My Death Drove My Husband Insane

Serafina's POV

I was dead.

God, I was actually DEAD.

The thought hit me like a bullet through my skull, jolting me into consciousness. I floated in my Manhattan apartment's living room, watching city neons pour through the floor-to-ceiling windows—red, blue, gold—like they were mocking my tragic end.

Damn, everything was too quiet.

I tried to touch the vase on the coffee table. My hand passed right through it. Shit. I really had become a ghost.

I was Serafina Monteverdi, or used to be. Three years ago, I was still Serafina Santangelo, until I married New York's most dangerous man.

The elevator dinged.

My husband Rafael Monteverdi was back. He was the head of the Monteverdi family, one of New York's five major crime families. He pushed through the door, reeking of blood, dark red spots staining his black shirt. Tonight's "business" clearly hadn't gone smoothly. That handsome face showed no emotion whatsoever, just like every other night for the past three years.

I drifted toward the bedroom, a sick premonition rising in my chest.

Sure enough, she was there.

My sister Bianca stood at the vanity, practicing my expressions in the mirror. She pursed her lips, tilted her head, even mimicked my habit of biting my lower lip when nervous.

That plastic surgery fake!

Rage exploded inside me. I remembered how she'd killed me—that poisoned wine, her fake concerned smile, and the satisfaction in her eyes as I collapsed.

"Don't blame me, sis," she'd said then. "You've been by Rafael's side too long. It's my turn now."

I cursed that evil woman, wanting to tear apart that stolen face. She'd gotten plastic surgery to look exactly like me, even had vocal cord surgery, and now she dared to impersonate me, lying in MY bed!

"Rafael?" Hearing footsteps, she quickly fixed her hair, calling out in my voice with fake sweetness.

Rafael entered the bedroom, and she immediately threw herself into his arms. But I saw Rafael's body stiffen, his nose wrinkling slightly.

He smelled it!

"New perfume?" Rafael stepped back, his gaze sharpening.

My heart raced—wait, do ghosts have heartbeats? Either way, I was going crazy with excitement. Rafael's sense of smell was terrifyingly sharp. This was the first crack!

Bianca's face changed briefly, but she quickly forced a smile. "Just wanted something fresh. Don't you like it?"

"Change it back." Rafael frowned impatiently. "I hate this smell."

Ha! Seeing the flash of defeat on Bianca's face, I almost burst out laughing. This idiot thought impersonating me would be easy? She had no idea how difficult Rafael could be!

You think he'll be gentle with you? Dream on!

Painful memories flooded back...

*Three years ago, the formerly enemy Monteverdi and Santangelo families arranged a marriage for profit, and I was forced to marry Rafael in place of my sister Bianca.

I remembered questioning my adoptive mother Isabella Santangelo: "Why do I have to marry him?"

"Because you're not our blood." She didn't even look up.

That simple. I was adopted, so I had to sacrifice. Bianca was the Santangelos' biological daughter, so she got to continue her princess life.

And I was just a pathetic nobody.

During our three-year marriage, Rafael treated me with soul-crushing coldness. He always came home late, reeking of blood and gunpowder. During the day, he barely spoke to me, and when he did, it was just brief questions or orders.

The only exception was at night.

In bed, he became passionate and wild, as if compensating for all the day's coldness. But that passion was purely physical, never emotional. Afterward, he'd turn away from me, never embracing, never kissing my forehead goodnight.

I always thought I was just his tool for release, a pretty sex partner. After all, our marriage was political—it made sense that he'd despise me.*

"Baby, you look exhausted." Bianca's voice pulled me back to reality.

She started unbuttoning Rafael's shirt, her movements deliberately seductive. I watched her place her hands on his chest, slowly sliding them down, her eyes full of desire.

"Let me help you relax." She stood on her tiptoes, trying to kiss his neck.

My blood instantly boiled. This woman who killed me was trying to seduce my husband!

Rafael didn't push her away, just stood there letting her hands roam his body. He looked uncomfortable but didn't refuse.

"I want you." Bianca pressed closer, her voice turning sultry. "Tonight I want you..."

NO! Absolutely NOT!

Seeing her try to unbuckle Rafael's belt, I completely lost it.

"Don't touch him! You murderer!" I screamed desperately. "Get away! GET AWAY!"

I knew they couldn't hear me, but I kept shrieking hysterically. Anger, jealousy, despair—all emotions mixed together, making me feel like I might explode.

Suddenly, Rafael stopped.

He frowned and pushed Bianca's hands away.

"What's wrong?" Bianca looked at him in confusion.

"I..." Rafael rubbed his temples. "Not feeling well tonight."

My eyes widened. Could he sense something? Had my screaming actually gotten through?

"But..." Bianca tried to get close again. "We haven't been together in so long..."

"I said I'm not feeling well." Rafael's voice turned cold as he pushed her away completely. "Not tonight."

Bianca's face flashed with anger and humiliation, but she quickly masked it. "Okay, then tomorrow..."

"Mm." Rafael gave a noncommittal grunt and headed to the bathroom.

I floated near the ceiling, my emotions a complete mess. He'd rejected her, which gave me a strange satisfaction. But at the same time, I desperately realized he might just be genuinely tired, not suspicious of anything.

Water sounds came from the bathroom. Bianca was so angry her face contorted. She fixed her hair in the mirror, muttering curses.

"Damn it! Why was he so cold to Serafina?" she complained quietly. "I got surgery to look exactly like her, and he still doesn't buy it!"

Hearing this, my heart filled with mixed emotions. So even Bianca thought Rafael was cold to me? Then these three years... did he really have no feelings for me?

Rafael emerged from the bathroom wearing only a towel. He walked to the bed and glanced at Bianca.

"Get some sleep. There's business to handle tomorrow."

That's it? Just like that?

I expected him to notice more inconsistencies, to question this woman's identity. But he said nothing, just lay down with his back to her.

Despair washed over me like a tide.

Even with Bianca's terrible acting, even with all those obvious flaws, Rafael still didn't suspect anything. Or maybe he simply didn't care.

Maybe in his heart, I really was just a dispensable woman. Dead was dead—replacing me with someone else made no difference.

I floated in the darkness, watching the woman who killed me lying in my bed while my husband slept peacefully beside her.

This was my ending.

Murdered, impersonated, forgotten.

And I could only drift in this endless darkness, suffering forever.