Chapter 3

Before I left, I cooked up a table full of delicious dishes and tidied up the whole house.

I slipped a bank card under the table mat in the living room—that card held every bit of my savings.

Just before leaving, I brushed my fingers over the dreamcatcher wind chime on the balcony and whispered goodbye to it.

Maybe it'd be easier for Jake if he never had to see me again.

And in the end, I really did die.

Using what little intel I'd gathered, I tracked the killer to an old abandoned steel plant.

But the situation was way more complicated than I'd thought. There were over a dozen people there.

I didn't have time to report back to my superiors.

Badly assaulted, I hurt all over. I felt so cold.

Watching as they strode away without a care, I forced myself to get up, but ended up falling again.

My phone hit the ground and cracked in half. All it managed to do was auto-dial my emergency contact.

I gritted my teeth and called Jake over a dozen times, but he rejected every call, still mad at me.

I curled up on the cold floor, my blood pooling around me.

Somewhere in the distance, fireworks exploded—celebrating something I'd never know.

I lifted my eyelids with what little strength I had left, and looked at the lights in the sky. It reminded me of my birthday last year. I'd watched fireworks through the candles on the cake, with Jake's face glowing like a sculpted god from the lights.

While I was lost in his good looks, Jake had beaten me to making a wish. "My wish is for Chloe to eat well, live long, and never get old," he'd said with a grin.

I'd punched him, laughing. "Wishes don't count if it's not the birthday girl saying them!"

I then said aloud, "I wish Jake and the one he loves have a long, happy life together—and lots of kids."

"Oh yeah? Then you'd better start working on giving me one," he teased.

"Ugh, gross! You haven't even proposed. Who said I'd give you anything?" I pouted.

And now I was the one who died on my birthday.

Behind me, the noise from those criminals coming back was getting louder, but their voices were just a blur now. Slowly, I let my eyes drift shut.

Jake's cold words, "Even if you die, I'll never forgive you," echoed in my mind.

My soul began to drift away from my body, slowly floating toward Jake.

I watched him stand on the rooftop with a tipsy Iris, both gazing up at the fireworks.

She'd kicked off her heels and was walking the edge of the platform like a carefree little girl.

Jake looked worried, his usually sharp features drawn tight with concern. "Jesus, Iris. That's dangerous."

*****

As the memories faded away, my gaze refocused on the autopsy table.

The moment Jake sliced into me, my insides spilled out, too horrific to look at.

I turned away, unable to watch.

His assistant clenched his teeth. "Oh my God, this is just monstrous!"

Jake steadied his scalpel, doing his best to keep his tone even. "Looks like this was done by a real professional. Almost all the evidence on the body has been erased."

I'd never seen Jake work so fast. He was rushing to finish because he couldn't stand to look at me any longer.

When he peeled off his gloves at the end, he shot a glance at my broken body. He told his assistant, "She looks awful. Once the report's done and the family's been notified, go ahead and cremate her."

He couldn't even spare me a glance when I was alive, and now that I'm dead, couldn't wait to erase me from this world.

I wondered how he'd react when Jake realized the corpse he'd treated so cruelly was mine.

The assistant looked back at me once more, a hint of pity in his eyes. "Can't even tell who she was. Could've been someone's daughter or wife, maybe even mom."

Jake's hands stiffened for a split second as he peeled off his gloves, but he quickly masked any reaction.

"DNA sample's been collected. We'll have the results in a week, tops. Then we'll know who she was," he said coolly.

As he stepped out of the autopsy room, Jake instinctively glanced at his phone's notifications.

I knew exactly what he was looking for. Around this time every day, I'd usually bombard him with a bunch of messages—mostly nagging reminders for him to take care of himself, just me rambling on.

But I hadn't sent him anything for days now.

The only thing in his notifications were a couple of those annoying carrier promo texts, nothing else.

Jake clicked his tongue, a little irritated.

He pulled up his call log—still those same thirteen missed calls from me, all from a few days back.

With a few quick taps, he scrolled straight to our WhatsApp chat.

Message after message filled the screen—every single one I'd ever sent him.

[You never remember to eat properly. The new antacid I got is in the drawer by the front door.]

[I washed and ironed all your shirts. Don't forget to put them away when you get home.]

[Don't forget to eat the food I left on the table. If you don't like it, just leave it.]

Jake hadn't replied to a single one.