Part 2Planning Dream Weddings to Fund My Funeral

Beatrice's POV

Selene's words hit Lucas right where it hurt. He immediately snapped out of his daze and looked at me with disgust.

He then turned and planted a kiss on Selene's forehead. His eyes were filled with tender affection as he said, "Thank goodness she was so heartless back then, or I never would've met you. Don't forget to make a list of the new handbags you like and send it to my secretary. I'll pay for them."

Hearing him accuse me to my face, the grievance I'd bottled up within me made me want to burst into tears. Yet, the very next second, I felt relieved. This was precisely what I'd wanted.

In my previous life, during our second year of marriage, I was diagnosed with late-stage stomach cancer. Without the slightest hesitation, Lucas sold our matrimonial home, borrowed money from everyone he could ask, and took me to all the best hospitals across the country.

Every day, he'd run around consulting specialists with my test results and CT scans. Every evening, he'd curl up on the hard plastic chairs in the hospital hallway for fitful naps.

He had been a promising architectural designer whose blueprints had earned praise from renowned figures in the industry. However, during those years, he worked relentlessly day and night until the hand he drew those masterworks with began to tremble from chronic sleep deprivation.

Still, his earnings were a drop in the ocean against the overwhelming cost of my cancer treatment.

Because he refused to switch me to the cheapest, low-quality generic medication, he took on whatever odd jobs he could find. He hauled cargo, worked as a designated driver, and delivered food late into the night just to scrape together enough for my next chemotherapy session.

By the time I breathed my last, he'd been reduced to skin and bones. At only 30 years old, he looked like a man in his 50s.

Now that I'd been given a second chance at life, I chose to play the villain. Even if he hated me, I was unwilling to let him sacrifice his entire life for someone destined to die all over again. After all, what I owed him was far more than just 45 grand.

…

When I snapped back to reality, Selene had already dragged Lucas away.

My phone buzzed inside my pocket. It was a text message from the hospital. "Ms. Cross, the targeted medication you reserved has arrived. Please pick it up as soon as possible."

I slid the phone back into my pocket and buried my face in my knees, quietly feeling the dull ache in my stomach. At the very least, before I left Earth, I got to see him one last time.

…

Early the next morning, I was stirred awake by the ringing of my phone.

When I picked it up, Selene's languid and arrogant voice came through. "Ms. Cross, I noticed how much you love money, so I specially asked Lucas to let you plan our wedding."

I stiffened for a moment before forcing a professional tone. "Thank you, Ms. Beaumont."

"If you really want to thank me, make sure the proposal meets my standards," she replied, her voice laced with amusement.

After hanging up, I counted down the days on my fingers. The doctor had told me that I had, at most, three months left in this world.

Three months was enough time to plan a grand wedding. It was also enough time for me to watch with my own eyes as Lucas asked for another woman's hand in marriage.

…

What did it feel like to plan a wedding for the love of your life and another woman? I knew the answer now.

It hurt more than the cancer that had tormented me for seven years. It was the kind of agony that made life feel worse than death.

Still, I suppressed the pain in my heart and executed every detail according to her wishes.

With one word from Lucas, I spent the entire day visiting seven flower shops in search of the rare hydrangeas he had specifically requested. Then, I spent another five hours digging through the warehouse to find the perfect ribbon color combination.

However, he didn't even spare it a glance. He only sent me a voice message. "My bad. My fiancée doesn't like it anymore. Change it to something else."

At 1:00 am, I was hunched over the desk in my rental apartment, adjusting the lighting parameters. A dull ache throbbed in my stomach, so I swallowed a painkiller and continued refining the color scheme.

On the third day, he threw my initial proposal back at me without even finishing it. On the fourth and fifth day… my proposal was rejected seven times.

My planning assistant grumbled, "He's doing this on purpose, Beatrice."

I didn't say a word.

On the morning of the sixth day, while printing out the latest version of my proposal, my vision suddenly went black. Pressing a tissue to my lips, I waited for the dizzy spell to pass before picking up the thick proposal document and making my way to Lucas' company.