Chapter 5

Over the next few days, I continued as usual—waking early to deliver milk, washing dishes at noon, handing out flyers in the afternoon, working night shifts, and making handicrafts in the early morning hours.

But I no longer smiled at him like before, no longer held him to comfort him, no longer put him first in everything.

When he spoke to me, I only responded flatly. When he hugged me, I no longer hugged back. The love and tenderness in my eyes were gone, replaced only by calm desolation.

Ethan seemed to sense something was wrong. He kept frowning and asking: "Susan, what's wrong? Are you feeling unwell? Are you too tired?"

I just shook my head, smiling: "It's fine. Just a bit tired lately. I'll be better after some rest."

He didn't ask further, assuming I was exhausted from work. He turned around and messaged Vivian, complaining that I'd been increasingly cold lately, saying once the bet expired, he'd come clean immediately.

He didn't know that when he sent those messages, I was standing right outside the bedroom door, hearing every word clearly.

He didn't know I'd already recorded his and Vivian's conversation in the restaurant, saved all the records of him secretly transferring the "debt repayment money" I'd given him over the past three years.

And that late-stage gastric cancer diagnosis report—I kept it in my bag.

I had no plans to make a scene or cry. I just wanted to quietly live out these last six months.

This scam, this wager—it was time for it to end.

That afternoon, I left the convenience store early, wanting to go back to the rental to pack my things and leave.

Just as I reached the door, I heard Ethan's voice inside. He was on the phone with Vivian, his tone full of satisfaction.

"Vivian, don't worry. Half a month more and the bet expires. Then I'll come clean with Susan and divorce her to marry you."

"Her? She's still in the dark, working five jobs every day to make me money. Pathetically stupid. Honestly, if it weren't for this bet, I never would have known she actually loved me this much."

"What good is love? I never loved her. The person I've always loved is you. Once we're divorced, I'll take you abroad for our honeymoon and make up for everything I owed you these past three years."

I stood at the door, my hand on the doorknob, not pushing it open or rushing in to confront him. I just listened quietly, my heart completely calm.

After he hung up, I pushed the door open and walked in.

Ethan saw me and froze for a moment, then quickly resumed his usual down-and-out, guilty appearance, smiling as he came over: "Susan, why are you back early? Are you too tired? Come sit and rest."

I ignored him and walked straight to the bed, picked up my bag, and started packing.

He sensed something wrong and grabbed my hand, frowning: "Susan, what are you doing? Where are you going?"

I shook off his hand, my tone flat and emotionless: "Ethan, stop acting. I know everything."

His face instantly paled, panic flashing in his eyes: "Susan... what are you talking about? I don't understand."

"Don't understand?"

I smiled slightly, took out my phone, and played the recording—his conversation with Vivian in the restaurant, and the phone call just now, all playing clearly.

When the recording finished, the rental fell deathly silent.

Ethan's face was deathly pale, his whole body trembling. He grabbed my hand, stammering explanations: "Susan, it's not what you think. Let me explain, I..."

"No need to explain."

I cut him off, withdrew my hand, took out the late-stage gastric cancer diagnosis report from my bag, and threw it in front of him. "Ethan, you won this bet. I'm truly not a gold-digger. Even when you were penniless, I stayed with you for three years."

"But you lost. I don't love you anymore."

"Also, your bet cost me half my life. I only have six months left."

Ethan's gaze fell on the diagnosis report. When he saw "late-stage gastric cancer" and "six-month survival period," his pupils contracted sharply. His entire body froze in place, as if struck by lightning.

He picked up the diagnosis report, his fingers shaking so badly he could barely hold the paper. He read the words over and over, his face changing from deathly pale to ashen gray to the color of death.

"No... impossible... Susan, this isn't real, right? You're lying to me, aren't you?"