Chapter 1

The day I was diagnosed with terminal pancreatic cancer, I chose a grave for myself.

I wanted the tombstone to read: "In my next life, I won't be a Foster."

No more being the despised twin sister, no more biased parents and brothers.

I gulped down a whole glass of paraquat and waited quietly to die in the living room.

But then the cemetery office called.

"Sorry, another gentleman has also purchased that plot..."

"Miss Foster, we can compensate you."

"Would it be alright if we moved your plot slightly?"

A string of expletives was on the tip of my tongue.

But I swallowed them back down.

I'd heard of people fighting over license plates and inheritances.

But now even graves were being fought over!

My blood boiled as I abruptly stood up from the sofa.

The paraquat I had just drunk gushed out of my mouth along with fresh blood.

The searing pain in my stomach left me speechless.

"Miss Foster, if you don't object, I'll take that as your agreement?"

I fucking object!

Desperately suppressing the urge to vomit, I gripped the sofa armrest and said:

"We signed a contract, right? Two copies."

"Yes." The staff member's voice sounded apologetic.

"But Mr. Johnson signed with another colleague almost simultaneously, so..."

"So this was your own work oversight, right?"

My stomach cramped painfully. I collapsed back onto the sofa, my tone flat.

"I'm sorry, but I refuse."

I was always the ignored one at home before, so everything was snatched away by my twin sister.

Now that I'm about to die, I can't even win a grave for myself?

There was a hesitation on the other end.

Then a deep male voice spoke up.

"This grave does have special meaning for me."

"Miss Foster, name your price. I can transfer the money immediately."

The pain made my whole body tremble. I felt the paraquat ravaging my stomach, almost smiling.

Then I said softly: "No amount of money will make me give it up."

"I need it urgently."

The phone was passed back to the cemetery staff.

Clearly still siding with the high-paying gentleman, he tried to persuade me to give up.

"Miss Foster, why don't you reconsider?"

"Mr. Johnson is very sincere. Money is not an issue."

"Look, there's still time. You can pick another one you like, or I can give you one for free..."

I cut him off directly: "What if I said I need to use it right now?"

I couldn't hold back and vomited more blood as I finished speaking.

It splattered onto the sofa, a shocking sight.

They were stunned into silence on the other end.

I didn't wait for their response.

Just staring at the large bloodstain on the sofa, I said softly:

"I'm in the middle of committing suicide. I just drank a whole bottle of paraquat. I'll be dead soon."

"So please stop fighting me for it. I'll need to use it shortly."

"If it really won't work, can you ask that gentleman of yours... if he'd be willing to share a grave with me?"