, you'll make our entire family a laughingstock!

Parents decide marriage—if I say you marry, you marry!" I gripped my fork tightly, my heart turning to ice. "I'm leaving." The moment I stood up, darkness swept over my eyes, and I collapsed onto the floor. "Good thing I put some in the incense room diffuser too," my mother chuckled triumphantly.

She locked me in the attic for two full days. Strangely, during those two days, the floating text didn't appear once. Until my mother dragged me to the wedding venue.

Through the bustling crowd, my eyes caught a tall, familiar figure standing near the back. Gavin had actually returned to life! Everything the comments said was true!

Thinking about how Whitney and Dylan had spent the last three months manipulating me, treating me like a naive fool, tears stung my eyes.

Instinctively, I took a step toward Gavin. "Cass!" Dylan grabbed my hand, forcing his fingers through mine in a tight grip.

To onlookers, we looked like a doting couple. "I knew you'd come. You do love me after all." I looked into Gavin's distant eyes.

My teeth chattered, but I lacked the physical strength to shake Dylan off. "Dylan, are you insane?

I never agreed to..." He squeezed my shoulder so hard I thought the bone would snap, though he maintained a bright, loving smile—the picture of a devoted groom whispering sweet nothings to his bride. "Be good now.

It's time for our ceremony." He dragged me onto the stage. I turned my head, silently pleading toward Gavin with my eyes.

If he had been following me as a ghost, he had to know I was being forced!

I didn't want to die. "Gavin..." Before I could say more, Whitney stepped up, blocking my view. "Are you out of your mind, Cass? Gavin is dead!

The man standing beside you now is Dylan, your husband." I was brought up to the altar by Dylan and Whitney. Gavin remained in the crowd, watching me silently.

His expression was unreadable, but a bonechilling coldness swept through me. He didn't believe me. Why would he? Dylan and Whitney had staged everything so convincingly.

But I refused to accept this fate.

Mustering every ounce of strength left in my body, biting my lip until blood pooled in my mouth, I forcefully shoved Dylan and Whitney away. "I won't marry him!" "Cassidy!" Whitney shouted, her voice shrill with reprimand. "Stop acting out!

You're over three months pregnant! Do you want your baby to be born without a father?!" My head thundered.

I stared at her in utter disbelief. "What ridiculous lie are you telling now?!

I'm not pregnant!" Whitney's mother stepped forward, sighing dramatically. "Cass, how can you lie like that?

I personally accompanied you for your ultrasound yesterday—the paperwork is right here!" The ultrasound scan was suddenly projected onto the large screen behind the altar.

Before I could open my mouth, the room exploded into whispers and gasps. "Gavin's only been dead three months, and she's nearly four months along?

That means she was cheating on him while he was alive!" "How shameless!

How could she take his inheritance after betraying him like that?" "If Gavin knew, he'd rise from the grave just to tear her apart!" Vicious accusations and pointing fingers assailed my ears.

I shouted explanations, even beating my own stomach to prove I wasn't pregnant, but nobody listened. "Honey, I beg you," Dylan fell to his knees before me, his eyes bloodshot, performing his role to perfection. "It's my fault for upsetting you, but please don't hurt our child." Seeing me stand motionless, my mother rushed up and slapped me hard across the face. "Have you had enough?!" she shrieked. "You're carrying his child—how much longer are you going to throw a tantrum?!

Haven't you humiliated us enough?! With a reputation like yours, Dylan is the only decent man willing to take you!" My cheek burned with sharp pain.

A bitter realization washed over me: nothing I said mattered.

Whitney wanted Gavin to see me as an unfaithful monster so he would kill me, leaving her to claim the status of his wealthy widow. Dylan loved Whitney, so he danced to her tune.

My biological mother hated me for withholding money from my brother, so she sold me out for half a million dollars.

And Gavin... had witnessed what looked like complete betrayal by his wife. They all wanted a specific narrative. Nobody cared about the truth.

Through the noise, a man wearing a black face mask stepped out from the crowd and stopped right in front of me.

Remembering the floating text, the dream, and the terrifying sensation of being strangled, I began to tremble uncontrollably. "How could you not believe me?" I gasped, tears falling. "I thought you were dead...

Dylan and I..." Red veins streaked his dark eyes.

His veinpopped hand lifted, tracing lightly across my cheek before he whispered, "Congratulations." Then, his fingers closed brutally around my throat.

The familiar feeling of suffocation returned. I gripped his wrist with all my remaining strength, forcing out a single sentence through my constricted airway.

In an instant, the expressions on everyone's faces changed.