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My Dead Husband Returned With Another Woman Novel Cover

My Dead Husband Returned With Another Woman

Three years after I buried an empty casket for my husband, I found him alive in a grocery store parking lot. He was rubbing a stranger's pregnant belly, smiling a soft smile I had never seen in our years of marriage. My husband, the ruthless Don of Chicago, had become "Arthur," a gentle man with no memory of the empire he ruled or the wife he left behind. To protect his happiness, I swallowed my agony and lied. "I am his cousin," I told his pregnant fiancée, Mia. I brought them home to his estate, enduring the torture of watching him give her the tenderness that used to belong to me. But my mercy was rewarded with cruelty. Dante looked at me with cold, unfamiliar eyes and slapped divorce papers onto the table. "Sign them," he demanded, his voice devoid of emotion. "I want to marry Mia before the baby comes. I want a fresh start." He didn't know I was dying of a heart defect caused by the stress of grieving him. He didn't know I stalled for two weeks not for money, but because I wanted to be buried with his name. I died the morning the deadline arrived, taking the secret of my love to the grave. Ironically, that very night, a bullet grazed his temple during an ambush, unlocking the memories he had lost. He remembered the peach orchard. He remembered our blood oath. He remembered that I was his soulmate. He ran to my brother’s gates, screaming my name, blood pouring down his face, desperate to beg for forgiveness. But my brother just stood there, blocking the entrance to the cemetery with a cruel smile. "She waited for you every single day," he spat. "And you killed her."
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Chapter 10

Elena POV

I recognized the glint of silver before my eyes could even focus on the details.

It was the locket.

Vintage sterling, engraved with a delicate tangle of vines and roses.

I was the one who found it in an antique shop in Florence on our first anniversary.

I was the one who had carefully placed a picture of us inside.

And I was the one who had clasped it around his neck before he deployed, telling him it was his compass to find his way back to me.

Dante strode back to Mia.

He didn't look at me.

He didn't see the woman dying by inches against the tree mere feet away.

"I found it," he said, his voice rough with relief. "I told you I'd find it."

He fastened it around Mia's neck.

The silver chain rested against her throat.

It looked wrong.

It looked like a lie.

Mia clutched the locket as if it were a lifeline.

"Thank you, Artie. I was so scared. It's the only thing I have of yours from... before."

Dante smiled.

Then, with a tenderness that shattered me, he reached out and tapped the tip of her nose with his index finger.

Boop.

The world tilted on its axis.

My vision went black at the edges.

That was my gesture.

He used to do that when I was mad at him.

He used to do that when I was sad.

It was our secret language.

A silly, childish thing that the feared Don of Chicago only did for his wife.

And now, he was doing it for her.

He had given her my locket.

He had given her my gesture.

He had taken the most sacred parts of our history and transplanted them onto a stranger because he couldn't remember where they came from.

He just knew they meant love.

And he loved her.

Bile rose in my throat, hot and acidic.

I couldn't breathe.

The pain in my chest wasn't just the disease anymore.

It was my soul tearing itself apart.

I turned around.

I didn't care if I made noise.

I stumbled away, my heels sinking into the soft earth, fighting for balance.

I ran toward the house.

I ran toward my room.

I needed to hide.

I needed to scream.

But as I reached the sanctuary of my bedroom and collapsed onto the floor, no sound came out.

Only silence.

The silence of a ghost realizing she had already been exorcised.

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