Chapter 3

• Collette’s POV
• Hudson never learned.
• For a man who built empires, destroyed competitors, and crushed enemies with a single smirk, he was remarkably stupid in bed. Not at the act itself—God no, the man fucked like sin itself—but in the choices.
• He brought home another one. A redhead this time, with lips too pouty to be real and tits that had probably met a surgeon’s scalpel more than once. She giggled as she kicked off her heels, crawling onto the bed like a cat in heat.
• I perched on the headboard, invisible for now, sipping on my entertainment like it was champagne.
• “Hudson Cross,” she purred, running her nails down his chest. “I can’t believe I’m actually here.”
• Neither could I, sweetheart. Neither could I.
• Hudson pulled her onto his lap, his cock already hard, his hands greedy. He was grinning like a king about to feast.
• Until I decided to crash dinner.
• I leaned down, brushing cold lips across his ear.
• “She moans too much. You’ll hate it.”
• His body went rigid. The redhead blinked at him. “Baby?”
• Hudson’s grin faltered. “Nothing. Just—nothing.”
• I laughed. Oh, it felt good, that eerie sound rattling the crystal chandelier above them.
• Then, for the first time since my death, I let myself
• appear
• The redhead gasped, eyes widening as my form shimmered into view at the foot of the bed. Pale skin. Dark eyes. Lacy black slip I’d died in, torn at the hem. And blood, faint but visible, smeared across my chest.
• “Jesus Christ!” she screamed, scrambling off Hudson like he was contagious. “What the fuck—what the fuck is that?”
• Hudson’s face drained of color. “Collette…”
• “Yes, darling,” I purred, cocking my head. “Did you miss me?”
• The redhead bolted, shrieking all the way down the hall, heels clattering as she nearly tripped over herself. The slam of the penthouse door echoed like a drumroll, and I basked in it. Applause for me, the ghost in his sheets.
• Hudson dragged a hand down his face, muttering curses under his breath. He was still hard—his cock straining against his zipper.
• I floated closer, smirking. “Pathetic, really. Can’t even keep a woman in your bed with me around. What’s the matter, baby? You only get hard when I’m the one screaming?”
• His jaw tightened. “You’re not real.”
• “Oh, I’m real enough.” I drifted onto the bed, straddling him, though my body stayed half-translucent. My nails grazed his chest, leaving icy welts. His breath hitched.
• “You feel me, don’t you?” I whispered, rolling my hips over his. He groaned despite himself, his cock twitching beneath me.
• “This is… fuck, this is insane.”
• “Insane is thinking you could kill me and move on.” I leaned in, lips brushing his jaw. “Insane is forgetting I always screamed your name louder than anyone else.”
• His hand twitched, reaching for me. His palm brushed my thigh—and his fingers passed
• through
• . He cursed, his head falling back, teeth gritted.
• “Oh, don’t pout.” I laughed, grinding against him anyway. “You don’t need to touch me. I’ll touch you.”
• I curled my hand around his cock. My ghostly fingers were cold, but firm enough. He gasped, eyes rolling back, a sound tearing out of his throat that made my cunt ache despite being dead.
• “Collette—fuck!”
• I stroked him slow, teasing, then faster, enjoying the sight of sweat beading on his temple. His hips bucked. His veins throbbed. He was close—so close.
• I leaned into his ear, whispering the final nail in his coffin.
• “You don’t come unless I let you.”
• And then I vanished.
• Gone. Fingers gone. Pressure gone.
• His climax shattered into nothing, leaving him groaning in pain, fists slamming the mattress.
• “Goddamn you!” he roared.
• I materialized at the mirror across the room, smirking as I adjusted the strap of my slip. “Oh, baby. You will live, literally.”