Love Me After I’m Gone

Zara pushed down the sadness in her eyes and spoke casually.

"As for the deadline…" she mumbled. "How about this? You help me with 99 things, no questions asked. Or once I've hurt you 99 times, we'll call the debt settled."

It seemed that she had forgotten all about it.

But it didn't matter anymore.

This was the 97th time.

Just two more, and whatever tied us together would finally be over.

I took a slow breath and walked toward the stage.

As I passed their wedding cake, I caught Charles flashing a strange smile.

I was still trying to figure out what it meant when a sudden force slammed into my back.

My body pitched forward before I could react, crashing straight into the rolling cart.

The cake collapsed under my weight. My knee smashed into the metal frame, and pain shot through my leg.

Gasps rippled across the room.

Onstage, Charles let out a dramatic sigh. Shaking his head, he said, "If you didn't want to be the best man, you could've just said so. You didn't have to fake a fall and ruin the cake I spent all day preparing."

Several guests behind me had clearly seen what really happened. Still, they joined in with mocking laughter.

Someone called out, "Mr. Houle, everyone's got their own strength, but acting clearly isn't yours. Stop embarrassing yourself."

Zara had started walking toward me, probably to check if I was hurt. But after hearing that, she stopped and looked at me with quiet disappointment.

"Your clothes are filthy," she said. "Go change into something clean."

Charles slipped his arm around hers.

"It's fine," he said easily. "I don't care about little details like that. Let's continue with the ceremony. I can't wait to marry you."

Zara looked like she wanted to say something more, but when she saw that I had already stepped onto the stage, she stayed silent.

I limped slowly toward the center.

Zara noticed, and a flicker of concern crossed her eyes. "What happened to your leg?"

Beside her, Charles shrugged.

"You really should practice more," he said lightly. "If you're going to pretend to be hurt, you should go for your championship hands. That would make Zara worry way more. Next time, pick a more valuable part of your body."

Zara's expression darkened. She clearly wanted to scold him, but with so many people watching, she lowered her voice instead.

"Enough," she said quietly. "Stop with the games. Don't embarrass yourself. Whatever you wanna say, say it later."

I let out a bitter smile.

The room was full of people who used to bow and flatter me when I was at the top of my career.

Now that Charles had Zara's favor, they were terrified of offending him. So they mocked me instead, eager to prove they were on his side.

With them backing him up, and Zara already biased toward him, anything I said would've been pointless.

Thankfully, Charles didn't cause any more trouble after that. The ceremony finished without another scene.

By the time most of the guests had left, I was ready to head out, too.

Then Charles suddenly called after me.

"Don't rush off," he said with a grin. "We'll need the best man tonight when it's time for the after-party, if you know what I mean."

My fists clenched instinctively.

I looked at Zara. She raised an eyebrow and, for once, actually scolded him.

"That's enough," she said. "Stop joking around. Go wait in the car."

After Charles left, she turned back to me.

"Don't listen to him," she said. "It's just a small get-together with some old friends tonight."

Her gaze flicked down to my injured leg.

"You're hurt," she added calmly. "I won't bring you along. Go home and get some rest. We've got plenty of time ahead of us. I'll take you next time."

Then she turned and walked away.

What she didn't know was that once I repaid the debt I owed her, I would be gone.

There wouldn't be a next time.

-

Zara specifically told the driver to take me home.

When I rolled up my pant leg, my knee was already bruised purple.

While I was applying ointment, Zara had someone deliver gifts.

One was a limited-edition watch.

The other was the key to a brand-new Porsche.

She had even left a message explaining the gifts.

The watch was her apology for taking the wedding from me. The car was her apology for forcing me to be the best man.

Without a word, I carried both items into the collection room.

Inside, rows of glass display cabinets lined the wall. I placed the watch and the car key into cabinets labeled 96 and 97.

A housemaid standing nearby held a tray and stared at them with open admiration.

"Ms. Moody's gifts get more expensive every time," she said. "She must really love you."

I just smiled and said nothing.

She didn't know that every gift here was compensation for the times Zara had hurt me.

I looked at the wall of glass cabinets.

Only two empty spaces remained.