Jerome Morrison is busy dealing with his ex-girlfriend's lawsuit regarding the inheritance when I die in a car crash.

The police officer calls him to identify my corpse, but he merely snaps impatiently, "Has she moved on to using suicide to threaten me? Too bad it won't work."

Later, he finds out his ex-girlfriend caused a car crash, he chooses to destroy the evidence.

He doesn't notice that I'm the one who died in that car crash.

I was heading home from work like any other day when an out-of-control car suddenly hit me, throwing me off a bridge and into the river below.

It was late at night, and there wasn't a soul on the road. All around me, the river water was freezing cold.

Fully submerged in the ice-like water, I forced myself to keep one hand above the surface and managed to tap my emergency contact—just before feeling my consciousness slip from my grasp.

Please. Please answer the call.

I endured the pain and tried to stay afloat.

Falling into the water helped absorb most of the impact, so my injuries were still somewhat tolerable.

At that moment, I desperately needed someone to save me.

However, my call to Jerome Morrison just wouldn't connect.

As the bone-biting chill of the freezing water ate away at me, it was getting harder and harder for me to stay afloat.

I could feel myself sinking as my consciousness began to fade.

"Help… Someone help…."

Where was the driver who just hit me?

Just before I blacked out, I thought I saw a familiar face peering over the bridge, looking down at me.

I tried to lift my hand, but my arm sank completely into the water.

…

I didn't know how, but when I opened my eyes again, I found myself next to Jerome.

Overjoyed, I rushed toward him, believing that everything that had happened earlier was just a bad dream.

To my surprise, I passed right through his body.

I froze as I stared blankly at my own hands, shocked by the revelation.

Was I… dead?

At that moment, Jerome was still sitting there with a furrowed brow, flipping through a case file on his desk.

Looking closely, I realized that it was documents on Caroline Hudson's lawsuit regarding the inheritance.

I couldn't help but let out a laugh.

His phone was right there beside him, within easy view of his peripheral vision. He'd have no problem spotting an incoming call.

So, why didn't he answer my call earlier?

It was already 2:00 am by now, and I still wasn't home. Was he not worried at all about my safety?

I sat silently beside him and felt the air around me grow cold.

I supposed that my body was still floating somewhere in that river.

Who knew when someone would eventually find me?

But come to think of it, I most definitely saw Caroline in my final moments.

Was she the one who hit me with a car and then stood there watching me drown?

I didn't know how much time had passed before Jerome suddenly looked at the time on his watch and clicked his tongue.

He finally picked up his phone and called me back.

The longer the call went unanswered, the deeper his frown became.

But I knew full well that it wasn't a frown of concern—it was one of anger.

Sure enough, before the ringtone could even finish, Jerome impatiently tossed the phone onto the table.

"Her temper is getting out of control lately. One missed call, and she goes off the radar. She won't answer her phone and doesn't come home!"

I let out a bitter laugh.

We had a fight just before I went out earlier that day. The reason being, Caroline kept overstepping her boundaries, and Jerome had always indulged her.

Oh, Jerome. I so badly wanted to tell him that I was caught in an accident on my way home from working late.

As much as I would like to come home, that was no longer possible.

…

Late into the night, Jerome fell asleep on the couch.

As I looked at his side profile, I was pulled into a tide of memories.

I had fallen for Jerome at first sight.

But even back then, the one he loved was always Caroline.

Unfortunately for him, Caroline was an ambitious one. She had no interest in someone who came from a modest background like Jerome.

They dated briefly for two months, but after college, Caroline jumped straight into marrying a wealthy man 20 years her senior.

During those two months after they broke up, I witnessed every bit of Jerome's downfall.

He drowned himself in alcohol, stayed in every day, and even turned to self-harming.

During that time, I was the one who stayed by his side and took care of him.

It would be a lie to say that I had no ulterior motives, of course. But at the same time, seeing the state he was in, I simply wanted an excuse to stay by his side a little longer.

To my surprise, Jerome slept with me that very night after getting drunk.

The next morning, he held my hand and said, "Move in with me. I'll take care of you."

I was overjoyed to hear that. I truly believed that even an iceberg could be melted with the warmth of my feelings over time.

It felt like all my patience and effort had finally paid off when Jerome proposed to me.

However, fate had a way of pulling cruel pranks on me.

Not long after our engagement, Caroline, who had vanished from Jerome's life for two whole years, suddenly returned, dragging a pile of lawsuits with her.

The day she came back, she looked utterly miserable, with bruises mottling her pale skin.

As soon as she saw Jerome, she threw herself into his arms and cried her heart out.

"Jerome, please help me… You're the only one who can help me now."

When I saw the slight redness in the corners of his eyes, my heart began racing in anxiety.

Why didn't he push her away?

Maybe a girlfriend was no match for a former lover's tears.

Jerome's last line of defence against Caroline crumbled the moment she tearfully claimed she was forced to marry someone else back then.

"Now that he's dead, his children are taking me to court over the inheritance. They want to throw me out with nothing to my name! They even hit me!"

Despite his usual calm and composed demeanor, Jerome shattered a glass that day.

From that moment on, a rift grew between us—an unbridgeable chasm we could never cross.

…

It was still dark outside when the sound of the front door's digital lock echoed through the house.

Half-asleep, Jerome pressed his fingers to his temple and sat up with an annoyed look.

"So, you still remember that you have a home to return to?"

We both turned to look at the door—he, a man, and I, a mere spirit.

When I saw a tear-streaked Caroline standing by the door, my heart clenched tightly.

When did he give her the door code? This was supposed to be our home. So why was Caroline allowed to come and go like she owned the place?

"Caroline?"

Jerome checked the time and then hurried over to examine her.

"Why are you here at this hour? Did they hit you again? Where are you hurt? I'll go confront them right now!"

Jerome was a lawyer, so he knew better than anyone not to resort to violence and take justice into his own hands.

But when it came to Caroline, he would always lose his reason.

Yet if the same thing happened to me, it would be a different story altogether.

In the second year after graduation, I was nearly assaulted by a predatory boss.

I came home crying, hoping he'd protect me like any loving boyfriend would and offer some comfort.

But after calmly analyzing the situation, Jerome asked, "Do you have any evidence? Audio, video, or photographic evidence of the alleged crime?"

Trembling and scared, I shook my head. "It happened too fast… I didn't get anything."

After my reply, I saw the disappointment in his eyes.

"As a lawyer's girlfriend, how can you not have any basic legal awareness?"

"But everything happened so suddenly. How could I have possibly prepared for it?" I thought to myself.

"You'd better resign. If you have no proof, how am I supposed to help you?"

In that brief moment, I was so stunned that I forgot how to cry.

I looked at him and muttered, "So… that's it, then?"

"Of course!" He scoffed. "I'm a lawyer. Do you expect me to break the law and beat the guy up to avenge you? Monica, don't be so childish."

It was then that I finally understood—Jerome wasn't incapable of being impulsive. He just never acted impulsively for my sake.

Caroline was still holding his wrist tightly, with tears running down her cheeks.

"Jerome, I-I… I hit someone and fled the scene. Please… help me."

My mind went blank in that instant.

So, I was right all along. She was the one who had hit me.

She watched me drown and did nothing.

Perhaps she had intended to kill me right from the beginning.

I really wanted to see how Jerome would react this time.

When he heard what Caroline said, Jerome's eyes widened in shock.

"Hit and run? How badly is the person hurt? How could you do something so foolish? Don't you know that in serious cases, hit-and-runs can lead to criminal charges? You have to turn yourself in! Hurry!"

He grabbed Caroline, ready to take her to the police.

However, she suddenly dropped to her knees. She clung to his legs, sobbing like it was the end of the world.

"Jerome, I have nothing left. I can't go to jail! That person—they just suddenly ran out into the road. It was dark, and I didn't have time to react. That's why I hit them.

"Please don't take me to the police. Aren't you a lawyer? You can help me, right? If you wanted to, you could. Please, I'm begging you!"

Caroline was crying her lungs out while Jerome stood frozen on the spot.

I watched coldly from the side, my heart already shattered into pieces.

The gall that woman had! Not only did she kill me, but she even had the audacity to ask my fiancé to help cover it up for her.

The two fell into a heavy silence, with only the sound of Caroline's sobs echoing in the room.

A moment later, she whispered, "Just once… For the sake of what we used to have, can't you help me out this one time? There's no surveillance on the road where it happened."

At that, Jerome clearly let out a breath of relief.

He clenched his jaw, visibly struggling for a moment, then finally asked, "How badly was the person hurt?"

Caroline lowered her head, her gaze evasive.

She claimed she didn't know, and that it probably wasn't serious.

Jerome brought her to deal with the damaged car. When he saw the deep dent in the hood, he hesitated.

"You said the person wasn't badly hurt. How did the car get such a severe dent, then?"

Caroline didn't answer, and Jerome didn't press her further.

With this, they were now accomplices—both on the same side.

Oh, Jerome. If only you knew that the person she killed was me.

…

Jerome helped Caroline clean up the evidence on the car.

After taking care of everything, he brought her back home.

"Get some rest. I'll cook up some pasta for you."

Caroline sat briefly on the couch, then glanced toward the bedroom with feigned caution.

She gave a shy, sheepish chuckle.

"Sorry for the sudden visit. By the way, is Monica not around? It looks like you two are really close. She stayed out all night, and you don't even look worried."

Hearing this, Jerome's hand paused mid-cooking.

He frowned and tapped his phone.

When he saw that there were no messages, he set the phone back down on the table.

The pasta was ready, and the two sat face-to-face at the dining table—just like how he and I used to.

Except this time, Caroline stared at the parsley garnish that was sprinkled on top of the pasta and forced a smile.

"Jerome, it looks like your girlfriend loves parsley, huh?"

She pushed the plate forward slightly, feigning disappointment.

"Eating parsley gives me bad breath, so I never eat them. You've forgotten that, haven't you?"

I let out a bitter laugh as I watched this unfold. I was so angry that I wanted to hurl the plate to the ground.

Unfortunately, my hand passed right through it, which left me feeling helpless.

Of course. I was dead, after all.

All I could do was watch them flirt in front of me.

Jerome looked at her, then started picking the parsley out from her plate and placing them on his own.

It was the first time I'd ever seen this side of him. He had always been so cold to me.

Caroline's little ploy had worked like a charm. There was a clear smugness in her eyes as she watched him.

Oddly enough, she didn't seem to feel the slightest bit of guilt after having someone killed.

Then again, as she had said, that road was remote. There were no witnesses or cameras to prove her crime.

"Thank—"

Just as Caroline was about to speak, Jerome's phone rang.

"Hello. Who's on the line?"

"Are you a relative of Monica Newman? Please come to the police station to identify the body."