Chapter 3

“Don't you dare be ungrateful, Claire!”

His chest heaved violently.

“Do you think you’re in any position to bargain with me now? Without me, you can’t even afford tomorrow’s medical bills!”

This was the first time he had so blatantly threatened me with money.

“Do you even deserve to look at these things in your current state?”

He saw me staring at the floor, then pointed at the scattered poetry collection.

“A dying person shouldn’t have any sentiment for our past!”

His words tore my heart to shreds.

In his mind, I was just a dying person, unworthy of anything beautiful anymore.

I gave a bitter laugh, wiping away my tears.

“So, you’re threatening me now? If I don’t sign, you’ll stop my treatment?”

He probably hadn’t seen me like this before; he was momentarily stunned.

But he quickly regained his cold composure.

“I’m just making you face reality. Signing it is good for all of us.”

He said “all of us,” which included Sarah Miller, but definitely not me.

Just then, his phone rang.

He answered, his impatient expression instantly turning anxious.

“What? Her condition worsened? I’ll be right up!”

He hung up, shooting me a furious glare.

There was no love or tenderness left in his eyes.

He advanced on me, step by step.

“Claire Davies, now, immediately, sign it!”

I leaned against the headboard, watching him coldly.

Watching him frantic and distraught over another woman.

Just as I’d suspected, he’d dropped all pretense because Sarah probably didn't have much time left to wait.

“What if I don’t sign?”

“You have no choice.”

He squeezed the words through clenched teeth.

“Claire, don’t make me force you.”

He started calling me by my name again, a cruel gentleness masking his true intentions.

“Sarah can’t wait any longer. Help her, and you’ll be helping me.”

He finally spoke his true thoughts.

Not for any good deed, not for any continuation of my life, but simply to help *him*.

To help him keep the woman he loved.

“I spent five miserable years with you, Claire. Even if you don’t think for yourself, you should think for me, shouldn’t you?”

“These five years, do you know what I gave up? I, the scion of the Reed family, lived with you in that tiny, rundown apartment, endured those tough years. I’ve done more than enough!”

He completely tore off his disguise, revealing his true, ugly self.

“It was all for Sarah! I approached you, married you, tolerated you – it was all for this day!”

“The doctor said you had a weak constitution, that you wouldn’t live long, so I patiently waited for you!”

“I thought once you died, I could naturally get your heart. I never expected you to drag it out for so long!”

So that was it.

My entire existence, from the beginning, had been a meticulously planned deception.

A five-year performance staged solely to extract my heart.

He saw my prolonged silence and seemed to realize he’d said too much.

“Claire, struggling now is meaningless.”

He picked up the agreement and the pen, pushing them into my hand.

“Sign it. This is the last thing you can do for me.”

“Is there anything you need to say, or any unfulfilled wishes you have in this life? I promise I’ll take care of them later!”

I lowered my head, looking at the agreement in my hand.

*Donor: Claire Davies.*

*Recipient: Sarah Miller.*

What a clean, cut-and-dry transaction.

My hand trembled.

Caleb thought I had given in.

He leaned down, whispering into my ear.

“Good girl, sign it. I’ll remember your kindness.”

His breath on my earlobe made me feel a wave of nausea.

I gripped the pen tightly.

Then I looked up at him and smiled.

He froze.

The next second, I didn’t put pen to paper.

Instead, I used every ounce of strength I had to tear the agreement in half.

The tearing sound was deafening in the silent room.

He hadn’t even reacted yet.

I then tore those two halves into four, then eight…

Countless pieces of paper fluttered from my fingertips, scattering across the floor.

I dropped the pen; it rolled a few times on the ground, stopping at Caleb Reed’s feet.

“Caleb Reed, you wish!”

Before, I would have thought I had no money for treatment, no hope of getting better.

But now, Caleb had inherited a fortune for a critically ill Sarah Miller. Logically, half of it should be mine. Why couldn’t I live?