I was a well-known bartender in the entertainment circle,
while my husband’s mistress was severely allergic to alcohol.
In order to push me away from him,
she secretly replaced the non-alcoholic mojito I made with 60-proof whiskey,
and swore that I had done it on purpose to harm her.
Daniel Harris didn’t even give me the chance to explain—he forced me on the spot to drink a large amount of whiskey.
I drank until my asthma attacked, but he only sneered and threw me a pack of throat lozenges.
“Stop pretending. If you don’t finish this whiskey to apologize to her, don’t even think about coming back.”
I suffocated and died.
Six years after my death, Sophia Lee was diagnosed with liver cancer, and only then did he remember me.
Daniel dug out my old number and called impatiently:
“Grace Miller, have you had enough fun? Get back here immediately and donate your liver.”
On the other end, my six-year-old daughter said timidly,
“Uncle… my mom has already turned into the stars in the sky.”
…
Sophia’s eyes were blindfolded with Daniel’s tie, and his lips, carrying the scent of liquor, trailed across her body.
Sophia squirmed restlessly, panting,
“Mr. Harris, please…”
Daniel pressed down on her, breathing heavily, and chuckled in a low voice,
“You’re so much more exciting than Grace.”
The air was thick with alcohol and the lingering scent of lust.
I watched Daniel and Sophia entangled on our marital bed. It turned out that going from heartbreak to numbness only took six years. I even had the mind to recognize that the drink spilled on Sophia’s body was the same non-alcoholic mojito I had once created.
Just then, the hospital called in urgency:
“Mr. Harris, Ms. Lee can’t wait any longer. She must undergo a liver transplant immediately.”
Daniel’s face turned grim. He hastily pulled up my old number again, speaking impatiently:
“Grace Miller, have you had enough fun? Get back here immediately and donate your liver.”
On the other end, my six-year-old daughter said timidly,
“Uncle… my mom has already turned into the stars in the sky.”
Daniel raised his brows, speaking coldly:
“So, Grace has grown bolder, even teaching a child to lie.”
“Tell her there are limits to her tricks. For Sophia’s sake, I’ll come myself tomorrow to bring her back. She better not push her luck.”
Without waiting for a reply, Daniel hung up the phone.
The next day, he drove to the orphanage. Seeing the director, he asked,
“Where is Grace?”
Ms. Anderson clenched her fists and replied coldly,
“How dare you even ask where she is?”
“She already…”
Daniel cut her off with a wave of his hand, his voice cold:
“What, you’re going to tell me again that she’s dead? Another one of those lies?”
Daniel didn’t know I really was dead.
Six years ago,
I was accused of causing Sophia’s allergic reaction. Daniel ordered his bodyguards to break my leg and force-fed me an enormous amount of whiskey, triggering a severe asthma attack.
The doctor had called Daniel, but Sophia hung up the phone.
I never even made it to surgery before I passed away.
Ms. Anderson came, and knowing my final wish, she signed the consent form for a C-section,
allowing Lily to be born safely.
Later, afraid Daniel would discover the truth, Sophia had my body stolen from the hospital.
She brought in several men with sick fetishes for corpses. I tried desperately to block them, but I could only pass through their bodies, watching helplessly as they defiled mine one last time.
After they were done, Sophia poured acid over my face.
