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."