The doctor looked at my report, his expression grave.

“Miss Evans, this illness you have… we’ve never seen anything like it. The mark on your wrist resembles a countdown. We call it a ‘Heartlock Seal.’”

“Its fading is completely synchronized with the decline of your vital signs.”

I raised my wrist. The mark that was once bright red with the number 100 had now faded to a pale pink, showing only the number “5.”

I knew this wasn’t an illness.

It was the timer of my love with Jason Miller.

The longer he loved me, the longer I could live.

Rain poured outside. I took out my phone and dialed Jason’s number.

“Jason, I think I’m dying. Could you come to the hospital…”

On the other end, his voice was impatient.

“Rachel, what trick are you playing now? I’m busy.”

Before he could finish, through the glass window in the hospital corridor, I saw that familiar figure downstairs.

Jason was holding a black umbrella, shielding Emily Brooks entirely within his embrace, letting the rain drench half of his own shoulder.

He leaned down, gently tucking her hair behind her ear. The tenderness in his eyes—I had never seen it before.

The call was cut off.

The number “5” on my wrist flickered once and turned into “4.”

…

I didn’t die in the hospital.

Clinging to my last breath, I went back to the home Jason and I shared.

Three years of marriage, and yet the house was colder than an ice cellar.

At the entrance, beside a pair of women’s heels, a pair of men’s leather shoes lay carelessly tossed.

I recognized them. They were Jason’s.

The lights inside were off, except for a faint glow seeping through the crack of the bedroom door.

I pushed it open.

Jason was sitting on the edge of the bed, his back to me, video calling a woman.

His tone was a softness I had never heard from him.

“Emily, go to bed early. I’ll come see you tomorrow.”

The woman’s coquettish voice drifted from the phone.

“Jason, when will you divorce her? I don’t want to wait any longer.”

Jason was silent for a moment, then his voice cooled.

“Don’t start. She’s not in good health.”

It felt like my chest was being sliced apart by a dull knife.

It wasn’t that he didn’t know my health was fragile. He just didn’t realize that his love was my very life.

Leaning against the doorframe, I let out a faint sound.

Jason jerked his head back, panic flashing in his eyes before he quickly hung up the call.

“Why are you back?” He frowned, his tone filled with annoyance.

I looked at him, pointing to the nearly invisible number “4” on my wrist.

“Jason, if you don’t love me anymore, I’m going to die.”

He reacted as though he’d just heard the funniest joke in the world.

“Rachel, we’ve been married for three years. Other than using these pathetic excuses to get my attention, what else can you do?”

His words were like a bucket of ice water poured from head to toe.

My gaze fell on the jacket he had tossed carelessly on the bed.

From its pocket stuck out a jewelry store receipt—an expensive diamond necklace.

It wasn’t for me.

My birthday had already passed a month ago.

I pointed at the receipt, my voice trembling.

“What’s this?”

Jason glanced at it and shoved it back into his pocket.

“A client gift.”

Then, without another look at me, he got up.

“I’m going to the office.”

The door slammed shut with a deafening bang.

The number “4” on my wrist flashed violently and dropped to “3.”

A stabbing, bone-deep pain consumed me. My vision went black, and I lost all consciousness.

When I woke again, it was to the sound of commotion.

Margaret Miller, my mother-in-law, stood in the middle of the living room, hands on her hips, barking orders at the servants.

“Do everything properly! Emily is coming for dinner tonight. If anything goes wrong, you’re all fired!”

She turned and saw me awake, her face immediately twisting into disdain.

“What a jinx. Of all times to wake up, you had to do it before Emily’s arrival. How unlucky!”

I clutched the sofa to stand, my body unbearably weak.

“Mom, why is Emily… coming here?”

Margaret rolled her eyes.

“Emily is Jason’s childhood sweetheart. She came back from overseas—what’s wrong with having her for dinner? Unlike you, clinging to the title of Mrs. Miller yet failing to give us a single child. And you dare ask?”

Her sharp, cruel words—I had endured them for three years.

I glanced down at my wrist. The number “3” had faded even further.

I knew I was running out of time.

The doorbell rang. Margaret instantly beamed and rushed to open it.

Emily stood there in a pure white dress, sweet and innocent. Around her neck gleamed the diamond necklace from the receipt I’d seen yesterday.

“Auntie, I’m here,” she greeted brightly.

“Oh, my darling Emily, come in, come in!” Margaret cooed, pulling her inside.

Emily’s eyes met mine, a flicker of smugness and provocation glinting within them.

She walked over, feigning surprise as she covered her mouth.

“Oh my, Rachel, you look so pale. Are you sick?”

I was too weak to play along with her act.

Just then, Jason walked in from outside.

The moment he saw Emily, his cold face softened instantly.

“It’s freezing out. Why are you dressed so lightly?” he said, slipping off his suit jacket and draping it over her shoulders.

The sight pierced my eyes like a blade.

At the dinner table, Margaret kept piling food onto Emily’s plate, showering her with praise.

“Emily, you’re too kind. If you hadn’t stepped aside back then, it would be you sitting beside Jason now instead of her.”

Emily lowered her head shyly.

“Auntie, don’t say that. It’s all in the past.”

As she spoke, she “accidentally” spilled a bowl of scalding soup across my hand.

“Ah!”

I cried out in pain. The number “3” on my wrist seared as if burned, the agony wracking my whole body.

Everyone froze.

Jason’s first reaction wasn’t to check on me, but to rush to Emily’s side.

“Are you hurt?”

Emily’s eyes watered as she shook her head.

“I’m fine, but… Rachel’s hand…”

Only then did Jason glance at me, his brows furrowed, his tone filled with blame.

“Rachel, can’t you be more careful? Emily is our guest!”

In that moment, my heart sank into the abyss.

I looked at him, at the way he fussed over Emily, at the complete absence of concern in his eyes for me.

The number “3” on my wrist flickered wildly.

Then, it dropped to “2.”

The world spun around me.

I began preparing for my own death.

I contacted a lawyer and drafted a will.

All the assets under my name—my dowry from my parents—I left entirely to them.

As for Jason, I left him nothing.

A man who was about to kill me didn’t deserve a single thing from me.

After finishing these arrangements, I felt as though every ounce of strength had been drained from me.

The number “2” on my wrist loomed like a death warrant, reminding me constantly of my dwindling time.

Emily wasted no chance to torment me.

Every day, she sent me photos of herself with Jason.

Sometimes they were dining in an upscale restaurant, with Jason tenderly cutting her steak.

Sometimes they were at an amusement park, leaning their heads together like starry-eyed lovers.

The latest one was taken at the Miller family estate.

In the photo, Emily sat beside Jason, beaming with joy. The caption read: “Jason said he’ll throw me the grand birthday party I never had.”

Jason’s birthday parties were always gatherings of high society elites.

Yet I, his legal wife, had to learn about it from someone else’s social media post.

I turned off my phone, unwilling to see more.

The pain in my body grew more frequent, each wave like countless needles piercing my heart.

I knew the “2” wouldn’t last much longer.

So I began writing letters—to my parents, to my friends.

I wanted to tell them how much I loved them, and to beg them not to grieve for me.

For me, death would be a release.

Halfway through, my phone rang.

It was Jason.

I hesitated, but answered.

“Rachel, where are you?” His voice sounded tired.

“At home.”

“Tomorrow is Emily’s birthday party. You’re coming with me.”

His tone wasn’t a request. It was a command.

I laughed, the sound hollow and bitter.

“Jason, why should I go?”

“Because you’re my wife!” he snapped, emphasizing each word.

“I won’t have my face disgraced in front of the guests.”

Always about appearances.

In his eyes, the only value I had was to preserve his ridiculous pride.

“Fine. I’ll go,” I agreed.

Because I wanted, before dying, to look at him one last time.

To look at the man I had loved for ten years, the man who was driving me to my death.

Emily’s birthday party was held at the Royal Crown Hotel, the city’s most extravagant venue.

The hall glittered with gold, packed with distinguished guests.

Dressed in a black gown, I clung to Jason’s arm, a puppet painted to perfection.

Envious gazes surrounded us, praising us as a perfect couple, a match made in heaven.

How ironic.

They didn’t know their “perfect couple” was killing his own wife.

Emily was the star of the night.

She wore a princess-like white gown, that diamond necklace sparkling at her throat, smiling radiantly.

When it came time to cut the cake, she deliberately called me to her side.

“Rachel, thank you so much for coming tonight. Jason and I are truly happy you’re here.”

Her voice was loud, as if proclaiming ownership before everyone.

Jason stood silently by, offering no denial.

Instead, he just watched, tacitly affirming her words.

Then Emily took out a projector.

“Tonight, I want to share some of the memories between Jason and me.”

Photos filled the screen.

There were childhood snapshots of them together, innocent and carefree.

There were recent ones too—an attractive man, a coquettish woman, their gazes locked with intimacy.

The final photo froze on Jason’s side profile.

He was looking down at Emily with a focus and tenderness I had never once seen directed at me.