Chapter 3
Serafina's POV
The next morning, we drove to the Santangelo estate in Brooklyn. I floated in the backseat, watching Rafael drive while Bianca nervously smoothed her dress in the passenger seat.
She had every reason to be nervous. After all, she had to perfectly impersonate me in front of my adoptive parents, while my corpse lay buried in their rose garden.
When the car pulled through the estate gates, I saw Isabella and Benedetto already waiting at the entrance. Their faces beamed with smiles I'd never seen before—genuine joy and anticipation.
No one had ever welcomed me like this.
Even on my wedding day, they'd only watched coldly as I put on my dress, like they were packaging an item to give away.
"My dear daughter is finally home!" Benedetto opened his arms, warmly embracing Bianca as she got out of the car.
I floated in mid-air, my heart twisting in agony.
After lunch, Rafael suggested a garden walk. Sunlight filtered through the rose garden, looking peaceful and beautiful on the surface, but I knew death lay buried beneath this soil.
"Beautiful weather." Rafael took Bianca's hand, his voice so gentle it shocked me. "You look much better."
He was acting.
But damn, he was good at it. I'd never seen Rafael so tender. He gently stroked the back of Bianca's hand, occasionally looking down at her with concern—the perfect image of a devoted husband.
"Rafael really is the perfect husband!" Isabella sighed nearby. "Serafina is so lucky."
I saw Rafael's mouth curve slightly, but his eyes were quietly observing everyone's reactions.
He was testing something.
"Thank you for saying so, Isabella." Rafael replied politely. "Serafina is my life—of course I have to take good care of her."
Hearing this, my heart lurched—if ghosts even have hearts. He said I was his life?
We continued strolling through the garden. Rafael seemed very interested in the estate's layout, stopping frequently to ask about various areas.
Then he started walking toward the deeper part of the garden.
My blood instantly froze. That direction... that was where they'd buried me!
"Mr. Rafael, over there..." Benedetto's voice suddenly tensed. "The ground isn't very even there. Be careful not to trip."
Rafael stopped and looked at Benedetto. "Really? What's over there?"
I saw Benedetto and Isabella exchange a nervous glance.
"Just some newly planted rose beds," Isabella quickly explained. "The soil hasn't been properly leveled yet."
Just then, Bianca suddenly swayed, covering her forehead.
"I... I don't feel well." Her voice was weak, and her face had indeed gone pale.
Rafael immediately shifted his attention, supporting her with concern. "What's wrong? Are you too tired?"
"Maybe I didn't sleep well last night." Bianca leaned into Rafael's embrace, successfully diverting everyone's attention from the burial site.
"Let me help you back to rest." Rafael's voice carried worry, but I caught a flash of contemplation in his eyes.
He'd noticed something wrong.
Back in the main house, I floated in the living room, watching this family fuss over Bianca.
"I'll make you some soup," Isabella lovingly touched Bianca's forehead. "You've always been delicate since childhood. You need to take better care of yourself."
Delicate since childhood?
I wanted to laugh. Bianca had been the family princess since birth—healthy as a horse. It was me who'd been sickly as a child, never receiving this kind of attention.
I remembered that winter when I was seven, burning with fever in bed. Isabella had only had the maid give me some medicine, then went to worry about Bianca's piano lessons. Meanwhile, Bianca had just a slight cough, and Isabella nervously called several doctors.
"Mom, I want your mushroom soup," Bianca cooed, her voice sickeningly sweet.
"Of course, sweetheart, I'll make it right now." Isabella's face was full of adoration. "You just rest here."
I floated nearby, heart full of bitterness. Same "daughters," but such different treatment.
I already knew the answer: because I wasn't their blood.
That afternoon, Rafael said he wanted to discuss business with Benedetto. The two men went into the study. I quickly followed, wanting to hear what they'd say.
"Rafael, about the cooperation between our families..." Benedetto began.
"Let's skip business for now." Rafael cut him off. "I want to ask about Serafina."
Benedetto looked confused. "What about her?"
"She's been acting strange lately." Rafael's gaze was sharp. "Small details, but I find them odd."
My heart jumped to my throat. He really had noticed something!
"Maybe it's just that time of the month?" Benedetto said awkwardly. "You know how women get..."
"It's not that." Rafael shook his head. "I know my wife."
He knew me?
This shocked me. For three years, I'd thought Rafael paid no attention to me, but apparently he understood me better than I'd imagined.
Just then, voices drifted in from outside—Bianca and Isabella talking.
I floated out of the study to see Bianca and Isabella whispering in a corner of the living room.
"How's the plan going?" Isabella asked carefully.
"Not bad, but Rafael is tougher than I expected." Bianca frowned. "He's too observant."
"You must be careful," Isabella said nervously. "He can't discover anything."
"I understand, Mom." Bianca nodded, but her voice was uneasy. "It's just... about Serafina..."
"Don't worry, baby." Isabella's voice suddenly turned cold and hard. "That bitch is DEAD! For three years, she completely refused to help us get intelligence from the Monteverdi family. She got what she deserved!"
WHAT?
I floated in shock, unable to believe what I was hearing.
"Your father was right—if she wouldn't cooperate, we'd replace her." Isabella continued. "You've always been smarter than her. Rafael will definitely prefer you."
My God... they actually killed me for this!
I always thought the worst that could happen for refusing to be their spy was being ignored or scolded. I never imagined they could be so ruthless! I thought those cold words and harsh looks were the extent of their punishment, never dreaming they were plotting... my death.
"What about her body..." Bianca asked worriedly.
"Buried deep. No one will find it." Isabella said coldly. "And we've already replanted that area with roses."
They ALL knew!
Despair crashed over me like a tsunami. Not just Bianca—my adoptive parents had participated in the plan to murder me. This home I'd lived in for over twenty years, these people I'd called Mom and Dad for over twenty years, had coldly eliminated me for family interests.
I remembered childhood moments when I'd tried to get close to them, and they'd always pushed me away coldly. I'd thought it was because I wasn't their biological daughter, but now I understood—I'd never been a daughter to them. Just a tool.
A tool that could be replaced at any time.
I floated in the air, watching these once-closest people coldly discuss my death, my heart tearing apart.
I wanted to cry, to scream, to demand why they'd treated me this way.
But what could I do?
I was dead. I was just a drifting ghost. I couldn't even shed tears or make a sound. I could only float here helplessly, watching the truth unfold before me bit by bit, unable to change anything.