But now, it’s clear—he always saw me as a clown performing for him.
Ethan was engrossed in the autopsy room.
To reconstruct how I had been tortured, he had gone two days without sleep.
Only when a headache struck did he stop. At that moment, his phone rang.
It was a call from HR at my workplace.
“Hello, are you Dr. Ethan, Emma’s husband? Emma hasn’t shown up to work for three days. If this continues, we will have to terminate her employment.”
Ethan sneered. “I’m not surprised. She always runs away from her responsibilities. She’s also violent—better fire her before she endangers someone.”
“Could you help us contact her? Her phone isn’t reachable…”
“Sorry, I don’t have time. If she doesn’t show up, just fire her,” he said, adding, “and make sure she’s never rehired to avoid any risk to your staff.”
The call ended.
Just then, Captain Ryan walked over. “Dr. Ethan, maybe you should go home and rest. Take the chance to call your wife. You’re a married couple; mutual understanding is key to longevity.”
Ethan was about to refuse, but the pain in his head made him agree reluctantly.
On the way home, he opened his call log.
At the top was Charlotte’s number, saved as “Darling Charlotte.”
Seeing this, I couldn’t help but scoff at myself. Even amidst this brutal murder case, his thoughts were solely on her.
As for my last call to him—it was three days ago.
That day, Ethan brought Charlotte to our home. He had even called me beforehand to ask when I’d be back.
I had bought a gift to surprise him and told him I’d be working late.
But when I opened the door, I found them kissing passionately in the living room.
Their clothes were half-off, their desires laid bare.
Furious, I rushed to push Charlotte away, but before I could touch her, she stumbled and fell.
Ignoring my questions, Ethan immediately called an ambulance and took her to the hospital, where she was diagnosed with a heart condition.
That night, he stormed home, blaming me for her episode. He claimed that my “shock” had triggered her heart attack, nearly killing her.
But he was blind and foolish. I hadn’t even touched her. It was their own entanglement that caused her heart to race.
Angry, I left home that night—and never returned.
As Ethan’s finger hovered over my name in his call log, I held my breath.
Before I died, I had set my phone to send an automatic reply if he called, and I had thrown it into the woods with all my strength.
If the phone wasn’t destroyed, he would know I was dead.
But after a few seconds, he canceled the call and smirked. “Playing hard to get, huh? Let’s see how long you’ll hold out before begging for forgiveness.”
“Even if you kneel before Charlotte, I won’t forgive you.”
I let out a bitter laugh.
He didn’t know—I was already dead.
Even if I wanted to apologize, it was impossible now.
And yet, how dare he act like his infidelity was justified?
He used my heart to save his beloved Charlotte and still thought I’d endlessly grovel for his forgiveness?
Perhaps I had been too forgiving, too accommodating, leaving him with no regard for me at all.
