My Mistress Ordered My Funeral While I Was Still Alive Chapter 01
During my days of bed rest after the miscarriage, I applied to become a Deceased Effects Organizer.
My very first client left me utterly shaken.
A young woman walked in, asking me to clear out the “belongings of a living person.”
“It’s for that bitch clinging to my boyfriend,” she explained carelessly.
“Her baby died, she lost her mind, but she’s still squatting in that trashy house in The South End. Because of her, I’ve been trying to conceive a male heir for six months, and nothing.”
Ignoring my shock, she kept going.
“The psychic said if we burn everything she ever touched and set up a Custom Epitaph, it will banish her from my boyfriend’s life for good.”
This boundary-crossing request pushed the limits of my job. I was about to refuse.
Then, she slammed a black card onto the desk.
“My boyfriend is Harrison Sterling, CEO of The Sterling Group. Do this for me, and money is no object.”
The pen in my hand froze.
Harrison Sterling of The Sterling Group.
My husband of four years. Legal and registered.
Before I could breathe, she threw a heavy object onto the table.
It was a Mock Memorial Plaque, deeply engraved with a name.
Evelyn Brooks.
***
I stared at the plaque, unable to move a muscle.
The letters were cut deep into the wood.
As if terrified I wasn’t dead enough, someone had traced over the grooves with thick, aggressive red ink.
My fingers trembled as I quietly unclipped the ID badge bearing my own name from my waist and slid it into my pocket.
Amber Vance didn’t notice. She just wiped her hands on her designer dress with a look of pure disgust.
“I know she’s still breathing.”
“But look at her. What’s the difference between her and a corpse?”
I pressed my palm flat against the cold black plaque.
“If she’s still alive, why are you doing this?”
Amber let out a laugh.
“You can banish the living too, you know.”
“She’s a parasite clinging to my boyfriend. I’m just hiring a professional to clean up the mess.”
I said nothing.
Thinking I didn’t get it, she dumped a handful of printouts from her luxury bag onto the desk.
“Here. Take a look. This is the junk.”
My vision blurred as I recognized the images.
A wedding dress. An ultrasound photo.
And a few snapshots of brand-new, unwrapped baby onesies with the tags still attached.
They were all mine.
Those tiny clothes had arrived in the mail just the day before I miscarried.
I distinctly remembered laying them out under the lamp, staring at them for hours.
I had thought about how beautiful our baby would look in them.
“All of this needs to go into the fire.”
Amber’s voice cut through the memory like ice.
“Especially the dead kid’s stuff. It’s pure bad luck.”
A thick, suffocating lump formed in my throat.
“Why?”
“Why do you think? The kid was cursed, didn’t even make it to birth.”
“And now its ghost is hovering around, blocking me from conceiving a male heir.”
She spoke with such casual cruelty that I couldn’t process it for a second.
When I lost the baby, Harrison had held me tightly, staying by my hospital bed for an entire week without sleep.
He said he was sorry, that he hadn’t protected us.
He promised me we would have another chance.
But to the rest of the world, my baby was just a curse.
“The loss of her child has nothing to do with you.”
I said, forcing my voice into a casual, detached professional tone.
Amber looked at me like I had just said something incredibly stupid.
“It has everything to do with me.”
“If I hadn’t opened Harrison’s eyes, he would’ve ended up a cuckold raising another man’s bastard.”
My head snapped up.
“Another… man’s?”
“Oh, you have no idea.”
“Before that woman got pregnant, she spent an entire night locked in a hotel room with another man.”
“Not long after she crawled back, she claimed she was expecting.”
A loud, piercing buzz rang in my ears.
The memory of that night—the suffocating smell of alcohol and the heavy click of a deadbolted door—flooded back instantly.
But Harrison had held me that morning. He had whispered, “Evelyn, I trust you.”
Amber’s laugh grew lighter.
“Harrison actually told me he said those exact words to her. He claimed he believed her.”
“But please. Who actually believes what a man says?”
“Especially a man with a status like Harrison Sterling.”
