May the Flames of Hell Engulf You

When I walked out of the doctor's office with my test results, the hospital's advertisement screen played the scene of Brandon proposing to me.

Under a dazzling starry sky, deep blue fireworks lit up the night. He wore a white suit and kneeled in a rose garden, opening a box with a diamond ring inside.

The scene was so beautiful that it looked like something straight out of a romance drama.

I overheard some patients' family members chatting with a nurse.

"I'm really so jealous of Ms. Pace. Meeting a man like Mr. Foster is the luck of eight lifetimes."

"They really are the model couple of Arkmery, no doubt about it."

…

I walked past them expressionlessly, as if the person they were talking about wasn't me.

Brandon really did love me.

We grew up together as childhood sweethearts, and he pursued me for ten years.

When I finally accepted his confession, his eyes reddened in front of everyone. He held me carefully in his arms and promised, "Daniella, I will treat you so, so well."

In everyone's eyes, he truly did.

After taking over Foster Group, he spent a billion dollars building a rose castle for me. He shelled out a fortune for artificial snowfall just because I casually mentioned wanting to see snow.

Five years ago, when we got into a car accident, he shielded me and ended up permanently injuring his legs. He almost lost the ability to stand.

I felt so guilty that I couldn't sleep at night. But one night, I heard him quietly crying.

I asked him what was wrong.

He covered his face with a blanket and, in a hoarse voice filled with lingering fear, said, "I don't even dare think about what would've happened to you if I hadn't been there during the accident."

I never doubted for a second that his love for me was anything but genuine.

But I also knew something else.

He was keeping a mistress. She was a girl I once sponsored who had grown up in poverty.

He placed her in the company as his secretary.

A month ago, I went to his office to bring him lunch and walked in on them kissing.

They didn't even bother closing the door all the way, so I saw everything clear as day.

He lifted her up and pinned her against the floor-to-ceiling window.

I stood in the doorway, frozen to the spot, with my hands and feet feeling ice cold. When the woman finally opened her eyes and saw me, she smirked provocatively.

She deliberately teased Brandon right in front of me. "Mr. Foster, next time, why don't we do it at yours and Ms. Pace's house?"

"That would be thrilling," he replied.

I was so disgusted that I felt like throwing up. I even started wondering if everything in front of me was just some sick illusion.

…

That woman's name was Lexie Gilmore. She was a college student from the countryside and a few years younger than Brandon and me.

When I was in college, I found her on a charity website. Her family favored boys over girls, so they didn't allow her to continue schooling after middle school because they had no money. So, I sponsored her.

I did that for years.

I watched as, thanks to my sponsorship, her grades improved. She got into the best high school in her county and later into a top-tier university.

All these years, we occasionally exchanged letters. She told me about her teenage troubles and her school crushes.

She was like a delicate bud, soft but full of life, blooming before my eyes.

Through those letters, she also learned about my ties to the Foster family's business. So, after graduating from college, she applied for a job at Foster Group.

She was just an ordinary college graduate—no matter how hard she worked, she couldn't compare to the applicants from top universities at home and abroad or people with extensive internship experience.

However, I happened to see her resume on Brandon's desk.

Thus, I gave her a chance and got her into Foster Group, making her Brandon's secretary.

I never imagined that she would go after my fiancé—the Brandon I once believed loved me the most in this world.

…

Brandon and I grew up together.

My parents had a marriage of convenience, and after I was born, they naturally went their separate ways.

From a very young age, my butler and a group of nannies were the only people around me.

In kindergarten, my butler was the one who attended all my parent-teacher meetings. My classmates, not knowing any better, made fun of me for being a child nobody wanted.

Only Brandon stood in front of me and defended me. He kept defending me for 22 years.

Everyone firmly believed we would stay together and be happy forever. I believed it, too.

That was until I found out about him and Lexie.

When I first learned the truth, I couldn't sleep for nights on end.

Brandon thought I was just having pre-wedding anxiety. After all, my parents' love lives were a mess, and everyone in our social circle knew it.

So, he had a traditional medicine doctor prescribe me something. No matter how busy he was, he still made time every day to brew the medicine for me and made sure I drank it.

It was just like when I studied abroad. Back then, I called him to complain about how much I hated the food, and without hesitation, he flew over to be with me and cooked for me every day.

Brandon Foster—the same Brandon who didn't even trust a washing machine to clean my underwear and insisted on washing it by hand.

How could he possibly betray me?

No matter how hard I tried, I just couldn't make sense of it. But I supposed, in the end, I didn't need to anymore.

A month ago, after finding out about him and Lexie, I went to the hospital for a check-up.

The doctor said I had a rare disease. I didn't have much time left.