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My name is Aurelia. I died at twenty-two, murdered by my husband, Carlos Sterling. To seal a family alliance, my parents forced me to take the place of their adored adopted daughter, Bianca, and marry the most handsome—and most brutal—man in New York. As I lay dying from his torture, I used the last of my strength to make my eighth call for help. My family's impatience was the only answer I got. My brother, Connor, roared at me to just go and die. In the end, I did as he wished. After my death, my three-year-old daughter, Stella, used her children's tablet to live-stream the video of my frost-covered head in a walk-in freezer to my mother. Now, my soul is tethered to the ceiling, a cold observer watching them spiral, one by one, toward their breaking points. ———————— 1 I knew I was dying. The wound in my abdomen bled relentlessly. The air grew thick with the warm, metallic scent of my own blood, so strong it was nauseating. "Mom... I'm not going to make it," I whispered. "Can you please come get Stella?" Stella was only three, asleep upstairs, oblivious to the nightmare unfolding in the living room. The blood flowed faster. Shards of a crystal decanter that once held expensive whiskey were scattered around me, glittering like malevolent stars. My husband, Carlos Sterling, was slumped on the sofa, snoring heavily in the stupor that followed his latest bout of violent rage. My mother, trying on a new pair of diamond earrings in her Chicago mansion, sounded muffled and distinctly irritated. "What is it now, Aurelia?" "I'm dying—" The phone was snatched away. Connor's voice cut in, sharp and cold with fury. "Every time you call, it's 'I want a divorce' or 'He's going to kill me.' Must you always be so dramatic?" I fell silent. Maybe it was the blood loss, or maybe I was just numb, but a profound exhaustion seeped into my bones. A familiar, bone-deep weariness. Ever since I was a child, I was forced to give up my toys, my snacks, my parents' affection—
