The Ghost He Couldn't See

The Ghost He Couldn't See

Li Zi Hai Shi Xing

5.0
Comment(s)
301
View
11
Chapters

Ethan and I were a medical power couple, brilliant doctors at Mount Sinai West, building a life, a future. My world, however, shattered in a horrific car crash. My head throbbed, my vision blurred, and though my words were clear enough to convey a severe neurological emergency, the man I loved, Dr. Ethan Hayes, rushed past my trauma bay. He called me "dramatic," dismissing my critical state to focus on his stepsister, Brooke, who he believed had a 'shattered leg.' I watched, a helpless ghost, as my body flatlined, the monitor's unbroken tone signaling my death. He still didn't know, too preoccupied with fixing Brooke's "injuries," too blind to her manipulative tears and lies about the accident. The betrayal was colder than death itself. Five years, a future planned, all discarded for a carefully crafted pretense. My heart, or what was left of it, ached with an unbearable truth. The true horror, the one that would forever define his torment, was a secret I carried even into the afterlife: I was pregnant. With our child. The baby he unknowingly condemned with his catastrophic medical negligence. His world was about to unravel – spectacularly, brutally. And I, his silent, invisible companion, would be tethered to him, watching every agonizing moment as his brilliant career, his sanity, and his very soul disintegrated.

Introduction

Ethan and I were a medical power couple, brilliant doctors at Mount Sinai West, building a life, a future.

My world, however, shattered in a horrific car crash.

My head throbbed, my vision blurred, and though my words were clear enough to convey a severe neurological emergency, the man I loved, Dr. Ethan Hayes, rushed past my trauma bay.

He called me "dramatic," dismissing my critical state to focus on his stepsister, Brooke, who he believed had a 'shattered leg.'

I watched, a helpless ghost, as my body flatlined, the monitor's unbroken tone signaling my death.

He still didn't know, too preoccupied with fixing Brooke's "injuries," too blind to her manipulative tears and lies about the accident.

The betrayal was colder than death itself.

Five years, a future planned, all discarded for a carefully crafted pretense.

My heart, or what was left of it, ached with an unbearable truth.

The true horror, the one that would forever define his torment, was a secret I carried even into the afterlife: I was pregnant.

With our child.

The baby he unknowingly condemned with his catastrophic medical negligence.

His world was about to unravel – spectacularly, brutally.

And I, his silent, invisible companion, would be tethered to him, watching every agonizing moment as his brilliant career, his sanity, and his very soul disintegrated.

Continue Reading

Other books by Li Zi Hai Shi Xing

More
My Wife, Her Son, His Lie

My Wife, Her Son, His Lie

Modern

5.0

The silence in our living room was heavy, broken only by my ragged breathing. On the coffee table, a single photograph lay between us: my wife, Chloe Davis, holding a child, a man I' d never seen before, Alex Reed, his arm possessively around them. The anonymous email was simple: "Everything you believe is a lie." I stared at Chloe, my wife of five years, the celebrity I had helped build, the woman I loved with every fiber of my being, as she calmly confessed. "His name is Alex Reed. And that' s our son, Noah." Their son. The son I was told I could never have. The pain I had carried for us, the infertility I had accepted as my truth, was nothing but a calculated cover story. Her mother, Eleanor, rushed to my side, not to comfort me, but to smooth things over, to sell me on a lifetime of complicity. "Ethan, you know you can' t have children. This has happened. What' s the point of making a scene? Be a father to the boy. It' s a blessing in disguise, really." The sheer audacity, the cold dismissal of my pain and betrayal, left me speechless. Chloe, the woman I thought I knew, looked at me with chilling pragmatism. "It' s the most practical solution, Ethan. We can keep Alex and Noah hidden. This can just be our secret." My entire marriage, a lie. My love, a tool. My supposed brokenness, a convenient cover for her betrayal. The devastation burned away all confusion, leaving behind a stark clarity. "No," I said, quiet but final. Chloe blinked, as if the concept was foreign. "I want a divorce." Then came the storm. Not from Chloe, but from a social media post crafted by Eleanor, turning me into the villain. "Some people can't handle a strong woman. Chloe deserves a man who can give her a real family." My fabricated infertility, their weapon. The woman I sacrificed everything for had joined her mother and her secret family to paint me as the inadequate, abusive monster. They thought I was weak. They were wrong. My fingers, no longer trembling, found my phone. "I need to file for divorce. And I want to be prepared for a fight."

Two Days to Escape

Two Days to Escape

Romance

5.0

The glowing line of code on Sarah' s monitor signaled another crisis averted, a familiar satisfaction that quickly vanished, replaced by the dull ache of a life suffocating under the weight of her possessive fiancé, Mark, and his manipulative sister, Emily. "Just three more days," she whispered to the empty office-a countdown to her escape and a new life where she would finally be valued. But her carefully constructed countdown shattered the moment Emily, supposedly pregnant and fragile, staged a dramatic public collapse in Sarah' s office, openly accusing her. Mark, the supposed love of her life, didn' t hesitate; his immediate, furious accusation- "What did you do?" -echoed through the silent office, his eyes burning with pure hatred. The betrayal was swift and absolute. He accused her of attempting to kill Emily and, later, their unborn child (Emily's baby, not theirs). Her reputation, her career, and her very freedom evaporated under a deluge of his self-righteous rage and Emily' s calculated lies. The accusations hung heavy in the sterile hospital air, turning her into a monster in front of her colleagues and the police. How could the man who once adored her believe such monstrous lies without question? How could a bond forged in love warp into this toxic web of manipulation and deceit? The injustice was a cold, sharp blade, cutting deep into her soul. She was trapped, branded a villain, with no one but herself to fight the tide of his blind fury. Yet, a seed of hope remained. Just two more days, she reminded herself. Two more days until a clandestine agency pulled her from this nightmare, erasing her old life and giving her a chance to reclaim herself. It was a risk, a leap into the unknown, but it was her only way out.

Too Late For Her Regret

Too Late For Her Regret

Romance

5.0

For 15 years, Lena and I were Apex and Viper, Sentinel Group's best. We moved like ghosts, always got the job done. I thought our bond was iron, that nothing could break what we had. A lifetime together, quiet, away from it all – that was the future I saw. Then Julian Thorne, a tech billionaire's son, walked into our lives. I saw the shift in Lena's eyes, a flicker I hadn't wanted to acknowledge. Her laughter grew too loud, too often with him, and her subtle jabs at me turned sharper, more dismissive. She started calling him Julian, shared operational details she shouldn't have, and openly mocked my ruggedness, insisting Julian preferred 'polish.' My gut twisted when he tossed our custom-made challenge coin in the air – the symbol of our unbroken partnership, given to him like trash. But nothing hit harder than her cold laugh, "A future? With you? Don't be ridiculous, Alex. You think I' d ever be with someone like you?" Twenty years of belief, shattered in an instant. The woman I loved, my partner for fifteen years, saw me as nothing but a grunt, a relic, beneath her ambition. The pain was a physical blow, a cold, hard truth: this wasn't a partnership. To her, it was just a job, and Julian Thorne, a shiny, disposable perk. Watching her laugh with him, the knot in my gut tightened, then snapped. I pulled out my burner phone, the one I hadn't touched in years. "Grandfather," I said, my voice rough, "It's Alex. About that arrangement… is it still on the table?" It was time to leave everything behind, to find a peace she could never offer.

The Unforgiving Snow

The Unforgiving Snow

Horror

5.0

The scream died in my throat, a ghost of a sound from a life already lost. My eyes snapped open to weak autumn sunlight filtering through bedroom curtains. Michael, my husband, slept beside me, his breathing even. Down the hall, Lily, my five-year-old, would soon be stirring, ready for cartoons and pancakes. It was a normal morning, but the memories, the ice-cold dread, they weren't a dream. It was a terrifying premonition: a monstrous blizzard, Lily's small, still face, Michael's broken body in the snow. I saw the snarling faces of Frank, Brenda, Billy, and Jimmy, their greedy eyes scanning our home. And then, the ultimate betrayal: Jessie. My adopted daughter, Jessie, siding with them, facilitating their violence, celebrating their victory over our family. They had ransacked our home, murdered my husband and daughter, and left me to die in the freezing snow. My heart hammered with the visceral horror of that nightmare, the profound betrayal burning deeper than any wound. How could the daughter I loved, the one I raised, turn into such a monster and actively choose our destruction? This wasn't just a nightmare; it felt terrifyingly real, a chilling glimpse into an impending doom. "It had all happened. It was all going to happen. Today." A tremor went through me. Today was the day the blizzard warnings began, the day Jessie first whined about wanting to see her "real" family. I was back. Armed with the brutal wisdom of a life I'd already lost, I would rewrite every brutal chapter, protect my family, and ensure those who sought to harm us faced a fate far worse.

You'll also like

Too Late: The Spare Daughter Escapes Him

Too Late: The Spare Daughter Escapes Him

SHANA GRAY
4.3

I died on a Tuesday. It wasn't a quick death. It was slow, cold, and meticulously planned by the man who called himself my father. I was twenty years old. He needed my kidney to save my sister. The spare part for the golden child. I remember the blinding lights of the operating theater, the sterile smell of betrayal, and the phantom pain of a surgeon's scalpel carving into my flesh while my screams echoed unheard. I remember looking through the observation glass and seeing him-my father, Giovanni Vitiello, the Don of the Chicago Outfit-watching me die with the same detached expression he used when signing a death warrant. He chose her. He always chose her. And then, I woke up. Not in heaven. Not in hell. But in my own bed, a year before my scheduled execution. My body was whole, unscarred. The timeline had reset, a glitch in the cruel matrix of my existence, giving me a second chance I never asked for. This time, when my father handed me a one-way ticket to London-an exile disguised as a severance package-I didn't cry. I didn't beg. My heart, once a bleeding wound, was now a block of ice. He didn't know he was talking to a ghost. He didn't know I had already lived through his ultimate betrayal. He also didn't know that six months ago, during the city's brutal territory wars, I was the one who saved his most valuable asset. In a secret safe house, I stitched up the wounds of a blinded soldier, a man whose life hung by a thread. He never saw my face. He only knew my voice, the scent of vanilla, and the steady touch of my hands. He called me Sette. Seven. For the seven stitches I put in his shoulder. That man was Dante Moretti. The Ruthless Capo. The man my sister, Isabella, is now set to marry. She stole my story. She claimed my actions, my voice, my scent. And Dante, the man who could spot a lie from a mile away, believed the beautiful deception because he wanted it to be true. He wanted the golden girl to be his savior, not the invisible sister who was only ever good for her spare parts. So I took the ticket. In my past life, I fought them, and they silenced me on an operating table. This time, I will let them have their perfect, gilded lie. I will go to London. I will disappear. I will let Seraphina Vitiello die on that plane. But I will not be a victim. This time, I will not be the lamb led to slaughter. This time, from the shadows of my exile, I will be the one holding the match. And I will wait, with the patience of the dead, to watch their entire world burn. Because a ghost has nothing to lose, and a queen of ashes has an empire to gain.

Chapters
Read Now
Download Book