At the wedding, my ex-husband saw my suicide note.

The day I was diagnosed with late-stage stomach cancer, my husband was lighting fireworks for another woman.

When reporters blocked me outside the hospital ward, I forced a smile.

Dont misunderstand, I said calmly. Were doing fine. Shes just a relative.

That night, I left the hospital alone and went home.

Under the fireworks, I saw him feeding her cake, fixing her hair, holding her like a priceless treasure.

He scolded me for ruining the mood. She hid behind him, crying softly.

I smiled and spoke quietly.

I just wanted to remind youtoday is my birthday.

I first sensed it was over when I landed in the hospital from overworking myself into a bleeding stomach. At that very moment, Matthew was at home, hosting a private fireworks show for Olivia in the backyard.

When reporters shoved their microphones in my face, I forced a smile through my pale, exhausted expression.

"Don't speculate," I said. "Matthew and I are doing fine. The girl you saw with him is just his cousin."

The journalists looked unconvinced, their disdain and disbelief practically dripping off their faces.

The truth was, I wasn't entirely lying. Olivia wasn't his real cousin, though, just an orphan taken in by Matthew's family.

Our marriage had always been a calculated business arrangement. Matthew had played his role well until Olivia came back three months ago.

Since then, he'd stuck to her side like glue, completely forgetting he even had a wife.

The "perfect husband" image that the media had painted for him was nothing but a fa?ade.

That night, while the entire household staff was preparing fireworks for Olivia, I called Matthew over and over again. He didn't answer.

Left with no choice, I discharged myself from the hospital and took a cab home.

The house was alive with celebration, the vibrant colors of fireworks painting the night sky. I stepped into the yard, cold and silent, entirely out of place amidst the revelry.

Under the fireworks that illuminated the backyard, I saw Matthew tidying Olivia's hair and feeding her a piece of cake.

Suddenly, I felt like an outsider.

The autumn leaves covered the ground. As I stepped on them, they crackled softly.

Olivia noticed me first. She jumped out of Matthew's arms like a frightened rabbit, her delicate expression painted with innocence.

"Emily!" she exclaimed, her voice trembling.

"Please don't misunderstand! We were just celebrating the company's revival!"

Huh.

Revival? A celebration?

Was she serious?

The company did revive, yet she had no part in its recovery, none at all.

As my disdainful gaze swept over them, Matthew charged toward me, shielding Olivia like she was a priceless treasure.

"Emily, can you stop wearing that poker face all day?" he snapped, his voice sharp and full of irritation.

"Enough with the innocent routine in front of the cameras. Haven't you had enough?

"What do you want? My sympathy? My pity? Dream on!"

Behind him, Olivia clung to his arm, her eyes glistening with crocodile tears.

"Matthew, please calm down," she whispered, trembling. "You're scaring me."

The scene was absurd, a soap opera unfolding in my own home. But I was too exhausted to focus on this drama.

To their surprise, I forced a smile, closing the distance between us. "Matt," I said softly, my tone full of practiced sweetness, "don't be mad. I didn't misunderstand. I just wanted to remind you... today's my birthday. I know you've been busy and must've forgotten, but it's okay. I don't blame you."

For a split second, he froze. A hint of guilt flickered across his face before being quickly buried beneath his usual indifference.

"Birthday?" he repeated, scoffing.

"Didn't you always say you hated celebrating your birthday?"

Yes. I used to say that. My mother had died giving birth to me. My birthday was also her death anniversary.

My father, who worshipped her, would spend every year mourning her with grand ceremonies. For years, I avoided celebrating my birthday.

But Matthew had once changed that. Over the first two years of our marriage, he'd celebrated with me, helping me shake off the shadow of grief.

I could still remember his gentle words, whispered in my ear with a warm smile.

"Emily, from now on, you'll never feel alone on your birthday. You're not a curse. You're my good luck charm."

Looking at him now, standing in front of me to shield Olivia, I realized those words had long since lost their meaning.

But it didn't hurt anymore. He didn't know I'd already tricked him into signing the divorce papers a week ago.

The stomach bleeding today wasn't a fluke. A week ago, I had been diagnosed with terminal stomach cancer, with only three months left to live.

That scene was still fresh in my memory. It was our third wedding anniversary, and I sat alone in the hospital hallway.

Sweat soaked through the diagnosis report in my trembling hands. My legs felt like lead; I tried to stand several times but failed.

My frayed nerves finally snapped after I called Matthew for the tenth time.

"Emily! Are you insane? Just because you have nothing better to do doesn't mean others aren't busy!" he roared.

He wasn't wrong. I was very sick, and it was indeed driving me insane.

Before I could respond, a woman's honeyed voice floated through the phone, turning my unsaid words into a lump in my throat.

"Matthew! I knew you'd come! You missed me, didn't you?"

I heard Matthew's low chuckle before the call was abruptly cut off.

It wasn't the first time.

The first time he stood me up was to pick up Olivia when she returned to the country.

The first time he hit me was because Olivia had damaged my piano.

At first, I was shocked, but gradually, I stopped caring.

The searing pain I once felt dulled into a faint ache.

I made excuses for him over and over again, convincing myself it was all because Olivia was his cousin, and he had no other choice.

But eventually, I had to face the truthhe wasn't powerless and chose this willingly.

To Matthew, I was nothing more than a distraction when Olivia wasn't around, a pastime he could step on. My dignity and love were crushed beneath his feet.

So, I decided he would taste the bitterness of unrequited love. I would make him fall for me and be haunted by me.

If he refused to care about me now, I would make myself a thorn in his heart.

While I was alive, I would be a constant, nagging pain. After my death, I would leave him utterly broken.

I recorded three videos, preparing to leave Matthew a gift he would never forget.

In my last month alive, I set aside my pride. I tolerated Olivia's blatant provocations, pretending not to notice.

But she wasn't planning to let me off so easily. One evening, I discovered razor blades hidden in my piano keys.

When Matthew came home, he saw me shouting at the teary-eyed Olivia.

"Did you really have to go this far?" he scolded, his voice sharp and cold.

Silently, I raised my hand, showing him the blood dripping from my wrist.

"Matthew! Don't you know what she..."

Before I could finish, Matthew's gaze fell on Olivia, trembling in the corner with fearful eyes. His face twisted in anger. The next thing I knew, a sharp slap landed across my cheek.

"If your hand's injured, go to the hospital. Stop making a scene here! You really are just a piece of trash with no one to teach you any better!"

Every ounce of pride and ambition I had built up in my life crumbled in that moment.

The man I had once leaned on now mocked me with disdain.

"If you can't play piano, then don't. It's just a tool you use to fish for attention, anyway."

My desperate, hysterical questioning only made me look like a lunatic in his eyes.

He scoffed, "How dare you compare yourself to Olivia? She plays piano because it's her dream. You? You only do it for your pathetic vanity and self-interest."

Olivia picked up a glass of water, pouring it over her head before smashing the glass onto the floor.

With her drenched face and trembling lips, she looked pitiful as she turned to me. "Emily, I didn't mean to... Is this enough for you?"

Matthew immediately rushed to her side, cradling her in his arms as he led her away to change clothes.

Before leaving, he threw a cold glance my way. "Emily, Olivia is like a sister to me. Watch yourself."

His gaze lingered on my bleeding hand, softening for just a second.

Olivia seemed to notice this change. Her eyes fluttered shut, and she collapsed dramatically into Matthew's arms.

"Olivia!" he shouted, his voice panicked.

Without another word, he carried her away. That extinguished the last flicker of hope in my heart.

Left alone, I hailed a cab and went to the hospital to get my wounds treated.

I sent all the pre-recorded videos to my brother, who knew about my diagnosis and was fully aware of my plan.

Ours was a family devoid of warmth. Raised under my father's influence, my brother had always resented me, blaming me for our mother's death during childbirth.

"Emily, your cancer is karma. You should've paid with your life for my mom a long time ago."

That was his first response upon hearing the news.

I promised him the company, and he promised to play my videos at my funeral.

My phone screen blinked on and off, and the messages came in nonstop.

They were from Matthew, his location pinging from abroad.

[Emily, don't worry. I'll make it back for the family dinner tomorrow.]

[You're not mad, are you?]

[Emily, you have to understand. Olivia threatened suicide. I couldn't just ignore her.]

[She's a living person! What kind of man would I be to let her die?]

Each new message brought a numbing sensation to my lips and drained the strength from my limbs. As the screen filled with more notifications, I lost consciousness.

When I collapsed to the ground, my final question lingered in my fading mind.

Matthew, I just wondered how miserable your end would be.

My soul detached from my body. I floated above, staring down at my pale face and lifeless body sprawled across the floor.

Perhaps my unfulfilled rage moved the heavens, granting me this chance to witness their inevitable downfall.

My phone, now running on its last bar of battery, showed over 99 unread messages.

The final one from Matthew popped up: [Emily, stop causing a scene. I might be late from the airport. Wait for me at Gabor Estate.]

I let out a cold laugh and willed my consciousness to Gabor Estate, ready to watch the drama unfold.

Soon, Matthew arrived in a rush, his tie crooked, his breaths uneven as he stormed into the estate.

"Grandfather, where's Emily? I need to speak with her privately," he asked.

Henry's furrowed brows deepened at his grandson's frantic demeanor.

"Matt! Must you always act so recklessly? And you'd better rein in Olivia's antics from now on. Our family isn't yet free from relying on Emily's family's support.

"If it hadn't been for Olivia's tantrums about studying piano abroad and your secret misuse of company funds, the company wouldn't have ended up in such a dire situation. You can't afford to push Emily away. Watch your temper!"

Matthew's expression twisted, a mix of annoyance and frustration darkening his features.

"Grandfather, is this really the time to bring that up? If Emily hears about this, everything will be ruined!"

A pang of bitterness coursed through me. So, the financial crisis I nearly died trying to save them from was Olivia's doing. Matthew's past kindnesses were never about love; they were about greed, about using me to revive his failing company.

"What?" Henry asked, confused by Matthew's accusatory tone.

Matthew froze for a moment, his composure cracking.

"She... hasn't arrived yet?"

He sighed, pulling out his phone. He dialed my number over and over, but no one picked up. By the time he had called three times with no answer, panic began to creep into his expression.

"Pick up, Emily! Answer the phone!"

He started pacing, frustration boiling over as he stomped his feet in agitation.

Henry suggested they sit down, reminding him that the family dinner couldn't be delayed since everyone was already present.

Matthew reluctantly took his seat at the table, but no sooner had he settled than his phone rang.

Excitement lit up his face, only to be replaced by confusion and unease as he listened to the voice on the other end.

It was my brother, Jacob.

"Matthew, make sure to attend Emily's funeral tomorrow."

The sound of the call disconnecting echoed loudly. Matthew's hand, still clutching the phone, froze mid-air as if time itself had stopped.

Henry tapped his shoulder with his cane.

"What's the matter? Who was that?"