The Day I Died, My Boyfriend Was With Another Woman

On the day I died, my boyfriend was with another woman.

He was a man I had rescued from the clutches of rich women.

My condition was for him to be my boyfriend for three years, and he agreed.

I showered him with money, resources, and connections, single-handedly making him famous.

Yet, while he told me we could not date publicly, he casually engaged in fake romance rumors with others for publicity.

One of his rumored girlfriends even came to me with a voice message.

"If it weren’t for using her as a stepping stone, who would bother with someone so dull and boring?"

But after I died, why did he go mad?

I left the hospital, holding the lab report the doctor had given me.

He told me I did not have much time left.

It was a hereditary illness, one without a cure.

As I pulled out my phone, the latest news popped up on my screen. "Top star spotted holding hands with a rising actress late at night."

I scrolled through the comments below, half-interested. Some fans supported it, but most were strongly opposed.

When my driver arrived to pick me up, I put away the report. Once I finished handling things here, I planned to go abroad for treatment.

I sent a message to Felix Johnson, asking where he was and if he had time to come home.

I waited about half an hour with no response.

I called him several times, but unsurprisingly, each one went straight to voicemail.

Sighing, I set my phone down and rubbed my head.

The driver tried to reassure me, saying that Mr. Johnson was probably busy and would return my call when he had a moment.

I couldn’t help but scoff. "What a busy guy, huh? Even busier than me, the CEO. He can’t even pick up his phone all day."

I told the driver, "Stop calling him Mr. Johnson. Just call him Felix from now on. It’s time he fixed his attitude."

When I finally got home, the "busy guy" returned my call. I asked where he was, and he said he was at a celebration banquet.

The background noise was deafening. Before I could finish talking, he hung up on me.

I waited for him, sitting on the couch downstairs until the next morning, when he finally came home.

The moment he walked in, he tried to hug me, but I pushed him away.

"Go take a shower. You reek of alcohol and perfume. It’s disgusting."

He sniffed himself, then went off to shower. When he came back out, he was wrapped in a towel, his hair still dripping wet.

He threw a towel at me and asked, "Can you dry my hair?"

I knew he was trying to play the soft card. Every time a scandal came up, he would come back and sweet-talk me, waiting for the buzz around his show to grow before clearing things up.

I always fell for these little tricks, so