She Gave Me a Collar, I Fake My Death

Chapter 2

I looked at Luke.

He frowned, his eyes seeming to weigh a decision.

"Ten million," he said, "do as she says."

That faint glimmer of hope in my heart, like a candle flame in the wind, went out with a soft puff.

I looked away and curved my lips into a self-mocking smile.

"I'm sorry," I said, "I'm not interested in playing along with your bad taste."

I walked away without looking back.

Just as I reached the door, a loud crash of shattering glass erupted behind me.

The sound of crystal glasses being swept to the floor.

Then came Annie's shrill voice, trembling with a hint of tears.

"Luke! You're just going to let her leave like that?"

I didn't turn around to look. But my steps still paused involuntarily.

Back at the villa, I stood in the entryway and looked at the place where I had lived for over a year.

In that year, I had lived here like a caged canary.

Luke usually left early and came back late. Most of the time, it was just me and a house full of luxury goods.

Upstairs, I packed the essentials into a suitcase.

Before leaving, I thought for a moment, tore off a sticky note, and wrote a line.

I'm leaving. A stand-in should know her place. If I stay, I'll only create more misunderstandings between you and Miss Green. Take care.

I stuck the note on the cover of the business magazine he often used, pushed open the door, and left.

At the door, I took one last look back at the gilded cage.

It would be a lie to say I felt no attachment at all.

But what I felt more was relief.

Relief that I had always known I was just a doppelganger, that I had never truly fallen for him.

A: [Too naive, girl...]

B: [If plot death were this easy to avoid, it wouldn't be called plot death]

C: [My heart goes out to the female lead. She has no idea what's waiting for her]

I knew I wouldn't get away that easily.

I just wanted to take advantage of these few days when Luke wasn't paying attention to me to carry out my "fake my death" plan.

I rented a small room in an urban village.

It was a mixed neighborhood with no surveillance cameras. Even if Luke tried to find me, it would take some effort.

After getting settled, I turned on my computer and started searching.

"Custom high-end replica jewelry professional"

"Early symptoms of radiation sickness"

"Tier-one hospital radiology department specialist list"

A: [??? The female lead is up to something]

B: [She's going to make an identical choker? Then pretend to get sick?]

C: [Smart! Make the necklace into a "murder weapon" and see how she plays innocent]

D: [But a legitimate doctor won't help her fake it. She needs to find someone with a weakness]

I read through the results, my fingers tapping on the keyboard.

Early the next morning, wearing a mask and sunglasses, I showed up at a run-down jewelry workshop on the outskirts of the city.

The shop was tiny, wedged between an auto repair shop and a mahjong parlor. The letters on the sign had faded.

The owner was a man in his fifties, smoking a cigarette, squinting, looking completely disinterested.

I slapped the photo of the choker in front of him. "Copy this. Real diamonds. Identical craftsmanship."

The old man picked up the photo, looked at it, then looked up at me.

"Miss, this isn't cheap. Real diamonds will cost you a few hundred thousand at least."

I pulled two stacks of cash from my bag and pushed them toward him.

"A deposit. Whatever the price, I'll pay."

The old man flicked his cigarette ash and grinned. "Alright. Pick it up in three days."

Over the next two days, I searched through every specialist in radiology and oncology at all the top-tier hospitals in the city.

The doctor I needed had to meet three conditions:

Experience with radiation patients, able to produce convincing diagnostic reports;

Desperate for money or with a secret, so they would cooperate with my forgery;

Tight-lipped, not sell me out.

In the end, I narrowed it down to three targets.

Doctor Poter, 45, deputy director of radiology at a top-tier hospital. His wife was seriously ill, and he was drowning in debt.

Doctor Kent, 38, oncology at a private hospital. Rumored to have taken kickbacks from pharmaceutical reps.

Doctor Larry, 52, retired and rehired. His son had gambled in Macau and owed loan sharks.

I would start approaching them tomorrow.

I was about to shut down the computer and go to sleep when the bullet comments suddenly exploded.

A: [Alert! Alert! Alert!]

B: [Don't sleep! Run!]

C: [Emergency PSA : Annie just stabbed herself! Half an hour ago!]

D: [She's in the hospital right now, saying you did it!]

E: [Luke is already on his way! He believes her!]

F: [HE BELIEVES HER!!!]

G: [RUN!!!]

My blood ran cold in an instant.

Because I knew—I couldn't escape.