When Zachary Cross sat down for his first major television interview, the atmosphere in the studio was warm, almost reverent. The host smiled warmly, shifting her notes before bringing up a love letter he had written ten years ago. She quoted a few lines—gorgeous, devastatingly romantic prose that read like poetry. It was entirely at odds with his reputation as a cold, ruthless venture capitalist. Zachary remained silent for a long, heavy moment. He didn’t deny writing it. “What you all see as a romantic tragedy of youth,” he said, his voice flat and devoid of warmth, “was actually nothing more than a rich girl’s cruel little game. Back then, she deigned to date me. I was naive enough to think she actually loved me, while she was busy humiliating my poverty in front of everyone we knew.” The moment the interview aired, the internet exploded. I was dragged to the very top of the trending topics, vilified by millions of strangers. But before any public apology or defense could be mounted on my behalf, my death certificate found its way online. “Stop hounding her. Isabel Mercer died three years ago.” In his sleek, modern kitchen, Zachary had just finished preparing a quiet dinner. When the notification flashed across his screen, his face twisted into a look of pure, cynical amusement. He pulled up the contact info for the number he had blocked a decade ago and typed out a message: “Isabel, is this your latest performance? Do you honestly expect me to buy this?” … After hitting send, Zachary stared at the screen, momentarily lost in thought. A few seconds later, his phone buzzed with a reply. “Who is this? You’ve got the wrong number. My name isn’t Isabel.” Zachary’s brows knit together. A flash of familiar impatience crossed his features as his thumbs flew across the keyboard. “You’ve used this number since middle school. Don’t play games with me.” The reply came almost instantly: “Look, you definitely have the wrong person. The previous owner deactivated this line. I registered this number three years ago.” A cold sneer settled on Zachary’s face. “Do you really think I’m that gullible? Ten years later, and you haven’t changed at all. Still lying through your teeth.” I floated near the ceiling, suspended above the brass chandelier, looking down at the bitter hatred burning in his eyes. I remembered a rainy afternoon during our sophomore year. We had watched a girl hand a beautifully folded letter to a boy in the courtyard. Zachary had caught the faint, wistful look in my eyes. He had laughed, pulling me close under his umbrella, and promised he would write one for me, too. “Whatever other girls have, my girl gets too,” he had whispered. The absolute sincerity in his eyes back then was something I had carried with me to my grave. I never expected that the reply letter I spent weeks drafting would be intercepted and swapped for a cruel, mocking forgery—one that exposed his deepest insecurities and made him the laughingstock of the entire campus. I had grabbed his hand, desperate to explain, but I was met only with an icy wall of resentment. He became entirely convinced that our three years together had been nothing but a wealthy girl’s twisted amusement. Seeing that no further messages were coming through, Zachary tossed his phone onto the counter with an irritated sigh and carried the plates over to the dining table. Courtney Lane walked into the dining room, her eyes flickering when she noticed the dish—shrimp scampi. She hid her brief grimace behind a bright, practiced smile and leaned down to press a soft kiss against his cheek. “Thank you, sweetheart. You went to so much trouble.” She pulled out her chair, keeping her tone light. “Though, you know I don’t really eat shellfish. I heard your first love was obsessed with shrimp, though. I saw the trending topics today… you aren’t still holding onto her, are you?” Zachary’s posture stiffened for a fraction of a second. Without a word, he scraped the entire plate of scampi directly into the trash can. “That was a lifetime ago,” he said, his voice level. “I forgot her years ago.” Seeing the lingering pout on Courtney’s face, he sighed softly and drew her into his arms. “Don’t let her ruin our evening. What if she was my first love? You’re the one who stood by me when I had nothing. You’re the only one who matters now, and the only one who will be here in the future.” Courtney flushed with pleased embarrassment, playfully swatting at his chest. Zachary smiled, reaching into his pocket to produce a small velvet box. He slipped a brilliant emerald tennis bracelet onto her slender wrist. “Stop being jealous,” he murmured. “A little gift. Do you like it?” Courtney leaned her head against his shoulder, admiring the heavy, glittering stones. “I suppose I can forgive you this once. Honestly, I don’t believe for a second that she’s actually dead. She probably ran off with some older, wealthy businessman after her father’s company went under, and she’s too embarrassed to show her face. It wouldn’t be the first time she lied to escape a mess.” She giggled, her fingers tracing the clasp of the bracelet. “Actually, I should probably thank her. If she hadn’t walked away from you back then, I wouldn’t have this beautiful life today.” Zachary’s gaze drifted toward the dark window, his jaw tightening slightly as he suppressed whatever thought had just crossed his mind. Courtney pulled up her phone, looking at their high school alumni group chat. A notification had just been pinned by the class president regarding their ten-year reunion. She smiled up at him. “Don’t think about it anymore. I’ve already hired a personal stylist for us for the reunion. We are going to make sure everyone sees exactly how far you’ve come.” Zachary didn’t refuse. Watching the two of them try on their elegant, custom-tailored outfits, a dull, familiar ache bloomed in my chest. When we were young, Zachary came from nothing. Dating me had earned him endless whispers and cruel jokes about climbing the social ladder. Now that he was a self-made billionaire and my family was bankrupt, it was only natural for him to want to show off his success. It was a pity I wouldn’t be there to give him the satisfaction. When Zachary and Courtney arrived at the private dining room of the upscale downtown restaurant, the class president rushed over, his face flushed with excitement. “Mr. Cross! Courtney! Look at you two—absolutely stunning. The perfect couple.” The surrounding classmates nodded eagerly, their voices thick with flattery. “Seriously, Zachary. To achieve this much success at your age and marry the prettiest girl from our class… you’ve truly won at life.” It was a stark contrast to the sneers and mocking laughter they had directed at him a decade ago. Looking at Zachary’s impeccable suit and quiet authority, one of the alumni sighed wistfully. “It really goes to show you should never underestimate a poor kid with drive. I wonder if Isabel regrets her choices now.” “I heard that after her dad’s business collapsed, she was left with mountains of debt. If she hadn’t broken things off with Zachary…” At the mention of my name, the lively chatter in the room came to a grinding halt. Our relationship had been loud, passionate, and heavily scrutinized. Most of our peers had bet on our downfall, but none of them had anticipated it ending in such an ugly, public ruin. Zachary set his wine glass down with a slow, deliberate click. “Why are we bringing her up?” he said, his tone dripping with indifference. “It’s bad luck.” Eager to please him, a man sitting across the table scoffed openly. “Exactly. A superficial gold-digger like Isabel never deserved you anyway, Zachary. Word on the street is she got herself a sugar daddy to pay off those debts. Some old guy who used to work with her father. If her dad knew, he’d be turning in his grave.” Several people chimed in, offering sycophantic smiles to Courtney. “Courtney was always the elegant, sensible one. She stayed by your side through everything. You two are a match made in heaven. She’s ten times the woman Isabel ever was.” Zachary idly toyed with Courtney’s fingers, offering a faint, polite smile under the weight of their approving gazes. “Marrying Courtney was the best decision of my life,” he murmured. Courtney’s cheeks pinked, and she tugged at his sleeve with a hushed whisper. “Let them have a little fun at her expense later to get some payback for you. Don’t go soft on us.” Zachary pinched her cheek affectionately. “Whatever pleases you, darling.” Just then, the heavy double doors of the private dining room swung open. Zachary’s shoulders tightened instinctively. But when he saw Jared Campbell walk through the door, a flicker of disappointment crossed his eyes. Jared paused just inside the entryway, taking in the cruel laughter and the mocking comments about me. His expression hardened. “You don’t need to wait around for her,” Jared said, his voice cutting through the noise. “Isabel isn’t coming. She passed away three years ago.” He walked closer to the table, his gaze sweeping over the classmates. “And that rumor about a sugar daddy is complete garbage. Her father’s debts were settled by a longtime family friend who couldn’t bear to see her drown.” Zachary tilted his head, his eyes narrowing as he looked at Jared. A cold, mocking smile touched his lips. “I didn’t realize you were so intimately acquainted with her financial affairs, Jared.” The room erupted into knowing, suggestive snickers. An alumnus who had clearly had too much to drink leaned forward, shouting, “Hey, Jared, you were always trailing after her. You weren’t her little sidepiece, were you?” “Right? No regular classmate gets this defensive. I bet behind closed doors…” Listening to the crude remarks echoing around the table, Jared’s eyes turned murderous. He slammed his hand against the wood. “Shut up. All of you, shut your mouths.” His chest heaved as he stared down the room. “You pathetic, spineless hypocrites. How many of your families did Isabel’s father help when they were on top? The second they went under, you couldn’t wait to kick her. You spread lies to make sure she couldn’t keep the only decent job she managed to find.” Jared’s voice cracked with a mixture of rage and grief. “And now she’s dead, and you’re still dragging her name through the mud. Every single person in this room who gossiped, who stood by and watched, who turned their backs—you all have her blood on your hands.” A classmate scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Oh, come on, Jared. Stop trying to scare us. How much did Isabel pay you to put on this little show?” “Yeah, remember when you claimed she was terminally ill and tried to guilt-trip us into a GoFundMe campaign? Turned out her mother had died and she just wanted cash for a burial. What’s the scam this time?” Jared took a long, shaking breath. He reached into his leather briefcase and pulled out a thick stack of medical files, tossing them onto the table. “You want to know why I know everything? Because I was her primary oncologist. If you don’t believe me, read it yourselves.” He slid the death certificate and the biopsy reports across the polished mahogany. The classmates glanced at one another, hesitating, before silently nudging the documents down the table until they rested directly in front of Zachary. Zachary stared at the medical paperwork, his eyes widening slightly. His hand trembled as his fingers closed around the edges of the death certificate. Sensing his sudden shift in composure, Courtney quickly wrapped her arms around his bicep, offering a dismissive laugh. “Zach, sweetheart, who knows if this is even real? Remember how she swore up and down that the letter she sent you was a fake, too?” At the mention of the letter, Zachary’s expression darkened into a mask of pure fury. He swept his arm across the table, violently knocking the files to the floor. “Get this garbage out of my sight.” I didn’t miss the flicker of smug satisfaction in Courtney’s eyes. When Zachary and I had been together, nobody supported us. Yet, we had held onto each other for three years despite all the rumors and disapproval. When he promised to write me a love letter, I had been overjoyed. He had begged me, with bright, hopeful eyes, to write him one in return. I had spent days choosing the perfect stationery, drafting countless versions, and placing his favorite dried pressed flowers inside the envelope. I never could have imagined that Courtney, who had harbored a silent, obsessive crush on him for years, would swap my letter for a cruel forgery—or that she would arrange for it to be opened and read aloud in front of the entire class. In that fake letter, “I” had mocked his deceased parents, ridiculed his dreams, and told him a poor orphan would never be anything more than a footnote in my life. It was a calculated strike designed to shred a proud, sensitive boy’s dignity. Our classmates, eager to see him fall, had distributed copies of the letter. The humiliation became unbearable. When his elderly grandmother, who had raised him, came to the school to bring him lunch, she walked into a group of boys jeering at him. The shock and distress triggered a massive heart attack, and she died right there on the pavement. I had run to him, desperate to explain, only to receive a phone call that my father’s company had filed for bankruptcy. By the time I managed to return to school to clear my name, Zachary’s eyes held nothing but absolute, freezing hatred. “Is it fun, Isabel? Playing with people’s lives?” “If you looked down on me, you could have just broken up with me. You didn’t have to drag my dignity through the dirt. You killed the only family I had left.” I had wept, falling to my knees and begging him to listen, but he had simply wrenched his hand away and walked out of my life. A few weeks later, while trying to secure an evening shift at a diner to help with our living expenses, I was cornered in a dark alleyway by three debt collectors. As their hands tore at my jacket, panic seized me. In a desperate, blind instinct, I dialed Zachary’s number. “Zachary, please… there are men cornering me behind the campus diner… please help me, I’m so scared…” The sound of fabric tearing and the men’s coarse laughter echoed clearly through the receiver. But all I heard in response was Zachary’s laughter. Cold, sharp, and empty. “Isabel, when you were destroying my life, did you ever stop to think about what it felt like? This is your karma. Enjoy it. I’ll be sure to call the police for you when you’re done.” The line went dead. My screams were swallowed by the shadows of the alley. When I finally dragged my bruised, shivering body back to our apartment, I arrived just in time to see my father leap from the roof of our building. His body hit the pavement with a sickening thud, his warm blood splashing across my shoes. My mother, witnessing the fall, suffered a severe stroke that left her partially paralyzed. To pay off the loan sharks and keep up with her medical bills, I dropped out of college. I worked eighteen-hour days, but every cent I earned was stripped away by the collectors before I could even buy groceries. Eventually, because we couldn’t pay the hospital bills, my mother was wheeled out onto the street. That was when I ran into Jared. Out of pity for an old classmate, he quietly arranged for her transfer to a hospice facility and helped me apply for medical grants. But the debt collectors still found us, threatening to dismantle the facility if they didn’t get their money. Just when we had reached the absolute end of our rope, an old business associate of my father’s stepped in, quietly clearing the outstanding balance out of respect for my father’s memory. But just as things began to quiet down, I started coughing up blood. Biopsy results: advanced gastric cancer. I looked at the double-digit balance in my bank account and smiled weakly at Jared. “I’m not doing the treatments. Just… don’t tell my mother.” Jared refused to give up. He badgered me daily to fight, and even tried to organize a quiet fundraiser at our old university. But my mother found out anyway. She sat by my bedside, weeping, telling me she was nothing but a burden dragging me down. That night, she slipped out of her room and threw herself into the river. When the rescue team finally recovered her body and wheeled her towards the municipal crematorium, Zachary’s brand-new luxury sedan pulled up alongside the curb. He rolled down the window, a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills clutched in his hand. He threw them carelessly out the window, letting the green paper flutter down onto my face and my mother’s cheap shroud. He looked at me with a lazy, satisfied smirk. “I heard your mother died and you couldn’t even afford a pine box. Consider this my charity.” Then, he stepped on the gas and left me in a cloud of exhaust. After my mother’s death, I lost any remaining desire to fight. The chemotherapy was a quiet, agonizing torture that left me too weak to swallow water. Whenever I felt myself slipping, Jared would sit by my bed and tell me about Zachary’s rising success in the business world. Strangely, it was my lingering, stubborn love for him that kept me breathing through those final months. Until the afternoon I saw him walk into our hospital wing, holding Courtney’s hand as they headed toward the executive suite for their pre-marital health screenings. Seeing the heavy platinum band on his ring finger, a violent spasm wracked my chest. I choked, vomiting dark blood onto my sheets. That night, I quietly packed my few belongings and checked myself out. By the time Jared tracked me down, I was sitting in a small, empty cemetery plot I had purchased with the last of my savings. Before I took my final breath, I wanted to close the book. I dialed his number one last time. When the call connected, a tiny, foolish spark of hope flared in my chest. But it was Courtney’s voice that answered, dripping with venom. “Isabel, today is my wedding day. If you’re going to die, go do it somewhere quiet. Don’t ruin our night.” The joyful brass music of their reception drifted through the speaker. The phone slipped from my numb fingers, shattering against the cold grass. My chest went entirely still. As the darkness took me, I fancied I could see my mother and father standing at the edge of the woods, waiting to walk me home from school, just like they used to. A loud argument snapped me back to the present. Jared was staring at Zachary with absolute disgust, ignoring Courtney’s frantic attempts to dismiss him. “The truth is right there on the floor,” Jared spat. “Believe it or don’t. Isabel left a package for you before she died, but honestly? You don’t deserve to touch it.” The reunion ended in a tense, uncomfortable silence. When Zachary returned home that night, he was quiet, his eyes unfocused. Just as he sat down in his study, an unknown number flashed on his phone. He answered it on autopilot. “Hello, is this Mr. Cross? This is the administration office at Oakwood Memorial. The lease on Ms. Isabel Mercer’s plot is up for renewal. Would you like to handle the payment?” Zachary’s brow furrowed in deep confusion. “You have the wrong number. Nobody in my family has a plot there.” Frustrated, he hung up, burying his face in his hands. Three days later, Jared walked up the winding path of Oakwood Memorial, only to find Zachary standing near the entrance, looking lost. Seeing the large bunch of baby’s breath in Jared’s hands, Zachary’s jaw clenched. “You’re bringing baby’s breath? Don’t tell me you’re visiting Isabel.” Jared didn’t answer. He simply nodded. The mocking retort died on Zachary’s tongue. He knew—he remembered—that baby’s breath had been my absolute favorite flower. He stared at the delicate white blossoms, a sudden, wild panic flickering in his dark eyes. Jared let out a cold, humorless laugh. “Are you brave enough to come see her, Mr. Cross?” I was buried in a modest plot next to my parents. The headstone was simple, bearing a engraved photograph of me at eighteen. I had chosen that photo because I wanted them to remember me when I was still whole, before the world broke me. Zachary stared at the headstone, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He forced a harsh, defensive laugh. “You really think a fake stone and an old photo are going to make me believe this elaborate stunt?” Jared placed the flowers at the base of the stone, his hands shaking with suppressed fury. “The letter you received ten years ago was swapped by Courtney. She hired someone to mimic Isabel’s handwriting. You spent a decade hating the girl who loved you, while sleeping next to the monster who ruined her.” Jared stepped closer, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “Isabel never owed you a thing, Zachary. It was your own blind, arrogant pride—and the woman you married—that destroyed her life.” Jared pulled a thick manila envelope from his coat and shoved it against Zachary’s chest. I watched, holding my breath, waiting to see how Zachary would react. But Zachary barely looked at the envelope. He glanced at my smiling face on the headstone, his features hardening into a mask of denial. He tossed the envelope onto the dirt and ground his heel into it, twisting his shoe until the paper tore. “Isabel was a liar and a cheat. Don’t you dare compare Courtney to her.” Watching his stubborn defense of the woman who had ruined us, a familiar, dull ache settled deep in my spirit. If he had trusted me even a fraction as much as he trusted her, would we have ended up here? But there were no second chances in the dark. Jared’s eyes turned blood-red with anger. “Isabel called you when she was dying. She took her last breath listening to the music from your wedding reception. Every single time you celebrate your anniversary, you are celebrating the day she died. She left this world with nothing but your hatred.” Zachary froze. His hands began to tremble violently. A low, ragged laugh escaped his throat. “If she’s really in there… then dig it up. Dig up the grave and prove it to me.” “Are you insane, Zachary?” Jared roared. But Zachary had already signaled his security detail. At his command, three large men stepped forward, shoving Jared back. They brought out shovels, striking the earth with brutal, systematic force. The headstone was tipped over. The soil was torn away. Within minutes, they reached the small, simple urn. In their haste to pull it out, it slipped, crashing against the concrete edge of the burial vault. The ceramic shattered. My ashes scattered into the cold wind, drifting over the grass like grey snow. Jared let out a raw, agonized scream, throwing himself onto the ground to gather what he could, but the wind was too quick. I reached out, trying to touch my own remains, but my fingers simply passed through the dust. I tried to cry, but my eyes remained dry. I had forgotten how to weep a long time ago. Zachary stood over the mess, his face pale but his eyes wild. He pulled out his phone and dialed my old number once again. “Isabel! Stop playing dead! I’ve dug up your grave!” he screamed into the receiver, his voice cracking. “Your parents are right next to you. If you don’t show up here in thirty minutes, I’ll have their graves dug up too!” The voice on the other end erupted in terror and fury. “Are you a fucking psychopath? I told you, I am not Isabel! You dug up a grave? I’m calling the police!” The line went dead. Zachary stared at the screen, his face turning an ash-grey. By the time the police cruisers arrived, the cemetery was a scene of utter ruin. The lead officer looked at the scattered ashes and the shattered urn, his expression turning grim as he recognized Zachary. “Mr. Cross,” the officer said, his voice heavy with authority. “We’ve pulled the vital statistics and social security records. Isabel Mercer was officially pronounced dead three years ago.”
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