With my face pale as death from terminal cancer, I lay in bed and dialed my husband’s number. "Miles, what’s up with those wedding photos of you and Lauren on Instagram?" His voice over the line was nothing but cold impatience. "It’s just for work. Besides, the doctor said you only have three months left. Stop letting your mind wander." Before I could reply, a sweet, clingy female voice came from his end. "Miles, who is that? Come quick and help me choose our wedding dress for the engagement party!" The call was abruptly disconnected. My grip tightened on my phone. Then, I smiled. I threw off the blanket, sat up, and wiped the pale, sickly foundation off my face. Everyone thought I was desperately in love with Miles. They thought I’d give up my life for him. They were all waiting to watch me die a tragic, desperate death. Only I knew that this so-called terminal diagnosis was a meticulously planned escape. As for our marital assets? Too bad. While Miles was busy fooling around, I had already quietly drained and transferred every single penny. ...
I refreshed Instagram. Lauren Scott had deleted all her wedding dress posts, replacing them with a single, highly dramatic caption: "It was just a dinner hosted by the brand to thank us for the endorsement. We were playing truth or dare, and I lost. The brand challenged me to take a photo with any man present. Mr. Whitfield only agreed to help to save me from embarrassment. I apologize for the misunderstanding." The attached photo was a selfie of her pouting with a victimized expression. Miles was quick to comment: "Ignore them, Lauren. I’ve got your back. No one dares bully you." A flood of comments instantly appeared below: "We all get it, it was obviously a joke. Those reporters love chasing shadows." "Some people? Are they talking about Mr. Whitfield’s dying wife? Mr. Whitfield is so miserable, married to a woman like that. She’s dying anyway, that’s just her bad luck. Yet she stays at home making trouble, blaming Mr. Whitfield and Lauren for making her sick." "The way Mr. Whitfield protects you is so hot!" I stared coldly at the screen, took note of every single account that liked those comments, and put them all on our company’s blacklist. I had founded this entertainment agency solely to secure Miles’s position as a gold-star producer. I had poured all my money and connections into him. Now, he was indeed the crown jewel of our company, with everyone kissing his feet. Even his favorite rising star, Lauren, had ridden his coattails straight to the top. And I, the majority shareholder of the company, had become the annoying, dying wife in their mouths. They probably thought I loved Miles to the bone. They thought the company would go bankrupt without him. They forgot that it was my empire that made him who he was today. Without him, I could build a dozen gold-star producers. Lauren replied to every comment with a blushing emoji. Her reply to Miles was a blowing kiss. The doorbell rang. It was FedEx. The courier handed me the divorce papers signed by Miles, along with a gift box. I asked him what it was. He scratched his head. "A lady asked me to hand this to you. She said you’re a miserable, dying soul, but she’s generous enough not to hold a grudge." "These are white lilies. She wishes you a peaceful recovery." I calmly told him to throw Lauren's mocking funeral flowers straight into the trash and shut the door. I pulled out the divorce papers and signed my name, stroke by stroke. My phone buzzed. It was a WhatsApp message from Carter, the company’s vice president. "Ms. Marlowe, are you sure about this? You can’t just freeze Mr. Whitfield and Lauren’s joint projects." "I know your health is failing and you’re having a lover's spat with Mr. Whitfield, but please don't joke with the company's future. You’re not just ruining our two pillars, you're throwing our investors' money down the drain." I replied coldly: "You’re right. I forgot to deal with you. You’re fired. I’ll have the board take over your duties immediately." After hitting send, I immediately called the Board Secretariat, instructing them to take full control of project approvals and finances. "Suspend and audit anyone who pleads for Miles and Lauren. If they don’t like it, tell them to pack their bags." I looked at the executives who were leaving nice comments on Lauren's Instagram. I had hired them with top-tier salaries, headhunting them from across the country. I gave them their platform. I sent them to Harvard for executive training. Yet, now, they only recognized Miles. They completely forgot who gave them everything they had. They were loyal dogs trained by Miles, possessing the exact same ungrateful nature. Ungrateful people don't deserve to be executives. They should sleep on the streets to learn what the real world feels like. As soon as I hung up, I realized Miles had sent me over a dozen messages. In the end, probably driven mad by the silence, he called me from a new number. I picked up. The second the call connected, his furious roar boomed through the speaker. "Are you insane! I’m about to launch a new project, and Lauren is scheduled to shoot! How dare you freeze all our resources!"
"Sienna, I know you’re dying and you’re bitter about it, but that is your fate!" "Your body was born defective. Even God can't save you! It’s your own destiny to die young, it is not my fault, and it certainly isn’t Lauren's!" "How many times do I have to tell you? Why do you keep targeting Lauren? I kept you away from the entertainment news because I didn't want you overthinking! I never expected you to start throwing dirt on her, let alone abuse your power to blacklist her!" His usually arrogant, detached voice was shaking with rage. I simply asked, "Did you really fly to Paris for work? Was that wedding dress photo really just a stunt forced by the brand?" "Or did you rush to Paris just to accompany her to Fashion Week?" On the other end of the line, his breath hitched. Silence stretched for two seconds. "What nonsense are you talking about? That never happened... You’re getting more paranoid by the day..." Then, Lauren’s voice piped up. "Miles, the show is about to start. You came out here to relax, and I don't want you to be unhappy because of me. When we go back, I’ll personally apologize to Sienna. I’ll even get down on my knees if that’s what it takes." The call was abruptly cut off. They probably didn't want to miss the show. I held my new passport, and my tears finally fell uncontrollably. "Mom, I won't let them get away with this," I whispered to the empty room. It was a promise to my late mother. I didn't know how long I cried. My chest felt so tight I could barely breathe. The next morning, I woke up with swollen eyes. I put on sunglasses and walked downstairs, only to see a busy figure in the kitchen. Miles walked out, freezing for a second when he saw me, but he quickly put on his usual nonchalant face. "You’re awake? I made breakfast. Come eat." "I knew you'd overthink things yesterday, so I flew back overnight without even resting." I opened my mouth to tell him to get lost, but then a slender figure wearing my silk bathrobe walked out of the bathroom. She rushed straight into Miles’s arms, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. "Miles, you’re so sweet. I love a man who knows how to take care of people." Miles quickly peeled her off him, a trace of panic in his voice. "How old are you, acting like a child?" He turned to explain to me. "When we landed, there was a sudden downpour. We got soaked. I told Lauren to come over and change first. She insisted on coming to apologize to you, so I let her borrow your clothes." Lauren stuck her tongue out and looked at me. "Sienna, I’m here to apologize. Yesterday was really just a joke! If you don't believe me, I’ll join the social season this weekend and marry myself off. I promise I won't get in your way." "Lauren! Stop messing around!" Miles snapped. Sensing the mock on my lips, he quickly tried to smooth things over. "I mean, Sienna has always been generous and kind. She’s already forgiven you. There’s no need for you to go marry some old man." "Right, Sienna? Let’s just forget about yesterday, okay?" I was practically on my "deathbed," yet he was playing house with his mistress at Paris Fashion Week. And now he wanted me to just let it go? Of course. I let out a cold smile. "Sure. I don't mind." After all, you two will be broke soon anyway. What your relationship is, where you slept last night, and what you did—I couldn't care less. Hearing this, Miles looked relieved. He adjusted his glasses. "I’m glad you understand. I’ve put my current projects on hold to spend time with you. Once you’re feeling better, we’ll finalize the divorce, and I’ll go back to work." I nodded calmly. He was my husband. He was supposed to accompany me through my "final days." But a flash of malice crossed Lauren’s eyes. She spun around, took the cup Miles was holding, and walked toward me. "Sienna, you have to try this cappuccino Miles made. Last time we went out, I said the coffee there was amazing, and Miles promised he’d learn how to make it for me. I just tasted it, and it tastes exactly the same." Miles looked at me nervously. He used to say his hands were meant for signing multi-million dollar contracts, not for cooking. When I first handed him my "cancer" diagnosis, he had stared at it in shock, then grabbed my hand with red eyes. "Don't be afraid, Sienna. I’m here." Since then, he would dive into the kitchen after work, researching recipes. I thought he had finally found his conscience. I thought he remembered our past warmth. It turned out he wasn't practicing for me. He was practicing for another woman. Lauren held the coffee out to me, her smile dripping with triumph. "Try it, Sienna. It’s Miles’s hard work." I looked at her and smiled. The next second, I swung my hand hard. "Smash!" The beautifully crafted cup shattered on the floor, hot coffee splashing all over Lauren. "Ah!" she screamed, jumping back in pain. Miles’s face fell. He lunged forward and shoved me away. "Sienna! Are you insane!" I stumbled, my waist slamming hard against the sofa armrest. A sharp pain shot through my back. He didn't even look at me. He was too busy checking Lauren’s arm. "Are you hurt? Is it bad? Let me see!" Lauren sobbed, burying herself in his chest. "Miles, it hurts... Does Sienna hate me that much?" Miles held her close, glaring at me like I was a madwoman. "She’s just spoiled! She’s lost her mind from the sickness!" I held my aching waist and looked coldly at the two of them. "Get out." My voice wasn't loud, but it was freezing. "Get the hell out of my house." Miles frowned. "Sienna, stop being unreasonable. Lauren was only trying to be nice..." "Nice?" I cut him off, pointing at the door. "Wearing my bathrobe, standing in my house, bragging about the coffee you made for her—that's her being nice?" "I said, get out!" I grabbed another glass from the table and shattered it at their feet. Lauren shrieked, flinching. Miles finally snapped, pulling Lauren behind him. "Enough, Sienna! Look at yourself! You look like a psycho!" "I stayed to accompany you, not to let you step all over me! I signed the divorce papers, and I even let you have the majority of the assets! What more do you want!" He thought he was making a sacrifice. He didn't know that the assets under his name were already hollowed out. Every single equity transfer sheet he had signed was a trap. "I don't want anything," I said calmly. "I just want some peace before I die. The two of you are hurting my eyes." Miles’s chest heaved with anger. Ultimately, he dragged Lauren away. Before leaving, he cast a complicated look at me. "Sienna, watch yourself." The front door slammed shut. Finally, the world was quiet. I bent down and picked up the shattered porcelain piece by piece. The sharp edges sliced into my finger, and a bead of blood welled up. I didn't care. This little pain was nothing.
The next day, Miles’s mother, Sarah, showed up. She was a woman who always wore heavy makeup and looked down on everyone. The moment Sarah walked in, she swept a disgusted glance around the living room, as if she had stepped into a slum. "Sienna, I heard you kicked Miles out?" She sat across from me, her posture arrogant. I didn't say a word, continuing to trim the roses in my vase. I had bought these roses for myself. Seeing me ignore her, Sarah’s face turned sour. "I’m warning you, don't think you can manipulate Miles just because you’re dying! Miles is soft-hearted enough to spend your remaining days with you. That is your blessing!" "Don't be ungrateful! Call Miles back right now and apologize!" I snipped a stem with a sharp "click". I finally looked up at her and smiled. "Sarah, did you forget? This house is mine. I bought it with my pre-marital funds. I can kick out whoever I want." Sarah’s face instantly turned red. "You! You little..." She was speechless with rage. I laid down the shears and wiped my hands with a cloth. "And as for the 'blessing' you mentioned, I’ll pass. After all, my life was drained by the 'blessings' of the Whitfield family." "Your son is accompanying a dying woman while flying to Paris to watch fashion shows and try on wedding dresses with a little starlet. Whoever wants that blessing can have it." Sarah stood up abruptly, pointing her finger at my nose. "Lies! Miles did that for work! Lauren is a good girl, unlike you—bitter, toxic, and full of disease!" "Our family was cursed the day we let you in!" My smile widened. I tapped the screen of my phone, which was recording under the table. Perfect. Keep going. The nastier, the better. "Sienna, let me tell you, the moment Miles divorces you, he’s marrying Lauren! She’s young, beautiful, and healthy. Not like you, who can't even bear a child!" "You better behave. Otherwise, even after you die, we won't let you or your short-lived mother rest in peace!" She yelled until her throat was dry, then reached for my coffee cup on the table. I firmly pressed my hand down on the rim of the cup. "Sarah, I wouldn't drink that if I were you." She froze. "What do you mean?" I let out a cold laugh. "I’m afraid my disease might be contagious." Sarah’s face turned pale instantly. She yanked her hand back. She pointed at me, her finger trembling. "You... you psycho!" With that, she grabbed her Hermès bag and fled. I stopped the recording, named the file "The Whitfield Family's True Colors," and sent it to my lawyer. My lawyer replied instantly: "Got it, Ms. Marlowe. Another solid piece of evidence." My death was near. But so was my rebirth.
Only one day left until my "death." The company was in complete chaos. I had frozen all of Miles and Lauren’s projects, which effectively cut off the company's main revenue stream for the next six months. Dozens of executives and board members were spamming my phone. I didn't answer a single call. I simply instructed my secretary to send out a company-wide email. The content was simple: "Effective immediately, all operations of the company are suspended for an internal audit. No employee shall provide any support to Miles Whitfield or Lauren Scott in the name of the company. Violators will be terminated immediately and face legal prosecution." This email was the final straw. Miles could no longer sit still. He called me again from yet another new number. "Sienna! What the hell do you want? You’re going to destroy the company! You’re destroying me!" His voice carried a hint of hysterical panic. I leaned back on the lounge chair on my balcony, basking in the sun. "Miles, don't get worked up. The company is mine. If I want to destroy it, that’s my right." "You!" He choked on his words. "You can't do this! This company is the result of my hard work for years! Even if you hate me, you can't play with the company's survival!" "Your hard work?" I laughed. "Miles, did you forget? This company was built dollar by dollar using the inheritance my father left me. I poured hundreds of millions into it." "Your so-called hard work is just a stage I built for you. Now, I’m tearing down the stage. Is there a problem?" There was a dead silence on the other end. After a long time, his voice came through again, this time with a trace of begging. "Sienna, I’m begging you. Just resume the projects, okay? We can settle our personal issues privately. Don't drag the company into this." "We can divorce. I’ll walk away with nothing, I’ll give everything to you, okay?"
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