Chapter 2
I lowered my head, staring at the corpse lying there, its face ghostly pale and eyes frozen wide open.
I really was dead.
I was shot and killed by the man I had loved for seven years.
It had been seven years.
To help Curtis take back control of the Bernard family, I gave up my title as the Copeland heiress.
I had taken knives for him, negotiated for him, and even risked my life to perform fake death stunts for him.
But he thought I was being jealous.
I looked at the terrifying hole in my chest and felt nothing but speechless.
Was Curtis brain dead?
How could he not tell the difference between real blood and ketchup? How did he even become a big shot?
Not long after, the shrill sound of sirens broke the silence of the night.
The police sealed off the scene.
The coroner crouched down beside my body and shook his head.
"Shot through the heart. Notify the next of kin to identify the body," he said.
Curtis's assistant, Glen Price, standing off to the side, looked like he had seen a ghost.
He took out his phone and dialed Curtis's number with shaking hands.
The phone rang for a long time before it was answered.
"Mr. Bernard, Mrs. Bernard is really dead," Glen said.
Curtis's cold voice came from the other end of the phone. "Dead? Tell her that this fake death trick is old. Tell her to get over here immediately and apologize to Jane."
There was even the faint sound of Jane sobbing in the background.
Glen's hand shook so hard he could barely hold the phone.
He looked at the body on the stretcher covered with a white sheet, and his voice cracked with tears.
"Mr. Bernard, this isn't some trick. Mrs. Bernard was shot in the chest. The coroner has already issued a death certificate," Glen said.
Curtis's tone grew dark and dangerous in an instant. "Glen, you've got some nerve. How dare you and Lilah lie to me?"
He continued, "I'm only going to say this once. Tell her to get to Mercy General Hospital right now.
"Jane's arm got scraped. If it leaves a scar, she will answer to me."
Then Curtis hung up the phone.
I was floating above, watching Glen crouch on the ground, yanking at his hair in despair.
Her arm got scraped?
I had lost my life, and he was still worried about Jane's scraped arm?
This was absolutely ridiculous.
I followed Glen into the police car and floated all the way to Mercy General Hospital.
Inside the VIP suite, Jane was lying on the large hospital bed, with an extremely exaggerated band-aid on her arm.
Curtis was sitting beside the bed, carefully feeding her a bowl of clam chowder.
"Curtis, don't worry about me. Go check on Lilah," Jane said, biting her lip, her eyes red.
She continued, "I'm a no-fuss sort of person. I have been your friend for so long. A little scrape's nothing to me.
"But Lilah is so delicate. She must be terrified after you shot her today."
I rolled my eyes so hard I thought they might get stuck.
Her fake friend act was unbearable.
"Delicate? She is tough as nails." Curtis scoffed, holding the spoon up to Jane's lips.
He added, "That bulletproof vest has thick steel plates inside. A bullet wouldn't even leave a bruise.
"She's using this whole act to make me kick you out. Always scheming."
Jane drank the clam chowder, her eyes darting with a quick, unreadable glint.
"But what if the vest didn't work?" she asked.
"Impossible," Curtis replied firmly.
He added, "She got that vest custom-made off the black market for a ton of cash. It could never go wrong."
I stared at his smug face, wishing I could slap him right then and there.
It was not wrong.
Not until your so-called good friend took out the steel plates and sold them for scrap.
Curtis waited until midnight.
He glanced at his watch and frowned deeply. "Lilah still has not come?"
He stood up and tugged at his tie irritably. "She's really pushing her luck now."
Curtis comforted Jane for a moment, then turned and walked out of the room.
I followed him back home.
It was dark and empty.
Curtis pushed open the door and called out, out of habit. "Lilah, stop playing tricks. Come out."
No one responded.
Only the robotic voice of the smart assistant filled the room.
"Welcome home, Mr. Bernard. Mrs. Bernard hasn't been home for over ten hours," the assistant said.
Curtis's face twisted in anger.
He strode into the living room and kicked over the coffee table.
"She has got some nerve, has not she? She won't even come home now?" he snapped.
Curtis snatched up his phone and frantically dialed my number again and again.
"The person you're calling is not available at this time," the automated voice said.
Curtis took a deep breath and threw his phone against the wall.
The screen shattered, and glass shards scattered everywhere.