That diagnosis of late-stage stomach cancer, clutched in my hand, was just a thin piece of paper, yet it felt like a death sentence hanging over my head.

I applied makeup to look haggard and dragged myself home, face as pale as a ghost.

"I'm sick."

"Late-stage stomach cancer. The doctors gave me a month to live."

There was no sadness in my brother's eyes; instead, they lit up with unmistakable excitement.

"Sis, so that downtown apartment you bought outright—it'll be empty soon, right?"

His girlfriend immediately latched onto his arm, her voice dripping with fake sweetness.

"Perfect timing for our wedding! What a generous parting gift from you, sis. We'll think of you whenever we're there."

My mother managed to squeeze out two pathetic tears that evaporated before they even reached her chin.

What really concerned her was something else entirely.

"Didn't your company set you up with that premium life insurance policy? The beneficiaries are still your father and me, right? Don't get any crazy ideas about changing that."

My father leaned back on the sofa, delivering his verdict like a supreme court justice.

"You're just a woman—all that money would be wasted on you anyway."

"Since you're on your way out, might as well leave everything to your brother. He's the one carrying on the family name."

Well, aren't they just the picture of family devotion?

Soon, Ethan Maxwell, my fiancé of seven years, came rushing through the door.

He pulled me into his arms, shoulders heaving dramatically as he sobbed like a heartbroken child.

"Vivi, don't be scared. I'll be right by your side until the very end."

I leaned "emotionally" against his chest, fighting the urge to burst out laughing.

Right on cue, Ivy Collins, my supposed best friend, made her entrance.

She wept dramatically, clutching my hand, her performance even more convincing than Ethan's.

"God, why didn't you tell me sooner! Am I just some stranger to you?"

The two performed their little duet flawlessly, as if they were the most devoted people in my life.

Yet while in Ethan's embrace, I caught a whiff of Ivy's signature perfume—strong and unmistakable on his collar.

I also caught them exchanging a knowing glance the moment I lowered my eyes.

Absolutely revolting.

Night fell.

They probably assumed I was in shock and had fallen into a deep sleep.

I lay on the sofa, eyes wide open in the darkness, my gaze cold as ice.

I pulled out my phone and texted my college classmate and current physician, Nathan Hayes.

"The fish have taken the bait."

He wasn't just my doctor but also a chemistry whiz from our college days, always tinkering with clever little inventions.

This time, his skills would prove invaluable.

My eyes drifted to the mini camera disguised as an aromatherapy diffuser tucked in the corner of the living room.

I adjusted my position to ensure it captured my most "vulnerable" angle.

Then, in the darkness, I allowed myself a small, victorious smile.

Early the next morning, I jolted awake to the ear-splitting whine of an electric drill.

The sound was coming from my own front door.

I threw on a robe and yanked open the door to find my lock cylinder completely destroyed.

There stood my brother Ryan, his girlfriend, and a nervous-looking locksmith dripping with sweat.

When he saw me, Ryan boldly whipped out a forged loan agreement from his pocket.

"Sis, remember that money you borrowed? Now that you're sick, I'll just take the apartment as payment. Fair's fair."

His girlfriend, already playing lady of the manor, looked me up and down before brushing past me to bark orders at the movers: "Move it, guys! That old sofa? Straight to the dumpster."

She turned back with a smug smile: "Thanks for the sweet pad, Vivi. Ryan and I are going to make some amazing memories here."

Then, as she smirked at me, I raised my hand.

CRACK!

My palm connected with her cheek in a slap that echoed through the hallway, leaving her stunned.

Time seemed to stand still.

I stared down at her, my voice quiet but razor-sharp:

"My possessions? Even a stray dog would have the decency to beg before taking what's mine."

"And who the hell do you think you are?"

Ryan snapped out of his shock, jabbing his finger in my face:

"Have you lost your damn mind, Vivian? You can't just hit people!"

I let out a hollow laugh, then deliberately swayed, clutching my chest and gasping for air:

"You're… you're trying to… finish me off…"

With that, I closed my eyes and collapsed backward in a dramatic faint.

My body hit the floor with a convincing thud.

Ryan and his girlfriend stood there, completely dumbfounded.

The locksmith and movers backed away in horror, wanting no part in what could become a manslaughter case.

"We had nothing to do with this! She just collapsed on her own!"

They scattered like cockroaches when the lights come on.

Ryan was so furious he stomped his foot, but he didn't dare touch me, instead storming off while cursing under his breath.

Once they were gone, I opened my eyes, picked myself up, and brushed off the dust.

I glanced up at the security camera by the door.

Perfect. First piece of evidence secured.

Ryan, darling, that was just the appetizer.

Now let's invite the whole internet to judge this little performance, shall we?

They Celebrated My Death — Chapter 8

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