The Billionaire's Witch Wife

For years, Lisa’s soul had drifted through the Rutherford grand mansion, a whisper lost in the silence. She was nothing more than a forgotten ghost, trapped within the walls that had once suffocated her in life. She watched, unseen, as those who had destroyed her life carried on, their lives untouched by guilt or grief. Norman Rutherford, her husband never looked back—not once, after her funeral, did he visit the grave where she was buried, nor did his expression falter with even the faintest trace of regret. If he ever thought of her, it was a passing inconvenience, something to be dismissed with the a frown on his brows. Her father-in law, Victor Rutherford and mother-in law, Selena Rutherford nee Regis never spoke her name, as though she had been nothing more than a brief, regrettable mistake. At dinner, they laughed over fine wine, their lives perfectly undisturbed. The only time her name was mentioned was in hushed whispers—an afterthought, a scandal long buried… Jasmine Denzel, the woman who had stolen everything from her, shed only few crocodile tears before stepping effortlessly into Lisa’s place. She played the role of the grieving family friend for just long enough, her mourning nothing but a well-rehearsed performance. And then, as though shedding an old coat, she slipped into Lisa’s life with shameless ease—Norman’s new wife, wrapped in the luxury that had once belonged to her, parading through the same halls with an air of triumph. Not a single one of them felt the weight of what they had done. Not a single one had ever turned in the dead of night, wondering if they should be sorry for her. And Lisa … She was still here… trapped….Watching…Waiting... She had screamed at them, cursed them, willed the heavens to strike them down. But the walls only echoed her rage back at her, and the people who had wronged her remained oblivious. Time dragged on, and with it, her sorrow hardened into something heavier, something darker—resentment so thick it felt like drowning. And amidst it all, there was one thing she kept regretting the most. Alexander Rutherfordand, Norman's uncle. Unlike the rest of them, he never spoke her name—never wove false sympathy into empty words. But in the stillness of his study, with only papers and whiskey for company, Lisa could feel it—the quiet weight of his grief. He never wept, never raged, yet something in the way his fingers tightened around his glass, the way his gaze lingered on nothing, told her that she wasn't forgotten. Would it have been different… if she had accepted his advances that night? A yearning she couldn’t name curled in her chest. Alexander was different, untouched by the rot that poisoned the rest of his family. But now, it no longer mattered. She was nothing but a wandering soul, a shadow tied to a past that no longer existed. Until one night, she found she could be …more once again. A woman had walked toward her, emerging from the darkness ,looking straight into her ghostly form. She was draped in a gown of midnight silk, the fabric flowing like liquid shadow around her as she moved. Delicate lace, black as ink, clung to her sleeves, trailing down her wrists like creeping vines. A choker of onyx adorned her throat, its dark jewels gleaming with an eerie light. Her raven hair cascaded down her back, the soft waves framing a face both haunting and ethereal—her sharp cheekbones accentuated by the ghostly pallor of her skin. There was something almost otherworldly about her, as if she had stepped from the pages of an ancient, forbidden tale. And when her piercing eyes met Lisa’s, filled with sorrow and something far more powerful, the world itself seemed to tremble. "…Mom..". Lisa’s breath—or what was left of it—hitched. Lisa’s mother had disappeared when she was eleven years old. One day, she was there, humming an eerie lullaby while stirring a pot of something thick and fragrant, and the next, she was gone—vanished without a trace. They never found her. The authorities called it a cold case, but Lisa knew better. Strange things had always surrounded her mother—candles flickering to life without a match, whispers in the dead of night when no one else was home, the way animals watched her with eerie reverence. Sometimes, Lisa would wake up to find odd symbols drawn in salt on the kitchen floor or the scent of burning herbs lingering in the air long after her mother had left a room. Back then, she and her dad hadn’t questioned it. Now, as she stood, a ghost in the In-between, her mother’s voice wrapping around her like a spell, she wondered if she should have. “Ooh..You’ve suffered enough, my dear Lisa,” her mother whispered, her voice like the wind before a storm. “But it doesn’t have to end like this.” She stepped closer, the darkness shifting with her, as if it obeyed her command. The air grew thick, humming with something ancient, something forbidden. Lisa could feel it pressing against her very soul. “You think this is the end?” Her mother’s voice was almost pitying. “Not yet, child.” Lisa’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?” Her mother lifted a hand, fingers curling in a deliberate motion as a black riven—a jagged shard of shadows—coiled into existence before her. The air trembled, the fabric of reality stretching as the riven pulsed, hungry and waiting. “come with me, Lisa.” she murmured, voice thick with power. With a final, whispered incantation, she pressed her palm against Lisa’s chest—she could touch her, and the riven surged forward, swallowing her whole. Darkness wrapped around Lisa, cold and suffocating, before everything fractured—her ghost form dissolving into a thousand splintered pieces, carried away from the doomed mansion like a wisp of smoke in the night. *** In a decayed, abandoned cottage in a remote village, a black crow stood on the window, spitting illusionary white flowing lights, from which Lisa's ghostly form materialized again. Her mother sat on a worn graying sofa, with a slow smile curlering on her lips, but it wasn’t warm—it was knowing, edged with something eerie. “l am a witch, Lisa. Witches are immortal. We linger in this world until we’ve had enough. And when we do, we mate with mortals to reproduce and pass on our power to the ones who come after…A legacy before our eternal sleep” Lisa’s stomach twisted. The words sat like lead in her gut, cold and heavy. Mate with mortals? Did she mean her dad ?Reproduce? Pass on powers? There was no mention of love, no hint of care—just an endless cycle of using and discarding. Her fingers curled Into fists. “ Dad?” Her voice wavered despite her best efforts. “He never stopped looking for you. He loved you.” She forced herself to meet her mother’s eyes, searching for something—anything—beyond that detached, eerie certainty. “Did you ever love him? Did you ever care?” For a moment, silence stretched between them, thin as a blade. Then her mother gave a small, almost pitying sigh. “No.” Lisa flinched. “I only needed him to bear a daughter,” her mother continued, as if discussing the weather. “Once that was done, his purpose was fulfilled.” Lisa’s breath came shallow and quick, the room closing in around her. The weight of it—the sheer, awful finality—pressed against her ribs like a vice. Her father had wasted his life chasing a ghost. And her mother had never once looked back. A lump formed in Lisa’s throat, thick and suffocating. “What about me?” Her voice was raw, barely more than a whisper. “Did you ever love me?” This time, her mother didn’t hesitate. “Yes.” The answer should have been a relief. It wasn’t. It only made the pain sharper, the betrayal deeper. Lisa’s nails bit into her palms. “Then why did you leave?” Her mother exhaled slowly, her gaze turning distant, almost regretful. “I got too attached to you,” she admitted. “It started affecting my decision .” Her eyes refocused, sharp and unwavering. “It’s something all witches must pass through if they decided not to linger any more. A test. And I had to choose.” Lisa’s breath hitched. “And you chose to abandon me.” Her mother tilted her head, as if considering the weight of those words. “I chose what was meant to be.” Lisa felt something inside her c***k, splintering like fragile glass. Wasn’t she supposed to matter more than that? As if hearing her thoughts, the woman extended a book from the shadows. It was ancient, its leather cover cracked and blackened as if scorched by hellfire. The pages pulsed faintly, veins of dark red snaking through the parchment like the book was alive. Lisa recoiled, but her mother only pressed forward, holding out a quill with a tip soaked in something thick and glistening. “I’ve sealed the blood of your fresh corpse on it. ” she murmured. “ Sign your name, Lisa. Make a wish and You could live again.”Her mother’s smile didn’t falter. A shudder crawled down Lisa’s spine. This was wrong— Something felt wrong .. This book sounds like the devil's book from horror stories ..where one sign their names for power. ..But she had spent years watching, festering, waiting—hadn’t she begged for another chance? Her breath hitched as a new, more chilling realization settled over her like ice seeping into her bones. She had been there... how else could she get the blood from her fresh corpse? All those nights Lisa had screamed into the void, clawing at the walls of her own despair—her mother must have been near. Watching. Waiting. Her stomach twisted violently. "You were there." The words trembled on her lips, barely audible. "You watched me suffer." Her mother didn't deny it. She only tilted her head, unreadable as ever. Lisa’s pulse thundered in her ears. "You let me break. You let me rot in that misery …..just to make sure I’d sign my name, didn’t you?" A slow, measured nod. No shame. No remorse. Just quiet confirmation. Lisa’s vision blurred, nausea curling deep in her gut. Her mother had lingered, unseen, waiting for the moment Lisa’s agony would finally make her agree. Her ghostly fingers trembled as she grasped the quill. She thought of Norman’s betrayal. Jasmine’s smirk. The cold, endless years spent watching from the shadows. She knew exactly what she wanted. The quill met the paper, the ink—her blood—flowed as if drawn from her very being, forming letters that pulsed with unnatural life. The moment the last stroke was complete, the world trembled. The shadows coiled, the book shuddered, and Lisa felt something shift in her. “Good,” her mother whispered, her expression screaming relief “Now, wish.” Lisa closed her eyes. She wished—wished for time, for another chance, for the night before everything went wrong, for Alexander… The book snapped shut. A violent force tore through her, pulling, ripping, dragging— She woke with a gasp. The air was thick with the scent of candle wax and roses. Silk sheets tangled around her limbs. Her heart pounded wildly. Lisa’s eyes snapped open. She was back. Back in her younger body. Back on her wedding night.