Who Needs Love After Death?

My fiancé suddenly announces he's marrying my sister instead.

And just as my world collapses, the cold, noble Twinkle Oriven kneels before me with a diamond ring in hand. He confesses he's loved me for years.

We get married. For three years, he's gentle, considerate, and flawless in every way. Then, one day, I accidentally overhear a conversation between him and a friend.

"Twinkle, Amelie has everything she has ever wanted. Isn't it time to end this fake marriage?"

"Since I can't marry Amelie, it doesn't matter who I marry. All that matters is that it keeps her life undisturbed."

In the chapel where he prays every day, the wallpaper is covered with one name—Amelie Ashcombe.

I hear him pray to the heavens.

"May all the good in the world belong to Amelie. I'd trade my own happiness for her peace and joy. I don't ask to have her in the next life… I just want her to remember me."

So this is the truth behind three years of a seemingly perfect marriage.

I erase my identity and stage a fake death.

From now on, Twinkle and I are nothing.

Emilia's POV

After making all the arrangements for faking my death, I end the call.

In two days, I would no longer exist in this world.

At that moment, the church doors opened. Twinkle slowly walked over to me and gently kissed my forehead.

"Who were you on the phone with?"

"A teacher from the piano institute. Nothing important."

I tried my best to keep my expression from being too stiff, but I no longer knew how to face him.

He pinched my cheek. "You've lost weight lately. Don't stress too much about the institute stuff. Take care of your health."

There was nothing unusual in Twinkle's tone, and the look in his eyes was just as gentle.

He had been like this for the past three years—the same expression, same tone, just showering me with love.

Everyone envied me because he was cold to everyone else but incredibly gentle with me.

I always thought I was blessed by the heavens to have such a good husband.

But now, I finally understood—he used our marriage as a bargaining chip for Amelie Ashcombe's happiness.

Twinkle helped me sit down on the couch and uttered, "Tomorrow is Amelie's birthday. She won an award in a piano competition, so she wants to celebrate. You can stay at home. I'll just drop her a gift and come right back."

"But tomorrow's also my—"

"Be good. We're planning to have a baby, so you need to rest well," Twinkle cut me off.

I pressed my lips together and said nothing, but the sourness rose from my nose to the corners of my eyes.

We'd been married for three years, and he never remembered my birthday.

Realization dawned on me—he didn't forget. It was just that Amelie shared the same birthday as me.

To him, only Amelie's birthday mattered.

He didn't want me to go. Was