Part 2Husband Fakes Death for His Mistress

Ethan kept urging me to drink the glass of water he offered. I snapped out of my reverie but didn’t take a sip.

I remembered this. In my last life, I drank this water and passed out. I was almost certain it was drugged, a ploy to make sure I missed Mark’s cremation.

I set the glass down and, ignoring Ethan’s protests, walked to Mark’s bedside.

His complexion was rosy, not at all like a man who had just died. I had been too consumed by grief, too damn naive to notice it before.

I raised my hand and brought it down, hard, across Mark’s face. The slap echoed in the silent room. He didn’t even flinch. It seemed he was under anesthesia to prevent me from discovering the ruse. Perfect. That would make my plan even easier.

Ethan shrieked, thinking I’d figured it out. “Clara, you… even if you’re angry, you can’t… we can explain—”

The agony of my past life washed over me, and real tears streamed down my face. But my hands didn’t stop. I began to beat Mark’s chest, his arms, anywhere I could reach. Seeing Ethan on the verge of confessing everything, I let out a wrenching sob. “I told you to stop working so late! You didn’t listen! Now you’ve left me all alone, what am I supposed to do?”

Ethan relaxed, realizing I hadn’t discovered the truth. He thought this was just my way of grieving. But the ferocity of my blows still worried him. “Clara,” he stammered, “maybe a little gentler? Mark will… feel it.”

I stopped and gave him a look like he was the stupidest man on earth. “What’s that, Ethan? Do dead people feel pain?”

Ethan swallowed hard, instantly regretting his slip-up. He forced a weak, awkward smile. “No, I just meant…”

He trailed off, unable to finish. I didn’t have time to waste on him. I pulled out my phone and made a call.

“Yes, I’d like to arrange for an organ donation. The deceased passed away just a few moments ago. Please come quickly.”

Ethan tried to stop me, but his position held him back. Instead, he quickly typed a message on his phone.