Chapter 2

Nathan's POV

I calmly wiped the blood from my nose. Pale as my face probably was, I managed a faint smile and shook my head.

Two years ago, I took eight punches in a row at the underground casino before losing consciousness.

The casino owner kicked me awake and told me, "The doctor says you've got cancer. There's no cure. Before you kick the bucket, you'd better make yourself useful.

"Serve, sleep with rich women—do whatever it takes to make me some money."

They sent me to the beds of wealthy women who frequented the casino. During the day, I had to take punch after punch until I spilled blood. Whatever I earned went toward painkillers.

My next paycheck would probably have to go toward an urn.

I quickly wiped away the remaining blood, held out my clean hand, and put on my best customer-service smile. "30 bucks, ma'am. How would you like to pay?"

Claire stared at my pathetic state, her fist clenching tighter and tighter. "What on earth are you—"

"Maybe Nate's still mad at us," Victor said guiltily, cutting her off.

He tapped his card on the POS machine and then took my hand. "Come home with us, Nate. We've got plenty of money at home."

His smile was warm and kind, belying the painful pressure of his fingers against my hand. I instinctively shoved him away.

Claire immediately stepped between us. "If you've got a problem, take it up with me. Leave Victor out of this."

Dad and the others watched me warily, too, as if I were some kind of wild beast. I stood there in a daze, then put away the POS machine and turned to leave.

Claire screamed hysterically behind me, "Are you sure you're not coming home? Fine! Then don't ever come back!"

I didn't look back.

The doctor had predicted I had a week left. I could spend it anywhere I wanted.

The next day, I showed up for work as usual.

My manager blocked my way at the entrance. "Starting tomorrow, you're done here. Ms. Finley paid your termination fee and ordered us not to hire you again."

He blew out a ring of smoke. "Did you piss her off or something? She seems to really hate your guts. I'd start looking for somewhere else to die if I were you."

I grabbed the hem of his shirt, my voice rising in desperation. "You can't fire me! I still need money for an urn! If you're firing me, at least pay me what I'm owed!"

He kicked me away with all his might. "Got hooked on selling drinks, did you? Just die anywhere but here!"

At his command, the staff threw me out of the nightclub.

In a daze, I made my way back to the basement room I rented. At the entrance, I found all my belongings scattered haphazardly across the ground.

The landlord blocked the doorway, looking at me like I was some kind of plague. "Get the hell out and don't drag me into your mess!"

My withered fingers clutched the last of my medicine. I couldn't even imagine what kind of trouble someone like me could possibly cause them.

I raised my head and saw Claire and Victor's wedding announcement on a giant billboard. Nearby, passersby shrieked with excitement.

"Claire bought her fiancé a custom-made wedding suit worth three million dollars! How romantic!"

"I can't wait for the wedding of the century. I heard it's costing 30 million. Just getting a glimpse of it would be worth it! Victor is such a lucky man!"

…

I dug through my pockets and scraped together every last coin I had. All that remained was 5.45 dollars, barely enough to buy the cheapest bottle of painkillers.

Just then, a payment reminder popped up on my phone from the man I had ordered the urn from.

"You're buying an urn, not a damn mansion. Why are you dragging your feet? If you can't afford to die, then don't. Pay the balance already!"

The outstanding balance was 85 dollars.

The pain of my illness was so unbearable that I could barely stand, yet I had refused to shed a single tear. But watching that giant screen flaunt their obscene wealth, I finally broke down.

Tears of bitter humiliation streamed down my face. With trembling hands, I dialed Claire's number. "Why did you have them throw me out?"

A deafening crash of breaking objects erupted from the other end.

As if on the verge of a breakdown, Claire screamed at me, "I told you to take it up with me if you had a problem! You made yourself look like the victim and labeled Victor as the homewrecker! Are you happy now?"