After Stealing My 88 Projects, My Ex-Fiancée Went Crazy with Regret When I Died

I broke off our engagement without hesitation the day my fiancée’s family went bankrupt. Later, she rebuilt her fortune with the help of a mysterious benefactor, while I struggled to save my family’s failing business. After she snatched away my 88th life-saving contract, I silently used the last of my money to pay my employees’ final wages, then vanished without a trace. Three years later, my secretary accidentally found an old phone. Inside were my late-stage cancer diagnosis reports and a receipt for an anonymous billion-dollar donation. The recipient’s name on the form was my ex-fiancée’s. When the red wine splashed across my face, my first thought was—I won’t be getting the deposit back on this rented shirt. “Ethan, have you no shame?” Olivia’s voice cut into my eardrums like a knife. “How dare you show your face at this high-class event?” The cold liquid dripped from my chin onto the floor. I could hear the muffled snickers around me without even looking. I knew exactly what expressions those former business associates who once fawned over me were wearing now. Three years ago, I was the heir to the Thompson Group. Now I couldn’t even afford my own shirt. “I’m just here to discuss business,” I said, wiping my face. Even the expensive wine stung my eyes. Olivia let out a cold laugh. She was wearing a Dior haute couture dress I’d seen in a magazine last year. Her earrings must be new—I hadn’t seen her wear them the last time we met. Good for her. It seemed Olivia had been taking very good care of herself these past few years. “Discuss business?” Olivia raised her voice, making sure everyone could hear. “You mean beg me for scraps, just like that divorce settlement you so generously handed my family three years ago?” A sudden stabbing pain gripped my stomach, the familiar burning sensation crawling up my esophagus. The doctor had warned me last month that the cancer cells had spread to my digestive system, but how could I afford chemotherapy? It was already a miracle the company had survived this long. “Ms. Foster, you must be joking,” I said, bending down to pick up the broken wine glass. The sharp edge cut my finger. “I apologize for the disturbance. I’ll leave now.” As I turned to go, I heard Olivia’s assistant whisper: “Ms. Foster, Mr. Wang is waiting to discuss the East City project…” My heart clenched painfully. That was my last hope—next month’s wages for the company’s remaining 20 employees depended on that project. “Olivia!” I instinctively called out her first name, turning back. “The East City project—” “Has already been signed over to me,” Olivia cut me off, waving her phone to show the contract photo she’d just received. “Three minutes before you walked in, actually.” “By the way, this is the 88th contract I’ve snatched from you. What an auspicious number.” you. What I stood frozen, letting the blade twist in my heart. Looking at Olivia now, I found her face both familiar and foreign.