Chapter 4

Monday morning, after delivering milk, I was preparing to go to the hospital for my examination when Ethan called, saying his stomach hurt badly and asking me to buy him medicine.

Without a second thought, I immediately turned my bicycle around, went to the pharmacy to buy medicine, and rushed back to the rental.

He lay in bed, frowning, looking very uncomfortable.

I poured him water, fed him medicine, rubbed his stomach, bustling about, completely forgetting about the hospital appointment.

By the time he fell asleep, it was already afternoon. I'd long missed my hospital appointment.

I sighed and canceled the appointment, thinking—forget it, I'll make another appointment next time. Taking care of him comes first.

That afternoon, I had to hand out flyers in the shopping district. The district was close to the city hospital. After finishing, I thought I'd stop by the hospital to get some cough medicine.

Just as I reached the hospital entrance, I saw a familiar Porsche. I remembered the license plate—it was the first car Ethan bought when his startup succeeded. He'd said he sold it to pay debts when he went bankrupt.

I froze, thinking I'd seen wrong. I rubbed my eyes. It was definitely that car—even the car sticker was exactly the same as before.

Just then, the car door opened. Ethan stepped out, wearing a bespoke suit I'd never seen before, his hair meticulously styled, looking spirited and successful—nothing like his usual down-and-out, haggard appearance.

He walked around to the passenger side, opened the door, and helped out Vivian.

Vivian wore a designer dress with a diamond ring on her hand. She linked arms with Ethan, laughing brilliantly. The two of them walked intimately into the upscale Western restaurant next to the hospital.

I felt like I'd been struck by lightning, standing frozen in place, my limbs ice-cold, my blood seemingly congealed.

Bankruptcy? Selling the car? Debts?

All lies.

My mind went blank. As if possessed, I followed them into the restaurant and sat in the booth next to theirs, hiding behind a menu.

Their conversation reached my ears, every word crystal clear.

Vivian laughed: "Ethan, one more month until the bet expires. When are you planning to come clean with Susan? You can't keep pretending to be poor forever, right? I can't wait to move into your riverside mansion."

Ethan's voice came, carrying a careless laugh: "What's the rush? Once the bet expires, I'll come clean with her. I'll give her some money as compensation for these three years of hard work."

"Compensation?" Vivian sneered. "What, have you actually fallen for her? Don't forget—you were the one who bet me that Susan definitely wasn't a gold-digger, that even if you were penniless, she'd stay with you. Now that you've won, don't go back on your word."

"Don't worry," Ethan's voice turned cold. "I only feel guilty toward her, not love. If you hadn't gone abroad back then, I never would have married her. Once I come clean, I'll divorce her and marry you."

"Oh right," Vivian added, "you've been secretly saving all that debt repayment money she gave you, right? The money from selling her house, the money from working five jobs—she gave it all to you. Don't actually give it to her in the end."

Ethan chuckled: "Of course I saved it all, didn't touch a cent. She's pretty stupid though, actually believing I owed eight million, giving her heart and soul to help me. Kind of amusing, actually."

I couldn't hear what came after.

My ears were ringing. My heart felt like it was being crushed by a hand, the pain making it impossible to breathe.

Three years.

Three whole years.

I sold the house my parents left me, worked five jobs a day, exhausted myself day and night, ruined my health, developed a body full of ailments, gave my heart and soul to help him through his "difficulties."

In the end, it was nothing but a wager between him and his childhood friend.

His supposed bankruptcy, his supposed debts—all fake.

My devotion, my sacrifices, my life—in his eyes, they were nothing but a joke, chips proving his charm in a bet.

I don't know how I walked out of that restaurant. I just felt the world spinning, my stomach and chest both aching. The pain made me crouch by the roadside, coughing violently. I coughed up blood right onto the ground, shockingly vivid.

Passersby all stared at me, but I felt nothing anymore.

I got up, rode my bicycle to the city hospital, and registered for emergency care.

After a series of examinations, the doctor held my report, looked at me, sighed, and said gravely: "Susan, why did you only come now? Late-stage gastric cancer, already metastasized. It's caused by long-term overwork, irregular eating, and severe malnutrition."

"At most, you have six months left."

Late-stage gastric cancer.

Six months.

I held the diagnosis report and sat in the hospital corridor. I didn't cry or make a scene. I just sat quietly from dawn until dark.

Three years of wholehearted devotion in exchange for a scam and a terminal illness.

How ridiculous.

After dark, I finally rode my bicycle back to that shabby rental.

Ethan had already made dinner—all my favorite dishes. Seeing me return, he smiled and came over: "Susan, where were you? Why are you just getting back? I made you dinner. Eat it while it's hot."

He still wore that deeply devoted, guilty expression, completely different from the spirited, coldly mocking man in the restaurant earlier—like two different people.

I looked at him. My heart felt no ripples, only endless coldness and desolation.

I didn't expose him. I just smiled, sat down, and picked up my fork.

This wager—he thought he'd won.

But he didn't know he'd lost the version of me who loved him desperately, the genuine heart he could never get back.

And I no longer had time to keep playing along with him.