The final "emergency" was orchestrated perfectly by Nathan.
I lay on the hospital bed, listening to the steady yet rapid beeping of the heart monitor.
Just a sound effect playing from my hidden phone.

Outside the door, my "loving family" waited impatiently.
"What's taking so damn long? She's basically gone already—why drag this out?"
Ryan's voice dripped with annoyance.
"Where's Ethan?" my father asked.
"On the balcony booking their Maldives honeymoon with Ivy. Says he'll use Vivi's platinum card—calling it her 'wedding gift' to them."
My mother actually sighed in admiration. "Such a thoughtful man."

The door swung open.
Nathan emerged in his white coat, the perfect picture of an exhausted, grief-stricken doctor.
He faced my family and slowly, solemnly shook his head.
"We did everything humanly possible."

My mother froze briefly, then launched into an Oscar-worthy performance—wailing, beating her chest, stamping her feet like a grieving parent.
My father dutifully wiped at nonexistent tears.
Every second captured by hidden cameras.
My mother continued her theatrical sobbing while viciously pinching Ryan's back.
Ryan jumped, got the message, and immediately began howling even louder than she was—nearly throwing himself on the floor.
Stellar performances all around. Too bad they were playing to the wrong audience.
Nathan followed our script perfectly and updated my livestream status.
The screen went black.
A single line of white text appeared in the darkness:
[She's gone.]
My backup phone nearly crashed from the tsunami of messages that followed.
#RIPVivianReed#
The hashtag shot to #1 trending nationwide within minutes.
Social media flooded with memorial candles and heartbroken emojis.
Meanwhile, after exactly three minutes of performative grief, my "family" began their real celebration.
They ransacked my apartment like looters after a riot.
"Where are her other accounts? She must have offshore money somewhere!"
"Find that jewelry collection! That jade bracelet alone is worth a fortune!"
My father actually ripped open my childhood teddy bear, checking for hidden cash or jewelry.
Finding nothing immediately valuable, they moved on to bigger plans.
"Tomorrow! Book the Imperial Grand's ballroom! We're throwing the memorial service of the century!"
My mother slapped her thigh, eyes gleaming with excitement.
"Invite everyone—relatives, colleagues, her boss—anyone who might bring an envelope!"
"Those sympathy envelopes better be stuffed with cash!"
Meanwhile, I relaxed in a luxury penthouse downtown.
A professional makeup artist Nathan had hired was preparing my look for tomorrow's grand entrance.
"What look are we going for, Miss Reed?" she asked.
I studied my reflection—a woman about to rise from her own ashes.
I pointed to the single garment hanging on the rack—a blood-red dress that shimmered like flames.
"Make it fierce. Unforgettable."
"I want everyone who sees me tomorrow to remember this face for the rest of their miserable lives."