Estella couldn't even be bothered to buy a proper blood pack to make her act convincing.

"Most men recover quickly from blood loss. It won't kill you to draw a little more, so why don't you sell more of your blood? You wouldn't want to see me die in agony, would you?" A soft, pitiful note crept into her voice when I remained silent.

"Are you hungry? I'll cook something for you." I changed the subject as I turned and stepped into the cramped bathroom.

The coat she'd just taken off today lay soaking in a plastic basin. I plunged my hand into the icy water and felt a soggy wad of paper inside the pocket.

I took it out and carefully unfolded it. Although the ink had smudged a little, I could still make out the words on it.

It was a receipt for a lobster roll that cost 400 dollars and foie gras priced at 300 dollars. The payment had just been made at noon today.

I simply couldn't imagine a terminally ill patient eating a seafood feast. After all, every one of these dishes was strictly forbidden by the doctor.

Attached to the back of the receipt was a crumpled slip listing a 200-dollar fee for photocopying medical records at Cendollia Hospital.

I clenched the two pieces of paper as my nails dug deep into my palm.

Another violent wave churned in my stomach. I doubled over the sink and retched, but all that came up was stomach acid and yesterday's stale bread that'd yet to be fully digested.

In that moment, all I felt was a surge of overwhelming disgust.

I'd devoted the last five years of my life to loving Estella, working myself to the bone, only to realize that it'd all been a scam.

"What's taking you so long in there? My stomach hurts so bad that I can't stand it anymore. Hurry up and get me something warm to eat!" Her shrill voice drifted in from outside.

I turned on the tap, letting the cold water wash the vomit down the sink. Then, I laid the two slips of paper flat on the edge of the counter and dried them slowly using a hairdryer.

Once that was done, I folded and slipped them into the innermost pocket of my clothes. Taking a deep breath, I stepped out of the bathroom.

"Coming," I walked over to the crude gas stove as I spoke.

There was still half a bowl of oatmeal left in the pot from yesterday. I lit the stove and warmed it before walking toward the bedside with the bowl in hand.

Estella's gaze flickered with open disgust when she saw the bland, watery oatmeal. The next moment, a crash rang out as she knocked it aside with a sharp swing of her hand.

The bowl crashed to the ground, sending the scalding meal splashing across the back of my hand. A patch of red blisters formed instantly as a sharp pain shot through me.

"I can't believe you expect me to eat this crap. Are you trying to starve me to death? I've been diagnosed with stomach cancer, and I need proper nutrition! Can't you even afford to buy some meat for me?" Estella cursed as she pointed her finger at my nose.

I stared at the blisters swelling on the back of my hand. She didn't even spare them a glance.

All Estella cared about was eating meat. After all, someone who'd just eaten a lobster roll at noon couldn't possibly swallow a bowl of plain oatmeal at night.

I crouched down and picked up the broken porcelain pieces with my bare hands. The sharp edges sliced my index finger, dripping blood onto the floor.

"I'll go borrow some money tomorrow," I said as I kept my head down. My voice was completely devoid of any emotion.

"I suppose you still have some conscience left in you after all." Estella let out a cold sneer before turning to face away from me.

"Hurry up and clean this mess. It's annoying to even look at," she continued.

I threw the shards into the trash and wiped the spilled oatmeal off the floor bit by bit with a rag.

That night, I sat on the cold floor with my eyes wide open until dawn.

The next morning, I put on my worn, cement-stained workwear.

"I'm off to work," I said.

Estella didn't respond, likely still fast asleep. So, I closed the door behind me and followed a narrow path along the side into the bushes.

I kept my gaze fixed on the entrance.

The moment the clock struck 9:00 am, the security door swung open as Estella stepped out. She wore a tight red dress with high heels to match.

Her face was done up in heavy makeup, and her hips swayed as she strutted along. It was a stark contrast to the frail, dying state she'd shown the night before.

A familiar luxury car was parked at the mouth of the alley. Blake rolled the window down and whistled at her.

"Hurry up, Estella!" he urged.

She opened the door and got into the passenger seat before the car sped off.

I rushed downstairs and grabbed a rental bike by the roadside. Then, I pedaled with all my strength as I trailed far behind their car.

My legs burned from the strain, but I kept going. Half an hour later, the car pulled up in front of a high-end seafood restaurant in the city center.

I ditched the bike by the roadside and ducked into the bushes across from the restaurant. I watched as Estella and Blake walked in, chatting and laughing together.

It didn't take long before my in-laws, Allen Wilson and Adeline Myers, arrived.

The old geezer and hag were both dressed in brand-new clothes. In fact, their faces were flushed with excitement as they entered the restaurant.

I circled to the back alley and found the staff entrance. Then, I slipped into the kitchen while the workers were busy unloading ingredients.

I made my way along the corridor and found the VIP private room they were in. The door was left slightly ajar, so I hid in the storage room next door with my back pressed against the wall.

The voices inside carried out clearly.

"Come on, cheers! Let's celebrate Blake for winning 100 thousand dollars yesterday!" The voice belonged to Allen.

"Well, it's all thanks to that fool Raphael's hard-earned money," Blake replied before he burst out laughing.

"Alright, stop mentioning that pathetic loser. It's ruining my appetite," Estella said, her voice dripping with disdain.

"You really put on a convincing act. I can't believe he actually fell for it."

"How could he not? I even paid someone 200 dollars to forget the medical records." Estella's words came out muffled as she chewed on a crab leg.

"But there's nothing left to squeeze out of him now. I told him to borrow some money yesterday, and he came back empty-handed," she continued.

"Then what do we do? I'm still two million dollars short for my new apartment!" Panic crept into Blake's voice.

The room fell silent for a moment before Adeline spoke up. "Have you taken care of the matter I told you before, Estella?" she asked in a lowered tone.

"It's all taken care of, Mom. I've already bought an accident insurance policy for Raphael with the highest coverage online. In fact, I'm listed as the beneficiary. As long as an 'accident' happens while he's on-site, we'll get two million dollars from the insurance.

"Between that and the contractor's compensation, we can get at least three million dollars. By then, not only will Blake get his apartment, but we'll all also be able to move into a bigger place." A cold laugh escaped Estella.

I clamped a hand over my mouth in the storage room. Another surge of acid rose up from my stomach.

They were planning to commit murder for insurance fraud.

So this was the woman I'd loved with everything I had and the family I'd given my all to.

"But Raphael has always been so careful at work. How are we supposed to pull off the so-called accident, Estella?" Blake's voice carried a trace of impatience.

Estella let out a cold scoff. "That's easy. I've bought a few packs of strong sleeping pills. I'll slip a small dose into his water every day. It'll be just enough to leave him lightheaded.

"After all, he works hundreds of feet up on scaffolding every day. All it takes is a moment of dizziness, and one misstep will do the job," she continued.

A sharp smack echoed out of the private room. It sounded like someone had slapped their thigh.

"It's a brilliant idea. That's my daughter!" Allen praised loudly.

"Come on, let's dig in. The lobster rolls are really something."

Once again, the sounds of chewing and the clinking of glasses drifted out of the room.

I pulled the cracked-screen phone from my pocket and stopped the recording. Then, I slipped back out through the kitchen corridor when no one was around.

The sunlight was practically blinding when I stepped onto the street, yet I couldn't feel a trace of warmth. It was as though my blood had all but turned to ice.

Exhaustion, blood loss, and overwhelming shock hit me all at once. My vision suddenly went black as I collapsed onto the street.

When I came to, a yellowed ceiling came into view. The air reeked of disinfectant and the smell of cheap tobacco.

This was the back-alley clinic in Borellia. One of my coworkers, Jeremy Chadman, was sitting beside me.

"You're finally awake, Raphael. You fainted on the street, so a passerby used your phone to call me."

Jeremy let out a sigh before he continued, "The doctor said you have severe anemia and malnutrition. Are you trying to get yourself killed?"

I opened my mouth to reply, but before I could speak, the clinic door flew open with a bang.

Estella rushed in, dressed back in her worn coat with her face scrubbed clean of makeup. She shoved Jeremy aside before rushing to my bedside.

I thought she'd come to check on me. Instead, she shoved her hand straight into my pocket and rummaged frantically.

"Where's the money? Where the hell's the money you borrowed?" she snapped.

Estella turned both my pockets inside out, only to come up empty. Her expression instantly turned vicious before she shot to her feet.

"Did you even go out to borrow the money? Don't tell me you hid it somewhere," she lashed out, pointing straight at my nose.

Unable to take it anymore, Jeremy stood up and explained, "Come on, Estella. Raphael just fainted. The doctor said he has severe anemia. You—"

"This is none of your damn business. Get out!" Estella yelled at him.

Jeremy shook his head and heaved out a sigh. Only the two of us remained after he left the clinic.

I stared at the twisted look on her face. "I couldn't borrow the money," I replied evenly.

"You're useless! You're nothing more than a pathetic piece of trash!" Estella slapped me hard across the face. The sharp crack echoed through the clinic as my cheek burned from the pain.

"So you're just going to watch me die? Fine, then. I'll do as you wish!"

Estella made a show of throwing herself at the wall, all the while sneaking glances at me. It was all bark and no bite—there was no way she would actually go through with the act.

So, I made no move to stop her. I simply watched her performance coldly.

Seeing that I was unmoved, Estella stopped awkwardly by the wall before pulling a crumpled contract from her bag.

Estella slammed the contract down on my bed. "Since you couldn't get the money, I want you to sign this instead," she ordered.

I looked down at the document. The heading read, "Migrant Worker Mutual Aid Fund Application Form."

"What is this?" I asked.

"It's the site's mutual aid fund. As long as you sign it, we can get a 20-thousand-dollar advance for my treatment." Estella averted her eyes for a brief moment as she spoke.

I picked up the document with trembling hands and flipped to the next page. Buried beneath all the dense clauses was a small, inconspicuous line of text at the bottom.

"In the event of an accident, a compensation amount of two million dollars will be payable to the designated beneficiary, Estella Wilson," the text read.

It was a contract for a high-coverage accident insurance.

I picked up the pen and scrawled down my name without the slightest hesitation.