Asuma Death

The day I died was Mommy’s birthday. For once, she left me an unusually large slice of cake. I hovered before it, greedy, leaning in to breathe in its sweetness. But the very next second, she handed the cake to my younger sister, Bella Tesla. “Have some, Bella. Better you than that ungrateful girl!” Then she turned to Daddy, who was filming nearby. “You recorded everything, right? When she returns, make her watch it. Don’t let her say again that we play favorites! “Of all things to learn, she learned how to run away from home! “We spoiled her! If she has any sense, let her never come back!” She sneered as she slammed the table and cursed at me, never noticing the panic on Bella’s face as she held the cake. She also failed to notice Bella’s disheveled hair. She noticed even less the dark stains of blood on her sleeve. Blood that belonged to me.

The day Eve Jones came back to town, Zac Gibson did not come home all night. The next day, I saw a post on her social media, showing a photo of two hands tightly intertwined, along with Zac’s peaceful, childlike sleeping face. When he finally came home, he threw divorce papers at me and said, "You’ve been standing in Eve’s place this whole time. Now that she’s back, it’s time for you to move on." It did not matter anymore. I was not going to live much longer anyway. Whoever wanted the title of "Mrs. Gibson" could have it. Later, I died. But Zac cried at my grave, kneeling, promising he would never hold anyone else’s hand again.

I've died on my wedding day. When I'm in the middle of getting cruelly tortured by the thugs, my parents, older brother, and my fiance are all comforting my younger adopted sister, Arianna Capuano, who's bawling her eyes out. Before I die, I've called them for help. But Diego Atzori, my fiance who's the next Don of the Atzori family, sounds extremely angry at me when he picks up the call. "Carlotta Capuano, Arianna's life is more important than our marriage! Stop putting on an act just to attract attention!" The call goes dead. My life is also entering its countdown. I can only lie in my own puddle of blood, my body broken and mutilated, until I stop breathing entirely. No one can find me at home. They think I'm just throwing a tantrum because the wedding has gotten canceled. Perhaps I've chosen to run away from the altar just so I can attract their attention. What they don't know is the fact that I've never left home. In fact, I've died in the basement of my own house. I died right beneath their feet.

When the half-mile sprint test is about to begin, Quiana Sullivan, the class president, and I have applied to be exempted from it. My own mother, who's the homeroom teacher of my class, approves Quiana's application with a smile. But she then throws mine to the floor. "You're having a chest pain, you say? I can't believe you're able to come up with such lies just to avoid the half-mile sprint! I'd have known if you had a heart condition! "Quiana is weak by nature, not to mention she's on her period right now, so she can't handle the agony. What about you, hmm? You've always been perfectly healthy, yet now you're telling me that you're suffering from heart pain? "Don't go around embarrassing me just because you want to slack off! I don't want others claiming that I'm being biased toward my own child! As long as you're still alive and kicking, you must finish the half-mile course no matter what!" Left without a choice, I can only return to the field. The cold wind makes me feel even dizzier now. My heart keeps contracting uncontrollably against my will. Suddenly, it just stops pumping. The next thing I know, I collapse onto the grassy field heavily. When my consciousness is about to flicker to darkness, my mom finally walks over to me. But she merely kicks my arm with a frown on her face, and her tone remains glacial. "Stop playing dead. Get up right now." She doesn't realize that I can never open my eyes ever again. Isn't this great, Mom? No one will ever claim that you're biased toward your own child. I've used my life to prove how fair and just you are. You must be happy now, right?

On the day of our wedding, my fiance Thomas Warsh was killed in a car accident on the way there. His adopted sister rushed toward me, clutching his ashes, accusing me of being a jinx who brought him misfortune. I was drowning in grief when a line of floating comments suddenly appeared before my eyes. [You must remain a widow for three years for your deceased husband. After three years, he will be reincarnated and return to love you again!] [Don’t ever remarry. Otherwise, the male lead will never rest in peace, and you will suffer for the rest of your life!] That was when I learned that my fiancé and I were the hero and heroine of a novel. Only by following the spoilers in the comments and completing the storyline could I reunite with him. I did not remarry. Guided by the comments, I remained a widow for three years, and then another three. However, it was not until I suddenly died from a severe illness that I discovered the truth–the comments had all been written by Thomas. He had faked his death, changed his appearance, married his adopted sister, and fed me endless empty promises so I would continue to slave away for the Warsh family. When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the day before the wedding.

My husband's first love, Daeleen Reed, is abducted and murdered by the Wood family, a mafia family. The final call she makes before her death is to my husband. "Samuel, Louise's green eyes are beautiful. If there is an afterlife, I hope I can have a pair of eyes like that so I can always gaze at you with them." My husband, Samuel Sterling, is the Capo of the Sterling family, a mafia family based on the West Coast. Instead of getting revenge on the Wood family, he comes home and forces me onto an operating table. "Daeleen says she loved your eyes. That was her dying wish, and I will make it come true." I clutch my stomach and grovel at his feet. I beg him to let me off the hook. I've yet to witness our child's birth—I can't lose my eyes! However, Samuel thinks I'm using my pregnancy as an excuse to not give up my eyes. "You can't be so selfish, Louise. You'll only be losing your eyes—you'll be fine." Daeleen is the only one who holds his heart. I am left with nothing but a world of darkness. Later, I drag my broken body into the sea. I forge ahead until I'm submerged. That's when Samuel goes insane.

After my mother shot down my pleas to cover my medical bills the 100th time, I clutched my bone cancer diagnosis papers and trudged to the crematorium. "Hi, I'd like to reserve a cremation slot ahead of time," I muttered to the clerk. Half an hour ticked by before my parents and adopted brother arrived in their car. My dad, a forensic pathologist, cracked me across the face. "You're pulling a fake-death stunt now, just to steal the spotlight from your brother?" My mom, a hospital director, snatched the papers from my hands and shredded them into confetti. "Faking records using my credentials and tying up hospital resources? You've crossed the line!" My brother cried, tugging at their sleeves. "It's all my fault. I'll skip the amusement park forever. I don't need a thing. Just quit riling up Mom and Dad." I spun around, my hand pressed against my throbbing chest, and begged the crematorium staff. "Please, when it's time, cremate me and scatter the ashes in the river. I've got no family left in this world."

After I became a vegetable, Samuel kept me alive for two years with all sorts of tubes. I thought he couldn’t bear to let me go—until his true love returned to the country. He took my corneas and transplanted them to her. Right in front of me, he spoke to her with the utmost tenderness: “Don't worry; you'll be fine. These eyes have been prepared for you for two years.” As a result, I had an adverse reaction after the surgery and passed away. When he heard the news, his eyes turned crimson with rage, and he nearly smashed the hospital: ”Didn't you say there wouldn’t be any problems?!”

My CEO husband, Clayton Lockwood, was convinced I was a gold digger. Every time he went to comfort his first love during her depressive episodes, he would buy me a limited-edition bag. After half a year of marriage, my walk-in closet was filled with them. After giving ninety-nine bags, he noticed I had changed. I no longer cried my heart out or argued until I was hoarse when he visited his first love. I also did not brave the storm and cross the city anymore just because he said he wanted to see me. I only asked him for a rosary for our unborn child. When I mentioned our child, Clayton’s gaze softened. “Once Ruby’s condition improves, we’ll go to the hospital for a checkup first, then get a rosary.” I obediently agreed. Little did he know that I had a miscarriage ten days earlier. I had also prepared a divorce agreement that was ready for his signature.

When Joseph Belfort was at his lowest, he caught me lying in bed with another man. Later, he made it big and married me in a wedding of the century. Everyone said he loved me more than life itself, but I knew he only did it out of revenge. Every day, he brings different women home. He sleeps with them to my face, even telling me to serve them. I do as told as long as he pays me. He's thoroughly disappointed in me and asks for a divorce. Then, he gives everything I once wished for to Yarra Quinton. He doesn't know everything I did in the past was just a lie, though. I'm about to die.