As I watched Connor’s familiar, Oscar-worthy performance, my heart turned to stone.

Noticing my silence, Connor's sobs stopped abruptly, and he looked up at me.

"Mom?" he called out tentatively.

A nearly mocking smile touched my lips as I strode straight to Ricardo's "corpse." Without a hint of hesitation, I ripped the sheet off him.

The action was so sudden that the nearby Dr. Hayes and his nurse didn't have time to stop me.

My husband lay there, his face pale, but the rise and fall of his breathing were still visible in the dim light. This time, I even caught the faint flutter of his eyelid.

How ridiculous. Such a clumsy performance, and in my past life, I had fallen for it so easily.

Back then, I couldn't even bear to look at Ricardo, afraid I would break down. I was so blinded by grief that I failed to notice the guilt on Dr. Hayes's face.

I scanned the room with a cold, sharp gaze, my eyes locking onto Dr. Hayes.

This private clinic, I'd heard, operated in a gray area. Looking back now, it was obvious that Ricardo had bribed them all to stage this elaborate farce.

"Mom! What are you doing? That's so disrespectful to Dad!" Connor rushed over in a panic, trying to grab me. He wasn't mature enough to hide the flash of fear in his eyes—the fear of a lie about to be exposed.

"Dad is dead," he urged, his voice trembling. "Let him rest in peace. Don't disturb him."

"The dead still have one last purpose to serve," I replied calmly, not yet ready to expose his lie.

Connor froze, startled by my cold tone. This wasn't in the script. I was supposed to faint from grief.

"Mom, what does that mean?" he asked.

I ignored him completely, took out my phone, and dialed the 24-hour hotline for the American Organ Donor Network.

"Hello, this is Chloe Sutton. My husband just passed away. I want to donate all of his viable organs," I said, my voice calm and clear. "Yes, the body is fresh. We're backstage at the Met Gala. I want to sign the consent forms immediately. Please send a team as soon as possible."

Connor stared at me in disbelief, utterly speechless as I finished the call.

"What organ donation? Mom, have you lost your mind?" he stammered, his voice shaking with shock.

I put down my phone, my expression hardening. "Dr. Hayes said he died of anaphylactic shock, right? That means his corneas, heart, liver, kidneys—they're all perfectly intact. Since he loved 'charity' so much in life, why not let him make one last contribution to medicine?"

It didn't take long for several staff members from the donation center to arrive with their equipment. They had been on standby at a nearby hospital, and my request was treated as the highest priority.

"Are you Mrs. Sutton? We received an urgent notification from the dispatch center," the lead staff member said, his tone brisk and professional.

I nodded politely, pointing to my "deceased" husband on the gurney.

"Yes, that’s me. The body is right here. Please, be quick. Every second counts."

The staff member looked at me with admiration in his eyes. "Thank you so much, Mrs. Sutton. People as selfless as you are rare. On behalf of the patients awaiting transplants, we are incredibly grateful."

"It's nothing. My husband was passionate about charity. I'm sure he would be happy to know his organs could save several lives," I replied.

The staff member nodded gratefully and put on his gloves. "Time is of the essence. We’ll place the body in a sterile transport container and take him to our facility for the procurement surgery immediately. Is that acceptable?"

"Of course, the sooner the better."

Just as the team began preparing to place Ricardo's body in the transport container, Connor finally broke down, screaming like a madman.

"Wait! Stop! You can't take him!"