I can see the countdown to death above everyone’s head. And my wife, Vivian Ashford—her death was scheduled for today. For ten years, she maintained the illusion that she couldn’t have children. But today, she brought home a five-year-old boy, along with her lover. She laid her cards on the table, and the elders gathered around, urging me to be magnanimous. “Marcus, Vivian hasn’t had it easy. Women always love children—just think of him as another son. What’s the harm?” I watched the rapidly ticking countdown above her head: [00:01:30]. I said quietly, “I won’t acknowledge this child of unknown origin.” Vivian looked at me like I was a fool she’d completely manipulated. She proudly wrapped her arm around her true love’s waist and announced, “Whether you acknowledge him or not, I can’t abandon them—father and son. From now on, I’ll spend days with you and nights with him…” Countdown: [00:00:10]. I spoke calmly: “If that’s how it is, then let’s get divorced.” Her eyes widened in fury. Just as she was about to explode, she suddenly clutched her chest and collapsed straight down. The countdown reached zero.
The instant Vivian collapsed, the entire Ashford family living room fell deathly silent. Blake Harrison, whose face had been smug just a second before, now looked completely drained of color. His anguished scream tore through the air. “Vivian! Vivian, what’s wrong! Wake up!” The five-year-old boy stood frozen in place, his face blank with confusion, then he too burst into tears. I stood where I was, watching the numbers above Vivian’s head extinguish completely. Nothing remained there now but emptiness. She was dead. “Quick! Call an ambulance!” “It’s you! Marcus Bennett! You’re the one who upset her to death!” Blake suddenly looked up, glaring at me with hatred. I pulled out my phone and steadily dialed emergency services. Then I dialed the police. “Hello, police? My wife just died suddenly. I suspect it has something to do with the man beside her.” My voice wasn’t loud, but it carried clearly to every corner of the living room. Blake looked at me in disbelief, as if I were insane. “You… what are you saying! How could I hurt Vivian!” I lowered my eyes and stopped looking at her. The ambulance and police cars arrived almost simultaneously. After examining her on the scene, the paramedics shook their heads regretfully. “Time of death approximately ten minutes ago. Preliminary judgment is sudden cardiac arrest.” The police began their routine procedures, securing the scene and asking questions. Vivian’s parents arrived after hearing the news. The moment her mother, Eleanor, entered and saw Vivian on the floor, her eyes rolled back and she fainted, barely caught by her father, Richard’s, frantic hands. When Eleanor came to, the first thing she did was rush at me, hand raised to strike. “You useless piece of trash! Did you poison her food! My daughter was perfectly fine—how could she just die!” Her hand was stopped by an officer. I looked at her face, twisted with rage. The countdown above her head showed [3 years, 2 months, 11 days]. Not long. But long enough for her to suffer. My unusual composure made me the biggest suspect in their eyes. “Mr. Bennett, we need you to come to the station with us to cooperate with the investigation.” I nodded, picked up my phone, and followed the officers out. As I passed Blake, he looked at me with eyes full of both venom and triumph. He thought I was finished. I looked at the bright [52 years, 6 months, 3 days] above his head and the corner of my mouth curved into an almost imperceptible smile.
The interrogation room’s lights were blindingly white. The officer across from me asked routine questions. I answered calmly. “How was your relationship with your wife?” “Ten years of marriage. What do you think?” “What was your reaction when she brought her lover and illegitimate child home?” “I refused to let her bring the child into our home.” The officer tapped the table and leaned forward, his gaze sharp. “Then why did you ask for a divorce?” “Because she wanted me to live under the same roof with them—father and son. I found it disgusting.” My tone was matter-of-fact. The officer fell silent, seeming to judge the truth of my words. I added, “Vivian had hereditary heart disease.” “She relied on medication to maintain her condition. But I’m guessing today she got too agitated and forgot to take her pills.” The officer immediately called to verify. I sat calmly in my chair, waiting for the results. My countdown ability had existed since I could remember. It was never wrong. Vivian’s death was fate. It had nothing to do with me. But they didn’t believe that. Two hours later, the preliminary autopsy report came out. Cause of death: acute massive myocardial infarction. No toxic substances were found in the deceased’s blood or stomach contents. Combined with my testimony and the medical records and medications found in her study safe, everything made perfect sense. My suspicion was cleared. When I walked out of the police station, dawn was breaking. The Ashford family car was parked outside. Eleanor and Blake were both there. When they saw me emerge, Eleanor immediately rushed over. “You bastard! My daughter’s health was always fine! How could she have heart disease! It was you! You worthless piece of trash—you killed her!” She acted like a madwoman, barely restrained by Richard. Blake held the child. “It’s all my fault. If we hadn’t come back and upset Marcus, Vivian wouldn’t have…” His words outwardly sounded conciliatory, but subtly placed all the blame on me. I watched their family’s theatrical performance with cold eyes, feeling nothing. I walked forward and looked at Blake. “Now that Vivian is dead, what do you plan to do with your child?” Blake’s crying stopped short. He instinctively protected the five-year-old. “This is Vivian’s child. Of course I’ll raise him!” “Oh.” I nodded. “Then good luck with that.” I walked past them, flagged down a taxi, and left directly. Behind me came Eleanor’s even shriller curses. I returned to what could no longer be called a home. Vivian’s body had been removed, but the air still held the cold scent of death. I began packing. I didn’t want to stay in this place for even one more second.
Vivian’s funeral was held on a grand scale. Business elites, friends, and family all came. As her husband, I stood there in a black suit, face calm, accepting various looks of sympathy or scrutiny. Blake came too, holding the hand of the boy named Finn, both dressed in white. Eleanor was supported throughout, casting hateful glances my way. In front of all the guests, she pointed at my nose and cursed. “You useless trash! You killed my daughter, and now you want to divide up the Ashford family fortune? I’m telling you—as long as I’m alive, you won’t get a single penny!” She lunged at me trying to tear at my clothes, but was pulled back by nearby relatives. I stood in place, motionless. I didn’t even raise an eyebrow. “Please calm down.” My words only made her angrier. “How can you be so heartless!” Blake “fainted” at just the right moment, causing chaos. “Blake! Blake, what’s wrong!” “Quick! Get him to a hospital! He’s practically half a son of the Ashford family now!” A solemn funeral completely devolved into a farce about inheritance. I watched coldly, finding it utterly ridiculous. After the funeral came the reading of the will. The Ashford family’s private attorney, Mr. Peterson, opened the document folder. Everyone held their breath, especially Blake and Vivian’s parents. They were certain Vivian would have left her fortune to her “son.” Mr. Peterson cleared his throat and began reading. “I, Vivian Ashford, hereby establish this will… All property in my name, including but not limited to fifty-one percent shares in Ashford Corporation, three properties, and all bank deposits and securities…” He paused and looked at me. “Shall be inherited entirely by my legal husband, Mr. Marcus Bennett.” The air fell deathly silent. Every eye focused on me with shock, confusion, and fury. Blake’s face instantly lost all color. He swayed unsteadily. Eleanor was the first to react, screaming out loud. “Impossible! This will is fake! How could my daughter leave everything to you, you bastard! This will must be fake!
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