My "condition" suddenly deteriorated dramatically.
Nathan had sent over new "medical records" showing signs of catastrophic multi-organ failure.
I played my part perfectly—hacking up phlegm, my breathing ragged and wheezy like a dying accordion.

They finally couldn't contain their greed any longer.
Ethan gathered my entire family around my bed like vultures circling a carcass.
In his hands was a thick stack of crisp, freshly printed documents.
Property transfer agreements, stock certificates, insurance beneficiary forms…
"Vivi, you need to sign these papers."
Ethan's voice barely concealed his impatience.

"It'll give you peace of mind, knowing everything's taken care of."
Ivy hung on his arm like a trophy, not even bothering to fake sympathy anymore, a smug smile playing on her lips.
I ignored them and summoned my remaining "strength" to look pleadingly at my parents.
They both deliberately avoided my eyes.

I gazed at them weakly, while secretly checking a news notification that had just popped up on my phone.
[VIRAL: Woman's Brother Steals Her Home While Fiancé Cheats With Best Friend—All While She's Dying]
The trap was set. The bait was taken.
I shook my head "feebly" as a single tear rolled down my cheek:
"I'm slipping away… Before I sign, I need to hear… something honest from each of you. One last truth… or I'll never rest in peace."
They exchanged quick glances—greed trumping any last shred of decency.
My mother stepped forward first, clutching my hand with mechanical tears streaming down her face:
"Vivian, my sweet girl, you can go peacefully now. After all we've done raising you, this is the least you can do for your family."
"Your money will help your brother start his life properly. At least your death will serve some purpose."
Ryan stepped up next, forcing out a few pathetic tears:
"Sis, don't worry. I'll turn your apartment into an amazing place, and I'll pour one out for you every year on your death day."
Ivy dabbed at nonexistent tears:
"Oh Vivi, don't be scared. I promise I'll take good care of Ethan for you."
Finally, Ethan took center stage.
He gazed at me with practiced adoration, his voice honeyed with false tenderness:
"Vivian, our seven years together will always be a special chapter in my life."
"I'll use your money to give Ivy the dream wedding she deserves. You can rest easy knowing that."
There you have it.
Such touching "final goodbyes."
My livestream audience was probably breaking their screens in rage.
I smiled faintly as a perfectly timed tear of "despair" rolled down my cheek.
With trembling hands, I accepted the pen Ethan was practically shoving at me.
Under their hungry, impatient stares, I meticulously signed my name at the bottom of each document.
Vivian Reed.
Vivian Reed.
Vivian Reed.
After the final signature, I collapsed back against the pillows, apparently "spent."
Ethan snatched up the documents like a thief grabbing jewels, didn't spare me a second glance, and turned to embrace Ivy excitedly.
Their barely contained celebratory laughter drifted in from the living room.
On the bed, I—supposedly at death's door—slowly sat up.
The mask of weakness and sorrow fell away, replaced by an ice-cold smile.
I held up the pen I'd just used.
A specially designed disappearing ink pen—Nathan's little invention—that would leave no trace within fifteen minutes.
Then, from under my pillow, I pulled out an identical regular pen.
The livestream froze on my triumphant smile.
Across the screen, blood-red text slowly materialized:
[Think this is the end? No, darlings. The judgment has only just begun.]