Part 1Playlist of Death

During my third year with Nolan, a gray-covered playlist suddenly popped up on my Spotify account.

The creation date was marked ten years in the future.

Thinking it was just a weird app glitch, I clicked on it. What came through the speakers wasn't music.

It was the sound of my own weeping.

"Nolan, please, just look at me. I'm begging you..."

"I gave my kidney to your mother. I quit my career to serve your family hand and foot. Ann hasn't lifted a finger, so why did you choose her over me?"

Immediately after, an unfamiliar woman's voice chimed in. She sounded lazy, dripping with amusement.

"Sister, does he really need a reason? Look at yourself. You're a washed-up, miserable housewife. If I were Nolan, I'd be disgusted by you too."

Nolan's voice finally came through. It was chillingly calm, as if he were discussing the weather.

"Just sign the papers, Cindy. You walk away with nothing. Let's not make this ugly."

Then came a long, suffocating silence.

Followed by the automated recording of a 911 dispatch call. The operator kept repeating, "Hello? 911, what is your emergency? Hello?"

No one answered.

At the very bottom of the playlist description, written in a font so small it was almost invisible, was a single line of text:

The wedding ring he bought her was paid for with the compensation money from your extracted kidney.

Right as I locked my phone screen, a text from Nolan popped up.

"Sweetheart, come with me to my mom's house tomorrow. Her kidney issues are flaring up again. She wants to talk to you about something important."

I stared at the glowing screen and took a screenshot of the message.

Whatever they wanted to "talk" about tomorrow, I already knew the punchline.

...

I kept staring at the screenshot, the icy chill of that bizarre audio recording still clinging to my fingertips.

Ten years from now, I would die alone, clutching a phone connected to a silent 911 operator.

But right now, the nightmare was only just beginning.

I typed a simple "Okay" and spent the rest of the night staring into the darkness.

The next morning, I pushed open the front door of the Davis family home.

The smell of home-cooked food hit me instantly, but underneath it was a cloying, heavy scent of jasmine perfume.

"Cindy! You made it."

A lazy, overly sweet voice drifted from the hallway.

Ann strolled out of the kitchen wearing the silk apron that belonged to me, carrying a plate of sweet and sour ribs. She smiled radiantly, acting as if she were the lady of the house.

"Nolan is in the study helping Auntie look for her meds. Wash your hands, we're about to eat."

Watching the smug curve of her lips, my mind instantly overlaid her voice with the one from the recording—the woman who had mocked me as a "washed-up housewife."

That same heavy jasmine perfume had lingered on Nolan's coat just last week. When I confronted him, he swore that a clumsy new intern had bumped into him at a company dinner.

Now I knew that "intern" was Ann, the girl he had grown up with, his sweet little "honorary sister."

I ignored her pathetic attempt to play hostess and walked straight into the living room without taking off my shoes.

Mrs. Davis was slumped on the sofa, clutching a medical report. She did look genuinely pale and sickly.

Nolan walked out of the study holding a glass of warm water. When he saw me, his face lit up, and he hurried over to wrap his arm around my shoulders.

"Sweetheart, thanks for coming over on a weekend."

His voice was so warm. The heat from his palm bled through the fabric of my blouse.

Usually, I would have leaned into his embrace. But today, my stomach violently churned.

I shifted my weight, subtly slipping out of his grip, and sat down on the single armchair.

"How is your mom feeling? What did the doctors say?"

Hearing my question, Mrs. Davis's eyes instantly filled with tears. She pulled out a tissue and began dabbing at her eyes.

"The doctor said conservative treatments aren't working anymore. I absolutely need a kidney transplant."

Nolan let out a heavy sigh, sitting down next to her and holding her hand.

"But finding a donor organ is nearly impossible. The national waitlist is years long, and my mom's body simply can't hold out that long."

Right on cue, Ann walked into the living room, placing the plate of ribs on the coffee table. Her voice cracked with manufactured grief.

"If only my blood type was a match! I would gladly give my life for Auntie. But I'm Type B, and she's Type O."

She turned her head, locking her gaze dead onto me.

"Cindy, didn't you say you were Type O?"

The air in the living room suddenly froze.

Mrs. Davis stopped sobbing. Nolan snapped his head up, staring at me with burning intensity.

Three pairs of eyes. Three expectant faces. All waiting for me to throw myself into their sacrificial meat grinder.

I picked up a glass of water from the table, my thumb casually tracing the warm rim.

"Yeah. I'm Type O."

Nolan's eyes lit up like fireworks. His tone shifted, becoming carefully, calculatingly gentle.

"Sweetheart, I know this is an insane thing to ask, but... could you go to the hospital and get tested to see if you're a match?"

He swallowed hard, laying it on thick.

"If you're a match, I swear to God I will treat you like an absolute queen for the rest of our lives. I'll do all the chores, I'll give you every cent of my paycheck. Please."

I looked at his devoted, desperate face, while the echo of his cold, future voice—"walk away with nothing"—rang endlessly in my ears.

I swallowed the bitter bile rising in my throat and set the glass down.

"Sure. I'll take a sick day tomorrow and go get tested."

Mrs. Davis immediately clasped her hands together in prayer, praising God and calling me the best future daughter-in-law in the world.

Standing off to the side, Ann smirked.

"Wow, Cindy, you're so brave. I could never let someone slice me open with a scalpel."

I pulled my hand out of Mrs. Davis's grasp and looked directly at Nolan.

"But Nolan, a kidney transplant is a major surgery. The post-op recovery requires long-term, round-the-clock care."

"My current project at work is in a critical phase. I won't be able to take months off to nurse her."

Nolan didn't hesitate for a single second.

"Your health and my mom's life are way more important than some job! If you're a match, just quit your job. I make enough to support us both."

"Besides, staying home to take care of my mom is a great way to prep for our married life together."

I stared at him and let out a soft, amused breath.

"And what if I'm not a match?"

Nolan flinched, clearly not expecting the question.

"Whether you match or not, I'm going to take care of you for the rest of your life."

I stood up and grabbed my purse.

"Don't worry about it. I have some emails to catch up on. I'm heading back to the office."

Nolan scrambled up to walk me out, but I shut him down, saying I had already called an Uber.

As I closed the car door, I glanced up. Standing in the living room window, Ann lifted her chin and shot me a deeply arrogant, victorious smirk.