The third year after my death, Matt came back.  

The boy who once couldn't even scrape together three hundred bucks, had transformed into a ruthless business tycoon.  

And this time, he was back just to watch me fall apart.  

He wanted to see me devastated, begging for his mercy.  

But what he didn’t know was—I had already died three years ago.  

——

Every LED screen in the city was flickering—broadcasting the same headline. Matt Harding returned to town.

A swarm of reporters followed him from the airport all the way to the entrance of the Harding Corporation building.  

And in the middle of the crowd, I spotted my deaf and mute father.  

Of course, Matt saw him too.  

His assistant even made a point of letting my father push through the crowd.  

Dad gestured frantically in sign language, his expression full of urgency.  

Matt remained indifferent.  

“It’s been three years and your precious daughter still hasn’t gotten you treated?” he scoffed, his voice dripping with mockery. “Looks like she hasn’t been doing so well after all.”  

The disdain in his eyes was unmistakable. His tone, his posture—it was as if he were looking at a piece of trash.  

Dad continued to sign, sweat beading on his forehead in desperation.  

Matt let out a cold chuckle. “I don’t have time to waste on you.”  

Then, in one final, desperate move, my father dropped to his knees.  

Every reporter instantly turned their cameras toward him. Flashes flickered endlessly, illuminating his helpless form. Still, Dad kept signing, his hands trembling with urgency.  

Matt frowned.  

He didn’t understand sign language.  But he knew one sign—money.

“Are you asking for money?” he guessed.  

Dad nodded immediately.  

Gasps and murmurs rippled through the crowd.

“Who the hell is this guy? Begging for money here, of all places?”

“You don’t know? He used to be someone—he was the president of the Foster Corporation.”

“Foster Corporation? Didn’t they go bankrupt three years ago?”

“Yeah, and you know why? Because his daughter, Laura, dumped Mr. Harding for being poor! Serves them right—karma’s a bitch.”

“And now he has the nerve to show up here begging for money? Disgusting.”

The reporters passed the story along like wildfire. Within minutes, everyone had memorized every detail.

Matt, on the other hand, was clearly enjoying the show. A cruel smirk played at the corner of his lips.

“And what makes you think I’d give you money?” He sneered. “I’m not Brian.”

Brian Heath. The man I had left Matt for.

Back then, the Foster Family was already crumbling. The only way to stabilize our standing was through a marriage alliance with the Heath.

I still remember—Matt’s father was sick at the time. It was when he needed me the most. And yet, I had abandoned him without hesitation. I had wanted to make sure he would give up on me completely.

So I said things—things I knew would hurt him the most. And now that he had built his empire, the first thing he did was come back—

Just to watch me suffer.

“You want money? Fine,” Matt said, staring directly at my father.

“But let Laura come and beg me herself.”

His voice was slow, deliberate, as if savoring every word.

“Just like you’re doing now.”

Dad trembled on his knees, his hands still forming desperate pleas.

Matt tilted his head, a glint of mockery in his eyes.

“Or is it that Miss Foster only lowers herself for the Heath?” He chuckled coldly. “Because, if I remember correctly… the Heath isn’t all that impressive either.”

His gaze turned icy, towering over my father like a vengeful god.

“Mr. Harding,” a hesitant voice chimed in. One of the reporters. “I think… he’s saying his wife is gravely ill and needs money for treatment. Laura once invested in your company and he’s hoping to withdraw that money back.”

Matt’s assistant wasn’t the best at sign language, but the translation was close enough.

“Laura’s investment? Then let her come and take it herself.”

My father continued signing frantically. He wanted to say that I was dead. But he couldn’t bring himself to form the words.

Three years ago, Foster Corporation collapsed overnight.

My medical expenses had drained them dry. The surgery I was supposed to have the next day never happened—there simply wasn’t enough money. My father had gone door to door, begging for help. But the business partners, the so-called friends, all kept their distance.

Desperate, I had called Matt. I had wanted to reclaim the money I had left with him, but he never answered.

In the end, I lay on that hospital bed, trapped in pain and died in agony.

“Or is your precious daughter too high and mighty to see me in person?” Matt’s voice was laced with mockery. “Face it, Mr. Foster. The Foster era is over. South River belongs to me now.”

His sharp gaze pierced through my father, as if trying to see through to me. My mother was gravely ill and I was sure my father wouldn't last much longer either.

I followed Matt to his office. He sat at his desk, wiping the dust off a photo frame.

He hated me with every fiber of his being for leaving him. And now, he had returned—just to humiliate me, to make me grovel.

Yet, of all the possibilities he had calculated, he never accounted for one thing: I was already dead. 

His assistant went to report to him. 

“After Laura Foster got engaged to Brian Heath, they never actually got married.”

Matt finally set the frame down.

That’s when I saw it—it was my picture.

Was it there to remind himself of his hatred? His resentment?

He tapped the glass surface with his fingers. “I’m more interested in knowing where she is now. And whether she’s suffering.”

“The Foster Family lost everything. She’s probably living worse than an average person,” his assistant replied.

Just as I expected, Matt’s brows instantly relaxed.

“That’s how it should be.”

He had come back to witness my downfall. That was all he wanted.

The assistant made a few calls before returning.

“Mr. Harding, we couldn’t find any trace of Miss Foster. We asked around, but no one knows where she is.”

Of course they couldn’t.

When I died, my family had been trampled underfoot. They couldn’t even afford a funeral.

My father had buried me himself, in the dead of night, in an unmarked grave.

Aside from my parents, no one knew I was gone.

“Have you tried the Heaths?” Matt suggested.

His assistant looked hesitant. “She… hasn’t been in contact with them for years.”

“Oh? Does she think the Heaths aren’t good enough for her either?” Matt chuckled darkly, shaking his head before turning back to his laptop. The conversation was over.

His assistant hesitated before adding, “I’ve told them to keep searching. We’ll hear back soon.”

Matt gave an absent nod.

I didn’t linger any longer on Matt’s side. Instead, I went to the hospital.

My mother lay in bed, pale, her condition looking grim. My father stayed by her bedside, unwilling to leave even for a moment. The nurse passing by looked at him and shook her head sympathetically.

He hadn’t always been like this.

After our family’s downfall, he was set up and ended up both deaf and mute.

What I hadn’t expected was Brian to be here too.

My mother’s medical bills were all being covered by him.

But Brian wasn’t the Heath Family’s heir.

The Foster name was now reviled and naturally, the Heaths didn’t approve of Brian getting too involved with us.

The money he provided for my mother’s treatment was barely enough to keep her alive.

Back when the Fosters fell, I didn’t want to drag Brian down with me.

And I couldn’t forget Matt.

So, I broke off our engagement and ended things with Brian.

I never imagined that, after all these years, he was still looking after my mother. Perhaps, in some way, I owed the Heaths for this.

Just as I was about to leave the room, Brian’s phone rang.

I drifted toward the hallway and froze when I heard the voice on the other end.

It was Matt.

“Why is it that for years, there’s been no trace of Laura anywhere in the Baythorn? Where is she?”

I instinctively stopped in my tracks.

Brian seemed just as surprised. “You really don’t know?”