Chapter 2

After the lawyer finished reading the will, the entire funeral hall fell into a deathly silence.

My mother-in-law, who had been dancing just a second ago, had her face contorted, stretching every wrinkle.

Liam Miller's hand, still clutching Amber Reed, forgot to let go.

The champagne he had splashed on my urn was now dripping down its sides, sticky and disgusting.

"Impossible!" Liam Miller was the first to shriek. "This is fake! How could Chloe Davis, that stupid woman, come up with such a malicious scheme?!"

Amber Reed chimed in, her voice trembling, devoid of its previous sugary sweetness. "That's right, Mr. Sterling, are you sure you haven't made a mistake? Chloe was so kind, she... she would never..."

Before she could finish, my mother-in-law shoved her aside.

Brenda pointed an accusing finger at Liam Miller, yelling, "I told you! That woman wouldn't let things go easily! Now look! All our money is gone!"

Liam Miller impatiently shook her off. "Mom, shut up!"

He turned to Mr. Sterling, trying to maintain some semblance of dignity.

"Mr. Sterling, tell me, was she delirious before she died? One hundred days? Live-streamed? Isn't this just a joke?"

Mr. Sterling pulled a tablet from his briefcase and tapped open a video.

It was me in the video, emaciated, almost unrecognizable, but my eyes were shockingly bright.

"Hi, Liam Miller." I waved at the camera, a brilliant smile on my face. "Surprised? Every single word of this will was written by me, in my right mind. I know you must be furious right now, thinking I've gone insane."

"You're right, I have gone insane."

"Driven crazy, little by little, by you, by your mother, and by that delicate little mistress in your arms."

"One hundred days, in exchange for my billion-dollar fortune. Is that a deal you're willing to take?"

The video ended, and the entire hall erupted in chatter.

Guests whispered to each other, their gazes shifting from envy to naked fascination.

"One hundred days, kneeling and crying at a grave? And live-streamed? If Mr. Miller does this, where will he hide his face?"

"But that's a billion dollars! If he won't do it, I would! I'd cry from the dawn of time until the world ended!"

"But the will also said the tears had to be sincere. How do they even judge that?"

Mr. Sterling spoke up at the opportune moment. "Regarding the sincerity evaluation, Ms. Chloe Davis, before her passing, commissioned a professional team to develop an emotional recognition system."

"The system will comprehensively assess the authenticity of the tears through various physiological indicators such as facial micro-expressions, heart rate, and tear composition. There will be a 'sincerity score' displayed on the live-stream interface; anything below 60% will invalidate the process."

At those words, even I wanted to applaud myself.

Of course, it was me. Always so thorough.

Liam Miller's face had gone from white to green, then from green to black.

He stared intently at my memorial picture, his eyes burning with boundless hatred.

I could imagine his desire to scatter my ashes at that moment.

But he couldn't.

Because he was greedy.

He loved money more than he loved me, more than he loved himself.

Amber Reed was still crying her fake tears beside him. "Liam, let's not take her money, okay? I don't want you to suffer this humiliation, it breaks my heart..."

"What do you know?!" Liam Miller abruptly shook her off, roaring, "That's not *her* money! That's *mine*! It's what I deserve!"

His eyes bloodshot, he glared at my urn.

After a long moment, he gritted out a few words, "Fine. I'll kneel."

He turned to Mr. Sterling. "Today counts as day one."

With that, he dropped to his knees with a thud before my contemptuous black-and-white memorial picture.

The absurd drama of the funeral hall had officially begun.

And I, the sole director of this play, sat in the surveillance room of my out-of-town villa, sipping an '82 Lafite, watching the screen with keen interest.

Liam Miller was kneeling, but his back was ramrod straight, his face devoid of any sorrow, only humiliation and fury.

He couldn't squeeze out a single tear.

In the live-stream, the online viewer count had already surpassed a million.

Comments scrolled wildly.

"LOL, is this a funeral or a stand-up comedy? Dude, your face is grumpier than my boss's."

"Sincerity score: 0%. Confirmed, pure greed."

"Ex-hubby, if you really can't cry, should I send you some onion essential oil?"

Liam Miller watched the comments on his phone, his face growing darker and darker.

Suddenly, he looked up, glaring intently at the surveillance camera directly above the funeral hall.

His gaze pierced through the screen, as if he wanted to devour me whole.

He mouthed each word to the camera, "Chloe. Davis. You. Just. Wait."

I chuckled softly, swirling the red wine in my glass.

Wait then.

This show had only just begun.

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