Blake clasped her hand, his face brimming with emotion.

"Agatha, you're truly kind. If only Elaine had half your good sense."

Outside the door, a nurse's frantic voice cut through.

"Mr. Gilbert, your wife seems to have lost consciousness. She's not responding at all. Please come quickly!"

Blake rose to his feet, irritation written across every line of his face.

"She's faking it again. Always playing the fragile little victim."

He turned back and tucked the blanket around Agatha's shoulders.

"Be good, Agatha. Let me go see what kind of scene Elaine's making this time. I'll be right back."

Agatha nodded obediently.

But the instant Blake turned away, she let out a desperate scream.

She held up her phone with trembling hands, her whole body shaking.

"Blake, I never meant to pressure her into giving blood. Why is she threatening me?"

Blake's expression shifted to alarm. He snatched the phone from her hands.

On the screen, a message glared back at him, sent from my number.

"You filthy tramp. If you don't stop clinging to Blake, I swear I'll have someone put you in the ground."

Blake's face turned to ice. His fingers went white around the phone.

"Good. That's just wonderful."

"Clearly she hasn't suffered enough if she still has the energy to threaten Agatha."

He bent down and scooped Agatha into his arms, a cold laugh escaping his lips.

"Don't be scared, Agatha. I'm going to make her get on her knees and beg your forgiveness right now."

I shook with rage, wanting nothing more than to rush forward and tear his face apart.

Last night, when he'd had me tied down at the hospital to draw my blood, he'd confiscated my phone to keep me from running. Not only couldn't I have sent a threatening text, I couldn't even check the time.

All of that, and he'd already forgotten.

Blake carried Agatha in his arms and strode toward my room. He kicked the door open.

"Elaine, are you done with your little tantrum?"

"You've really gotten bold, haven't you? Threatening Agatha now? Have I been too easy on you?"

His voice was thick with fury, but the only answer he received was silence. Dead, absolute silence.

My head was covered by the blanket. He couldn't see my face, ashen and drained of every last trace of life.

Blake's brow furrowed. His tone grew more agitated.

"Don't think playing dead will get you out of this. Get up. Now. And apologize to Agatha."

Still nothing.

His anger deepened. He crossed to the edge of my bed.

"Elaine, you think ignoring me means I can't do anything to you?"

"Since when did you learn to play dead? It's disgusting."

I hovered behind him, watching him with cold, empty eyes.

Blake, I'm not playing. I'm just actually dead.

And the dead can't speak.

When I gave no reaction at all, his patience finally snapped. Blake reached out and grabbed the edge of the blanket, ready to rip it away.

A strange flicker of anticipation stirred inside me.

If he pulled it back, he would see my gray, lifeless face. He would know that the woman lying here was nothing more than a cold, silent corpse.

But in the next instant, Agatha threw herself at him, trembling violently, latching onto his arm with both hands.

"Blake, she must be so angry right now. She's hiding under the covers because she doesn't want to see me."

"This is all my fault. My illness is always causing trouble for both of you. Please don't force her. Just let her rest."

Tears streamed down her face, the picture of someone desperately holding herself together through unbearable hurt.

Blake's heart clenched. The rims of his eyes went red.

He released the blanket without a second thought and pulled Agatha into his arms.

"Agatha, you're too good for this world. Unlike some people, who do something this vile and then have the nerve to play dead."

He glanced back at me one last time, the disgust in his eyes naked and unashamed.

"Elaine, since you don't know what's good for you, then stay in here and think about what you've done!"

He called his assistant over, his expression ice-cold.

"Get some people up here. Weld this door shut. Even if she's on her knees begging, don't let her out."

"I want to see just how stubborn she really is, and how long she can hold out."

He scooped Agatha into his arms and walked out of the room without looking back.

I hovered in midair, unable to stop the bitter laugh that escaped me.

Blake, I won't be begging you to let me out.

After all, in this weather, it wouldn't take long for my body to rot.

Blake carried Agatha straight home.

The entire drive, he was restless, kept glancing at his phone without thinking.

Every time before, after I'd been forced to give blood, I would call him the moment I regained consciousness. I'd tell him how much it hurt. I'd beg him to investigate what really happened all those years ago.

But this time, there was nothing. An eerie silence.

No missed calls. Not even a single text.

Agatha watched his distracted state, jealousy plain on her face.

"Blake, is Elaine still mad at you?"

"What if she really won't talk to you? Maybe I should go apologize to her and explain things?"

Blake's face twisted with irritation. He slammed his fist against the steering wheel.

"Apologize to her? She doesn't deserve it."

"Don't worry about her. Every time after the drug trials and blood draws, she puts on this pathetic half-dead act. I'm sick of it."

"You're leaving the country in three days. If she doesn't bother us, even better. That way I can focus on spending time with you."

He snatched up his phone like a man possessed, jaw clenched, and blocked every single one of my contact methods.

For the next few days, he stayed glued to Agatha's side. He didn't think of me once.

It wasn't until the third night that he finally, almost as an afterthought, picked up his phone and pulled up my number.

Before he could even dial, a call came in from Nathan.

"Mr. Gilbert, you need to come to the hospital right away. Something might have happened to your wife."

"We've been standing guard outside the door for three days like you ordered. There hasn't been a single sound from inside the room, and the smell keeps getting worse."

"It's like... something's rotting in there. Sir, is it possible she's already dead?"

Blake frowned, about to respond, when Agatha came stumbling toward him.

Her face was white with panic, phone clutched in her trembling hand, sobbing so hard she could barely breathe.

"Blake, the cemetery manager just called me. Someone smashed my parents' headstone!"

"Was it Elaine? If she hates me, I'll go die, just please, can you ask her not to do this to my mom and dad?"

Blake froze for a split second. Then his eyes turned vicious.

"That bitch Elaine actually did something like this. She's truly lost her mind."

He drove his fist into the wall, then whipped around and snarled into his phone.

"Get people over there right now. Dig up that bitch's mother's ashes."

"She had the nerve to destroy Agatha's parents' headstone? I won't let her off easy this time."

"You tell her, if she won't get on her knees and apologize, I'll scatter her mother's ashes to the wind."

I screamed and lunged at him, trying to grab his collar, to tell him it wasn't me.

No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't touch him at all.

I collapsed to the ground in despair, tears streaming down my face.

By the time Blake arrived at the hospital with Agatha, Nathan was already standing outside the room, holding the urn.

Blake took it from him and kicked the door open.

The next instant, the stench hit him so hard he nearly doubled over retching.

Blake covered his nose and screamed at my body on the bed.

"Elaine, how long are you going to keep playing dead?"

"I lock you up for a few days and you turn the whole room into a cesspool!"

"You have three seconds to get up, get on your knees, and beg Agatha for forgiveness!"

"Three. Two. One!"

The countdown ended. The room stayed silent.

Blake's fury swelled. Without a moment's hesitation, he raised the urn of ashes and hurled it against the floor.

It shattered into pieces.

I dropped to my knees, scrambling to gather what was left, but it was useless. My hands passed through everything.

A gust of wind swept through, and my mother's ashes scattered completely.

When I still didn't move—when my body still didn't move—Blake lost the last shred of his patience.

He let out a cold laugh, strode to the bed, and grabbed a fistful of my hair, yanking hard.

A rotting, bloated corpse tumbled off the mattress and rolled to his feet.

Blake froze.

Then a scream tore out of him—raw, guttural, loud enough to echo through every corridor of the hospital.