I hurried forward, tugging at Brent's sleeve as I urged him on.
"Brent, Mom's right. This is all our property now—of course we should keep it ourselves. It'll be much more convenient when we need it."
I gave his arm another nudge. "Go on, check if the cash and gold are all there. If everything's in order, we should take it home. It's not safe leaving it at the hospital."
Brent glanced at the withdrawal slip, then flipped through the stack of cash with undisguised relish. As for the gold jewelry they'd given as betrothal gifts, he barely looked before nodding.
"Yes, it's all here. Perfect! Thank you so much for going to all this trouble."
With a lovesick only daughter like me—their family's sole heir—ready to be devoured, why would they bother fighting over a measly $620,000 settlement?
I suggested that our whole family escort his mother home to deliver the dowry and betrothal gifts together, recording the entire process as before.
Marilyn nodded eagerly, her face splitting into a grin so wide it looked painful.
Only when I watched her lock the million dollars in cash and 520 grams of gold into the safe with my own eyes did I finally let out a quiet breath of relief.
That ticking time bomb was finally out of my hands.
The Caregiver bait was set. I just had one more thing to do.
Over the next three days, I devoted myself to caring for Brent at the hospital—the very picture of a woman so deeply in love she'd sacrifice anything for him.
On the evening of the third day, I told him with a face full of reluctance that I had to go on a business trip. There was an important project I needed to negotiate, one that would determine my father's company profits for the coming year.
If things went smoothly, I'd be back early to celebrate the New Year with him.
If not, I might not return until after the holiday.
I paused, letting my eyes redden on cue.
"Don't worry. When I get back, even if you're still in a wheelchair, I'm going to marry you."
Watching me—this lovesick fool who was utterly devoted to him—a flicker of barely concealed glee passed through Brent's eyes.
Having lived this life once before, I knew exactly what he was. He only pretended to love me.
Deep down, he was rotten to the core.
Even with a broken leg, stuck in a hospital bed, he couldn't keep still. Every day he was secretly scrolling through his phone, hunting for his next prey.
So before I took my parents to a warm coastal city for our Spring Festival vacation, I spent a small fortune finding him a very special caregiver.
I guaranteed she would take excellent care of him. Thorough and attentive.
Last time around, my family was destroyed during the New Year.
This time, I would never let that tragedy repeat itself.
On New Year's Eve, my parents and I sat in a seaside restaurant, sharing a steaming hot local feast.
I was overwhelmed with gratitude—grateful that they trusted me unconditionally, that they'd gone along with my plan to punish this scumbag.
The new year passed in the blink of an eye, and as promised, I returned to complete the wedding with Brent.
On the day of the ceremony, my parents had booked the most luxurious hotel in the city. Red lanterns and silk banners hung everywhere, the atmosphere festive and grand.
Brent sat in his wheelchair, dressed in a sharp suit, beaming with satisfaction.
Behind him, a million dollars in cash was stacked into a small mountain. The 520 grams of gold had been artfully arranged into a heart shape, impossible to miss.
The Fleming relatives crowded around, green with envy, falling over themselves to congratulate Brent on his good fortune.
Brent basked in their flattery, the smug smile on his face growing wider by the minute.
As if he could already see himself holding my family's wealth, living like a king.
The ceremony proceeded smoothly. Just as we were about to exchange rings, the banquet hall doors burst open.
A woman stormed in—hair wild, face twisted with rage.
She charged straight at Brent and slapped him hard across the face.
She hurled a medical report at him, her whole body shaking as she jabbed a finger in his direction and screamed:
"Brent Fleming! You animal! You lying piece of trash! You knew you had an STD—why did you have to drag me down with you?!"
The moment those words left her mouth, the entire hall plunged into deathly silence.
Only I stood there, a cryptic smile slowly curving my lips.
This woman was none other than the special nurse I'd arranged for Brent.
Every guest was stunned.
The Fleming relatives especially—their faces a mixture of disbelief and barely concealed schadenfreude as whispers rippled through the crowd.
Brent trembled with rage, his face ashen. He glared at the woman with murderous eyes and snarled:
"What the hell are you talking about? Who has a disease? You're insane! Get out! Don't you dare ruin this for me!"
I feigned panic as I snatched the medical report from the floor. One glance, and my face drained of color.
My voice shook with fear and devastation as I cried out:
"I—I'm calling off the wedding! Brent, I want out!"
