It was at that moment that Izabe realized the harrowing truth: Brett was truly dying of cancer.


    Heid in the hospital bed, coughing violently, each hack spraying a crimson mist onto the once white sheets. He seemed like a fish dragged ashore, iling helplessly in the face of death, and gulping thest vestiges of oxygen in a futile bid for life.


    Izabe stood propped against the wall, feeling numb to the passage of time until the doctor emerged. Her legs had grown pins and needles from the wait.


    One of the doctors kindly suggested, "You can go in now, but please, he needs rest. Try not to disturb him too much."


    She entered, taking her silent vigil at the bedside of Brett.


    What was there to see in winter?


    -"Izabe, when you get better, I''ll take you to see the snow."


    There''s no snow in R City.


    -"Then we shall wait. We''ll head north to see the flowers, south to savor street food, east to explore the old town, and west to watch the sea, where the seagulls soar freely."


    Brett''s pallor was rming; his face was as white as a sheet-no hyperbole could capture the bloodlessness of it. The room''s bright lights cast an almost translucent vulnerability on his features, as if he were fading away. His lips, the color of pale lotus, were barely distinguishable. IV lines snaked into his arm, and without touching, Izabe knew his hands were ice cold.


    Brett, semi-conscious, murmured, "I still want to eat something you''ve cooked today."


    "You still want to eat it? Aren''t you afraid of dying?"


    "Of course, I am." His voice was a soft chuckle; he kept his eyes closed, perhaps to avoid seeing the icy detachment in Izabe''s gaze.


    His eyshes quivered, and his eyes were brimming with unshed tears, "But since I''m dying anyway, I might as well eat my fill; remember the taste of life onest time." Izabe''s gaze drifted to the window.


    Then, Brett asked suddenly, "What''s it like to die? Does it hurt?" He wanted to ask how much pain Izabe had felt, but upon reflection, he realized the futility of the question-aside from self-humiliation, he couldn''t experience her pain anyway.


    And deep down, he was terrified of the answer.


    Izabe, however, didn''t overthink his question. "It''s painful at first, but your sensation would fade quickly. Hearing is thest sense to go. Death is like a wisp of smoke, scattered by the wind-no regrets, no resentment, no sorrow. It''s as gentle as a breeze."


    Brett pressed his lips together, without uttering a word.


    Izabe looked down again, noticing that his left hand fingers were bare without nails-he pulled them out after her death. She also saw the burn scars on his chest.


    She changed the subject, saying, "I know after I died, you tried to experience the pain I had endured. But it''s meaningless. For you, it might feel like atonement, but atonement only counts if it''s sincerely epted."


    Brett didn''t want to hear any of it.


    "I had a dream after you died," he confessed. "I saw you vanish in a great fire, after you told me that as long as you were still here, you wouldn''te back."


    "Those were my thoughts, but then I realized, missing out on someone like Casey because of you would be a true regret. That would be uneptable." Brett opened his eyes, stiffening.


    "I''m thirsty."


    Taking pity on his condition, Izabe got him a ss of water.


    At noon, Izabe prepared a simple broth, which was enough for two. The taste was nd, perfect for someone with a thickened tongue from too much medication.


    Outside, workers were busy decorating; a sea of roses wereid out and even a red carpet was rolled out. Izabe wondered if Brett had anticipated his own death, so as to prepare the way for his final journey But shouldn''t a funeral be white? Why the red carpet? Why red roses?


    Suddenly, Izabe recalled a viral video-African pallbearers dancing with a coffin.


    "Have you thought about how you want your funeral arranged?" she asked.


    Brett replied with weariness, "Once I''m dead, I won''t care about what happens."


    "What about Liam? I haven''t seen him around you." Izabe remembered that Liam was always by Brett''s side; he was the one who''d spent the most time with him.


    Yet, during her visits, she hadn''t seen him once. Could something have happened?


    "I let him go," Brett answered.


    Izabe couldn''t help but let out augh, which was tinged with sarcasm. "You can fire Liam, but aren''t you afraid that there would be no one left to tend your grave and trim the weeds?"


    Her interactions with Liam had been brief, but she remembered his loyalty to Brett, as well as his willingness to support him without question.


    But she didn''t dwell on that or on Brett''s maniptions. She''d grown used to them.


    Looking at the workers busy in the ongoing preparations outside, Izabe asked, "What have you been up to these past few days; how did you hire all these workers? And what''s with the red carpet?" Brett simply said, "Izabe, all you need to know is that I wouldn''t harm you."


    Izabe couldn''t help but scoff. "As if you''re not harming me right now."


    The room fell silent.


    As the afternoon approached five o''clock, a van arrived, which delivered a wedding gown. It was time for Izabe to change.


    The dress was one Brett had designed. Seeing it, how could she be unclear about his intentions? Anger prickled at her scalp.


    She finally understood the setup outside: Brett had turned the ce into a wedding venue.


    "Brett, do you find this amusing?" Izabe stormed in to find him propped up in bed; his gaze was t and lifeless, like stagnant water. Their exchange ended in silence, and both of them were steeped in the gravity of their own thoughts.


    I can do cooking, but there''s no way I''m slipping into that wedding gown. you''ve got for me or wearing any ring! Casey and I are legally hitched we''ve signed the papers, we''ve got the wedding bands, and the only thing missing is the big reception. Now you''re butting in when there isn''t even a hint of divorce between us. Do you really get a kick out of ying the other woman?"


    Brett had always skirted the edge of thew, so lecturing him about the illegality of bigamy was likely a waste of breath.


    Izabe''s voice cracked with strain as she hurled her frustration at Brett, but he barely fluttered his eyshes, as if her tirade was white noise.


    Yet when he saw a tear escape from the corner of Izabe''s eye, his heart clenched.


    He''d sworn to himself that he wouldn''t let Izabe shed tears in front of him again, but here he was, turning to be the cause of her sorrow.


    "Brett, can you not be so damn persistent? Can you just let me go?"


    She was exhausted. Izabe hadn''t expected things to go this way-she figured she was just sticking by Brett to the bitter end. But she never imagined he''d be so ruthless as to n a wedding while the doctors said he was on borrowed time.


    He wanted to take her down with him.


    What was this, some twisted version of a till-death-do-us-part pact?


    In her past life, she missed out on the one who truly loved her, so she ruined her life and met a tragic end. In this life, fortune had finally smiled on her, giving her a clean te to stand by Casey''s side, and she didn''t want Brett to entangle her life again.


    After a nce at Izabe''s red-rimmed eyes, Brett turned his gaze to the window. "Izabe, this is thest thing I ask. Indulge me, and I promise I''ll let you go. Keep the ring if you want, but don''t wear it. Just try on the dress for me, just let me have and it


    one look. It''s just cloth have


    won''t kill you."


    "I don''t trust you."


    Those five words packed a punch, a lesson hard-learned by Izabe and a seed of doubt Brett couldn''t eradicate even if he had a lifetime to try.


    "Remarrying is illegal. I can''t force you to wed, and you know the state I''m in. I''ve truly let go."Copyright N?v/el/Dra/ma.Org.


    Brett mouthed the words "let go," but his eyes sang a different tune.


    Izabe didn''t know whether she could believe him. Brett was never one to keep his word.


    Brett coughed a few times. "Theputer in the study has Windham Group''s secrets. The password is 0521. There are also some documents in the safe. Take them, and I''ll have no power over you whatsoever." He was handing over the Windham Group''s vulnerabilities, so as to make Izabe trust him.


    Izabe calmed herself and entered


    the study. Sure enough, she found plenty of confidential files on theputer, which were carelessly left out in the open, ripe for the taking by anyone with a grudge. If those


    documents fell into apetir el. Mo


    hands, the damage to the Windham Group would be astronomical. With the current state of the Dempsey family and Izabe''s Maple Group, they could topple this empire if they joined forces.


    Staring at the files, Izabe was stunned that Brett would entrust her with such secrets.


    With this information, she had enough leverage. As for the safe''s contents, she didn''t bother to check.


    She could have simply copied everything and walked away, but she wasn''t sure if Brett had any tricks up his sleeve, like nting a mole near Casey and his family.


    Besides worrying about Casey, Izabe had concerns for Bunny and Wendy the most, two women as harmless as could be. If someone was cold enough to go after them, anything was possible. Izabe stepped out and asked, "So if I wear that dress, you''ll really let me go?"


    "Yes."


    "I need a specific time."


    "Before tomorrow."


    Brett''s eyes didn''t look like those of a liar. Izabe walked out, gently closing the door behind her, and Brett knew she had agreed.


    The makeup artist approached Izabe. "Ms. Salotti, President Windham asked us to do your makeup and take a few shots. What do you think?"


    "Whatever," Izabe replied carelessly, because her mind was elsewhere, already plotting her next move.