When I returned home, the main lights in the living room were off.

Only the neon glow from outside the floor-to-ceiling windows spilled across the floor.

Ethan sat in an armchair, an unlit cigar resting between his fingers.

A document lay on the coffee table.

A thick stack of papers.

"Sign it," he said.

His voice was low, stripped of emotion.

I walked over and picked it up.

The cover read, "Divorce Settlement Agreement."

I flipped it open.

The clauses were dense and suffocating.

The further I read, the colder my hands became.

This wasn't a settlement. It was a seizure.

"Walk away with nothing?" I looked up at him. "Ethan, this house and the company shares—half of them are mine."

Ethan smiled.

He finally lit the cigar, inhaled deeply, and exhaled a slow ring of smoke.

"Chloe, you're naïve."

He stood and walked to the window, his back to me.

"The company's core assets were transferred last month through a VIE structure into a family trust. The beneficiaries are me—and a partner I've never publicly disclosed."

He turned around, looking at me the way one might look at livestock before slaughter.

"As for the domestic assets you think exist—unfortunately, I structured several failed venture capital agreements with performance clauses." He pointed to a line in fine print. "Legally speaking, I don't just have no money. I'm carrying 20 million dollars in debt. If you insist on dividing marital property, you'll be responsible for half of that too."

I stared at him.

I had loved this man for seven years.

During the so-called Quiet Period, he hadn't been idle.

He had been weaving a net, carefully and patiently, meant to strip me down to the bone.

"I'm not signing." I threw the agreement back onto the table. "I'll hire a lawyer. I'll sue you for transferring marital assets."

Ethan didn't get angry.

It was as if he had been expecting that response.

He picked up a remote control and pressed a button.

A projection screen descended slowly in front of us.

The image flickered on.

It was a video.

The setting was inside a cabin—the interior of a luxury private jet.

Our daughter, Lily Vance, was curled up asleep on a wide leather seat.

A blanket printed with the airline's logo covered her small body.

"Mom…" she murmured in her sleep, turning slightly.

The screen went black.

My blood froze instantly.

"Where is Lily?" I rushed forward and grabbed Ethan by the collar. "Where did you take her?"

Ethan easily pried my hands off and pushed me back onto the sofa.

"Calm down." He adjusted his collar. "She should have landed in Alpengate by now."

"Silverpeak Republic?"

"Yes. A fully enclosed boarding school. Deep in Frostcrest. Security is extremely tight. Without guardian authorization, not even a fly gets in."

He looked down at me, a cruel smile tugging at his lips.

"The tuition is expensive. Of course, it's paid with your 'child support.'"

I pulled out my phone, my hands shaking as I tried to call the police.

Ethan moved faster.

He snatched the phone from my hand and slammed it onto the floor.

A sharp crack echoed through the room.

The screen shattered, pieces scattering across the floor.

"Trying to record me? Trying to call the police?"

He stepped on the broken phone and ground it beneath his shoe. "Chloe, understand your position. You're the one carrying the debt now. If I lift a finger, those creditors will sue you for commercial fraud."

He moved closer, his warm breath brushing my face, yet all I felt was ice.

"Refuse to sign? Then you'll never get custody of Lily for the rest of your life. She might even end up with a mother serving time in prison."

I looked at him.

At the man who had once sworn to protect me and our child for life.

Now he was using our daughter as leverage to force my surrender.

Tears burned behind my eyes, but I didn't let them fall.

In the past, I would have fought him to the bitter end.

But now, it was different.

I knew a secret.

A secret powerful enough to destroy everything he had built.

I took a deep breath and forced myself to calm down.

As long as Lily was safe, I could endure anything.

I didn't need to fight over property.

Dead men wouldn't need to spend money.

And I didn't need to fight for custody.

In six months, perhaps even sooner, everything he had, including Lily, would come back to me on its own.

"Fine," I said.

Ethan raised an eyebrow, apparently surprised by how easily I yielded.

"I want confirmation that Lily arrives at the school safely," I set my condition.

"Of course." Ethan took out a pen and handed it to me. "Sign, and you can video call her."

I took the pen.

My hand trembled.

Not from fear, but from the weight of everything I was holding in.

At the bottom of the agreement, I signed my name.

Each stroke felt like carving letters into his future tombstone.

Ethan picked up the agreement and examined my signature.

He smiled in satisfaction, every bit the victor.

"That's better." He patted my cheek in a condescending gesture. "Pack your things tonight. Move out tomorrow. I'm renovating the place. Bella thinks the style is outdated."

He slipped the agreement into his briefcase and went upstairs, humming under his breath.

I sat in the dark living room, watching his retreating figure.

He thought he had won.

He believed he had calculated everything, discarded his terminally ill wife, secured his fortune, and was about to marry his new love and rise even higher.

He didn't know that death was already standing behind him.

I lowered my head and picked up the broken SIM card from the floor.

It didn't matter.

This debt would be settled, slowly and in full.

I sat in the darkness for a long time, until the lights outside finally went out.

I didn't cry.

One month later.

Crownpor Neon Square.

The massive electronic screen of the Meridian Exchange cycled through congratulatory posters celebrating Vance Tech's IPO.

Ethan's portrait filled the display.

He looked confident and sharp, the newest darling of Gilded Row.

That evening, he hosted a celebration gala at the Crownport Grand Ballroom in Crownport Central.

The hall glittered in gold and crystal.

Massive chandeliers cast a warm glow over towering champagne towers.

Elites from Gilded Row, socialites, and media reporters crowded the room.

Ethan stood at the center of it all.

He wore a black tuxedo, his hair impeccably styled.

A faint flush colored his face, which under the lights could easily be mistaken for excitement.

Bella was looped through his arm.

She wore a white couture gown with a sweeping train, like a proud swan.

The 3 million dollar pink diamond glittered on her finger.

I walked in.

Security stopped me at the entrance.

I took an invitation from my bag. It was the reserved pass issued to a former board member.

I no longer held shares, but the title still lingered on paper.

They checked it and let me through.

I wore a simple black gown, no jewelry.

Amid the glittering wealth, I looked out of place.

I didn't care.

I picked up a glass of red wine and stood in the shadows.

Ethan was laughing with a group of investors.

His laughter was loud, his gestures exaggerated.

The euphoria wasn't natural.

I knew it was the false high caused by rising intracranial pressure.

He turned and saw me.

His smile froze for a split second, then widened theatrically.

He said something to the people beside him, lifted his champagne, and walked toward me with Bella on his arm.

Eyes followed him across the room.

The spotlight seemed to belong to him.

Tonight, he was king.

"Well, if it isn't my ex-wife."

Ethan stopped in front of me, his voice deliberately loud enough to silence nearby conversations.

He looked me up and down with open disdain.

"I heard you're still alive. That illness is really dragging things out, isn't it?"

A ripple of laughter spread through the crowd.

Bella covered her mouth and leaned into Ethan's shoulder with a sugary giggle.

"Ethan, don't be mean," she said in a mock sympathetic tone. "Chloe's pitiful enough. She's practically on her way out and still showing up to steal attention. What a jinx."

"Exactly." Ethan swirled his glass. "Chloe, if you're here for money, I can write you a check. The company went public today. I'm in a good mood. A little charity seems appropriate."

He was beside himself with triumph.

All the humiliation I had endured reached its peak in that moment.

I looked at him.

At the veins bulging across his forehead.

At his bloodshot eyes, flushed with manic excitement.

"Ethan," I said calmly, "your nose."

Ethan blinked.

"What?"

He raised a hand and touched his nose.

His fingers came away bright red.

He frowned, confused.

"What the…"

He never finished the sentence.

A rush of warm liquid burst from his nostrils.

Not a drip. Not a thin line.

It sprayed.

Bella stood closest.

Before she could react, her expensive white gown was splattered with a vivid wash of red.

"Ah!" Bella screamed and shoved Ethan away in terror.

His body stiffened abruptly.

The champagne glass slipped from his hand.

It shattered against the floor.

He tried to clamp a hand over his nose, but the bleeding wouldn't stop.

His eyes began to lose focus.

"My head…" he mumbled.

The next second, he collapsed backward like a puppet with its strings cut.

His body hit the floor with a dull thud.

On the floor, his body began to convulse violently. Foam gathered at the corner of his mouth. His eyes rolled back.

A textbook seizure.

Late-stage GBM, the tumor compressing neural pathways.

"Ethan! Ethan!"

"Call an ambulance! Now!"

The room dissolved into chaos.

Screams, shouts, and the crash of overturned glasses collided in the air.

The ones who had mocked me just moments ago were now backing away in fear, as if I were something contagious.

The reporters' instincts kicked in. Cameras went up.

Flashes exploded relentlessly.

They captured the newest darling of the Meridian Exchange at the height of his success, reduced to something raw and grotesque.

Bella collapsed onto the floor, staring at the blood covering her, trembling as she scrambled away from Ethan.

Only I remained still.

I stood where I was. I did not move.

Outside the emergency room, the lights were harsh and colorless.

Bella sat on a metal bench. She was still wearing the bloodstained white gown, like a ruined canvas left to rot.

Her makeup had melted.

Black streaks ran down her face where her eyeliner had bled.

The moment she saw me, she sprang to her feet.

"It was you!" she shrieked, pointing at me with trembling fingers. "You cursed him! Ethan is just overworked. It's just low blood sugar!"

She was hysterical.

"You're here to see if he's dead, aren't you? You vicious woman!"

Nurses nearby frowned and signaled for her to lower her voice.

I ignored her.

A doctor stepped out. His expression was grave.

"The patient is conscious. But he's experiencing numbness on one side of his body. This is—"

"Stop talking!" Bella cut him off. "He's fine! We're transferring him. To the best private hospital!"

I pushed past Bella and walked into the room.

Ethan was propped up against the hospital bed. One side of his body looked stiff.

He was awake, though, his eyes dark and calculating.

When he saw me, he let out a cold laugh.

"What? Here to enjoy the show?" He was still posturing.

"I'm fine. Just exhausted lately. Don't even think about using this to grab control."

I stood at the foot of the bed.

I opened my Birkin bag.

For the past month, I had carried it everywhere, like a loaded weapon.

I unzipped the inner pocket and pulled out an envelope.

The edges were worn from use.

I slid out the document inside.

I had read that page countless times. Every word was etched into my memory.

At the bottom right corner was the official seal of Crownport Central Presbyterian Hospital.

The sound was sharp.

I slapped the report across Bella's face.

The edge of the paper scraped her cheek, leaving a thin red line.

It fluttered down onto the blanket and lay open.

"Read it carefully." I pointed at the bold print. "Glioblastoma, Stage IV."

Ethan's eyes locked onto the word.

His pupils contracted violently.

"Compression of the optic nerve. Seizures. Loss of visual fields. Limb numbness." I looked at Bella. "The terminal diagnosis was never mine."

I pointed at the man in the bed.

"It's your sugar daddy."

The air seemed to freeze.

Bella picked up the paper. Her hands trembled.

"No… no, that's impossible…"

She shook her head frantically.

"It's fake! You forged it!"

The doctor walked in holding an iPad. The screen displayed the freshly taken brain CT scan.

"Mr. Vance, based on the imaging, the tumor has spread—"

"I don't want to hear it!" Bella screamed.

She snatched the iPad from the doctor's hands and hurled it to the floor.

The screen shattered.

"You're in this together! You bribed a hacker! You tampered with the data!" She pointed at the doctor, then at me. "You teamed up to trick me! Ethan is so young. How could he possibly have a terminal illness?"

She couldn't allow herself to believe it.

If she did, her dream of marrying into wealth, her 3 million dollar diamond, all of it would vanish.

Ethan stared at the paper.

His face had gone ashen.

Then he started laughing. The sound was dry and brittle.

"Ridiculous." He tore the report into pieces. "Chloe, you'll really stoop this low just to get me back."

He was a textbook narcissist.

In the world he had built inside his head, he was the protagonist, the god. Gods wouldn't die.

"It's just low blood sugar." He threw back the blanket and tried to get out of bed.

His left leg buckled, and he nearly dropped to his knees.

Bella rushed to steady him.

"Exactly, sweetheart. You're just exhausted." She clung to the explanation like it was oxygen.

Ethan shoved the doctor aside.

"I'm checking out."

He straightened his wrinkled hospital gown. His hands trembled, but his chin lifted defiantly.

"The wedding is happening next week as planned. On Saint Brune Isle."

He looked at me with open malice.

"I'll let the whole world watch me get married. I'll stabilize the stock price. Your lies will collapse on their own."

The doctor tried to intervene. "Mr. Vance, this is suicidal behavior—"

"Get out of my way!" Ethan shouted.

He was breathing heavily now, sweat beading across his forehead.

"Bella, get the car ready. Tell PR to release a statement. Say it was… overexertion."

I looked at the two of them.

One pretending to be blind for money. The other pretending to be asleep for survival.

I closed my bag.

"Fine," I said. "I'll attend."

Ethan paused, caught off guard.

"I'll witness your wedding." I smiled faintly and turned toward the door. "After all, it would be a shame to miss such a spectacular rehearsal for a funeral."