Usopp Death

My stepsister falsely accuses me of causing her allergies to act up. My three brothers stuff me into the cramped cellar and chain the door shut. I pound on the door and beg them to let me out. My eldest brother, an outstanding businessman, snaps, "It's bad enough that you keep bullying Lori. How could you make her eat seafood when you know she's allergic to it? Isn't that just murder? Stay in there and reflect on your mistakes!" My second brother, an award-winning singer, and my third brother, a genius painter, scoff contemptuously. "It's unbelievable that someone as evil as you is making excuses to garner pity. You can stay in there and repent for your sins!" After that, they take our shuddering stepsister to the hospital. The oxygen in the cellar soon runs out, and it gets difficult to breathe. Ultimately, I die in there. My brothers only remember me three days later when they bring our stepsister back from the hospital. Unbeknownst to them, I've already died of asphyxiation.

Five years after I mated to Alpha Derek Blackwood, his childhood sweetheart broke her mate bond with another Alpha and returned to our pack. Even worse, I had depleted my life force saving Derek when he was mortally wounded, and now I was dying. In the less than six months I had left to live, I continued to play the role of Derek's good mate. Until I passed away. And Derek, after reading the journal I left behind, completely fell apart.

My fiancé, Keith Odell is a hot air balloon pilot. His first love, Michelle Lavigne, insisted on taking a risk and flying to a thousand meters above ground when the balloon’s helium began to leak.  In that moment of crisis, Keith grabbed the tandem parachute and leaped with her.  With tears in my eyes, I begged him, “I'm pregnant with your child. Can’t you take me first?” But he reproached me. “Is this really the time to fake your pregnancy because of a bit of jealousy? You learned how to skydive but Chelle is afraid of heights. We’ll wait for you on the ground.” Then he forcibly shook off my hand and parachuted down with his first love.  He failed to notice the hole in the only parachute he left me. Michelle had deliberately done it.  Carrying our unborn child, I closed my eyes and leaped.

I had a miscarriage and was confined in the ICU. Meanwhile, my husband was off traveling the world with his first love. It wasn't until he decided to divorce me that he finally remembered I existed. He called my mother, demanding to know how long I planned to act out. She was disheartened, looking at me, who was barely clinging to life. "Shannon will never cause you trouble again! Happy now?" she snapped.

A fierce storm erupts on a mountain peak at 25,561 feet, trapping me in the mountain camp under heavy snow. My husband, the leader of the mountain excursion squad, ignores my desperate pleas and hands the last oxygen tank to his beloved true love. "You're a professional climber—you won't die from missing a few breaths," he snaps. "Olivia has always been frail. Without oxygen, she's done for!" I watch as the two of them lean on each other, making their way down the cliffside, and I fall into complete despair. He's already forgotten that my body hasn't been able to survive without oxygen at high altitudes since saving him two years ago.

I used to be the apple of my family's eye, but Suzanne Nilson changed that when she showed up on my birthday with a DNA test result. The Nilson family cruelly kicks me to the curb and throws me back to my biological parents, leading to me being sold off to the village idiot. Xavier Gubbens, with whom I've grown up, kicks the door down and saves me. Later, he etches a word on my face. "Do you think you're done repenting for your sins with this, Suzanne Nilson?" Later still, his eyes are red as he pleads, "Can't we go back to how things used to be?" How things used to be? There's no such thing. Everyone has to look to the future.

Back when I was 20, I supported a girlfriend. I paid for her education and even found the best doctors for her mother, who had cancer. The sweet, brilliant girl stayed with me for four years. However, my family went bankrupt after my parents died. I even injured my eyes and broke my legs. I watched her have a heart-to-heart talk with her childhood friend, tears in her eyes. I left without a word, and she never sought me out. Years later, I saw her again while picking up trash outside a hotel. She had become a wealthy CEO and was about to marry her childhood sweetheart. Her gaze at me was cold and indifferent. I bitterly asked, "Do you still hate me?" Yet, with tears streaming down her face, she replied, "Yes… I wish you were dead."

As my due date approaches, my husband's precious mistress falls into the water at a banquet. After being rescued, she immediately accuses me of pushing her. To "avenge" her, he throws me into a modified stainless steel water tank. I beg him, pleading for the sake of our unborn children. But he only sneers. "Don't try to use the babies to guilt me! You've still got a week before you're due. I know exactly how vicious you are—any child of yours would be just as rotten. Stay in there and reflect on your behavior. I'll let you out when you finally admit you're wrong!" Five days later, my husband returns home from a night out with his mistress, calling for me to come downstairs and serve them, as always. He doesn't know that my babies and I have already rotted beyond recognition.

I was the stand-in who looked most like my husband's first love. He put me through countless plastic surgeries, both major and minor ones, until I became her exact likeness. But then, she came back from the dead. All it took was her saying, "I don't like anyone looking like me," and he sent me right back to the operating table once more. I begged him, telling him that my body couldn't handle it anymore. Alas, he only looked at me with irritation. "Seeing that cheap imitation of her face just disgusts me," he sneered. "No matter how close you come, you'll never be her." In the end, I died on that operating table. Yet, he went mad, trying desperately to recall what I once looked like.

Yvonne Xander had three of her ribs broken before she finally managed to escape from the mental asylum. After she escaped, the first thing she did was to sign the agreement to donate her body after her death. “Miss Xander, we must let you know that this is a special donation. Your body will be used to test a new chemical reagent. By then, there might be nothing of you left.” Yvonne pressed down on her aching chest. Her broken ribs made her voice sound like a broken ventilator. With great difficulty, she grimaced. “Just what I want.”