The seventh day after my death, my “funeral” felt more like a wild party. My mother-in-law, Brenda, was in a garish red dress, prancing around my memorial picture, dancing a grotesque jig. My husband, Liam Miller, had his arms wrapped around his new flame, Amber Reed, kissing her openly and announcing their wedding for next month. He even picked up a glass of champagne, splashing it on my urn, and laughed. “Chloe Davis, you menace are finally gone! But don’t worry, your billions? I’ll spend them for you!” Even the guests chuckled, scoffing about how valuable my death had been. No one knew that at this very moment, I was watching everything through a surveillance feed. Until Mr. Sterling, the lawyer, publicly read my will: “All assets are to be bequeathed to my husband, Liam Miller, on the condition that…” “He must continuously kneel and wail at my grave for one hundred days, with the entire process live-streamed.” “If his tears are deemed insincere, or if the process is interrupted for even one second, all assets will be donated to charity.” Liam Miller’s smile instantly froze on his face. 0
After the lawyer finished reading the will, the entire funeral hall fell into a deathly silence. My mother-in-law, who had been dancing just a second ago, had her face contorted, stretching every wrinkle. Liam Miller’s hand, still clutching Amber Reed, forgot to let go. The champagne he had splashed on my urn was now dripping down its sides, sticky and disgusting. “Impossible!” Liam Miller was the first to shriek. “This is fake! How could Chloe Davis, that stupid woman, come up with such a malicious scheme?!” Amber Reed chimed in, her voice trembling, devoid of its previous sugary sweetness. “That’s right, Mr. Sterling, are you sure you haven’t made a mistake? Chloe was so kind, she… she would never…” Before she could finish, my mother-in-law shoved her aside. Brenda pointed an accusing finger at Liam Miller, yelling, “I told you! That woman wouldn’t let things go easily! Now look! All our money is gone!” Liam Miller impatiently shook her off. “Mom, shut up!” He turned to Mr. Sterling, trying to maintain some semblance of dignity. “Mr. Sterling, tell me, was she delirious before she died? One hundred days? Live-streamed? Isn’t this just a joke?” Mr. Sterling pulled a tablet from his briefcase and tapped open a video. It was me in the video, emaciated, almost unrecognizable, but my eyes were shockingly bright. “Hi, Liam Miller.” I waved at the camera, a brilliant smile on my face. “Surprised? Every single word of this will was written by me, in my right mind. I know you must be furious right now, thinking I’ve gone insane.” “You’re right, I have gone insane.” “Driven crazy, little by little, by you, by your mother, and by that delicate little mistress in your arms.” “One hundred days, in exchange for my billion-dollar fortune. Is that a deal you’re willing to take?” The video ended, and the entire hall erupted in chatter. Guests whispered to each other, their gazes shifting from envy to naked fascination. “One hundred days, kneeling and crying at a grave? And live-streamed? If Mr. Miller does this, where will he hide his face?” “But that’s a billion dollars! If he won’t do it, I would! I’d cry from the dawn of time until the world ended!” “But the will also said the tears had to be sincere. How do they even judge that?” Mr. Sterling spoke up at the opportune moment. “Regarding the sincerity evaluation, Ms. Chloe Davis, before her passing, commissioned a professional team to develop an emotional recognition system.” “The system will comprehensively assess the authenticity of the tears through various physiological indicators such as facial micro-expressions, heart rate, and tear composition. There will be a ‘sincerity score’ displayed on the live-stream interface; anything below 60% will invalidate the process.” At those words, even I wanted to applaud myself. Of course, it was me. Always so thorough. Liam Miller’s face had gone from white to green, then from green to black. He stared intently at my memorial picture, his eyes burning with boundless hatred. I could imagine his desire to scatter my ashes at that moment. But he couldn’t. Because he was greedy. He loved money more than he loved me, more than he loved himself. Amber Reed was still crying her fake tears beside him. “Liam, let’s not take her money, okay? I don’t want you to suffer this humiliation, it breaks my heart…” “What do you know?!” Liam Miller abruptly shook her off, roaring, “That’s not *her* money! That’s *mine*! It’s what I deserve!” His eyes bloodshot, he glared at my urn. After a long moment, he gritted out a few words, “Fine. I’ll kneel.” He turned to Mr. Sterling. “Today counts as day one.” With that, he dropped to his knees with a thud before my contemptuous black-and-white memorial picture. The absurd drama of the funeral hall had officially begun. And I, the sole director of this play, sat in the surveillance room of my out-of-town villa, sipping an ’82 Lafite, watching the screen with keen interest. Liam Miller was kneeling, but his back was ramrod straight, his face devoid of any sorrow, only humiliation and fury. He couldn’t squeeze out a single tear. In the live-stream, the online viewer count had already surpassed a million. Comments scrolled wildly. “LOL, is this a funeral or a stand-up comedy? Dude, your face is grumpier than my boss’s.” “Sincerity score: 0%. Confirmed, pure greed.” “Ex-hubby, if you really can’t cry, should I send you some onion essential oil?” Liam Miller watched the comments on his phone, his face growing darker and darker. Suddenly, he looked up, glaring intently at the surveillance camera directly above the funeral hall. His gaze pierced through the screen, as if he wanted to devour me whole. He mouthed each word to the camera, “Chloe. Davis. You. Just. Wait.” I chuckled softly, swirling the red wine in my glass. Wait then. This show had only just begun. 0
Liam Miller’s first day at the grave was a disaster, a true performance art failure. He couldn’t cry. Or rather, he had forgotten how to cry for me. He tried everything—pinching his thighs, thinking of sad things, even having his assistant tell him jokes. They say laughter to the extreme can also bring tears. The result? He laughed like a maniac in front of my grave, earning a barrage of “LOL”s in the comments, but his sincerity score remained stubbornly at “0%.” The next day, my mother-in-law, Brenda, showed up with a group of her friends, calling it “on-site coaching.” They gathered around my grave, blasting a mournful, wailing tune from an old, crackling speaker, letting out ear-splitting howls, trying to ‘inspire’ Liam. “Oh, my poor son—you suffer so much—” “That damned Chloe Davis—even in death, she tortures you—” Liam Miller’s head throbbed from their incessant noise, and he roared, his face livid, “Get out, all of you!” The live-stream audience was losing it, flooding the comments with “Comedy Award of the Year” for me. I sat in front of the monitor, watching it all with a blank expression. There was no sense of triumph in my heart, only a desolate coldness. I turned off the farce and brought up another encrypted video. It was of Liam Miller and me in the past. The video began in a cheap rental apartment in a college town. Liam Miller back then wore a faded T-shirt, his eyes clear, a faint dimple appearing when he smiled. His family was poor, but he would save half a month’s living expenses to buy me a limited-edition lipstick I liked. As a top student in the business school, I helped him plan his career, revise his resume, and even used my father’s connections to secure his first internship. He held me tightly then, his eyes shining like stars. “Chloe, you’re everything to me. When I make it big, I’ll make you the happiest woman in the world.” I believed him. The scene shifted to his company’s startup phase. I gave up the opportunity to study abroad and became his company’s first employee, juggling roles as finance, administration, and project manager, staying up countless nights with him. We ate instant noodles together in his tiny office, sketching out the company’s blueprint. Then, Amber Reed appeared. An ordinary college student he met on a business trip, innocent, delicate, her eyes filled with adoration for him. She supposedly helped him a great deal, though I never quite understood what she could have possibly done. She came to the company as an intern, knowing nothing, only blinking her innocent big eyes and timidly saying, “Liam, I don’t know how to do this. Can you teach me?” For the first time, Liam Miller made a demand of me for another woman. “Chloe, Amber is new; she doesn’t understand anything. Please guide her. She’s not like you, who had everything growing up; she’s very pitiful.” I tried to teach her, but she looked at me with a gaze mixed with jealousy and disdain. “Chloe, you’re so amazing, unlike me; I only know how to study. But it’s not good for girls to be too strong; it puts pressure on men. Liam often says he feels exhausted around you.” At that moment, I felt the chill of betrayal for the first time. I turned off the video, my chest aching. These memories, once my most precious treasures, were now daggers piercing my heart. Just then, on the screen, Liam Miller’s phone lit up. It was a text from Amber Reed. Using technical means, I synced the content to my screen. “Liam, I went back to our old place today to pack some things and accidentally found something of Chloe’s. I think… it might be her diary.” Liam Miller abruptly stood up from the ground, his expression agitated. A diary? What could Chloe Davis’s diary possibly contain? He almost immediately wanted to rush out of the cemetery, to find Amber, to snatch that diary. But the moment he took a step, the surveillance bracelet on his wrist blared a piercing alarm. “Warning! Warning! User is leaving the designated area, timer will be interrupted!” Mr. Sterling’s team appeared like ghosts, blocking his path with impassive faces. “Mr. Miller, please calm down. If you leave, the agreement is automatically voided.” Liam Miller’s feet were nailed to the spot. He looked back at my tombstone, then at his phone, his face etched with an unprecedented struggle and anxiety. I watched with cold eyes. Liam Miller, which would win out? Your greed or your curiosity? Just then, my assistant, Chris, knocked and entered, holding a delicate velvet box. “Ms. Davis, as you instructed, the item is ready.” I nodded, picked up the box, and offered a knowing smile to the camera. “Go, give this ‘surprise’ to my dear husband.” “Tell him, perhaps this can help him… find that lost ‘sincerity.’” 0
The small velvet box was delivered directly to Liam Miller. He took it suspiciously and opened it. Inside wasn’t some priceless treasure, but a very old, blue MP3 player, its casing chipped. It was the first birthday gift I ever gave him, bought with three months of my allowance. Liam Miller’s expression flickered for a moment. He probably remembered something, but that hint of nostalgia was quickly replaced by impatience. “What is this? What trick is Chloe Davis playing now?” He roughly pulled out the MP3, seeing an equally old pair of earbuds still attached. Annoyed, he put on the earbuds and pressed play. A somewhat noisy recording began to play. “Liam Miller, you broke loser, you think you can chase our college beauty queen? Take a look in the mirror!” “Yeah, look at his cheap clothes, it’s disgusting!” “Chloe, ignore him, let’s go!” It was the voice of my college roommate. Then, young Liam Miller’s clear, stubborn voice came on. “I don’t have money, but my heart for Chloe is real. Someday, I’ll give her a good life.” And then, my crisp voice, with a girl’s playful innocence, “You’re not allowed to bully him! I like him, whether he has money or not!” In the recording, young Liam Miller laughed, a pure, unblemished sound. On the surveillance screen, Liam Miller’s body stiffened. His hand unconsciously stroked the MP3 player, the aggression on his face fading, replaced by a complex tenderness he himself hadn’t realized. I watched him, my heart perfectly still. Liam Miller, you’re not missing me; you’re missing the you who had nothing back then, but felt like he had the whole world. And I was your whole world. Too bad your world grew too big later. Big enough to contain fame, desire, and another woman. The recording continued. Sweet memories flashed by, then the tone abruptly shifted. A shrill, affected female voice chimed in—it was Amber Reed. “Oh, Ms. Jenkins, don’t say that. Chloe didn’t mean it; she’s just… she just loves Liam so much that she sees everyone as a rival.” This was what Amber said at our company’s annual party, after “accidentally” spilling a glass of red wine on my white gown. At the time, as the CEO’s wife, wearing a custom-made dress, I was utterly humiliated by an intern. All eyes were on me. Before I could even speak, Liam Miller frowned and took my hand. He didn’t scold Amber; instead, he whispered to me, “Chloe, just let it go. She didn’t do it on purpose; don’t scare her. Go change your clothes quickly; don’t embarrass yourself here.” “Embarrass myself?” I looked at him, unable to believe those words came from his mouth. He called me an embarrassment to protect another woman. In the recording, my voice at the time was as cold as ice. “Liam Miller, say that again?” “Are you done making a scene?” His voice was full of annoyance. “It’s such a small thing; why do you have to make it so ugly? Amber has already apologized; what more do you want? Go home; stop causing trouble for me here!” The recording stopped there. I saw Liam Miller on the screen, his face pale. He looked as if he’d been slapped hard, not by me, but by himself. He finally remembered. Remembered how he had, step by step, trampled my love and respect underfoot. He took off the earbuds, staring blankly at my tombstone. His lips moved, but no words came out. The live-stream comments, for the first time, briefly went silent. Then, a wave of furious comments erupted. “Holy crap! These two scumbags! Is that recording real?” “Spilling wine then playing innocent, saying the other person ‘scared her’? The ‘sweet’ act is practically oozing out of the screen!” “Liam Miller is a渣男 (scumbag)! Saying that about his wife for a mistress? How humiliating that must have been for his wife!” “Sincerity score -10%! Even the system can’t stand it!” I smiled, looking at the negative number. This system certainly didn’t disappoint me. Liam Miller saw it too. The color completely drained from his face. He was starting to get scared. Not scared of losing the money, but scared of remembering what he had truly done to me. Just then, his phone rang again. Still Amber Reed. This time, she didn’t text; she made a video call directly. Liam Miller instinctively wanted to hang up, but his finger paused. He answered. Amber Reed’s tear-streaked face appeared on the screen. “Liam, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to call you. I… I just miss you so much. You must be having such a hard time out there alone, right?” “Don’t listen to what people online are saying, and don’t let… don’t let the things Chloe left behind affect you. She must hate you, that’s why she’s trying every way to make you suffer…” As she spoke, she looked at him with those “innocent” big eyes, full of “pity” and “understanding.” Liam Miller looked at her but said nothing. His gaze was very complex. Amber Reed, getting no response, bit her lip. Suddenly, she seemed to make a decision. She turned the camera to a table. On the table lay a shattered picture frame. Inside the frame was the only photo Liam Miller and I had together. 0
“Liam, please don’t be mad at me.” Amber Reed’s voice, laced with tears, came through the phone, sounding especially pitiful. “When I saw that picture, it reminded me of how Chloe used to treat me… I couldn’t control myself for a moment… I know I shouldn’t have, it’s your memory, but I was just so upset…” Her words precisely pierced Liam Miller’s most vulnerable nerve at that moment. That photo was taken on the day our company went public. I wore a simple white blouse, and he wore a suit. Behind us was the enormous red logo of the stock exchange. We smiled so brightly in the picture, our eyes full of hope for the future. And now, it was shattered. Shattered by the woman he had placed on a pedestal. I watched Liam Miller’s face on the surveillance screen; his muscles twitched, his jawline clenched tight. I thought he would explode, would yell at Amber. But he didn’t. He merely stared silently at the wreckage on the screen, his eyes slowly dimming, eventually settling into a dead calm. “I understand.” After a long moment, he uttered these few words, then immediately hung up the video call. No comfort, no accusation. It was a kind of calm more terrifying than anger. He slowly squatted down, placing the cheap MP3 back into the velvet box. Then, he looked up, turning his gaze back to my tombstone. This time, his eyes held no hatred, no resentment, only an endless void and regret. He finally seemed to understand that she hadn’t just shattered a picture frame. She had shattered everything he and I had ever shared. “Chloe… I’m sorry.” A single tear, without warning, rolled from his bloodshot eyes, hitting the dusty ground and leaving a dark mark. Then came a second, a third… He no longer suppressed it, no longer pretended. He broke down, weeping uncontrollably before my cold tombstone. His cries were heartbreaking, filled with endless remorse and pain. 【Live Stream】 “Holy crap! He’s crying! He’s actually crying!” “His cries, they break my heart… doesn’t sound like an act.” “Sincerity score! Look at the sincerity score!” I shifted my gaze to a corner of the live stream. The sincerity score, which had consistently displayed negative numbers or zero, was now skyrocketing like crazy. 10%… 30%… 50%… Finally, it stopped at 61%. Passed. Liam Miller, congratulations, you’ve finally shed your first sincere tear. But this is far from enough. What I want isn’t just your tears. I want you to spend the next ninety-plus days reliving, over and over, how you personally buried the love you once prided yourself on. As I coldly observed his breakdown, the doorbell of the villa suddenly rang. My personal assistant, Ms. Lee, came in and said, “Ms. Davis, a Mr. Price, who claims to be an old acquaintance of yours, wishes to see you.” Mr. Price? I paused, then realized. Daniel Price. The son of my father’s old friend, and my nominal “fiancé.” He was one of the few who knew about this fake death scheme. “Let him in.” Soon, a tall, well-built man in a black trench coat entered. He was handsome and had a composed demeanor. Seeing me safe and sound on the couch, his tense expression finally relaxed. “You really scared me to death,” he said, walking over to me with a helpless sigh. “Have you had enough? Come home with me.” “Not yet.” I shook my head, pointing at Liam Miller, who was crying his heart out on the screen. “The show has just begun.” Following my finger, his eyes instantly turned cold. “You put yourself through all this for *that*?” “No,” I corrected him. “It’s for myself. I need to reclaim what’s mine, like my dignity.” Daniel Price was silent for a moment, then stopped trying to persuade me. He simply took off his trench coat, draped it over me, and said softly, “Don’t watch anymore, it’s bad for your eyes. I’ll take you somewhere.” He took my hand and led me out of that suffocating surveillance room. Meanwhile, at the cemetery. Liam Miller’s cries gradually subsided. He seemed to have been drained of all his strength, slumping to the ground. Just then, a black Rolls-Royce slowly pulled up at the cemetery entrance. The car door opened, and a man in a perfectly tailored black suit stepped out, holding a black umbrella. He walked with steady steps, heading straight for my tombstone. His appearance immediately drew everyone’s attention in the live stream. “Who’s that guy? What an aura!” “Look at that car, those clothes, he must be rich and powerful!” “Is he here to mourn too? But… why does he look at Liam Miller like he’s a piece of trash?” The man ignored Liam Miller, who was still kneeling on the ground, and simply placed a bouquet of white calla lilies gently before my tombstone. His long fingers brushed over my name on the cold stone, a tender gesture. “Chloe.” He spoke, his voice deep and magnetic, filled with intense sorrow. “I’m too late.” 0 This man was Blake Vance. My college senior, and my former admirer. A genius who, after I chose Liam Miller, moved far away, founded his own tech company, and is now a rising star in the industry.
🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “299151”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster #浪漫Romance #现实主义Realistic #重生Reborn #励志Inspiring #玄幻Fantasy
Leave a Reply