Her Ghost in our Bed
1104 Words
I thought I would sleep that night.
I thought exhaustion would swallow me whole after the performance I gave at the gala.
But sleep never came.
Not because of the silence. Not because of the penthouse’s cold marble floors or the smell of Camilla’s favorite rose diffuser lingering in the hallway.
It was the bed.
His bed.
Dominic hadn’t told me where to sleep. But after the gala, after the way he’d held me in front of the cameras like I was his possession, I didn’t want to seem fragile by crawling back into the guest room.
I didn’t want to look like a mistake he regretted.
So I slipped under the silk sheets of the master bed and waited.
Waited for the sound of the door.
Waited for his footsteps.
Waited for the ache in my chest to settle into something like peace.
But instead, I waited in the dark, wondering how many nights my sister had laid here.
How many lies had been whispered into her neck.
How many of his promises had once been for her.
And now they meant nothing.
Because I wore the ring.
I bore the name.
And she was the ghost that would not leave.
⸻
When the bedroom door opened at 2:16 a.m., I pretended to be asleep.
Dominic walked in without a word. His cologne, sharp and expensive, floated toward me like a memory. His movements were precise, jacket on the chair, cufflinks in the tray, shirt unbuttoned halfway.
I could feel his presence near the edge of the bed. I kept my breathing steady.
He didn’t touch me.
Didn’t ask if he could sleep beside me.
He simply pulled back the covers and slid in beside me like it was the most natural thing in the world.
The mattress dipped slightly.
And then, silence again.
His body didn’t touch mine. There was a full foot of space between us. But I could feel the tension stretched across that distance like a rubber band ready to snap.
I didn’t know what I wanted more, for him to close the distance… or for him to leave.
I thought he had fallen asleep, until he spoke.
“You don’t have to pretend with me.”
My eyes opened.
“I wasn’t,” I said, voice barely audible.
“You were.”
I turned to face him. His eyes were open. Watching. As if he’d been studying me in the dark.
His voice was low, controlled. “I’m not Camilla, Dominic.”
“I know.”
“Then why do I feel like I’m living in her skin?”
He didn’t answer immediately. He propped an arm behind his head and stared at the ceiling like it held a truth he couldn’t say aloud.
“You walked into her wedding,” he said finally. “You married me with her name still echoing in the room. What did you think it would feel like?”
“Not like this,” I said.
“Like what?”
“Like I stole something.”
He turned his face toward me, expression unreadable. “You didn’t steal me, Elena. I gave myself to you.”
I laughed bitterly. “Out of spite.”
“Out of choice.”
Silence again.
Then he asked, “Did you love her?”
The question caught me off guard.
“She was my sister.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
I swallowed hard. “I don’t know. I think… I wanted her to love me. I think I mistook survival for love.”
He didn’t speak for a while after that. When he did, his voice was softer. Almost human.
“She never deserved your loyalty.”
“You didn’t either.”
He smirked in the dark. “Touché.”
I turned away from him then, because if I looked any longer, I would fall deeper into something I couldn’t name.
Something dangerous.
Something permanent.
⸻
The next morning, the bed was cold again.
Dominic was gone before sunrise — as always.
But this time, there was a note on the pillow beside me. Handwritten. Elegant script.
Lunch with the board at 1PM. You’re coming. Wear something that reminds them who you belong to.
~D.
Who I belong to.
Not who I am. Not what I stand for.
Who owns me.
I stared at the words for a long time before tossing the note into the fireplace and watching it curl into black ash.
⸻
At 12:47, I walked into the Blackwell Holdings boardroom wearing a sleek black dress, high stilettos, and the diamond necklace Dominic had placed on my vanity two nights ago.
He hadn’t told me it was his mother’s.
The men around the table looked up the moment I entered. Some smiled politely. Others raised brows. One or two stared too long.
But none of them dared speak.
Because Dominic entered behind me.
Tall. Composed. Cold enough to freeze over fire.
“Gentlemen,” he said. “You already know my wife.”
My stomach fluttered.
He placed a hand on my lower back, firm and possessive.
“She’ll be joining the foundation board starting next quarter. Effective immediately.”
I turned to him, startled. That wasn’t part of the plan. I was the stand-in wife. The fake. The convenient scapegoat.
But the way he said it, the way his voice sliced through the room, there was no space for disagreement.
I sat beside him, numb.
The meeting began. The men talked numbers. Dominic talked strategy. I stayed silent, but I felt his hand graze my thigh under the table once, just once, in warning.
Don’t show weakness.
Don’t doubt your place.
Don’t forget who you are now.
By the time the meeting ended, I was more shaken than I wanted to admit.
He stood beside me as the room cleared.
“You didn’t tell me I’d be joining the board,” I said quietly.
He turned to me, a slow tilt to his head. “I don’t give away my name to women who hide in corners. If you’re going to wear it, you’ll earn it.”
“Why?”
“Because whether you believe it or not, I protect what’s mine.”
“And I’m yours now?”
He leaned in. His breath was warm at my ear.
“You’ve always been mine.”
Then he walked away.
Leaving me standing in a room built for power, wearing a necklace I hadn’t earned, and a name I wasn’t sure I deserved.
And the worst part?
I wasn’t sure if I wanted to escape anymore.
Or finally be seen
- Writer
