Rimuru Death

The day I find out I only have three days left to live, my mate comes home with a mate termination contract. He wants to break up with me and form a new bond with another she-wolf who's pretending to be dying—just to fulfill her so-called final wish. "Sweetheart, I don't have a choice," Caleb Lowe says, holding me in his arms. "Ruby's been poisoned with silver. She's got about a week left. Her dying wish is to marry me. But don't worry. You're the only one I love," he adds, looking at me with those sincere eyes. "Once the bonding ceremony is over and she's gone, we'll get back together—just like before." I look down and give a small laugh, then sign the termination contract. Forget it. I'm dying anyway. Who he ends up with doesn't matter anymore. I might as well let him have what he wants.

If it was my sister being bullied, Mom and Dad would have believed her right away and fought for her without a second thought. However, it did not matter anymore. In my next life, I would pick parents who really cared about me.

My CEO husband bribed the doctor to take the heart that was meant for our daughter and give it to his childhood sweetheart’s daughter instead. That same day, my daughter suffered a heart attack and died in my arms. Meanwhile, his sweetheart’s daughter’s surgery was a success. My husband was so overjoyed that he gave bonuses to the entire company. My rage and grief were too much—I coughed up blood on the spot. The doctor later confirmed my worst fear: I was already in the late stages of leukemia. I didn’t have much time left. Holding my daughter’s urn, I wandered home in a daze. My husband? He took his childhood sweetheart and her daughter on a trip around the world to celebrate a new life.

On the day I vomit blood while eating on a livestream, I rise to the top in the platform streamer rankings. My older brother, Julian Everhart, bursts into my room, kicks over my streaming equipment, and violently shoves me to the floor. My fiance, Dominic Pierce, tells everyone on the livestream that I'm just trying to attract attention and rake up the views by faking my illness. In an instant, I get cyberbullied by everyone. The Internet users keep leaving malicious comments and cursing me to die. All of my photos are crossed out. Someone even dumps silver acid onto my front door. What everyone doesn't know is that I will die in three days because of Wolf Soul Deterioration. On the day I die, I start the livestream for the final time. Tens of millions of viewers rush into my stream instantly and begin cursing me out for my lack of morality. They bash me for faking my illness just to gain popularity and attract attention. But the next thing they know, my heart monitor flatlines right away. Everyone begins panicking instantly. Julian and Dominic shift into their wolf forms instantly and rush toward the hospital desperately begging me not to die.

After the real son, Asher Vale, was brought back, everything in our house became tied to drawing lots. The chef of the day, who would have to cook a particular person's preferred dishes, had to be decided by drawing lots. Even our parents' kisses and hugs were chosen the same way. I always drew the short stick. The long stick, by default, belonged to Asher. He never had to do anything to receive our parents' love. Whenever I felt it was unfair and wanted to cry, Mom would scold me sharply, "I bought the lot-drawing box because I was afraid you'd feel hurt. I wanted to be fair to both of you. If you want something, decide it yourselves. Your father and I won't interfere. If you can't draw the long stick, you can only blame your bad luck." So I began practicing every day, shaking the box diligently, over and over, in hopes that one day, it would help me earn my parents' love. Unfortunately, for ten years, I never once drew the long stick. Until my birthday. Asher wanted to go to the amusement park, and Mom once again told us to decide by drawing lots. I secretly glued the two short sticks together and handed them to Mom, hoping to keep her with me. She slapped me hard across the face, screaming that I was cheating and disobedient. Then she stormed out of the house with Asher. When I fell to the ground, the short stick stabbed deep into my neck. 'I'm sorry, Mom. Next time, I'll work harder. Next time, I'll definitely draw the long stick.'

All of Novatia knew that Sophie Rossi was the foster daughter Soren Lucas doted on the most. However, on her 18th birthday, he punished her according to the family's rules. It was because Soren discovered Sophie had stolen his most precious Browning pistol and inserted it into her body. Three years later, Sophie returned with her body covered in wounds. She no longer loved Soren. However, Soren's fiancée, Isabella Johansson, refused to let her off. "You slut! How dare you desire your own Don?!" Sophie tolerated the cursing and beatings, only to discover the horrible truth. She 'committed suicide' by jumping off the cruise ship during Soren's wedding. Soren went crazy as he hugged her corpse.

Five years after I died, Delia—my wife, a doctor—tried to dump her first love's new mess on me again. She stormed into my old place, waving some fake agreement with my name on it, but all she found was dust. Panicking, she ran downstairs and cornered the shop owner. "William?" he said. "He's been dead five years. Heard the family of that malpractice case found him. Stabbed him up bad." Delia laughed it off, like the guy was making it up. "So what if he got suspended? He's still sulking over that?" She rolled her eyes. "Tell him this—he's got three days. If he doesn't show, I'm cutting off his sister's cancer treatment." She muttered something ugly, slammed the door, and left. The shop owner just watched her go, shaking his head. "There's no sister left," he said quietly. "She died years ago... couldn't pay for treatment."

My husband's first love had been trapped in a car for an hour. After they pulled her out, his rage shifted onto me. “It’s your fault she got hurt,” he spat, his eyes blazing as he grabbed me. Before I could make sense of what was happening, he forced me into a wooden box, slamming the lid down with a deafening crack. “You’re going to feel every ounce of the pain she went through,” he hissed, nailing it shut. I pounded on the walls, my screams tearing through the air. “Please, I didn’t do anything! Let me out!” My throat burned with the effort, my fists aching, but nothing stopped him. “Stay in there until you’ve figured out how to act like a decent human being,” he said, his voice cold, dripping with contempt. Hours passed. My body twisted unnaturally in the tight space, bones throbbing as blood smeared the wood beneath me. I whispered into the dark, the pain unbearable. "Please… just let me out…" But he didn’t care. A week later, he returned, his laughter echoing with hers as they entered the house, carefree from their trip. He finally opened the box. But by then, I was already gone. The woman he locked away was no longer breathing, no longer pleading. Just a cold, silent corpse.

When the fire broke out, I called my husband, Hector. He didn't answer. Instead, he ran straight into the flames—to save my sister, Emma. They held each other, clinging to life, while I was trapped in the basement, watching my calls go ignored until all hope burned out. Afterward, Emma played innocent, twisting everything. She told him, "Hector, don't blame Sienna. She didn't leave me on purpose... she was just scared." Her lie made me the villain, and everyone bought it. Fueled by hatred, Hector spat, "She's so vicious—why didn't that fire just take her?" Three months later, the police found my body.

Today was supposed to be my marking ceremony. Instead, it became my funeral. Eliza had run me down with her car. She dragged my broken body into the storage room. "Stay here. When the ceremony is over, I'll let you out." She wanted to take my place, to be marked by Greyson, as his Luna. Greyson loved me. But his family could never allow their precious Alpha son to marry a lowborn Omega. "Millie," murmured, his voice thick with guilt. "I have to obey my family and give them an heir first -- with Eliza. You know... she's Alpha blood. "Once the pup turns one, I'll marry you." And I marked the days one by one, counting down to our forever. He claimed it was a mere duty, but but their feverish nights suggested she was his preferred addiction. A month later, Eliza was pregnant. Ten months after that, she bore the Alpha's heir. Another twelve agonizing months dragged by, and finally, it was the day he was supposed to claim me. But now, I was lying here on the floor, my body shattered. Greyson's voice cut through the phone, sharp and impatient. "Why aren't you here yet? Haven't you been desperate to marry me?" "I've let the pup's birthday incident slide -- are you still going to sulk about it?" "If you don't show up, I'll mark Eliza instead." I wasn’t coming, Greyson. I couldn’t -- I was already dead. But he believed I was simply having a tantrum.