No.

I wouldn't die.

The ones who should die were them.

I turned off the monitor. The phone screen went dark. My eyes held a calm I'd never felt before.

Crying, accusing, breaking down—they were useless.

To fight monsters, you have to use their own methods.

Vincent, Cathryn, did you want me to die?

Fine. I would die for you first.

I would let you watch me, this "dying woman," walk step by step toward the grave you dug for me.

I'll wait until you let your guard down and wait until you grow overconfident right before my eyes.

Then I'll crawl out of hell myself and drag you both down with me!

The first step: I had to find the strongest backing.

I found the backup phone, my finger hovering over a number. It was my aunt, Hilary Lewis.

Years ago, I had a huge fight with her over Vincent.

She'd said, "Brenna, that man will chew you up and spit you out one day."

Her words became a prophecy.

The phone rang only once before connecting.

"Brenna?"

Her voice was as brisk as ever, but with a trace of concern she couldn't quite hide.

I swallowed the sob rising in my throat. "Auntie, I need your help."

"Speak." Her voice was firm, without hesitation.

"First. Find my bone marrow donor. Bypass Vincent and his cousin. I need to contact them directly."

There was a two-second silence on the other end.

"Vincent is trouble?" She went straight for the jugular.

"Second," I continued without answering, "find me a top-notch private investigator. Discreet. Clean hands."

"Understood." My aunt didn't press for details. "You'll have the investigator's contact within thirty minutes. I'll handle the bone marrow matter personally."

"Brenna," Hilary added before hanging up, "the Lewis family does not go down without a fight. No matter what happens, I'm here."

The call ended.

In less than ten minutes, an encrypted message arrived. I dialed the number.

"Ms. Lewis, this is Mr. Larson." The voice was steady, no nonsense.

"I need you to investigate two things," my voice was ice-cold. "First, the medicine my husband brings me daily. Its composition and source. Second, 24/7 surveillance on Vincent and Cathryn. I want all their movements, calls, and financial records."

With everything arranged, I deleted all call logs and messages, then hid the phone again.

The first piece of my game was in place.

The next morning, Vincent arrived right on time.

He seemed in unusually high spirits, a suppressed joy in his eyes.

He probably had a wonderful night with Cathryn in my marital bed.

He set the thermal lunchbox on the nightstand, helped me sit up with practiced ease, and gently placed a soft pillow behind my back.

"Brenna, how are you feeling today? Sleep well last night?"

I feigned extreme weakness, shaking my head with effort.

"Not… not so good. No strength. Dizzy."

He immediately frowned, his eyes full of feigned concern as he touched my forehead.

"Why are you so cold? Is the chemo hitting you hard again? I'll go get Brice right now."

"No…" I grabbed his sleeve, looking at him with timid eyes. "Don't bother him… I just… didn't sleep well. I'll be fine after resting."

My show of weakness worked.

Worry deepened in his eyes. He didn't insist on the doctor, just brought over the bowl of dark, bitter liquid.

"Here, drink your medicine first. It's good for you. You'll feel stronger after."

Looking at that bowl of foul-smelling dregs, I fought back nausea and nodded.

As he turned to get a spoon, I swiftly pulled a pre-prepared small, clear ziplock bag from under the pillow.

He scooped up a spoonful, blew on it, and brought it to my lips.

I obediently drank. Then, as he looked down to scoop another spoonful, I turned my head sharply and spit a small portion of the medicinal residue into my palm. In one smooth motion, I slipped it into the bag and back under the pillow.

"What's wrong?" He seemed to notice something, looking up.

"It's… nothing," I turned back instantly, forcing a weak smile. "Just… too bitter."

He didn't suspect, just coaxed me in an even gentler tone. "Be good. Good medicine is bitter. Finish this bowl, and I'll give you some candy."

He was talking to me like a toddler.

Suppressing the hatred and disgust in my heart, I drank down the bowl of dregs, sip by sip.

After I finished, he smiled, satisfied, and started chattering about funny things at the office, trying to cheer me up.

I just closed my eyes, pretending to be drowsy, keeping my breathing light and slow.

He stayed by my bed for a while, probably confirming I was asleep, then stood up and walked to the window to make a call.

He lowered his voice, but in the silent room, it was terrifyingly clear.

"Baby, don't cry. I told you the marrow is definitely ours. Just focus on taking care of yourself and the baby."

His tone was one of tenderness and affection I'd never heard before.

"I'll handle Brenna. She doesn't suspect a thing. Don't overthink it, okay? What if you get upset and it affects our son?"

"How long can she possibly last? The doctor said months. Just be patient a little longer. Once she's gone, I'll marry you right away."

I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood to keep from making a sound.

After hanging up, he sat by my bed a while longer before leaving.

The moment he was gone, I took out my phone and sent a message to detective Dylan Larson.

"Sample acquired. 3 PM today, I will go to the garden for a walk. Send someone."

After doing this, I felt completely drained.

At 3 PM, as planned, I insisted on going for a walk in the hospital garden, dragging my weak body.

The nurse couldn't dissuade me.

The garden was mostly empty.

I sat on a secluded bench and hid the small ziplock bag under a loose paver.

A few minutes later, a man in janitor's uniform pushed a trash cart over, unhurried. He pretended to sweep leaves near my bench, then naturally bent down to reposition the loose paver.

We made no eye contact the entire time.

Now, everything was ready. I just needed the right moment.

I needed a trigger to make Vincent completely believe my time was almost up.

I needed to put on the most convincing performance of my life, right in front of him.

That evening, Vincent came back with porridge.

He brought a spoonful to my lips.

Just as I swallowed half of it, I suddenly clutched my chest and began coughing violently.

"Brenna?" He panicked, dropping the bowl to pat my back.

Now was the time.

I grabbed a tissue, coughing as if my lungs would tear.

When I pulled the tissue away, a shocking, vivid red stain bloomed on the white paper.

Vincent stared at the blood, frozen in place.

"Blood... Why is she coughing blood..."

He muttered, a trace of genuine panic slipping into his voice.

I didn't give him time to react. I went limp, collapsing toward him.

I heard his voice crack as he shouted and the urgent blare of the nurse call button.

This was just the beginning.

Next, I would make him watch as I died bit by bit right in front of him.

I woke up to the smell of antiseptic.

Vincent's face filled my vision, etched with panic and fear.

Seeing my eyes open, he lunged forward, gripping my hand tightly, his voice trembling.

"Brenna! You're awake! You scared me to death!"

His hands were cold and clammy.

I blinked weakly, my lips moving without sound, perfectly playing the part of someone who'd just returned from death's door.

Soon, a doctor and several nurses entered.

Seeing it was the other doctor, Vincent asked, "Where's Dr. Fuller?"

"Dr. Fuller is in surgery. Sir, rest assured, I'm familiar with the patient's case."

The doctor replied before conducting a series of checks. He then called Vincent aside.

"Sir, the prognosis is not optimistic. This was an acute hemorrhage, indicating the cancer cells in her body have begun to invade her organs uncontrollably. Her bodily functions are in systemic decline. We've done all we can."

He paused. "You need to prepare yourself. Optimistically speaking... perhaps only one or two months left."

Of course, this doctor and his script were arranged by Aunt Hilary through her connections here.

Otherwise, how could this performance be convincing?

Vincent's body swayed violently upon hearing this.

He braced himself against the wall to keep from falling.

Vincent, how much of this was real for you right now?

After the doctor and nurses left, Vincent sat by my bed all night.

He held my hand, adjusted my blankets, wiped cold sweat from my brow, murmuring endlessly about our past.

He told me about our first meeting, his proposal to me, and the funny moments from our honeymoon.

He spoke with such tenderness and passion.

And I? I just lay there with my eyes closed, silent.

Only this way could my next move proceed smoothly.

The next day, while Vincent went home to make me soup, I contacted detective Dylan again.

"I need you to install listening equipment in his study. The most discreet, secure kind. Real-time audio."

The study was his only private space, the place he was most likely to speak his mind when relaxed.

"Understood."

For the next two days, I spent most of my time in a state of feigned sleep. When I occasionally woke, I appeared dazed, unresponsive to anything. Vincent fed me porridge, I ate. He gave me medicine, I swallowed.

He talked to me, and I just stared back with hollow eyes.

My condition made him believe more and more that I was truly at the end of my rope.

On the third evening, a message came from detective Dylan.

"Done. Device installed in base of his study desk lamp. Signal routed to your encrypted channel."

Reading this, my heart pounded uncontrollably.

My trap was set.

Now, I just waited for the fish to swim in.

Vincent stayed until dusk. As usual, he kissed my forehead, said he had company emails to handle at home, and told me to rest.

The moment he left, I pulled the backup phone and a pair of tiny wireless earbuds from under the pillow.

Putting in the earbuds, I connected to the encrypted live audio feed.

At first, there was only quiet, the sound of keyboard typing, papers rustling.

About half an hour later, a phone ringtone shattered the study's silence.

I heard Vincent answer. "Mom."

My mother-in-law's sharp, venomous voice came through the earbuds crystal clear the next second.

"Vincent! I heard that jinx is failing? Is it true? Is she really dying?"

Her tone was pure, unadulterated excitement and malice.

"Mom, keep your voice down. It's true. She hemorrhaged the night before last. The doctor says... a month or two at most."

"Wonderful! The heavens have finally opened their eyes!" My mother-in-law let out a burst of gleeful laughter. "That barren sow is finally getting out of our Jenkins family! I've always despised her, that sickly look all the time, so unlucky! Vincent, listen to me. You must not soften your heart now! She's almost gone. You have to keep a tight grip on that marrow. It absolutely cannot be wasted on her!"

I heard Vincent sigh, his words placating and obedient.

"Mom, relax. I have it under control. I've arranged everything regarding the bone marrow, and there won't be any mistakes. I've reassured Cathryn too. She's just focusing on waiting for our son to be born now."

"Good! Excellent!" Her voice was full of anticipation for the future. "I told you long ago, that woman was a barren jinx! Since she married into our family, have we had a single good day? And now this deadly disease... it's like she came to collect a debt! She can't have children, but Cathryn is carrying our grandson. Vincent, remember, the family line is more important than a single life! As for Brenna's illness... that's just her fate. She's occupied the position of Mrs. Jenkins for so many years. She should be grateful."

Word after word, phrase after phrase, they pierced my ears and my heart like steel needles.

So, in the eyes of Vincent and his mother, I was just a "barren sow," a "debt-collecting jinx."

My only value was reproduction.

Once I lost that value, my life could be left to fate.

For three years, I fought this disease, endured countless pains, believing the man I loved stood behind me.

Turned out, he and his whole family were just waiting for me to die.

Throughout the entire call, Vincent not only didn't defend me once, but either stayed silent or placated his mother.

"Mom, I know. I'll handle it."

I silently pressed the record button.

The call ended, but it took me a long time to recover.

Just as I was reeling from this venomous onslaught, another encrypted email from the investigator popped up.

I opened it. Inside were a series of high-definition photos of a document.

The investigator wrote, "We accessed Vincent's private office safe via technical means. This was the only document found inside."

My eyes fell on the document's title.

Last Will.

My breath stopped.

With trembling hands, I opened the photos one by one, reading the clauses.

It stated clearly that upon his death, all his personal assets, all our joint marital property, including his company shares, all properties and vehicles under our names, and bank deposits...

The sole designated beneficiary of everything was Cathryn and any future children she bore for him.

In the multiple pages of asset listings and distribution plans, my name, Brenna, his legal wife, did not appear a single time.

I had been completely, thoroughly erased.

What chilled me to the bone was the date at the end of the will.

Two years ago.

The notary's red seal glared painfully from the screen.

Two years ago, when I had just been diagnosed with leukemia, during my first round of chemotherapy, from that very moment, at my most painful, helpless, and needy time, he had already prepared this death warrant for me.

All the tenderness, unwavering loyalty, and deep affection he had shown me over the past two years—from the very beginning—was nothing but a grand deception, a carefully orchestrated scheme to keep me stable while ensuring his assets were safely transferred to his lover and illegitimate children.

I was just the most pitiful prop in the show he was putting on for everyone.

This will was irrefutable legal proof.

It pushed Vincent's crimes from the realm of mere ethics and morality straight into the territory of deliberate asset misappropriation and premeditated abandonment.

Staring at the cold document on my phone screen, I could no longer hold back, and I let out a soft, choked sob.

It wasn't sadness, nor was it anger.

It was the ultimate, bone-deep nausea of being utterly fooled, calculated against to the very marrow.

Vincent, you really, truly, never loved me at all.

It was late at night.

The hospital was dead silent, even the hallway lights looked weak and pathetic.

I couldn't sleep.

Not because of the hatred in my heart, but because of the pain in my body.

In the late stages of acute leukemia, the bone marrow sends waves of excruciating pain.

It felt like a swarm of ants relentlessly biting at my bones, or someone drilling into my marrow.

I curled up in agony, my forehead slick with cold sweat, my pajamas soaked through.

With a trembling hand, I reached for the call button on the bedside table.

Once, twice, three times.

The red indicator light glowed steadily, yet the corridor remained perfectly silent—no footsteps could be heard.

The night nurse was probably swamped or had dozed off.

The pain was getting worse. I didn't think I could take it anymore.

I needed painkillers. I needed help.

I couldn't wait any more.

Gritting my teeth, I forced myself up, my body weak as hell.

The second my feet hit the floor, dizziness hit me like a truck. I braced myself against the cold wall to keep from collapsing.

I moved like a newborn learning to walk—one shaky step at a time—toward the door.

My goal was the nurse's station. As long as I got there, I would be saved.

Right now, I was nothing but a helpless patient, my mind fixated on one thing: ending this torture.

I opened the ward door and, supporting myself against the wall, moved forward bit by bit.

The nighttime hospital hallway was eerily empty, making my heart race.

My room was at the end of the hall. Next to it was a VIP private room.

I knew that room was unoccupied because I had seen a nurse disinfecting it during the day.

However, as I dragged my sick body past the door of that private care suite, I heard a sound.

At first, it was just a faint, muffled sound. I assumed it was a groan of pain coming from one of the wards and paid no attention.

But then the sound became clearer.

It was a woman's voice. It was sweetly enticing, tremulous with desire, interwoven with the husky, labored moans of a man, accompanied by the squeaking and creaking of the bed being violently rocked—a mortifyingly suggestive sound.

My steps froze instantly.

This was a hospital and a VIP hospital room. How could this be happening?

Just as I began to think it was my imagination, the woman's voice spilled out, undisguised, through the crack of the tightly shut door.

The voice that followed was draped in lazy satisfaction, yet slurred with heavy discontent.

"Vincent, when the hell are you gonna break up with that dying bitch? I can't wait another day. Look at this place! Is it fit for anyone to stay? Why won't you transfer me to a better private clinic? Why do we have to stay in this dump?"

It was Cathryn.

I clamped my hand over my mouth to stop myself from screaming.

I heard Vincent's voice—rough from sex, but still dripping with affection.

"Baby, don't make a fuss. Listen to me, although the conditions here aren't great, it's still my cousin's territory. It's easier and more discreet for me to use any resources here. Whether it's arranging your checkups or handling the bone marrow matters, no one will find out."

"Convenient? Convenient for you to play the doting husband in front of your sick wife?" Cathryn's voice was dripping with jealousy and discontent.

"I tell you, Vincent, every time I think of you holding that woman's hand during the day, kissing her bald head, I feel sick! Do you still love her? Are you still hung up on her?"

I heard Vincent chuckle softly.

"Don't be ridiculous, my silly girl!" He said, "Don't you know who I love? I love only you, and our future son. As for her... " He paused, "You think I want to touch her? Every time I see her bloodless face and smell the medicine on her, I want to throw up. I'm just acting, baby. I have to make sure she stays meek, obedient, and causes us no trouble until she dies."

A brief silence, then came the more violent sound of the bed rocking, accompanied by Cathryn's triumphant, provocative giggle, dripping with victory.

"Smart move! Now kiss me again to make it up to me... Mmm... your wife isn't even dead yet, right next door... you're so bad... Aren't you afraid she'll hear?"

"Hear? She's probably writhing in pain right now, half-dead. No energy for that." Vincent's voice was thick with desire. "Baby, enough about her! You're ruining the mood. Let's continue. Let me love you properly..."

Boom!

In that very moment, the piercing, bone-deep pain within me miraculously vanished.

It disappeared without a trace, replaced by numbness that seeped into my very marrow, and a cold so profound it could freeze me solid.

My husband, in the very hospital where I lay critically ill, tormented by cancer pain worse than death itself.

In the VIP ward right next door to mine, he was with the mistress carrying his illegitimate child, entangled in their obscene, disgraceful act.

Not only did he intend to steal the bone marrow that was my lifeline, but he also abused his power to turn what should have been a sanctuary for healing into a sordid playground for his own pleasure.

This was the ultimate humiliation.

It was taking the last shreds of my dignity, my final vestige of humanity, and stamping them into the dirt, grinding them to dust.

I felt no rage. I shed no tears. My face was utterly, chillingly blank.

Like a ghost whose soul had been drained, I stood rigidly outside the door that separated two worlds, quietly listening to the sickening, rhythmic thuds and the intertwined, wanton moans of the man and woman inside.