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.

Estella's eyes lit up the instant I finished signing the contract. She snatched the document away and carefully tucked it into her bag.

The twisted look on her face softened into a gentle smile. "I knew you always cared about me."

Then, she took out a cold hot dog from her pocket and held it to my mouth. "I saved up to buy this for you. Go on, have some," she urged.

I stared at it before opening my mouth and taking a bite. The bread was as hard as stone, and the meat filling carried a sour, spoiled smell. Still, I forced it down in large bites and swallowed it.

"Was it good?" she asked with a smile.

"It was delicious," I enunciated every word as I stared straight back at her.

…

The next morning, I got up at daybreak as usual and got ready to head to the site.

To my surprise, Estella was up early for once. She took out a brand-new set of workwear from the cupboard and handed it over to me.

"Hubby, wear this instead. The old one's all torn up," she said.

There was a sweet smile on her face when she handed me a thermos. "I brewed some chamomile tea for you. Remember to take it with you to drink at the site."

I took it from her hands. Even through the stainless steel, I already had a good idea of what she'd added to the drink.

"Thanks, honey. Just get a good rest at home and wait for me to come back," I replied. Then, I unscrewed the lid and took a big gulp right in front of her.

The water carried a faint bitter taste, but Estella's smile only deepened when she saw me swallow it.

"You should get going. Don't be late," she urged.

With that, I turned and headed out.

The moment I reached the trash can downstairs, I shoved my fingers down my throat and retched violently. The drink I'd just swallowed came right back up, along with the acid in my stomach.

Then, I strode toward the construction site.

The foreman, Rodrick Fletcher, stood in front of the unfinished building with blueprints in hand.

"You're in charge of painting the exterior wall on the 20th floor today, Raphael. There are no guardrails there, so make sure to secure your safety harness," he stated.

I nodded in response. After putting on the harness, I fastened the primary and secondary lanyards before stepping out of the window and onto the narrow scaffolding.

Less than half an hour into work, I suddenly heard a commotion below.

It turned out Estella had shown up. She wasn't dressed in designer labels today, and her face was bare of makeup. Instead, she stood outside the site's entrance in her worn coat as she held up a phone stand.

The phone's camera was pointed straight at me. It was clear that she was livestreaming.

"Everyone, look—this is my husband. He's working in such a dangerous place just to earn enough money for my treatment. I have late-stage stomach cancer, and I feel so guilty that I don't even want to get treatment anymore. I don't want to drag him down," she choked out.

Estella's voice drifted up faintly through the loudspeaker below. The workers all wore looks of sympathy as she wiped her tears in front of the camera.

I stared coldly at her. Estella was squeezing every last bit of attention she could out of this for the sake of those two million dollars.

She wanted the whole internet to see me as the devoted husband who "accidentally fell to his death" trying to scrape enough money to save his wife. That way, the insurance company wouldn't have any reason to doubt anything when they processed the claim.

Just then, a faint click sounded from my waist.

I instantly froze in place. The buckle from the safety harness had loosened.

With nothing left to hold me, I was thrown backward as a sudden sense of weightlessness hit me.

Estella let out a piercing scream from below. "Hubby!"