Gabriella Hensley and Reynald Dalloz were notoriously known as a couple bound not by love, but by pure hatred.

He filled their wedding venue with funeral wreaths, wishing her a quick death in paradise—so she smashed a bottle over his head and sent him to the hospital.

He brought his kept woman to their marital bed—she burned the house down.

At a social event, his new mistress called her name out loud, and she yelled back at her.

Reynald once said they'd never stop until one of them was dead.

His words turned out to be prophetic.

It was almost over—Reynald's heart was failing again. He had two weeks left.

And Gabriella was ready to donate hers.

She walked out of the hospital, donation papers signed, just as the mall's big screen lit up with a live stream.

Reynald was live broadcasting a bet to the entire internet.

"Which side of Gabriella's breast had her mole—left or right?"

"Betting on left."

"I say both. Waiting for Mr. Dalloz to drop the nudes."

"No pic, no proof. Let's see if he honors the bet."

Reynald looked sharp, smug, his eyes through the screen like a knife.

"Ten minutes," he said, "and you'll have your answer."

Gabriella went cold.

Reynald was crazier—meaner—than he'd ever been.

She turned on her heel and ran to his hospital room. Skipped the elevator. Nine minutes. She tore up the stairs to the top floor.

Reynald was lounging in his chair, surrounded by praise, like royalty. Next to him sat a woman in a white dress.

Gabriella froze.

She was Vanessa Lincoln.

The replacement Reynald had searched for—the one who looked the most like her.

He'd treated Vanessa like a treasure for five years—just to remind Gabriella that he could love anyone. Anyone but her.

Reynald tapped his long fingers on the table. A photo sat face down under the camera.

"Time's up."

Gabriella's face drained. She lunged and slammed her hand on the photo.

Laughter exploded in the room like a bomb.

"Gabriella, don't wanna show the pic? You gonna flash us live instead?"

"Damn, that's generous. Too generous."

"Strip! Strip!"

They mentioned her name with mockery. Each one hit her chest like a stone.

Reynald's lips curved, but the smile never reached his eyes. He pried Gabriella's fingers off the photo, one by one.

"Reynald, what am I to you?"

Her palm was empty. The cold seeped straight into her heart.

He raised a brow, sneering. "You tell me."

Laughter exploded again around the room.

Everyone knew Reynald didn't love her. She had been a joke from day one.

Gabriella bit her lip until it bled, watching him flip the photo over. She shut her eyes in despair.

"Shit—the livestream got taken down!"

She opened her eyes. Saved.

She'd reported the stream before coming. Just in time.

Reynald tossed the photo in a drawer and slammed it shut, gaze sharp as a blade.

"Too early to celebrate, honey. On my funeral day, I'll make sure your nudes are plastered across every street in this city. If I die, don't think you'll have it easy."

Gabriella stiffened, ice crawling into her bones.

"Reynald, you won't have a funeral. I'll..."

He stood and grabbed her chin. His eyes were full of madness. "What, scared?

"Don't worry. I won't kill you. I'll make sure you live every day in hell. And never forget—murderer's blood runs through your veins."

Her heart clenched. Pain, sharp and deep.

The murdered one was her mom.

Reynald's first heart issue came at five. It was her mom who paid for and arranged his surgery and saved his life. She funded his schooling, too.

He wasn't the first her mom had helped. Her mom was kind. Too kind. But five years later, another act of kindness got her tricked into the mountains by Gabriella's biological father.

There, abuse became her daily life. She broke down mentally.

At 15, Gabriella was sold by her father—her first night bought for 1,500 dollars.

When the debt collectors came, her mom clung to her tightly, shielding her from the blows. Fists, kicks—her mom took them all. Even as blood soaked her body, she refused to let go.

And just as she collapsed, the door burst open. Reynald and the Hensley family arrived—too late.

Her father was executed. She survived, only to become the target of everyone's hatred.

They all asked, "Why wasn't it she who died?" Gabriella asked the same, too.

After the funeral, she went to the rooftop alone. She was about to jump, but Reynald pulled her back.

"It's not your fault.

"Don't be scared. I'm here."

The Hensley family didn't want her. He ignored everyone and took her in.

When her trauma flared, he dropped everything and took her across oceans—to chase auroras, to live through polar days and nights, to stand in the southernmost cold and feel the purest glaciers.

When she got sick, he stayed by her side every second; he walked her through the darkest nights.

Back then, Reynald was salvation. A second chance at life. How could she not fall for him?

At 20, he confessed. The same year, he proposed.

On their wedding day, she floated in her dress, heart full of dreams. And then he smashed them.

The banquet was filled with funeral wreaths. At the center—her giant black-and-white photo.

Reynald looked at her, smiling cruelly. "Welcome to hell, Gabriella."

That marriage certificate tied her life to his.

In that instant, all the warmth from the past turned to poison. It was clear. He, like everyone else, hated her to the core.

She laughed through tears, grabbed a wine bottle, and smashed it over his head, sending him to the hospital.

Since then, for every move he made, she hit back harder.

And the title of Mrs. Dalloz? It became a joke in every social circle.

But now, the joke was about to end.

Gabriella's eyes burned. "Reynald, can we spend the last two weeks peacefully? On the final day, I'll give you anything you want."

His brows arched. He smiled, but his eyes burned with cruelty. "Then die for me, will you?"

"I will." Her voice was strained but firm.

"Great."

He pushed open the window, eyes like a madman. "Jump."

The cold wind brushed Gabriella's face, seeping through her skin and into her bones.

She shook her head. "Not now. And not like this."

Reynald snorted. "If you were really so ready to die, you wouldn't have climbed over corpses to stay alive."

The color drained from her face. No one knew better than him exactly where to stab to make it hurt most.

Reynald walked out with Vanessa, and the others followed.

Gabriella leaned against the wall, trembling, tears slipping uncontrollably down her cheeks.

Her phone rang. It was Reynald's doctor, Gwen Loretta.

Only two people in the States could do a heart transplant on Reynald—Gwen and her retired mentor.

No one knew Gwen was Gabriella's best friend. Even fewer knew she'd agreed to take Reynald's case just because Gabriella begged her to.

"What the hell does signing that donation paper mean? Even if you're a match, you know a living person can't donate a heart!" Gwen's voice was sharp and frantic.

"I know. That's why I only have two weeks left."

"You're insane! He tortured you for five years! Letting him die is a blessing! I won't allow this..."

"But he was right about one thing. I carry a murderer's blood. And every second I stay alive, it reminds me of the one person I loved most... who died for me."

Gabriella let out a bitter laugh.

"Living is too hard. And I don't want to owe him anything anymore. I'm sorry, Gwennie. Please. Help me one last time."

Gwen knew. Gabriella's mind was made up. She couldn't stop her.

After a long pause, Gwen's voice cracked. "...Okay."

Gabriella hung up and walked out.

Just as she stepped out the hospital doors, Reynald's car pulled up. "Get in. Time to take a family portrait."

Her heart skipped.

Five years married—not a single photo together. If she could have one before dying, just to pretend she had a family, it'd be enough.

She got in the backseat. Vanessa turned from the front, eyes wide.

"Gabriella, I'm sorry. I know I shouldn't be here for your family photo, but I can't bear to leave Rey. We don't have much time left. Please... don't kick me out."

Reynald reached over and patted her head. "No need to apologize. She has no right to kick you out."

Gabriella smiled faintly. If he could mock her, she could play along.

They arrived at Cloudcrest Manor. The moment Reynald's mother, Betty Yost, saw her, her face darkened.

"You damn curse. You killed your own mother and cursed my son. And now you dare show up for a family photo?

"Get out! Don't taint my house!"

Gabriella wasn't surprised. But still, her chest ached.

"Mom, we still need the photo," Reynald said with a smile. "It's unlucky to leave the spot next to me empty."

Gabriella froze. Then, he shoved a camera into her hands. And walked over to stand with Vanessa and Betty.

"Alright. Now we can take it."

Her heart sank like a stone.

He brought her here to take their family photo.

Gabriella smiled too. If he dared, so would she. She raised the camera.

The shutter clicked nonstop. Reynald and Vanessa grew more intimate by the frame. He even gave her a full French kiss—right in front of Gabriella.

When they were done, he turned to her—staring.

Her expression didn't change. "Keep going. Out of poses? Want me to teach you?"

His eyes darkened. Then he walked up and took the camera from her hands. "You've worked hard. Let me take one of you, too.

"Come on, look here. Say cheese."

He smiled, gentle and focused.

Gabriella froze. For a second, she saw the Reynald from five years ago.

The one who took her across the world, snapping photo after photo, saying he wanted to capture every beautiful version of her.

"All done. Take a look."

She blinked. He held out his phone. On the screen—a black-and-white portrait of her.

"Didn't you say you were dying? Figured I'd get your obituary photo done early. Satisfied? Look dead enough?"

The malice in his eyes cut her like a blade.

She should've known.

Just like the funeral wreaths at their wedding, Reynald had never once offered her even a drop of kindness.

"I'll take it. Send it to me later." Gabriella looked at him, her smile cold and distant.

"One more reminder—don't take photos of your mistress again. Wouldn't want her ending up dead, too."

Reynald pressed his lips tight. His glare was so sharp it could cut a hole through her face.

He'd only get worse in these last two weeks. Gabriella knew. She didn't care.

Once the photos were done, the three of them left the villa.

"Rey," Vanessa suddenly said, "I just got my license. Can I drive us back?"

Reynald nodded.

She looked at Gabriella, pretending to be pitiful. "Gabriella, I get nervous with strangers. Can you walk back on your own?"

Gabriella looked at Reynald. "There are no cars out here. Walking down the mountain takes three hours. It's already nine. And I'm in heels."

"Are you afraid of mountain roads now?" Reynald sweetly opened the door for Vanessa, never even glancing at her.

"Honey, don't tell me you forgot where you crawled out from. Since when did you become so delicate?"

Another reminder. He was always terrified she might forget her place—even for a second.

Gabriella's eyes burned. She took off her heels and hurled them.

Reynald tilted his head. The heel scraped across his cheek—blood followed.

With a bang, the shoe slammed into the car window and left a dent.

Gabriella walked away barefoot, biting her lip so hard she almost bled.

She wouldn't cry. Not when no one cared. Tears, in her case, were just a joke.

Reynald's car followed behind, speeding up and slowing down. Vanessa's panicked voice rang out. "Ah! I'm scared!"

And his gentle voice followed. "Don't be. I'm here."

Gabriella's chest twisted. He'd said the same thing ten years ago—when he pulled her off the rooftop.

But now, saying it to Vanessa, who looked 70% like her... now he meant it.

Gabriella walked faster, not caring as the gravel tore her feet open, blood staining the dirt. But no matter how fast she went, Vanessa matched her. The car followed like a shadow.

Gabriella stopped, letting them pass.

But suddenly, Vanessa screamed. The car swerved—and slammed into her.

She hit the ground, pain crashing over her like a wave.

Before her vision faded, she saw Reynald running toward her, pale and frantic. Then everything went black.

When she woke, the air reeked of disinfectant.

Still groggy, she watched Vanessa rush into Reynald's arms, eyes brimming with tears.

"It's all my fault," she sobbed. "I shouldn't have driven so soon after getting my license. What if something happened to Gabriella? I..."

"What are you afraid of?" Reynald cupped her face and wiped her tears. "It's just three broken ribs. Even if she died..."

He turned his head casually. Their eyes met.

He froze. Then smiled. "I'd still write a letter of forgiveness—as her next of kin."

Gabriella's heart turned to ice. But she wasn't surprised.

If she really died, he'd probably light fireworks across the city.

But the heart she gave him—the one beating in his chest—would never let him forget that she owed him nothing.

They both hated who she was. She was finally free. But the heart carrying a killer's blood would keep him alive, chained to her memory.

He'd never know peace.

"Gabriella, you're finally awake. I made you oatmeal. Let me help you eat."

Vanessa walked up cheerfully. Before Gabriella could refuse, she yanked her up and shoved the bowl into her arms.

The sudden movement tugged at her injury. Hot oatmeal spilled across her chest. Gabriella curled in pain, gasping.

"Oh no! I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to hurt you. I don't have much experience taking care of people." Vanessa let go of the bowl.

Gabriella caught it just before it hit the floor.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I almost made another mess... Ouch!" She reached forward again.

Gabriella raised her arm and flung the bowl, oatmeal and all, right at Vanessa.

"Vanessa!" Reynald pulled her into his arms, shielding her.

His glare locked onto Gabriella, burning with fury. As if he'd kill her right there.

Gabriella's face was pale, but she gritted her teeth, refusing to back down.

"Didn't you hear your mistress say it hurts? Get out with her already!"

Reynald's eyes turned colder, a mocking smile curling on his lips. He said nothing, just picked Vanessa up, and stormed out.

A sharp pain shot through her hand. Gabriella yanked out the blood-filled IV, cold sweat soaking her back.

Just now, Reynald had really wanted to kill her.

She suddenly questioned herself, "What is the point of the half month I have left?"

"Ma'am."

Gabriella looked up. It was Reynald's bodyguard.

"Mr. Dalloz wants to see you."

He might've wanted to—but he never gave her the option to refuse. She was taken to Reynald's private room. He was gently coaxing Vanessa through her treatment.

When she entered, he barely lifted his eyes. "Apologize to Vanessa."

The words hit her like a blunt blow. Anger burned through her bones, laced with pain.

"She ran me over. Did she apologize?

"She ripped open my wound. Did she apologize?

"She..."

"Vanessa's not like you." His voice was calm. "And you said you wanted to die. She just kindly helped. Or... are you regretting it now?"

Gabriella froze, staring at him.

To Reynald, it didn't matter what she did or said—she was always the one at fault.

"Reynald, if you want an apology, keep dreaming!"

Crash!

A glass slammed down in front of her and shattered.

Reynald stepped up to her, his face stone cold. "Are you sure you're not apologizing?"

"Yes." Gabriella stood firm. "If you've got the guts, just kill me."

Reynald let out a low chuckle. He grabbed her wrist and pulled off his belt.

"What are you doing?!" Gabriella's face drained of color.

He tied her wrists to the bedpost. Then shoved her down hard. She dropped to her knees, glass shards slicing into her skin. The pain was excruciating—she whimpered.

"Let's see just how tough you really are." Reynald sneered.

Then he turned and walked back to Vanessa, his voice soft again. "Dr. Thompson, she's scared of pain. Please be gentle."

Gabriella tried to get up, but her hands were bound—she could only bend forward.

She didn't want to kneel. She rose again and again—only to collapse each time. Blood soaked the shards beneath her knees. Her body trembled from the pain.

Vanessa looked up at Reynald, eyes rimmed red. He smiled and pulled her into his arms. "Don't cry, baby. It breaks my heart."

Gabriella couldn't hold on anymore—she collapsed.

"Ah!" Vanessa shrieked, "Rey, let Gabriella go... there's so much blood. I'm scared."

"Alright."

Through the haze, she heard Reynald's cold voice. "Get her out. And clean the blood. Don't scare Vanessa."

So ruthless.

If the one who died ten years ago had been her, that would've been perfect.

Gabriella laughed. Even her wounds ached from it. Tears mixed with pain—and she passed out.

She woke up again, burning hot, half-conscious.

"This just arrived from the hospital." Reynald's deep voice drifted over.

She turned her head. He held out the signed organ donation form—the copy she never had time to retrieve.

Reynald stared at her, unreadable emotion flickering in his eyes.

"Gabriella, tell me. What does this mean?"

Gabriella glanced at him. Then silently flipped to the second page. It clearly stated—

Her heart would be donated to Reynald after her death.

As soon as Reynald looked down, Vanessa grabbed his hand.

"Rey, I heard only two kinds of people sign these donation forms. One, the terminally ill. Two... the ones putting on a show.

"Gabriella, this kind of thing isn't a joke. But it's fine—you're still healthy. You can cancel it anytime."

Reynald's eyes turned ice-cold. "Putting on a show to this extent? Gabriella, you're hopeless. Disgusting."

Gabriella stayed silent.

Maybe she'd been hurt too many times. Even pain had gone numb.

Reynald frowned. He'd seen her lose control plenty of times—but this quiet made him uneasy.

"Rey, it hurts..." Vanessa murmured softly.

He snapped back, all unease buried. "Gabriella is a walking disaster. What could possibly happen to her?" he thought.

He left with Vanessa, not even sparing a glance back.

Watching his back, Gabriella's tears fell silently, landing on the donation agreement.

There really were only two kinds of people who signed those papers.

The ones who couldn't live—and the ones who didn't want to.

She didn't want the blame of killing Reynald hanging over her. So she couldn't live—but she also didn't want to.

Gabriella lay in the hospital for three days. Reynald never came.

He stayed just one floor above, never leaving Vanessa's side.

On the day she was discharged, Gabriella followed an agent to pick out a burial plot.

"Ms. Hensley, this is the only one left next to your mom. It's small, and the location isn't great, so no one's bought it. Want to look at something else?"

"No. Just this one."

She walked over and gently placed the bouquet of lilies she had brought, brushing her hand over her mother's photo. Her nose stung.

Now, all she wanted was to rest a little closer to her mom after death.

She stood quietly for a while. Just as she turned to leave, a group appeared across the cemetery. Her steps halted. It was Reynald, Vanessa, and... the Hensley family.

Her grandmother, Agnes Farrell, saw her. Her face darkened immediately. Then she spotted the lilies—her expression broke. She charged forward, grabbed the bouquet, and hurled it at her.

"You killed my daughter! How dare you come here?!"

She pushed and hit her, hands trembling with fury.

Gabriella didn't dodge. She was afraid Agnes might fall.

"Grandma, please calm down, I..."

"Don't call me that, you murderer's daughter!" Agnes spat, eyes full of hate, tears running down her face.

"My daughter was about to get married! She should've had a happy life! She was kind; she was good. Why did she have to suffer like that..."

Gabriella froze.

This guilt would follow her forever.

But it didn't matter. Her life was almost over anyway.

By the time the Hensley family helped Agnes away, Gabriella's hair was a mess, her arms scratched and streaked with blood.

Reynald walked up to her, voice sharp as a blade. "What are you doing here?"

"Uh..." the agent jumped in, finally reacting, "Ms. Hensley was here to choose a burial plot. She picked the small one next to her mom."

Reynald's stare turned colder. "Addicted to the act now? Fine. Let's say you really do want to die..."

Gabriella lifted her head and looked at him. His eyes burned with hatred.

"You don't even deserve to be buried. You should be ground to ashes."

Her heart clenched hard. All color drained from her face.

She stared at him for a long time, then said softly, "Alright. Ashes it is."

She turned and started down the steps. But behind her, Vanessa's voice rang out. "Don't misunderstand, Gabriella. Reynald didn't mean it that way, he just..."

Gabriella turned, grabbed the hand reaching toward her, and snapped. "Get lost."

Just as she let go, Vanessa shrieked—and fell down the steps.

Gabriella froze. She only snapped out of it when she saw Reynald pick up Vanessa and rush after him.

"I didn't push her. She fell on her own..."

"Gabriella, how many people have to die for you to be satisfied?"

Reynald placed Vanessa in the car. Before leaving, he shot her a look full of hatred. "Why aren't people like you in hell already?"

The car sped off. Mud splashed all over her, seeping into her wounds. It burned.

She suddenly laughed. Not even she knew whether she was laughing at herself or at Reynald.

He was wrong. Staying alive was her hell.

Gabriella walked home alone. At 2 a.m., Reynald's bodyguards broke in and dragged her to the hospital.

"Vanessa lost too much blood. You're a match. Give it."

"I don't want to..."

He didn't give her a choice. The bodyguards pinned her down. A cold needle pierced her vein. She flinched in pain.

"Take more. Save some for Vanessa."

As he said that, Gabriella suddenly went quiet. She stopped struggling.

She just stared at Reynald, hard, like she was burning his face into her soul. This life was enough.

Next one, and the one after that—she wanted nothing to do with him.

Bag after bag of blood was drawn. Her vision went dark. The moment they let go, she slumped back in the chair.

Reynald looked at her, something strange churning in his eyes. Uneasy.

"Rey." Vanessa came out in a wheelchair.

"You shouldn't be out." He frowned. "Go back inside."

Vanessa shook her head. "I'm not that bad. The doctor said I'll recover. I don't want her blood. It's dirty."

Reynald froze, then smiled. He tossed all the fresh blood bags into the trash. "Yeah. Disgusting."

Gabriella just sat there, silent.

Then Reynald's phone chimed. The ringtone was Gabriella's voice, bold and bratty.

"Reynald, my birthday's in two days. You forget my present, and you're dead meat!"

A flicker finally passed through her eyes.

She'd set that up five years ago—one custom reminder for every birthday from age 20 to 99.

She'd almost forgotten. Once, she could be carefree and spoiled in front of him.

A beat later, Reynald broke the silence.

"Perfect timing. I can still catch your last birthday before I die. Let me throw you a proper party, yeah?"

He smiled, but there was nothing kind in his eyes.

Gabriella smiled back. "Sure."

One last time. If he dared to play, she'd go all in.

On her birthday, Reynald booked a hotel and picked her up himself.

Outside the banquet hall, wreaths lined the walkway. A giant screen displayed black words on a white background, "Happy Birthday, Gabriella!"

At the end of the path stood a coffin. Propped beside it was a funeral portrait of her—taken by Reynald himself.

The moment she appeared, the room exploded with laughter. Mocking stares rained down on her.

"You said you'd die." Reynald grinned wickedly. "I didn't want to miss your death anniversary, so I gave you a funeral now. Here. Your birthday gift."

He handed her a white box. She opened it. Another round of laughter.

It was a burial shroud.

"Put it on and lie in the coffin. If you don't 'die,' how are we supposed to honor your soul?"

Gabriella laughed.

She put the shroud on. Then, in front of everyone, she climbed into the coffin and closed her eyes.

Just like he said—played dead.

Silence fell like a bomb.

Reynald's smile froze.

Reynald's thin lips pressed into a line—then suddenly, he froze.

Gabriella lay among the white lilies, her face pale as paper, like she were about to fade into the cold, desolate white around her. Only the lingering bloodstains on her wrists and ankles stood out—sharp, jarring.

And when did she get this thin?

It felt like a thorn had stabbed through his chest. His heart clenched hard. Without thinking, he called her name. "Gabriella..."

When she opened her eyes, his voice turned harsh. "What the hell are you trying to do?"

"Didn't you say this was your gift to me?"

Reynald paused, then laughed.

"I told you, I'd display your private photos at my funeral. I always keep my word. Gabriella, we've known each other for ten years. You should know playing the victim doesn't work on me."

"I do."

He stepped back. "Everyone, light candles for Mrs. Dalloz. Let's wish her a smooth trip to the afterlife."

Gabriella finally smiled. "Light more. Use it all."

Reynald's friends stepped forward one by one, with candles in hand.

"Gabriella, I hope you get reborn into a good family."

"Be a better person in your next life. Don't be the daughter of a murderer."

"Rest easy, Gabriella."

Gabriella remained silent the whole time. Her face didn't even twitch. Only when the last candle was lit did she stand up.

Reynald stared at her, his chest tight. "Don't you have anything to say, Gabriella?"

Gabriella thought for a moment. "Thank you."

If she had really died, no one would've gone this far for her. Honestly, it was nice.

Reynald's eyes darkened. "You're welcome. Now it's time for a birthday wish."

"My wish is..."

She met his gaze. "Reynald, may you live a long, long life."

It was meant to be cruel. A curse wrapped in pretty words. But in her eyes, he saw only sincerity.

Without thinking, he grabbed her arm.

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

The next second, searing pain exploded in his chest. Reynald's face turned pale. He clutched his heart and collapsed.

Gabriella rushed to him, fingers pressed to his neck. Her breath caught.

His heart had stopped.

Panic broke out. Gabriella gave him emergency CPR, barking orders for a car and a hospital.

When his heartbeat finally returned, her hands were trembling.

She helped him into the car, never once letting go of his hand.

Reynald had to live. He had to.

At the hospital, Gwen took over. The Dalloz and Hensley families arrived in chaos.

Moments later, Gwen stepped out.

"The situation doesn't look good..."

Her voice was strained. She didn't dare meet Gabriella's eyes. Only duty kept her speaking.

"If he doesn't get a heart transplant today, you all should be prepared."

The hallway was filled with sobs.

Gabriella's nose stung.

Of course. Her luck was always bad. Even her last birthday wouldn't end well.

"The patient's awake," a nurse said. "If you have anything to say, now's the time."

Gabriella followed the others into the room. Reynald's eyes found her immediately—dark, clouded, unreadable.

She walked to his bedside.

"It's my birthday," she said softly. "Can you at least say it? Just once. 'Happy birthday'."

He froze. Then all those messy emotions vanished from his face—replaced by pure malice.

"Gabriella, why don't you just go die?"

SLAP!

Betty slapped her. "Gabriella, do you still think of your birthday? Are you even human?"

Gabriella tasted blood in her mouth. She walked over to her grandparents and bowed deeply.

"I'm sorry. I have to go. Take care of yourselves."

"You're heartless. Why wasn't it you who died?" said Agnes, voice full of hate.

Gabriella's eyes turned red.

It felt like everyone wanted her dead. This time, they got what they wished for.

She said nothing. Turned around and walked out. But when her eyes met Gwen's, she smiled at her.

Then, without looking back, she left.

Behind her, there were sobs. And one sharp, piercing gaze that never left her back.

She returned home and looked around.

She'd lived here for five years. All she really owned were a few daily necessities and some clothes. It felt like, from the moment she moved in, she'd only ever been a guest.

Daily items—trashed.

Clothes—burned.

She looked around one last time. Once she was sure nothing of hers remained, she walked into the bathroom.

As the tub filled with water, a message popped up on her phone.

"Mrs. Dalloz's HD private pics" followed by a big "TRENDING 1".

"Truth came late but loud. Saw it. Mrs. Dalloz's got curves but no 'big mole'."

"Forget that she's a killer's daughter—this body, this face, damn!"

"Saved it. Gonna enjoy tonight."

Reynald's voice echoed in her mind. "If I die, don't think you'll have it easy."

He really meant every word.

Gabriella laughed—tears streaming down her face.

She lay in the tub. The blade sliced her wrist. Blood poured out.

She picked up her phone and called Gwen. "It's done. When it's all over, scatter my ashes into the sea. I'll finally be free."

Silence. Then Gwen choked up.

"I'll take care of everything. I'll have Reynald prepped for surgery. I'll make sure the rest of your organs are donated." By the end, she was sobbing.

Gabriella gave a small, teary smile.

"Gwennie... I'm sorry I made you cry."

The call ended.

As she bled and grew colder, her vision blurred.

The phone rang again. It was Reynald.

"I found a matching heart. Sorry to disappoint, I'm not dying."

Gabriella's voice was barely a whisper. "Congrats."

"Gabriella, don't think you can escape. You'll always be Mrs. Dalloz. I won't let you go." Reynald said, word by word.

Gabriella smiled.

He lied to her for five years.

A marriage certificate trapped her for another five years.

But this time, he couldn't keep her.

The phone slipped into the tub. The screen went dark.

Gabriella's body went limp, sliding underwater. The water covered her head.

In a haze, she thought she saw her mom reaching out to her.

Half an hour later, Reynald was being wheeled into surgery. He passed a bed being wheeled the other way.

Instinctively, he turned his head. He couldn't see the face, but the sound of the wheels crushed something in his chest.

They pushed him into the OR.

He pressed his lips together, blaming the tightness in his chest on his heart.

Once surgery was done, he'd go find Gabriella. They had a whole lifetime left—to fight to the bitter end.

Anesthesia flowed in. He looked into Gwen's red, icy eyes. And suddenly, he thought of Gabriella.

Her last words echoed in his ears.

"Reynald, live a long, long life."