I watched as the last drop of IV fluid disappeared, the monitor's soft beep marking the end of the infusion. The doctor packed up his kit and glanced at Yannick. "Mr. Jordan, I’ll come again tomorrow."

I pulled my hand away from Yannick’s grasp, my fingers brushing against the small bandage on the back of my hand.

"I’m fine now. You should go."

He arched an eyebrow. "Go where? What, now that you’re done with me, you’re just tossing me back into the guest room?"

I forced a small, tired smile. "No, I mean… you’re free. You can go wherever you want."

Without another word, he turned and walked out. The door slammed shut behind him, the impact shaking the walls.

Yeah. He was pissed.

I had planned to hold out until the seventh day, but what was the point? I had already gotten everything I wanted.

In the end, it was all about the experience.

I had been selfish. If hell existed, I'd probably be first in line.

…

On the ninth day of my illness, I still had a mild fever, but that did not stop me from dragging myself out to buy a burial plot.

The saleswoman smiled politely, "What kind of arrangements would your elderly relative prefer?"

I shook my head. "It’s for me."

Her smile faltered.

"As for requirements…" I tilted my head, pretending to think about it. Under her increasingly sympathetic gaze, I finally said, "I want it to be lively."

I hated being alone. There was nothing I could do about it while I was alive, but at least in death, I did not want to be isolated.

I had probably pissed Yannick off too much to count on him for my funeral, so I would have to trouble Quella instead.

When they asked for an emergency contact, I wrote down her number. Then, on a whim, I asked her to come with me for a fancy photoshoot.

She raised a brow. "A birthday shoot? Are you finally coming around?"

I just smiled.

It was not a weird assumption. After all, my birthday was in two days.

It would be my 26th birthday.

Flipping through the dozens of bright, colorful photos, I picked the one where my smile was the widest. Leaning over, I whispered to the photographer, "Can you make it black and white?"

She hesitated. "That’s… kind of morbid."

I grinned. "It’s fine. I need it for my memorial portrait."

…

That night, Louisa called, her voice as warm as ever. "Yulia, your birthday is coming up. Why don’t you celebrate it with us? Yannick will be there too."

I thought back to the way he stormed out the last time we spoke, how furious he had looked. I hesitated, then gently declined, "Sorry, Louisa. I've already planned a trip with a friend. I’ll visit after I get back."

I did not want my birthday to turn into some dramatic mess. To be honest, I had never really feared death. I had gone through every mental breakdown and every moment of despair alone. Each time, the only thought running through my head was why was I still here?

Maybe I had wished for it too hard, and now, the universe had finally decided to grant me my request.

But when the doctor put a real expiration date on my life, something inside me cracked. Suddenly, I was like a drowning person in the middle of the ocean, desperately grasping for anything to hold onto.

It was not because I wanted to live.

It was just because I wanted to die with a sense of security.

…

For my birthday, I wanted a huge cake, a wild party, and to drink myself into oblivion with Quella. Instead, I passed out inside the bakery.

When I woke up, I was already in the hospital. The bakery staff had called an ambulance, and for that, I was grateful.

But a small part of me also thought that if my life had ended right then and there, maybe that would not have been so bad either.

The doctor stood beside my bed, looking grim. "You need to be hospitalized."

I gave him a tired smile. "No, I don’t."

Walking out of the hospital, I spotted someone I had not seen in two days—Yannick. He was not alone. Next to him stood a beautiful woman I had never seen before, and he was smiling at her.

I clicked my tongue.

What a bastard.

…

I got a call from Mom. My parents divorced when I was in middle school. They both had money—plenty of it—but neither of them wanted to deal with me.

So, they just packed up and moved out, leaving me alone in a giant house with a maid who was hired to take care of me.

CHAPTER-NAME:

Mom and Dad quickly built new families of their own. Before I turned 18, they would deposit my living expenses into my account every month. They were never late and always sent quite a generous amount. But two months after my 18th birthday, the money stopped coming.

It had been more than ten years now, and I had not received a single call from either of them.

I did not even know where they lived. I did not know if they were still in this city.

Yet here Mom was right now, calling me affectionately, "Yulia, do you have time to grab a meal together?"

I thought maybe this was God showing me mercy, making sure I would not leave this world too lonely. I went to the restaurant she mentioned. In the private dining room, she was seated at the table, and beside her sat a young boy. He looked about ten years old.

When she saw me enter, she waved enthusiastically. "Yulia, come over and let me have a look at you. This is your younger brother, Zachary Quinn."

"Zachary, greet your sister."

I looked at the little boy in front of me with a cold expression. His face was full of resistance as well.

But Mom gently patted his shoulder and said with more force, "Greet your sister!"

I was not stupid. I shook my head and said, "Forget it."

Within five minutes of sitting down, I learned something new—my mother was capable of smiling. She smiled and said I had grown up, that I was beautiful now.

Then, she patted her chest with exaggerated relief. "I always knew you were an independent child. It looks like you’ve been doing well all these years."

I had no idea where she got that impression. But I did not want to sit here any longer. "I thought you left this city a long time ago."

She nodded and looked at her son with a face full of motherly affection. "I did, but I came back specifically to see you."

Ten years…

And she said she came back specifically to see me. I felt like throwing up.

"I need to use the restroom."

…

Inside the restroom, I vomited until I was dizzy. When I walked out, still lightheaded, I stumbled straight into a firm chest. Then came a familiar voice.

"Yulia, you've been having a good time lately, huh? Drinking like this—do you have a death wish?"

I looked up to confirm my guess. I forced myself to stand properly despite my weak legs. "It's none of your business."

Yannick grabbed my wrist. "Didn’t you tell my mom you were out partying? Let’s see exactly who you’ve been partying so hard with."

I chuckled. "Sure."

When Mom saw me return to the private room with someone else, her expression darkened. "Yulia, this is…"

"This is my friend."

Yannick’s gaze flickered between us a few times, and he instantly understood the situation. I thought he would leave, but instead, he pulled me into a seat beside him.

My mother’s expression looked even worse. "Yulia, I wanted to have a private conversation with you."

In other words, Yannick shouldn’t be here. But he acted like he did not hear her and casually poured himself a cup of tea. "It’s fine, you two talk."

Seeing my mother’s awkward expression, I decided to cut to the chase, "Mom, it’s been over ten years since you last contacted me. I assume you need something. Just say it."

She bit her lip, and suddenly, tears started falling. "Yulia, your brother is sick. Please, I’m begging you to get a compatibility test and save him!"

Of course. She would not have come otherwise.

Yannick sat quietly, saying nothing.

I closed my eyes for a moment. "What do you need from me?"

My mother’s eyes lit up with hope. "A kidney! Please, I’m begging you to save him!"