Revenge Backfired: He Killed His Only Lover

I died, but I didn't disappear.
Floating above the bathtub, I stared down at my corpse—wrists slashed, razor blade still gripped in my hand, blood darkening the water.
I'd timed it perfectly for Nicholas to find me, wanting him to drown in guilt. But when he opened the door, he smiled—cold and venomous. Crouching beside the tub, he whispered, "Sarah can finally rest in peace."
That's when I understood. I had died for nothing. He'd always believed I killed his ex-girlfriend Sarah. My suicide was exactly what he wanted.
He called 911, performing fake hysteria. Later, he burned my diary documenting his psychological torture. But when he reached the pages where I'd written notes on healing his trauma, his hands shook uncontrollably.
I was trapped, bound by invisible chains, forced to follow the man who destroyed me and watch his twisted performance to the very end.