Chapter 1

The flatline tore through my ears. Through the ICU glass, I heard my husband negotiate with the attending physician.

"Brain death confirmed?" Charles Rivers's voice was scalpel-cold. "The estate notarization requires a death certificate. Hurry it up."

I floated in the ceiling corner, staring down at my corpse: I was twenty-eight, killed in a car accident, brain dead on impact, with the left side of my face shredded by windshield glass.

The doctor said, "Mr. Rivers, standard protocol requires seventy-two hours of observation—"

Charles cut him off. "I'll pay you more."

I laughed, realizing that even souls could feel heartbreak. Three days ago, this same man had gotten down on one knee to propose to me on a Ferris wheel, presenting a pink diamond ring—fat as a pigeon's egg—in its box.

That was the thirty-seventh time he'd proposed to me.

From our university days to now, Charles had proposed thirty-seven times, and I'd turned him down thirty-six times.

I finally said yes, not out of emotion, but because I'd been diagnosed with a congenital heart defect and had at most three months to live without a donor.

I wanted to die as his wife.

But on our wedding day, I walked in on him in bed with my twin sister, Isabelle Shaw. I fled in a panic, driving too fast, and ended up in a car accident.

*****

"Charles," Isabelle Shaw, my twin sister, called out, walking in wearing my wedding dress. "Is she dead yet?"

"Almost," Charles replied, wrapping his arm around her waist. "Isabelle, once the inheritance comes through, we'll get married at Wonland. Didn't you say you wanted to watch the fireworks show?"

"But Vivian's your wife," Isabelle said softly.

"Only on paper. You've always been the one in my heart," he said, kissing her forehead. "She's practically on her deathbed. If it weren't for that 10% of the shares she's holding, I would never marry her."

I stared at them. No tears in this ghostly form, but something burned inside my chest—a hatred hotter than death.

The heart monitor wailed.

The doctor announced the time of death: 2:27 PM, March 15th, 2024.

My soul began to fade. In my final moment, I heard Isabelle's laughter—clear as a silver bell, sharp as a blade.

*****

Suddenly, my eyes snapped open.

"Vivian, marry me," Charles said.

I realized I was sitting in a Ferris wheel. Outside, the city lights glittered like spilled stars. Across from me, a man in a black suit was down on one knee, with deep, intense eyes, holding out that damned pink diamond ring.

This was the 37th proposal. Somehow, I was back three months ago.

"I..." My throat clenched as I tried to speak.

Charles's gaze was dripping with tenderness. "I know you have a heart condition, and I don't care. I want to be with you until the end, to take care of you openly, as your husband."

Word for word, like my old life. Back then, I had cried like a fool, thinking I'd finally found true love. Now, all I wanted to do was gag.

"No," I said crisply.

Charles froze. "What?"

"No," I repeated, standing up as the Ferris wheel reached its highest point. I pulled open the door, and the night wind rushed in, whipping my hair around. "Charles, you make me sick."

"Vivian, what are you doing? That's dangerous!" Charles called out.

I turned to look at him. Once, I loved him with all my heart. Now, he was a stranger to me. Back when I was twenty-eight, I would've died for him. But after dying once, all I wanted was to drag him down with me.

"I heard Isabelle's back," I said with a smile. "She's your first love, my twin sister. She got divorced last week and came back buried in debt, right?"

His expression darkened.

"You married me for that 10% of the shares. Once I'm gone, those shares are yours, and then you'll marry Isabelle, using the Shaw family's money to cover her debts," I said, enunciating every word. "Charles, you're so calculating."

"What nonsense are you spouting?" Charles shot back.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about," I said, then jumped off the Ferris wheel.

It was not a real jump. I landed safely on the maintenance platform.

In my old life, I only learned after death that the Ferris wheel belonged to Rivers Group.

Charles always chose this spot for his proposals, not for romance, but for convenience—so he could keep me under surveillance, making sure his 'mobile vault' never slipped away.

I walked off without a backward glance.

Behind me, I heard Charles calling after me, and the crisp clatter of the ring hitting the ground.

Too bad—that pink diamond was worth 600 thousand bucks.