Chapter 1

My wife, Chloe Miller, allegedly went bankrupt, leaving behind a staggering debt of ten million dollars.

To help her pay it off, I sold my house, sold my car, quit my job, and subjected myself to high-risk clinical drug trials as a human guinea pig.

Over four years, my liver and kidneys slowly failed. My body was covered in ugly needle marks, and even the strongest painkillers could no longer dull the agony.

Right before my heart stopped, I was still clutching a freshly earned check of five thousand dollars, hoping the nurse would give it to her.

But outside my hospital room, Chloe was leaning into the arms of her ex-boyfriend, Marcus Vance, laughing.

"He’s finally dying."

"That pathetic simp took on all my debts for four years. I guess he was useful for something."

Marcus asked her in a low voice, "So, when are you going to tell him that your company never actually went bankrupt?"

Chloe sneered.

"No rush."

"Once he draws his last breath, I’ll take the cashed-out money and move abroad with you."

It turned out that my four years of excruciating pain and crushing debt were nothing but a massive scam.

A final tear slid down my cheek.

Chloe.

This time, I wish you "happiness."

……

I died at 3:17 AM.

The monitors in the room let out a sharp, continuous, deafening beep.

When the nurse rushed in, my hand was still deathly tight around that bank card.

She tried to pry my fingers open but failed.

"Ethan."

"Where is your family?"

"Didn't you say your wife was on her way?"

I floated right next to the bed, staring down at my emaciated body, which was now nothing but skin and bones. It felt incredibly foreign.

For four years, I had been wheeled into countless laboratories.

I drank bitter experimental concoctions.

I was injected with chemicals of unknown names.

I signed waiver after waiver.

The doctors once asked me, "Are you sure you want to keep going? Your body can't handle these trials anymore."

I always gave the same reply:

"I need the money."

"My wife is waiting for me to save her."

But only now did I realize.

She didn't need me to save her.

She just wanted me dead.

The nurse sighed, picked up my phone, and called Chloe.

It rang for a long time before she finally picked up.

Chloe’s voice was filled with annoyance.

"What is it now?"

The nurse was taken aback.

"Hello, is this Chloe? Your husband, Ethan Cole, just passed away after failing resuscitation. Please come to the hospital immediately."

Silence fell over the other end of the line for a few seconds.

Then came a soft chuckle.

"Is your hospital helping him put on a show now?"

The nurse frowned.

"Ma'am, please take this seriously. The patient is indeed deceased."

Chloe said coldly, "Tell him to cut the act."

"He just messaged me two days ago saying he earned five thousand dollars, and now he’s dead?"

"If he’s really dead, tell him to come tell me himself."

The nurse’s face turned white with anger.

"How can you speak like that?"

Chloe hung up.

I stood in the room, feeling an empty void where my heart used to be.

I thought there would be no pain after death, but it turned out even a soul could ache.

The nurse stared at my phone and muttered a curse.

"What kind of wife is she? Her husband is gone, and she thinks it's a joke."

I wanted to laugh, but I couldn't.

An hour later, my mother rushed into the hospital.

Her hair was a messy nest, and she had put her shoes on the wrong feet.

The moment she saw my body covered by the white sheet, she stumbled.

"Ethan?"

"Mom is here."

"Don't scare me."

The nurse held her up, her eyes red.

"Ma'am, please stay strong."

My mother threw herself over my bed, pulling back the sheet. When she saw my pale, lifeless face, all the strength was sucked out of her.

"Didn't you say this was just a routine checkup?"

"Didn't you say you'd come home soon?"

"Why did you lie to me again?"

I stood beside her, desperately trying to hug her, but my hands only passed right through her shoulders.

I could only repeat over and over, "Mom, I'm sorry. I was a terrible son. I shouldn't have ruined myself for Chloe."

But she couldn't hear me.

The nurse handed her the bank card.

"He was clutching this tightly until the very end. There should be money inside."

My mother covered her mouth, sobbing so hard she couldn't make a sound.

"He went to do those clinical trials again, didn't he?"

"I begged him not to go."

"He told me Chloe was in debt, and that people would kill her if she didn't pay."

"But look at him now..."

"He died first."

The young doctor beside her said softly, "Ma'am, he took on too many experimental drug trials over the years."

"His liver and kidney damage was severe."

"Honestly, it's a miracle he held on until now."

My mother suddenly looked up.

"Where is Chloe?"

"Why isn't she here yet?"

The nurse gritted her teeth.

"We contacted her. She didn't believe us."

My mother's eyes turned freezing cold.

"She didn't believe it?"

"Fine."

"I will make her believe it myself."

She grabbed my phone and dialed Chloe's number again.

This time, the call was answered quickly.

Chloe's tone was incredibly irritated.

"Ethan, are you done?"

"Do you think faking your death is fun?"

My mother spoke clearly, word by word.

"It's Mary."

Chloe paused.

"Mary?"

My mother's voice trembled.

"Don't speak to me."

"Ethan is dead."

"Come to the hospital to claim his body."

Chloe fell silent for a few seconds, then sneered.

"Mary, are you helping him lie to me too?"

"Is he trying to make me feel guilty again?"

"Let me tell you, I have no money right now, and I’m in no mood to baby him."

My mother shook with rage.

"Chloe!"

"He literally gave his life for you!"

Chloe mocked, "For me?"

"He did it voluntarily."

"I didn't hold a knife to his throat and force him to do those drug trials."

As soon as she finished speaking, a man’s voice came through the phone.

"Chloe, stop wasting your breath on them."

"We have to look at the yacht today."

My mother froze, and so did I.

I knew that voice all too well.

Marcus Vance.

Chloe’s college sweetheart.

The man she swore she had cut ties with a long time ago.

My mother asked in a shaking voice, "Who are you with?"

Chloe replied impatiently, "Does it have anything to do with you?"

"If Ethan is really dead, mail me the death certificate."

"It’ll make filing for probate easier."

She hung up.

My mother held the phone, looking as though she had been violently slapped.

She looked at my corpse, crying so hard she could barely kneel.

"My son..."

"What kind of monster did you fall in love with?"

Standing beside the bed, I finally realized something.

The person I had failed most in this life wasn't Chloe.

It was my mother.

And myself.