SHES MY FIRST LOVE

The Ghost Wife's Billion Dollar Tech Comeback

Huo Wuer

Today is October 14th, my birthday. I returned to New York after months away, dragging my suitcase through the biting wind, but the VIP pickup zone where my husband’s Maybach usually idled was empty. When I finally let myself into our Upper East Side penthouse, I didn’t find a cake or a "welcome home" banner. Instead, I found my husband, Caden, kneeling on the floor, helping our five-year-old daughter wrap a massive gift for my half-sister, Adalynn. Caden didn’t even look up when I walked in; he was too busy laughing with the girl who had already stolen my father’s legacy and was now moving in on my family. "Auntie Addie is a million times better than Mommy," my daughter Elara chirped, clutching a plush toy Caden had once forbidden me from buying for her. "Mommy is mean," she whispered loudly, while Caden just smirked, calling me a "drill sergeant" before whisking her off to Adalynn’s party without a second glance. Later that night, I saw a video Adalynn posted online where my husband and child laughed while mocking my "sensitive" nature, treating me like an inconvenient ghost in my own home. I had spent five years researching nutrition for Elara’s health and managing every detail of Caden’s empire, only to be discarded the moment I wasn't in the room. How could the man who set his safe combination to my birthday completely forget I even existed? The realization didn't break me; it turned me into ice. I didn't scream or beg for an explanation. I simply walked into the study, pulled out the divorce papers I’d drafted months ago, and took a black marker to the terms. I crossed out the alimony, the mansion, and even the custody clause—if they wanted a life without me, I would give them exactly what they asked for. I left my four-carat diamond ring on the console table and walked out into the rain with nothing but a heavily encrypted hard drive. The submissive Mrs. Holloway was gone, and "Ghost," the most lethal architect in the tech world, was finally back online to take back everything they thought I’d forgotten.

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Emily’s point of view.

“Mommy, can I go with you to the art exhibition tomorrow?” Olivia said her plea accompanied by a pout and her best puppy-dog eyes that are quite attractive as a result of her hazel eyes. She is an inquisitive and charming thirteen-year-old with a face that has both her parents' features, accompanied by her chestnut hair.

She is the living proof of her mother's previous relationship with the billionaire tech mogul, Daniel Hartman, despite the pain and heartbreak she endured. Olivia is remarkably curious and intelligent, inheriting her parent’s love for the arts.

Emily firmly responded, “Olivia, the last time you followed me to an exhibition, you nearly disappeared, and I was worried sick. So, my answer is a definite no,”

“Mommy, please” Olivia implored, her eyes filled with earnest longing.

“Fine!” She breathed out, “You can come with me, but you'll be under my constant supervision. No asking, ‘Mommy, can I go see this?’”

“Thank you so much, mommy. I love, love, love, you so much,” Olivia said, dancing in excitement as she made her way out of the art studio.

Emily chuckled and she proceeded to admire her artwork.

She sighed with satisfaction, appreciating her creation. Approaching the place where she had hung them, she gently touched the artwork, admiring it with a sense of contentment.

“They're beautiful,” Sarah said softly as she walked in, catching Emily by surprise.

Startled by the sudden sound of her voice, Emily responded, “Don't sneak up on me like that, girl,” playfully feigning annoyance.

Sarah chuckled, saying, “You’re so skittish, Emily.”

“Whatever. You always manage to get on my nerves,” Emily retorted with a hint of humor.

“What are best friends for?” Sarah said with a playful tone.

Emily quipped with a knowing smile, acknowledging the quirks and occasional annoyances that come with their close bond.

“You know there are chances that you’d run into him right?” Sarah inquired, hinting at the potential encounter.

“I know, Sarah. Please, don't remind me. I'd rather not think about it,” she replied, clearly uncomfortable with the idea.

“I mean, you can always attend another art exhibition other than this one being sponsored by him,” Sarah said, her voice filled with concern.

Turning abruptly to face her friend, shocked by her words, she questioned, “What? Are you serious right now?” She continued, “You know how much of a struggling artist I am, I juggle between my two part-time jobs and this art as well. This could be a chance for recognition, and that's all I want - to succeed and be able to cover my bills without burdening you or anyone else!”

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you. I was just genuinely concerned for you,” Emily pleaded, her face reflecting sincere remorse.

“You can do better, Sarah. Encourage me, tell me you'll be there with me, support me. That's all I need from you, and not to get on my nerves,” Emily pleaded.

Reaching out to give her a warm and heartfelt embrace, “I'm sorry,” Sarah whispered, expressing her sincere apology and understanding.

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