After I faked my death, my husband begged me to come back.

I, Sienna, stand in the center of our Manhattan penthouse living room, crumpled hotel receipts scattered at my feet. The dates match last week—when Adrian claimed he was on a business trip to Chicago. But the address on the receipts is the Rosewood Hotel, a mere ten-minute drive from our apartment.

My fingertips are ice-cold as I scroll mindlessly through my phone. On the screen is Chloe's latest social media post—Chloe, whom I've treated like a little sister. A mirror selfie shows her in a loose silk nightgown, her hand resting seemingly casually on her flat stomach. The caption reads: "Surprised by new life, feeling a bit overwhelmed. But with you here, everything will be okay. @Adrian"

Adrian. My fiancé. The man who, in just one month, will vow eternal fidelity to me before five hundred guests.

The comments section is flooded with friends offering congratulations, calling them the "perfect couple." How absurd. Everyone knows Chloe is pregnant with Adrian's child—everyone except me, his actual fiancée, kept in the dark.

My stomach churns. I nearly retch.

Just then, the lock clicks. Adrian walks in with his usual devastating smile.

"Darling, I'm home!" He opens his arms and approaches, still carrying the coolness of the night air. "Did you miss me?"

I stiffen as he embraces me. His coat carries not just his usual cologne, but traces of a sickeningly sweet perfume. Chloe's favorite scent.

"Didn't you say you'd be at dinner with investors until late tonight?" I ask, struggling to keep my voice normal.

He releases me, rubbing his temples with a weary expression. "Yeah, but Mark had to cancel last minute. Speaking of which..." He leans in, his fingers brushing my cheek, "next month is our wedding. Nervous?"

I look into those deep eyes I was once so infatuated with, now seeing only two cold black holes.

"A little," I say, my gaze sweeping over that damned hotel receipt on the floor. Half of it peeks out from under the sofa, silently mocking me.

He follows my line of sight, his brow furrowing almost imperceptibly before smoothing out. "What's that? Trash?" He walks over nonchalantly, using his foot to kick the receipt completely under the sofa, then naturally puts his arm around my waist. "Never mind that. I brought you a present."

He produces a velvet box. Inside is a diamond bracelet, luxurious to the point of being garish.

"Like it? I remember you lingering on it in that magazine." His tone is tender, tinged with anticipation.

I take the box without opening it. "Thank you. It's beautiful."

He looks slightly disappointed but quickly rallies. "I'm going to take a shower. After that, let's plan our honeymoon properly, okay?"

"Okay," I say.

Watching his retreating back—the back I thought I'd spend my life with—I suddenly speak: "Adrian, do you remember what you said when you proposed?"

He stops, turns around, his face displaying that familiar gentle smile capable of melting any woman's heart. "Of course I remember. I said that without you, my life would be meaningless. You are my everything."

He says it so sincerely, so naturally. If not for that hotel receipt and Chloe's post still burning in my retinas, I might almost believe him again.

"Go take your shower," I say softly.

The moment the bathroom door closes, the smile vanishes from my face completely. I look down at the expensive diamond bracelet in my hand, then without hesitation throw it into the trash can in the corner.

The sound of running water fills the apartment. I walk to the desk and open the bottom drawer, retrieving an unmarked folder. Inside is a single sheet of paper with a line printed at the top:

The Resurrection Project - Phase One Confirmation

My finger hovers over the "Confirm Activation" option for one second. Then I pick up a pen and forcefully check the box.

The pen tip nearly pierces through the paper.

Adrian, you'll never know that your perfect fiancée will completely disappear at your happiest moment.