My Rich Ex Tested Me, I Died, He Crazed

I died on the third anniversary of my relationship with Kael. He made an excuse to work overtime, but was actually in Switzerland skiing with his first love. On the phone, his voice was cold, "Lira, stop using being sick as an excuse to ask for money! You know perfectly well I have no money. For money, you'd even risk your life? Then go ahead and try." I looked at the diagnosis paper in my hand that said, 'Acute Leukemia' and smiled softly. Yes, I really was dying soon. I swallowed a whole bottle of sleeping pills and sent him one last text. Lira: Kael, I don't want your money anymore, and I don't want you either. When I opened my eyes again, my soul was floating in mid‑air. I watched that man who had pretended to be poor for three years, driving a luxury car worth tens of millions, rush back like a madman. It turned out... he wasn't a poor guy at all. He was just testing me. ***** When my consciousness fully returned, I was floating above the ceiling of our rental apartment. Looking down, I could see myself lying on the bed, my body already stiff and swollen. So it was true. People really do have souls after they die. I heard the sound of a key turning in the lock. Kael was back. He pushed the door open, his eyes sweeping over the empty living room, and his brows furrowed tightly. Then, he let out a cold laugh. "Throwing a tantrum? Lira Anderson, your tricks are still so pathetic." He pulled out his phone and dialed my number. The ringtone echoed sharply through the silent room, but no one answered. He seemed to lose his patience, hanging up immediately and switching to a voice message. "I'll give you one day to get back here. Don't make me change the locks." His tone was filled with arrogant impatience, like he was doing me a favor. Floating in the air, I tried to reach out and touch his face, to ask him why he'd become like this. But my hand passed right through his body. A wave of overwhelming powerlessness and sorrow washed over me. He took off the 199-dollar collaboration jacket I'd saved up for months and waited in line for hours to buy. He tossed it on the sofa without a second thought. As the jacket slipped off his shoulders, it revealed what was underneath. Not the cheap T-shirts I'd bought him for dozens of dollars each, but a silk shirt pressed so perfectly it had no wrinkles at all. At the cuffs, a platinum cufflink glinted with an unfamiliar light in the dim room. I'd seen that brand in a magazine once, the number of zeros on the price tag was more than I could count. I'd never seen him wear anything like this before. Kael walked to the refrigerator and pulled open the door. Inside were the meals I'd prepared for him, a full week's worth, neatly packed in containers with sticky notes on top. Monday: beef brisket with tomatoes. Remember to heat it all the way through. Tuesday: Cola chicken wings, your favorite. A complicated look flashed across his eyes. But it only lasted a second before being replaced by deep disgust. He slammed the refrigerator door shut and pulled out another phone, one I'd never seen before, the latest folded model. He unlocked it easily and replied to a message from someone saved as Lorraine. Kael: Yeah, she's not here. Probably ran out of money and is using this trick to pressure me. Soon, a voice message came back. I floated closer and heard Lorraine's sweet, coquettish laugh. "Kael, you should've dumped that gold digger ages ago. She can't even pass this little test. Shows how little her feelings for you really are!" After listening, a look of arrogance and coldness appeared on Kael's face, the kind of superiority only someone at the top would have. This wasn't the Kael I knew, the one who'd panicked when I cut my finger while chopping vegetables. He typed a reply slowly. Kael: I know. Then he tossed the expensive phone aside and started packing his things. He pulled a suitcase out from under the bed and opened it. Inside were all designer brands, logos I'd only ever seen on TV or in magazines, now piled at his feet. He put on a Patek Philippe watch. Its price was enough to cover the rent for our small apartment for a lifetime. This was the real him. Our three years together had just been a boring game before he returned to his real life. When he finished packing, he took one last look at the place he'd lived in for three years. His eyes showed no trace of regret. Before leaving, he noticed the jacket I'd bought on the sofa, like it was something dirty. He didn't touch it again, turning and walking out, slamming the door hard behind him. I heard his footsteps fading away. In the room, only I, my soul, and my cold body remained... and that 199-dollar jacket he'd cast aside. My soul trembled. If only he'd opened my bedroom door, he would have seen me. But he didn't.