Prologue
I still have wet dreams about my dead wife.
In those dreams, the woman who climbs into bed with me is never my current wife—it's always my ex-wife, the one who died young from illness.
“Already at this hour.”
I grimaced at the mess soaking through my underwear and into the sheets, then scrambled out of bed.
At least we slept in separate rooms. That small mercy kept her from witnessing this pathetic display.
If she had seen it, she would have looked at me with pure contempt.
I washed up in the bathroom and tossed the sheets and underwear into the washing machine.
One of the few privileges of being a wealthy noble.
Once I had dealt with the aftermath, I stepped out of the bedroom and found my wife in the living room, sipping coffee.
My wife.
Evelyn Jeremiah.
A commoner by birth, yet hailed as a genius for her extraordinary magical talent.
She had married into the Jeremiah family—my family—because she needed noble status.
We had been husband and wife for three years now.
“I have work at the institute, so I’m heading out first. And fire Lena, like I told you before. You have a bad habit of dragging useless people along just because you feel sorry for them.”
“I’ll handle it.”
“I’m a Jeremiah too. That institute is ours to run together. You remember I’m traveling for work today, right?”
Our mornings were always like this.
Back when we were newlyweds, we shared a room, but we spent more time scrutinizing each other for hidden lovers and testing loyalties than enjoying any intimacy.
Evelyn argued with me a little longer before leaving for the institute.
I changed into black clothes and headed for the flower shop.
Today was the anniversary of my ex-wife’s death.
The day the woman I truly loved succumbed to her illness.
I bought white lilies—her favorite—and made my way to the cemetery.
We had met as classmates at the magic academy, fallen in love for the first time, married, and parted after only a year.
Our marriage had been short, but we had dated for so long that the time we spent loving each other far exceeded the years I had been married to Evelyn.
I miss her.
I placed the flowers on her grave, closed my eyes, and let the thought settle.
I miss her.
If I could see her just one more time, I would endure anything.
As memories of the past flooded in and tears finally spilled down my cheeks, I heard it.
“Huh?”
My wife had been resurrected.