Choosing The Imposter Over His Dying Wife

My fiancée sacrificed five years of her life to save my family, falling into a deep coma.

But when she finally woke up, I didn't greet her with love. I greeted her with pure hatred.

Convinced by my mistress, Hailie, that Ericka was a traitor faking her illness for sympathy, I became her tormentor.

When she told me she had stage four cancer, I laughed and accused her of manipulation.

I locked her in a freezing safe house.

I forced her into a sauna until her skin blistered, then doused her failing lungs with ice water.

I dragged her out of the hospital to kneel in the rain until she collapsed.

Even when she fell from a balcony, broken and bleeding, I let my men beat her.

I watched her waste away, believing every one of Hailie's lies over Ericka's desperate truths.

It wasn't until I saw her cold, blue body on the rocks below the cliffs that the truth finally shattered me.

The autopsy confirmed the cancer I mocked was real.

A hidden recording revealed Hailie had framed her all along, admitting she treated me like a dog on a leash.

I realized I had tortured the woman who saved my life until she bought her own grave just to escape me.

I burned Hailie alive at Ericka's funeral, but death was too easy a punishment.

I lived in agony, a scarred monster praying for the end.

But when I finally closed my eyes in the fire, I didn't die.

I heard a beep.

I opened my eyes, and the date on my phone was three years ago.

The day Ericka woke up.