When Chloe and Brandon tumbled into the bedroom, I hid in the living room.

Thank goodness.

Chloe and I could still maintain a small distance, so I didn't have to witness those disgusting scenes firsthand.

Although Brandon had already sent me videos and photos of them.

Chloe’s phone lay on the living room table, vibrating non-stop.

I leaned closer; the number on the screen was mine.

My mind felt like it had exploded, and I froze in shock.

My fingertips trembled imperceptibly as the moments before my death replayed before my eyes, frame by frame.

Terror, helplessness.

I remember, I died a very undignified death.

After agreeing to Chloe’s terms for the breakup, I left the company.

Brandon found me, wanting to talk.

What was there to talk about?

I looked at him, and he sneered, "Aren't you curious why I chose Chloe?"

"Why?"

I humored him.

Brandon took me to a coffee shop near the company. "I just wanted to see how deep Chloe's feelings for you were, turns out they weren't much at all."

I didn't want to waste my breath with him.

But as soon as I stepped outside, a few men grabbed me and pulled me into a van.

The vehicle bounced along, from the city to the outskirts, from day to night.

Until the mountain wind howled, and sharp branches tore at my exposed arms.

"Did Brandon send you?"

I forced myself to ask, trying to sound calm.

The four men in front of me looked gaunt, their eyes sunken, and they reeked of a peculiar stench.

The one in charge took a long drag from his cigarette, his gaze on me like he was sizing up a lamb for slaughter.

My heart pounded like a drum, but I still tried to find a way out. "I don't have any money on me. Let me go, whatever they're paying you, I'll double it."

That earned me harsh laughter; the violence in their faces told me I was doomed.

"Kid, learn your lesson for your next life. Don't mess with the wrong people."

My kneecaps were shattered with an iron bar, my finger bones crushed by a shoe, and my face was swollen from the slaps.

One of them said with a hint of regret, "Too bad he's not a chick, we could've had some fun."

Another responded crudely, "Look at that soft skin, does it matter if he's a chick or not?"

The first one retorted in disgust, "You think everyone's a pervert like you?"

Listening to their conversation, my heart turned to ice.

Later, someone stripped me naked.

Extreme pain, extreme humiliation.

I used all my strength to bite off a piece of flesh, which enraged the beast.

And then my life ended, and with it, the pain.

Blood pooled on the ground.

When I opened my eyes again, I was standing behind Chloe, watching her hold Brandon’s hand, announcing their wedding date.

Counting the days, her wedding date was the seventh day after my death.