The Year I Died, He Was Marrying Someone Else I had been William’s mistress for four years. On the day I died, he was marrying someone else. “You didn’t come on my big day. What, you don’t want to see me marry another woman?” “Or do you think I’ll give in if you throw a tantrum?” “Olivia, I’ll say this one last time. If you don’t show up today, don’t ever think about coming back.” Later, he knelt before my grave and personally carved my epitaph. “My wife, Olivia. Born when the last pear blossom fell, died the year I loved her most.” That was the first time he admitted he loved me. But what did it matter? I was already dead. “Aren’t you happy now that I’m dead and you can marry her?” I floated beside William at the wedding venue. He couldn’t hear me, of course. He just frowned, having his assistant Sarah repeatedly dial my number. Two calls went unanswered. The third time, the phone was turned off. Ten minutes later, he lost his patience. He took out his phone and sent me a few text messages, full of mockery and threats: “You didn’t come on my big day. What, you don’t want to see me marry another woman?” “Or do you think I’ll give in if you throw a tantrum?” “Olivia, I’ll say this one last time. If you don’t show up today, don’t ever think about coming back.” When talking to me, he always had this air of absolute authority, as if he held the power of life and death. Unfortunately, no matter how angry he was now, he couldn’t take it out on me anymore. Because a few hours ago, I had died. “Mr. Song, the wedding is about to start. You should go change,” Sarah reminded him, holding a tablet, her posture upright and respectful. Hearing this, William’s hand paused on the screen, his sharp brows furrowing. After a few seconds, he tossed the phone to Sarah: “Keep calling until she picks up.”
For some reason, I couldn’t leave William’s side. Or rather, in my spirit form, I couldn’t move more than three steps away from him. I was forced to follow him onto the stage. The wedding venue was decorated with an ocean theme, with a huge blue whale suspended in the air, as beautiful as in a dream. Except the bride wasn’t me, it was Emma. A year ago, William had asked me to bring lunch to his company, specifically requesting salt-baked shrimp. I had spent from morning till noon preparing it, even cutting my hand while deveining the shrimp. But as soon as I entered the office, Sarah stopped me. She had just started working at the company then and wasn’t experienced in handling such situations. “Mr. Song is in a meeting. Please wait outside, Miss Yang.” It was a rather clumsy lie. Before she finished speaking, suspicious sounds leaked from the door crack. Sarah’s face turned red instantly, her eyes flickering, seemingly thinking of how to make me feel better. I smiled faintly and patted her shoulder to comfort her: “It’s okay, I’ll wait outside.” After it ended, William walked out with a petite girl in his arms. That was the first time I saw Emma. Fair skin, big eyes, her high ponytail a bit messy, but it didn’t diminish her youthful beauty. Although neither Emma nor I was the only flower in William’s garden, considering his past preferences, he had never gone for such an innocent college girl before. So when William told me he was going to marry Emma, I was a bit surprised. But I quickly composed myself and packed all my things that very night. Well, “packing” only involved one suitcase. Before I left, he sat on the balcony, his long fingers entwined with misty smoke, smiling somewhat mockingly. “Can’t take it anymore?” He approached me step by step, the heavy tobacco smell assaulting my senses, making me feel nauseous. “I’m sorry, Mr. Song, but I don’t sleep with married men.” If there had been a mirror, I’m sure my smile would have looked awful. William’s smile froze on his face as he lowered his head and gripped my chin. “Should I praise you for your professional ethics?” In his eyes, I was just a woman he had bought with money. Not sleeping with married men sounded like a laughable excuse. “Or are you still hoping to marry me?” I lowered my head. I had thought about it. But it was just… a thought. And even this, I didn’t dare to admit. Seeing my long silence, William patted my face with a hint of mockery, his cool tone piercing my heart. “Olivia, ask yourself, are you worthy?”
William wasn’t always like this. We were childhood sweethearts for ten years. When other girls complained that he wouldn’t teach them but only taught me, he would seriously say I wasn’t just anyone. He would also punch the face of the boy who mocked me when I stained my pants during my period. But now, I can’t remember what that William who protected me at every turn looked like anymore. For me, he only had endless hatred. “Olivia, why didn’t you die with your mother?” This was what he said to me most often later. In our senior year, there was a sudden power outage at school. William and I went home early, only to witness an unspeakable scene between my mother and his father. The gossip about a single widow seducing a married man quickly spread among the neighbors. William’s parents had a big fight. But on their way to the civil affairs bureau to get a divorce, a large truck suddenly overturned. They didn’t even make it to the ambulance, passing away on the spot. On the day of the funeral, I waited outside William’s house all night with red eyes. When he walked out of the dim dawn light, looking haggard, the first thing he said to me was: “Olivia, I don’t have parents anymore. Are you happy?” He hugged me, his long fingers leaving red marks on my arms. Tears occasionally fell on my shoulder. I endured the pain, stammering my lips, apologizing to him over and over again. But in the end, William just shook his head and left with a tear-filled “I hate you.” He disappeared completely from my life, and my mother also suffered a stroke and became paralyzed due to the shock. But what I didn’t expect was that seven years later, when I was worried about medical expenses, William would appear again, casually helping me pay the rest of the hospital bills. “Olivia, she needs to live to see how you suffer.” Perhaps from that moment on, our ending was destined to be a tragedy.
However, William’s methods of torturing me weren’t very sophisticated, nothing more than nitpicking. He would only drink coffee after it had been brewed eight times, and would throw a fit if the bath water was one degree too low. Once I showed any dissatisfaction, I couldn’t sleep at night. I already had sensitive skin, and even slight pressure would leave bruises. William never showed mercy because of this, often indulging as much as he pleased. Once when I was sick, I went to the hospital for IV drips for two days. On my way back, I happened to meet a senior from school. He walked me to my doorstep and chatted with me casually for a bit. It just so happened that William had returned from a business trip and saw this scene. “I still have a fever. Can you let me rest for a while?” I didn’t know why he suddenly got angry, I just hoped that he would spare me this once, considering our years of friendship. “You can still chat and laugh with others, so you probably don’t need rest.” “Besides, 39 degrees (Celsius), I haven’t tried it before. Want to give it a try?” Beast. I cursed at him, deliberately provoking him, but tears fell silently. William turned my face back to him, his thumb gently wiping the blood from my bitten lip. “Don’t act like you’ve suffered some great injustice. At worst, you can go splurge with my card tomorrow to vent.” “After all, exchanging your body for benefits is something your family has always been good at.” I glared at William. Hitting my sore spot made him unusually happy, the smile on his face carrying a hint of ferocious pleasure. “Otherwise, why do you think my dad took care of your family for no reason?” My strength suddenly drained away. Because on this point, I had no way to refute. The occasional candies, the cash gifts during holidays. They had already become things that made me feel guilty whenever I thought about them, without me even knowing. After it ended, I had a fever for three more days, taking care of myself alone in the guest room. William, separated by just a wall, only threw over a box of fever reducers on the first day. He said: “Olivia, don’t die in my house. It’s unlucky.”
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