Spiked by My Wife: The Champion's Ghostly Revenge

To help her childhood best friend win the championship belt, my wife spiked my water with banned stimulants. I was fatally allergic to them. As my throat closed up and my body swelled, I used my dying breath to call her. Her voice over the line was dripping with disgust: "Yeah, I spiked your water. What are you gonna do about it?" "One belt doesn't mean shit to you, but this is Tyler's last shot!" "Listen to me, Austin. If you dare stop him from taking that belt tonight, I'm divorcing you!" She didn't know that after I died, the police would release that final call to the public. And when that happened, she would be dragged straight to hell. "Yeah, I spiked your water. What are you gonna do about it?" "One belt doesn't mean shit to you, but this is Tyler's last shot!" "Listen to me, Austin. If you dare stop him from taking that belt tonight, I'm divorcing you!" I tried to sneer, but my swollen face wouldn't even let my lips curl. Slumped in a filthy, dark alley, I quietly closed my eyes. When I opened them again, I was standing on the championship stage under the blinding spotlights. I had become a ghost. Dozens of cameras and microphones crowded toward the center of the ring. My wife, Serena, stood beside her childhood best friend, Tyler, soaking in the deafening cheers of the press. The announcer gripped the microphone with one hand and held Tyler's arm high in the air with the other. "Since the reigning champion Austin Miller failed to appear tonight, by official league rules, our new undisputed champion is—" "Tyler Reed!" The stadium exploded into thunderous applause. The roar shook the rafters. Tyler wrapped a sweaty, bare arm around Serena's waist, pulling her flush against his chest. Serena didn't shove him away or scowl like she always did with me. Instead, she gripped Tyler's hand tight, her eyes shining with pure adoration. Tyler locked eyes with my wife, took the mic, and spoke with raw emotion: "Winning this belt tonight wouldn't have been possible without my gym, but there's one person I have to thank above all." "My manager, my nutritionist—Serena." "This belt isn't just proof of my grind. It's a gift for you." Tyler took Serena's hand and placed it gently over the gold belt. The vicious killer from the ring was gone, replaced by a man looking completely in love. Tears welled in Serena's eyes, her voice soft and breathless: "You won this belt with your own sweat and blood, Tyler." The intimacy between them practically radiated off the screen. Flashbulbs popped frantically as reporters scrambled for the best angle. Even Tyler's corner coaches wore knowing, suggestive grins. Watching them tore my phantom heart to shreds. Serena was supposed to be my wife. That championship belt should have stayed around my waist tonight. Yet here she was, handing my glory and my life's work to her so-called friend. Before this match, nobody thought Tyler stood a chance against me. Why would they? I had knocked him out four years in a row. This was his fifth attempt. His stamina was fading with age, while I was in the prime of my career. My technique, power, and mental toughness outmatched his in every single way. Everyone in the circuit called Tyler the "Perennial Runner-Up." Tonight was supposed to be our final clash. Just before the fight, Serena had come to me and said: "Austin, this is Tyler's last year in the ring. Why don't you let him win just once? Let him retire with some dignity." She wanted me to throw the fight. In professional boxing, nobody "gives away" a win. No real fighter ever would. A fighter without the absolute hunger to win has no business stepping into the ring. I told Serena flat out: not a chance. Even if I did take a dive, Tyler would hate it. It was an insult to the sport and an insult to him. Serena had never cared about my matches before. No matter how brutal or high-stakes the fight, she stayed totally detached. Yet this morning, she had been weirdly attentive. She handed me a sports bottle right before I left. When I popped the lid, I smelled something off. I asked her about it, and she casually claimed it was a new electrolyte blend, a flavor I hadn't tried yet. I didn't doubt her. Why would I suspect the woman I had been married to for five years? Before I walked out the door, she stood in front of me, making sure I swallowed a mouthful before letting me go. Only now did I realize that wasn't an electrolyte drink. It was loaded with performance-enhancing drugs. She had told me a hundred times how much she despised cheaters. Yet she threw away her morals just for Tyler. Now they were basking in glory while I was discarded as a pathetic no-show. The internet was already ripping me apart, calling me a coward who fled the ring. None of them knew I had a deadly allergy to those compounds. A trace amount would trigger severe anaphylaxis, shutting down my airways. A full dose was an instant death sentence. Reporters surged forward, shoving microphones in their faces with a barrage of questions. Then, one reporter asked something that sucked the air right out of the room: "Ma'am, as far as we know, Austin Miller is your husband. Do you have any idea where he went?"Serena's brow furrowed. Of course she had no idea where I was. Tyler jumped in before she could speak: "Austin makes his own choices. Serena doesn't know anything." "Honestly, I used to respect Austin. Even though I lost to him every time, I viewed him as my ultimate rival. An enemy in the ring, but an inspiration outside of it." "Running away tonight, though? I can't defend that. And quite frankly, Serena is disgusted by it, too." My disappearance had been nagging at Serena. Her smile had carried a faint trace of unease. Tyler's words wiped all of that away, painting me as a yellow-bellied coward who fled because he was terrified of losing his title. The slight frown on Serena's face vanished, replaced by cold contempt. "If he had fought like a man and lost, nobody would blame him," she sneered into the mics. "Running away before the bell even rings? He's a coward. Cowards don't deserve fans." My chest flared with phantom agony. Three years ago, on my way to a championship bout, a city bus blew a red light and T-boned my cab. By some miracle, I survived without broken bones, just a mild concussion and deep lacerations from shattered glass and twisted metal. The league offered to postpone the fight. I knew my body could still move. I knew I could still beat the guy in front of me. I had the medics patch me up right in the locker room, taped my gloves on, and walked into the arena covered in bandages. The adrenaline coursing through my veins drowned out the pain. I fought harder that night than I ever had before. I knocked out a seasoned veteran to claim my very first championship belt. That fight went viral nationwide. Millions rallied behind my grit. My fans nicknamed me "The Iron Champion." They said even if I went down one day, they would back me forever because of my heart. Yet tonight, with a few poisoned words from Tyler, I went from an iron-willed champion to a pathetic fraud who fled to protect his record. Listening to my wife trashing me to the press made my soul ache. Even if I hadn't gone into anaphylactic shock, the drugs in my system would have triggered a failed drug test. My reputation would have been ruined either way. Skipping the fight ruined it, too. Serena was brilliant. As my manager, she knew the rulebook inside out. The second I swallowed that water, she had sealed my fate. I watched her tear down my name on national television, and an icy dread wrapped around my heart. The woman I loved more than life itself had pushed me into an open grave just to hand my rival a trophy. Bitterness and despair threatened to swallow me whole. The press conference wrapped up. Tyler took Serena's hand as they walked out through the VIP tunnel. Serena blushed, letting him hold her fingers without pulling away. I remembered that blush. Years ago, when she first agreed to be my girlfriend, her cheeks had flushed that exact shade of pink. Tyler stopped walking, turned to look at her, his gaze thick with affection. Serena lowered her eyes shyly, stepping closer into his space. "All these years, I only made it this far because you were in my corner," Tyler murmured softly. "What you did for me today... you're the real champion, Serena." Serena looked up at him, her eyes completely melted with devotion. So Tyler knew all along. They leaned in, and my heart shattered into dust. It was premeditated. The two of them had planned my murder together. The air between them crackled with intimacy—an intimacy built on top of my dead body. Tyler pulled her closer. Serena closed her eyes, tilting her chin up, waiting for his kiss. Her phone began to buzz loudly in her purse. Pulled from the trance, her cheeks burning, Serena stepped back and answered the call. Her body was still half-pressed against Tyler's chest. It was my gym owner. His voice was frantic: "Serena, something happened to Austin! It's bad!"Instead of panicking, Serena actually scoffed. She turned to Tyler with an eye-roll. "See? What did I tell you? Another pathetic stunt." She brought the phone back to her ear, her tone dripping with annoyance: "Mark, I know Austin is your golden goose, but after pulling a stunt like this, you really don't need to help him lie for attention." The owner's voice cracked. "Serena, listen to me! The police just recovered Austin's body! You need to come down to the station right now!" His grief and urgency were real. He was begging her to understand that I was actually dead. Serena simply laughed, cold and dismissive. "Unbelievable. Now you're dragging the cops into it?" "Do me a favor, Mark. Tell Austin to stop playing the victim. It's childish." She hung up without waiting for an answer, then tapped open our chat history on Snapchat. The thread was filled with messages from me. I had texted her constantly: asking if she was tired, buying her clothes, making sure she ate lunch... Every message was loaded with care and worry for her well-being. Her replies, on the other hand, were painfully dry. Just "k," "fine," "busy." Whenever I brought up something about my own life, she didn't even bother to respond. She didn't think twice about it now. Frowning, she put on an act of righteous fury and sent me a voice message: "You're a coward, Austin! If you'd lost in the ring, I wouldn't have blamed you! But skipping the match? I'm completely disgusted by you!" "The second you drag yourself home, we're getting a divorce. I refuse to be married to a spineless piece of trash!" Seeing the word *coward* on the screen turned my blood to ice. Across my back ran three massive, jagged scars. Scars I got saving Serena's life. Years ago, she had been walking home alone at night when four creeps cornered her in an alley. I happened to be driving by to pick her up. Seeing her trapped, my vision went red. I didn't care if they had weapons; I threw myself into the fight. Four on one. I took brutal hits, but my only thought was getting between them and Serena. I managed to knock three of them flat and pulled Serena into my arms to shield her. The fourth guy scrambled up behind me, pulled a machete, and slashed me across the back three times. With my reflexes, I could have dodged it easily. Serena was in my arms. If I moved, the blade would have split her skull. I took every blow so she wouldn't suffer a scratch. After knocking the last guy cold, the adrenaline wore off. Massive blood loss and sheer agony dropped me to my knees. I blacked out on the asphalt. When I woke up in the hospital ICU, Serena was clutching my bruised hand, crying her eyes out. I whispered through cracked lips, "Was I brave?" Tears streamed down her cheeks as she sobbed, "Austin, you idiot... you're the bravest man on earth." From that day on, I never hid those scars. I wore them with pride. They were my medals of honor. Her love was my greatest reward. And now? Serena was holding another man's hand, sneering that I was a coward. Even as a ghost, those scars throbbed with excruciating pain, as if blood was tearing through my flesh all over again. Rage and sorrow shredded my soul. My spectral tears vanished before hitting the floor. I wanted to scream in her face: *You killed me! How dare you call me a coward?!* The agony was so suffocating I wished I could vanish into thin air.Days dragged on. My body remained discarded in that damp, forgotten alleyway. It was a dead-end street where not even city sweepers went. The corpse of a former champion was left there to rot. Meanwhile, Serena and Tyler spent their days celebrating. They hit luxury parties, accepted sponsorships, and flaunted their connection. Tyler's fans were already shipping them as the ultimate power couple. To the public, I was a disgraced runner who hid like a rat, completely unworthy of Serena. They had completely erased me from their minds. The only people still looking for me were my parents. Both over sixty, they walked the streets from dawn to dusk, checking every corner of the city. Every abandoned warehouse, every shadowy alley, every hospital. Dragging their frail, aching bodies, they searched endlessly. They didn't care about titles or money. They just wanted their boy to walk through the door and call them Mom and Dad. Maybe it was parental intuition. They wept every single day, looking as though their hearts already knew I was gone. Wandering the streets aimlessly, I saw my parents countless times, leaning on their canes by the curb, weeping into their hands. On the morning of the sixth day, I drifted back to our house. Serena and Tyler were having breakfast in their robes, laughing and chatting. My name never once crossed their lips. A knock sounded at the front door. Serena went to open it. It was my mother. "Serena... please, I'm begging you," my mother wept, her voice trembling. "You have connections. You have people. Please, send someone to look for him!" "He's been your husband for five years! If you just help find him, we won't ask for anything else, please..." Mom looked terrified of offending her, keeping her head bowed low. Both my parents were wearing worn, dusty clothes. Dad stood behind Mom, rubbing his aching lower back. Days of frantic searching had worn them down to the bone. They had completely abandoned their pride just to find their son. Seeing my parents trembling on the porch made my soul bleed. Serena didn't care. She wouldn't even let them step past the threshold. She blocked the doorframe, glaring down at them like they were stray dogs. "I told you already, I'm not looking for him. Are you deaf?" Her voice was ice-cold, carrying the same condescending tone she used on interns at the gym. "I just want to see my son... please let me see my boy..." My phantom self threw myself between them, trembling violently. *Mom, Dad, I'm right here! Look at me! Can you see me?!* I reached out to hug them, but my hands passed straight through their hollow frames. "Your son isn't here. You probably know exactly where he's hiding," Serena scoffed. "The nerve of you people, coming to harass me!" With a loud *slam*, she shut the heavy door in their faces. Mom leaned against the wooden frame, sobbing uncontrollably, refusing to leave. Dad wrapped an arm around her shaking shoulders, tears streaming down his wrinkled face, gently pulling her away. My spirit was tethered to Serena. I had to watch helplessly as she locked my heartbroken parents out in the cold. I should have realized it years ago: she never loved me, and she never respected my family. If I had left her sooner, maybe I wouldn't have ended up dead, and my parents wouldn't be suffering this humiliation. They spent their whole lives working to give me a good future. And my wife had just murdered their only hope. Right after closing the door, Tyler stepped up behind Serena and wrapped his arms around her waist.