Chapter 3: Rachel’s Ghosts

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The one who acted was the governor, Michael.

The staff dared not say it, but there was only one person in the world who would dare lay a hand on me: Michael.

He didn’t dare see me. He merely sent a posthumous award, naming Rachel an honorary Grand Citizen. The certificate came in a crisp envelope, delivered by a nervous intern who couldn't meet my eyes.

I tore the certificate to shreds with the gold brooch Michael had once given me. The sound of ripping paper was oddly satisfying, echoing off the marble floors.

The staff stood at attention, stiff-backed and silent, eyes glued to the floor. The Governor’s Mansion was silent until Michael arrived. The hush was so deep I could hear the ticking of the old grandfather clock in the foyer, the one Rachel used to wind every Sunday.

“Linda, Rachel’s gone. If you want, I can pull some strings—give her the highest honor we’ve got.”

“If I get rid of Sarah and posthumously name Rachel First Lady, what do you think?”

Michael said nothing.

“I want them buried with her.”

“Impossible.”

“Fine.”

My reply was unusually swift. Michael didn’t expect it, and looked up at me in surprise.

“What did you say?”

“I said, ‘fine.’”

I’ll do it my own way.

I forbade anyone from setting up a memorial for Rachel. None of them were qualified. Then I sent people to reclaim everything related to Rachel. Every photo, every handwritten note, every piece of jewelry that had her scent—gone.

Mark held his ground and refused. Sarah knelt to the side, biting her lip hard, saying nothing.

With just a wave of my hand, the staff filed in, pinning Mark down, his knees hitting the hardwood floor with a heavy thud. The sound echoed, sharp as a gunshot.

Back then, when he wanted to marry Rachel, he’d also knelt before me like this.

He and Rachel had an affair, which I discovered. For Rachel’s reputation, I forbade them from seeing each other. Mark knelt before the entire family, begging me to allow their marriage. His pride had tasted the floor more than once for her.

I didn’t nod. Even though he was close to Michael, it was impossible for him to get official approval.

At that time, I asked Rachel,

“If you marry him, you can’t come back.”

Rachel’s cheeks flushed slightly. She looked away, but I saw the longing in her eyes.

“Linda, he said I’ll be his only one in this life. I want to try.”

“What if it’s a mistake?”

“Then let it be a mistake.”

Rachel seemed gentle, but she was clever and stubborn—I knew this well. She carried a quiet strength that could stop a tornado in its tracks.

She was as determined to choose Mark as she was resolute in leaving him.

When we were young, she always taught me, “The best way to win is to get inside their head.”