“I’m fine, but… Rachel’s hand…”
Only then did Jason glance at me, his brows furrowed, his tone filled with blame.
“Rachel, can’t you be more careful? Emily is our guest!”
In that moment, my heart sank into the abyss.
I looked at him, at the way he fussed over Emily, at the complete absence of concern in his eyes for me.
The number “3” on my wrist flickered wildly.
Then, it dropped to “2.”
The world spun around me.
I began preparing for my own death.
I contacted a lawyer and drafted a will.
All the assets under my name—my dowry from my parents—I left entirely to them.
As for Jason, I left him nothing.
A man who was about to kill me didn’t deserve a single thing from me.
After finishing these arrangements, I felt as though every ounce of strength had been drained from me.
The number “2” on my wrist loomed like a death warrant, reminding me constantly of my dwindling time.
Emily wasted no chance to torment me.
Every day, she sent me photos of herself with Jason.
Sometimes they were dining in an upscale restaurant, with Jason tenderly cutting her steak.
Sometimes they were at an amusement park, leaning their heads together like starry-eyed lovers.
The latest one was taken at the Miller family estate.