Entangled with the lost heir

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.

Modern Divorce Ex-wife

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Stacy's POV

I missed another opportunity to get a job. Even when I had a smiley face on, my shirt and skirt were crisp and smooth. My makeup is lightly done.

One that wasn't going to have the female employees wondering if I've gone to steal the favor of their superior and colleagues, or one a female superior would disagree with.

I made sure I did everything right, but the moment I heard the man say with a weak smile,

"I'm really sorry,"

I needed no further explanations. A vacancy I had well applied for. An interview I earned.

How was another candidate suddenly given the bag just yesterday? I thought on my way home as the afternoon sun hit my face. “Thank goodness I reused my sunscreen before leaving home.” I said to myself.

I could see my mom trailing down the stairs, and I knew her hawk eyes, firm but gentle, were gawking at me from where I sat down.

I fought back the tears in my eyes, preparing to pretend all was okay. I couldn't bring myself to her. I have failed again; I don’t know what to do again.

I was staring down at my phone before I realized she was already standing before me. I pretended whatever it was I didn’t know about it.

Staring at my phone made it so oblivious she was now standing there, but what I wasn't prepared for was when she crouched down, her hands on my knees, her face warm and her eyes tender, telling me that everything was going to be fine.

Perhaps, I needed not to lie. I couldn't hold back the tears at that moment, and I crashed my head into my mom's embrace, soaking her dress with my tears.

"You will get another one," she said as she patted my shoulders gently, but I could tell she was only saying that to console me.

"What makes you so sure?" I asked between sniffles, trying to get myself together.

She smiled, "I just know so, and as for those people, they can shove their appointment up their asses!"

I burst into a fit of laughter, “Mom!” and I could tell she just wanted to cheer me up from the way she smiled back.

In a few seconds, the somber feeling clouds my expression, and I rested my head on her shoulders.

“I just want to give us a better life, Mom. Am I not old and conscious enough to do that?”

“Look at you speaking like all you do is sit home and play video games!” she frowns,

“You step out there all day, seeking out every opportunity available. Hell, you were the one who made me understand the modern way of writing CV's and applying for jobs via emails.”

“You made me a critique of how well you composed your application letters, how well your choice of dresses looked, that alone should remind you, my girl, you are doing more than enough.”

“No, I'm not.” I whisper, and another stream of tears comes pouring down.

“My poor girl”, I heard the hurt in her voice as she embraced me tightly.

“It would have not been this difficult if Joe had never been around,” I mutter, and I knew my mom heard it when she went rigid beside me.

We remained silent for a few more seconds, and in that little moment, I knew whatever she was going to say as always was only meant to comfort me. I knew a part of her still blamed me for Joe. Still blamed me for what happened after Joe.

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