Wanna Fake His Death? I Beat Him to It

The atmosphere suddenly froze.

Travis's dark eyes revealed nothing.

Everyone fell silent, and the person who'd suggested the plan cautiously asked if Travis was listening.

I waited too, hoping Travis wouldn't kill the last shred of hope I still had for him.

But he simply replied, "Interesting. Let's do it."

Outside the door, my heart plummeted.

My entire body went cold.

—

Travis was, as that person said, my savior.

As if by design, he knew my vulnerabilities, understood my sorrows, and hit me straight in the heart time after time.

He left me defenseless, retreating further and further until he was all I could see or think about.

I thought heaven wanted someone as pitiful as me to find happiness, so he appeared.

But it was all his calculation.

From the very beginning, his approach had ulterior motives.

No wonder he always liked taking photos during my treatment.

I naively thought Travis didn't mind how haggard and pale I looked during treatment, but he was just documenting my illness for Elaine.

So she could get into character more quickly.

He played me like a puppet, watching me beg for life, struggle in pain—all to provide material for the woman he really loved.

Travis, you're truly disgusting.

Aren't you eager to see what I'll do when you die?

How could I possibly live without you?

Not dying for you would dishonor your two years of "devotion" to me.

Well, if Travis can fake his death, so can I.

I cherish my life deeply because it was once something I could only hope for but never reach.

And I want to see Travis's face when he learns I've "died" for him.

Walking into my room, I took out the diary Travis had given me.

I remembered how he'd knelt before me so reverently, holding my hand.

"If I ever treat you badly, write it down here. For each entry, I'll punish myself once."

"Sarah, I've chosen you for life."

When he spoke, he was so convincingly sincere.

Travis is probably a better actor than Elaine—so dedicated even with an audience of one.

Picking up a pen, I wrote:

[Today's my birthday. Travis disappeared. He promised he'd never miss any of my birthdays, so I worried something had happened to him. I spent seven hours looking for him. Birthday wish: May Travis be safe and well every year.]

Travis came home at four in the morning.

He tiptoed into the bedroom, tucked my blanket around me, then left the room.

I opened my eyes, which had cried themselves dry for him.

He must have seen the cake on the living room table and his favorite dishes on the dining table.

I was strategically using a man's guilt.

Not to win him back.

But for revenge.

Travis put on an apron and made breakfast.

"Sleepyhead, time to get up and eat."

He pinched my cheek and placed breakfast in front of me.

"It's my fault. I got caught up in work yesterday and forgot. Don't worry, until we're married, I'll stay by your side every step of the way."

I smiled faintly, appearing normal.

But as I ate, I asked, "And after we're married?"

Travis was clearly caught off guard.

I caught the flash of guilt in his eyes.

He stroked my head.

"Silly, I'll always be by your side."

—

Travis, I'll never believe another promise from your lips.

But I didn't say this out loud.

Whether my world includes Travis or not, I live for myself.