Then I turned to Brent and said:
"Let me tell you something that'll cheer you up. My parents have prepared a million dollars in cash as my dowry. As soon as you're better, we'll get married right away."
Brent's pained expression froze instantly. His eyes lit up with sudden intensity as he pressed eagerly:
"Really? Mira, are you serious? A million dollars in cash as a dowry?"
"Of course. You showed your sincerity with that gold jewelry—how could I possibly lie to you?"
My voice grew even softer, though my eyes remained ice-cold beneath the warmth:
"And that's not all. My father said he's giving you thirty percent of our family company's shares."
"As long as you treat me well, everything my family owns will be yours someday."
Brent couldn't hide his excitement. He grabbed my hand again, his tone eager and fawning:
"Baby, my leg is fine—really, it's nothing! The wedding can go ahead tomorrow as planned!"
I paused for a moment, then reached out to gently stroke his badly swollen cheek, my voice dripping with "concern":
"I know you want to marry me right away, and I want nothing more than to be your wife. But I can't ignore your condition."
"Tomorrow, when my parents come to visit, I'll coax them into handing over the million-dollar dowry to you first."
"As for the shares—we'll present those at the wedding, in front of all the guests. Think how impressive that will be."
Only then did Brent relax:
"Mira, you're so good to me! I swear I'll never let you down!"
Early the next morning, Marilyn Fleming was already hovering by the hospital room door, her eyes fixed on the entrance with naked anticipation.
In my previous life, when my entire family was being torn apart online, she had been right there fanning the flames and directing the mob.
I would settle every last debt with her.
It wasn't until eleven that my parents finally arrived, pulling two large suitcases behind them.
A videographer from the wedding company followed, filming everything in silence.
My father smiled apologetically:
"Sorry for the wait—withdrawing that much cash from the bank took longer than expected."
"Today was supposed to be the children's wedding day. Since Brent isn't well enough to attend, we shouldn't let an auspicious date go to waste. We'll handle the formalities privately today and hold the ceremony properly another time."
My mother stepped forward with a warm smile and slowly unzipped one of the suitcases.
A mountain of red-wrapped cash filled the interior, stacked high and dense. Each bundle was tied with a red cord knotted in an elaborate pattern—festive and striking.
Brent and Marilyn stared, their eyes going round, their mouths stretching into greedy grins.
Then my mother opened the second suitcase. Inside, arranged with perfect precision, lay the gold jewelry Brent's family had sent as betrothal gifts.
At the sight of the gold, Brent and his mother exchanged a glance. Something strange flickered across their faces.
But it vanished in an instant.
My mother continued warmly:
"This is the million-dollar cash dowry we've prepared for Miranda, along with your family's gold betrothal gifts—all of it's here."
"We're handing everything over to the young couple today, to give their new household a solid foundation."
Brent waved his hands hastily, even switching to a more familiar address:
"Mom, that gold was our gift to Mira. There's no need to bring it back."
I saw right through his little scheme.
He wanted the gold to stay in my possession so he could later accuse me of swapping it for fakes.
But my mother shook her head:
"That won't do. Since it was given to Miranda, it belongs to both of you now. It should stay in your home together."
"Besides, we'll need to display it again at the wedding ceremony. We're getting older—our hands aren't as steady as they used to be. It would be terrible if we accidentally damaged something."
I hurried forward, tugging at Brent's sleeve as I urged him on.
"Brent, Mom's right. This is all our property now—of course we should keep it ourselves. It'll be much more convenient when we need it."
I gave his arm another nudge. "Go on, check if the cash and gold are all there. If everything's in order, we should take it home. It's not safe leaving it at the hospital."
Brent glanced at the withdrawal slip, then flipped through the stack of cash with undisguised relish. As for the gold jewelry they'd given as betrothal gifts, he barely looked before nodding.
"Yes, it's all here. Perfect! Thank you so much for going to all this trouble."
With a lovesick only daughter like me—their family's sole heir—ready to be devoured, why would they bother fighting over a measly $620,000 settlement?
I suggested that our whole family escort his mother home to deliver the dowry and betrothal gifts together, recording the entire process as before.
Marilyn nodded eagerly, her face splitting into a grin so wide it looked painful.
Only when I watched her lock the million dollars in cash and 520 grams of gold into the safe with my own eyes did I finally let out a quiet breath of relief.
That ticking time bomb was finally out of my hands.
The Caregiver bait was set. I just had one more thing to do.
Over the next three days, I devoted myself to caring for Brent at the hospital—the very picture of a woman so deeply in love she'd sacrifice anything for him.
On the evening of the third day, I told him with a face full of reluctance that I had to go on a business trip. There was an important project I needed to negotiate, one that would determine my father's company profits for the coming year.
If things went smoothly, I'd be back early to celebrate the New Year with him.
If not, I might not return until after the holiday.
I paused, letting my eyes redden on cue.
"Don't worry. When I get back, even if you're still in a wheelchair, I'm going to marry you."
Watching me—this lovesick fool who was utterly devoted to him—a flicker of barely concealed glee passed through Brent's eyes.
Having lived this life once before, I knew exactly what he was. He only pretended to love me.
Deep down, he was rotten to the core.
Even with a broken leg, stuck in a hospital bed, he couldn't keep still. Every day he was secretly scrolling through his phone, hunting for his next prey.
So before I took my parents to a warm coastal city for our Spring Festival vacation, I spent a small fortune finding him a very special caregiver.
I guaranteed she would take excellent care of him. Thorough and attentive.
Last time around, my family was destroyed during the New Year.
This time, I would never let that tragedy repeat itself.
On New Year's Eve, my parents and I sat in a seaside restaurant, sharing a steaming hot local feast.
I was overwhelmed with gratitude—grateful that they trusted me unconditionally, that they'd gone along with my plan to punish this scumbag.
The new year passed in the blink of an eye, and as promised, I returned to complete the wedding with Brent.
On the day of the ceremony, my parents had booked the most luxurious hotel in the city. Red lanterns and silk banners hung everywhere, the atmosphere festive and grand.
Brent sat in his wheelchair, dressed in a sharp suit, beaming with satisfaction.
Behind him, a million dollars in cash was stacked into a small mountain. The 520 grams of gold had been artfully arranged into a heart shape, impossible to miss.
The Fleming relatives crowded around, green with envy, falling over themselves to congratulate Brent on his good fortune.
Brent basked in their flattery, the smug smile on his face growing wider by the minute.
As if he could already see himself holding my family's wealth, living like a king.
The ceremony proceeded smoothly. Just as we were about to exchange rings, the banquet hall doors burst open.
A woman stormed in—hair wild, face twisted with rage.
She charged straight at Brent and slapped him hard across the face.
She hurled a medical report at him, her whole body shaking as she jabbed a finger in his direction and screamed:
"Brent Fleming! You animal! You lying piece of trash! You knew you had an STD—why did you have to drag me down with you?!"
The moment those words left her mouth, the entire hall plunged into deathly silence.
Only I stood there, a cryptic smile slowly curving my lips.
This woman was none other than the special nurse I'd arranged for Brent.
Every guest was stunned.
The Fleming relatives especially—their faces a mixture of disbelief and barely concealed schadenfreude as whispers rippled through the crowd.
Brent trembled with rage, his face ashen. He glared at the woman with murderous eyes and snarled:
"What the hell are you talking about? Who has a disease? You're insane! Get out! Don't you dare ruin this for me!"
I feigned panic as I snatched the medical report from the floor. One glance, and my face drained of color.
My voice shook with fear and devastation as I cried out:
"I—I'm calling off the wedding! Brent, I want out!"
