Chapter 2

Seven hours after my death, Mom and Dad wheeled my body into the morgue.

The next second, they forced Natasha into her award ceremony gown.

Natasha sat on the metal bench in the hospital hallway, her hospital gown still draped over her shoulders. Her face was as white as paper.

Mom shoved the dress into her arms. "Put it on."

Natasha looked up, her eyes bloodshot.

"Emma is still in there."

Mom slapped her hard across the face.

"I know she’s in there!"

"But the media is waiting outside, and the committee is waiting too!"

"Do you want the whole world to know that the prodigy dancer we raised for eighteen years is a fraud?"

Natasha’s head snapped to the side from the force of the blow. She didn't move for a long time.

Dad was standing at the end of the hallway making a call, his voice low but every word cutting sharply into my ears.

"Yes, Natasha’s old injury flared up. She was resting backstage."

"Emma has always been mentally unstable. She stole Natasha's costume and snuck onto the stage."

"Natasha was so traumatized by the incident that she started talking nonsense."

"We have the medical records. The PR statement will be released tonight."

I floated in the air, watching him calmly arrange the narrative of my death.

So, I wasn't forced to death by them.

I was just a mentally unstable, identity-stealing lunatic who ruined a genius dancer’s night of glory.

Natasha suddenly stood up and lunged to grab Dad's phone.

"You can't say that about her!"

Dad grabbed her wrist, twisting it back. His eyes were cold and venomous.

"Natasha, you better wake up."

"Emma is already dead."

"Your endorsements, your Ivy League scout offers, your invitations from international dance companies, and our family's academy franchise contracts—they are all still on the line."

Natasha’s voice shook.

"That was Emma’s life!"

Dad stared at her, his voice freezing cold.

"Her life isn't worth five million dollars in breach of contract fees."

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Mom picked the gown up from the floor and handed it back to Natasha.

"Your father mortgaged the entire academy for you."

"If we lose this championship, our whole family is ruined."

Natasha looked at her and suddenly let out a bitter laugh.

"So Emma deserved to die?"

Mom’s eyes flickered with guilt, but she quickly hardened her face.

"She danced in your shadow for so many years. Carrying this for you one last time is the least she can do to repay us for raising her."

I thought ghosts couldn't feel pain.

But at that moment, it felt like a knife was being driven into my chest all over again.

Natasha didn't change into the dress.

She threw the expensive white tulle gown straight into the trash can.

In the next second, Dad grabbed her by the hair, forcing her face down toward the trash.

"Pick it up."

Natasha bit her lip hard. "No."

Dad leaned down and whispered in her ear:

"If you dare disobey me, I won't even buy Emma a niche in the columbarium."

Natasha froze. "What do you mean?"

Dad let go of her and slowly adjusted his cuffs.

"The dead are the most obedient."

"Once they are turned to ash, where they go and how they are kept is entirely up to the living."

Natasha finally bent her knees and pulled the gown out of the trash.

Her tears dripped onto the white fabric, one by one.

Standing next to her, I finally understood.

They didn't just want to steal my dancing. They wanted to steal my death.