Your Regret, My Revenge

"Blood... Why is she coughing blood..."

He muttered, a trace of genuine panic slipping into his voice.

I didn't give him time to react. I went limp, collapsing toward him.

I heard his voice crack as he shouted and the urgent blare of the nurse call button.

This was just the beginning.

Next, I would make him watch as I died bit by bit right in front of him.

I woke up to the smell of antiseptic.

Vincent's face filled my vision, etched with panic and fear.

Seeing my eyes open, he lunged forward, gripping my hand tightly, his voice trembling.

"Brenna! You're awake! You scared me to death!"

His hands were cold and clammy.

I blinked weakly, my lips moving without sound, perfectly playing the part of someone who'd just returned from death's door.

Soon, a doctor and several nurses entered.

Seeing it was the other doctor, Vincent asked, "Where's Dr. Fuller?"

"Dr. Fuller is in surgery. Sir, rest assured, I'm familiar with the patient's case."

The doctor replied before conducting a series of checks. He then called Vincent aside.

"Sir, the prognosis is not optimistic. This was an acute hemorrhage, indicating the cancer cells in her body have begun to invade her organs uncontrollably. Her bodily functions are in systemic decline. We've done all we can."

He paused. "You need to prepare yourself. Optimistically speaking... perhaps only one or two months left."

Of course, this doctor and his script were arranged by Aunt Hilary through her connections here.

Otherwise, how could this performance be convincing?

Vincent's body swayed violently upon hearing this.

He braced himself against the wall to keep from falling.

Vincent, how much of this was real for you right now?

After the doctor and nurses left, Vincent sat by my bed all night.

He held my hand, adjusted my blankets, wiped cold sweat from my brow, murmuring endlessly about our past.

He told me about our first meeting, his proposal to me, and the funny moments from our honeymoon.

He spoke with such tenderness and passion.

And I? I just lay there with my eyes closed, silent.

Only this way could my next move proceed smoothly.

The next day, while Vincent went home to make me soup, I contacted detective Dylan again.

"I need you to install listening equipment in his study. The most discreet, secure kind. Real-time audio."

The study was his only private space, the place he was most likely to speak his mind when relaxed.

"Understood."

For the next two days, I spent most of my time in a state of feigned sleep. When I occasionally woke, I appeared dazed, unresponsive to anything. Vincent fed me porridge, I ate. He gave me medicine, I swallowed.

He talked to me, and I just stared back with hollow eyes.

My condition made him believe more and more that I was truly at the end of my rope.

On the third evening, a message came from detective Dylan.

"Done. Device installed in base of his study desk lamp. Signal routed to your encrypted channel."

Reading this, my heart pounded uncontrollably.

My trap was set.

Now, I just waited for the fish to swim in.

Vincent stayed until dusk. As usual, he kissed my forehead, said he had company emails to handle at home, and told me to rest.

The moment he left, I pulled the backup phone and a pair of tiny wireless earbuds from under the pillow.

Putting in the earbuds, I connected to the encrypted live audio feed.

At first, there was only quiet, the sound of keyboard typing, papers rustling.

About half an hour later, a phone ringtone shattered the study's silence.

I heard Vincent answer. "Mom."

My mother-in-law's sharp, venomous voice came through the earbuds crystal clear the next second.

"Vincent! I heard that jinx is failing? Is it true? Is she really dying?"

Her tone was pure, unadulterated excitement and malice.

"Mom, keep your voice down. It's true. She hemorrhaged the night before last. The doctor says... a month or two at most."

"Wonderful! The heavens have finally opened their eyes!" My mother-in-law let out a burst of gleeful laughter. "That barren sow is finally getting out of our Jenkins family! I've always despised her, that sickly look all the time, so unlucky! Vincent, listen to me. You must not soften your heart now! She's almost gone. You have to keep a tight grip on that marrow. It absolutely cannot be wasted on her!"

I heard Vincent sigh, his words placating and obedient.

"Mom, relax. I have it under control. I've arranged everything regarding the bone marrow, and there won't be any mistakes. I've reassured Cathryn too. She's just focusing on waiting for our son to be born now."

"Good! Excellent!" Her voice was full of anticipation for the future. "I told you long ago, that woman was a barren jinx! Since she married into our family, have we had a single good day? And now this deadly disease... it's like she came to collect a debt! She can't have children, but Cathryn is carrying our grandson. Vincent, remember, the family line is more important than a single life! As for Brenna's illness... that's just her fate. She's occupied the position of Mrs. Jenkins for so many years. She should be grateful."

Word after word, phrase after phrase, they pierced my ears and my heart like steel needles.

So, in the eyes of Vincent and his mother, I was just a "barren sow," a "debt-collecting jinx."

My only value was reproduction.

Once I lost that value, my life could be left to fate.

For three years, I fought this disease, endured countless pains, believing the man I loved stood behind me.

Turned out, he and his whole family were just waiting for me to die.

Throughout the entire call, Vincent not only didn't defend me once, but either stayed silent or placated his mother.

"Mom, I know. I'll handle it."

I silently pressed the record button.

The call ended, but it took me a long time to recover.

Just as I was reeling from this venomous onslaught, another encrypted email from the investigator popped up.

I opened it. Inside were a series of high-definition photos of a document.

The investigator wrote, "We accessed Vincent's private office safe via technical means. This was the only document found inside."

My eyes fell on the document's title.

Last Will.

My breath stopped.

With trembling hands, I opened the photos one by one, reading the clauses.

It stated clearly that upon his death, all his personal assets, all our joint marital property, including his company shares, all properties and vehicles under our names, and bank deposits...

The sole designated beneficiary of everything was Cathryn and any future children she bore for him.

In the multiple pages of asset listings and distribution plans, my name, Brenna, his legal wife, did not appear a single time.

I had been completely, thoroughly erased.

What chilled me to the bone was the date at the end of the will.

Two years ago.

The notary's red seal glared painfully from the screen.

Two years ago, when I had just been diagnosed with leukemia, during my first round of chemotherapy, from that very moment, at my most painful, helpless, and needy time, he had already prepared this death warrant for me.

All the tenderness, unwavering loyalty, and deep affection he had shown me over the past two years—from the very beginning—was nothing but a grand deception, a carefully orchestrated scheme to keep me stable while ensuring his assets were safely transferred to his lover and illegitimate children.

I was just the most pitiful prop in the show he was putting on for everyone.

This will was irrefutable legal proof.

It pushed Vincent's crimes from the realm of mere ethics and morality straight into the territory of deliberate asset misappropriation and premeditated abandonment.

Staring at the cold document on my phone screen, I could no longer hold back, and I let out a soft, choked sob.

It wasn't sadness, nor was it anger.

It was the ultimate, bone-deep nausea of being utterly fooled, calculated against to the very marrow.

Vincent, you really, truly, never loved me at all.