I Died While You Hung Up

At the annual Bestseller of the Year Awards, the host playfully teased Beatrice, the author of the latest blockbuster novel.

I heard the villainous female lead in your book is actually based on your former high school best friend?

Beatrices eyes welled with tears as she offered a helpless sigh to the camera.

"Yes. And the male lead is based on our class presidentthe one person in this world who cared about her the most."

"Years ago, he faced prison time trying to protect her. Not only did she refuse to testify in his defense, but she also stole the money his mother had scraped together for his legal feesmoney meant to save his mother's life."

"She vanished without a trace for seven years. Poor Luke lost his early admission to Harvard because of her. His entire life was ruined."

Following Beatrices tearful accusation, the live chat exploded.

Millions of vitriolic comments calling her a gold-digging monster scrolled across the screen in a blur.

Just as the public outrage reached its peak, the live broadcast suddenly cut out. The screen flickered, replaced by a newly released police bulletin on a national human trafficking crackdownspecifically, a victim identification notice.

On the studio's giant screen, the video play was grainy and low-resolution.

In the footage, an eighteen-year-old girl, unrecognizable from starvation and abuse, huddled shivering in the corner of a decaying barn. Me.

A wave of shock swept across the internet.

But at the very center of this storm, Luke was standing in a high-end bridal boutique, watching his fiance try on a million-dollar wedding dress.

Chelsea twirled, the train of her gown sweeping the floor. The diamonds stitched into the fabric caught the light, casting a brilliant reflection over Lukes cold, distant face.

"Luke, don't I look beautiful?"

Luke pulled himself from his thoughts, stepping forward to gently adjust her train.

"My wife is always the most beautiful."

Chelsea leaned into his chest, her fingers playfully tugging at his tie in a seemingly casual test.

"I'm glad you think so. I was worried I wouldn't measure up to that childhood sweetheart everyone whispers about."

Lukes hands froze on the silk train. The warmth in his eyes instantly turned to ice.

"I don't have a childhood sweetheart. She was just a thief who ran off with a richer man."

"Even if she died in some ditch out there, it has nothing to do with me."

I stood by the vanity mirror as a lingering spirit, quietly watching the disgust hardening in his eyes.

Oh, Luke. Just as you wished. I really am dead.

Youthful love fades with time.

But hatred? Hatred is immortal.

I didn't blame Luke for hating me. He had every right to.

Back then, he went too far trying to protect me, crossing the line into what the law deemed excessive force. And I never showed up to testify.

He was barred from taking his exams for three years. His mother begged on her knees for legal fees, only to die of a broken heart in utter despair.

The golden boy of Oakhaven Prep had his spine snapped overnight.

If I were in his shoes, I would hate me too.

On the drive back, his assistant handed him a folder.

"Mr. Mercer, the redevelopment permit for the old district was approved. We finally bought back your family's ancestral homethe one your mother mortgaged for the legal fees."

The assistant hesitated, then muttered with lingering resentment, "Your mother went through hell back then, begging for loans. Meanwhile, that ungrateful girl just took the cash and ran..."

Lukes pen tore through the paper, leaving a jagged trail of black ink.

"Watch your mouth," he said, his voice freezing the air in the car.

The assistant shuddered and quickly shifted gears.

"Right, sorry. We're heading to the old neighborhood for a site visit. The old neighbors heard you took over the project and want to thank you in person."

Luke leaned back against the leather seat, eyes closed, silent for a long moment before giving a cold, brief nod.

The alleys of the old neighborhood were still as narrow as they were seven years ago.

As soon as he stepped out of the car, Mrs. Gable, an old neighbor, rushed over.

She grabbed Lukes hand, tears filling her clouded eyes. "Luke, sweetheart. If your mother could see how successful you are now, she could finally rest in peace."

"When she passed, her only wish was for that heartless girl to come back, just to ask her... why?"

Lukes knuckles turned white, veins bulging on the back of his hand. But he quickly relaxed, gently patting her hand.

"Mrs. Gable, today is a good day. Let's not bring up the past."

"If Nicole Collins ever dares to show her face in front of me again, I'll destroy her myself."

Behind him, the final load-bearing wall of the old Mercer house collapsed with a deafening roar, kicking up a massive cloud of dust.

Luke stood before the ruins, his posture straight and unyielding.

I drifted behind him, watching him erase the only home we had ever shared.

Back then, we were just stepsiblings, brought together by our parents' marriage.

He was quiet, always keeping a respectful distance.

But during thunderstorms, he would cover my ears, pulling my shivering body into his chest.

When street thugs whistled at me, he would silently shift his weight to block me from their sight.

Now, he stands so high, owning the wealth of the entire city.

And the girl who once promised to follow him forever has long since turned to ash on a barren, unnamed mountain.

Our downfall began with the whispers in those very alleys.

The neighbors gossiped, claiming they saw the step-siblings holding each other at the mouth of the alley late at night.

In reality, Luke was only drawing a four-leaf clover on my school jacket, a good-luck charm for my upcoming exams.

He had smiled and told me he was giving me half his luck, so I would be safe and happy, year after year.

But rumors are lethal.

My adoptive mother slapped me so hard my ears rang.

"Disgusting! Shameless!"

"I took you in out of pity, and you're just as cheap as your biological mother!"

That very night, I was sent back to my biological family in the mountains.

I didn't survive my first night there.

My biological mother's creditors kicked the door open. Reeking of alcohol, a man pinned me to the concrete floor, tearing at my clothes.

In my despair, Luke, who was supposed to be studying for his exams, burst through the door, his eyes wild and bloodshot.

Usually the most stoic, controlled boy, that night he fought like a rabid dog.

He gripped a heavy brick and struck the monster's head, over and over, until the skull gave way.

Hot blood splattered across the four-leaf clover on my school jacket.

His trembling hand covered my eyes, his voice cracked and raw: "Don't look. Nicole, I'm taking you home."

But we never went back to school.

Two young shoulders couldn't bear the crushing weight of the world.

Luke was arrested for excessive force.

I collapsed from sheer trauma and was rushed to the hospital, missing the crucial court date where I was supposed to testify in his defense.

When I woke up in the hospital, desperate to pay for my adoptive mother's sudden medical bills, I pulled out my IV and dragged myself back to my biological family.

I knelt on the floor, begging my biological mother to lend me the money to save my adoptive mother's life.

She sighed, handing me a glass of warm water.

"Drink this, and I'll give you the money."

The water was sweet.

But after I swallowed it, I never saw Luke again.

When I next opened my eyes, I was stuffed into the back of a black van heading deep into the Appalachian mountains.

Only later did I learn that my biological mother had sold me to traffickers for three thousand dollars.

She even made a trip to the prison.

Looking at Luke through the visitor glass, she lied with a face full of disgust:

"That selfish brat didn't want to ruin her own college prospects, so she refused to testify."

"She stole the money your mother scraped together for your defense and ran off with some rich older man."

And Luke believed her.

So when he got out, he climbed his way to the top fueled by pure hatred, becoming the powerful mogul he is today.

To build good press for his wealthy fiance, Chelsea, he made a high-profile donation to build thirty elementary schools in impoverished mountain communities.

That day, the rusted loudspeaker at the entrance of our remote mountain village crackled to life.

Then, Luke's voice echoed through the speaker.

Elegant, composed, and so agonizingly familiar it drove me mad.

I was chained in a pitch-black cellar, my right leg broken for three years, the rotting flesh clinging to the bone.

For seven years, I had survived the traffickers' brutality on a single thread of hopethe belief that Luke was still waiting for me to save him.

The moment I heard his voice, I thought he had finally come for me.

I dragged myself toward the iron door with every ounce of strength I had left.

The chains clattered against the damp concrete.

"Luke! I'm here! Luke!"

Just as my strength failed me, the interviewer's flattering laugh came through the speaker:

"Mr. Mercer, this massive charitable donation... it's an engagement gift for Miss Harrington, isn't it?"

After a brief silence, Luke's gentle chuckle drifted down:

"Yes. I want to buy my wife a lifetime of peace and safety."

His laugh filtered through the dirt ceiling of my cellar, pure and untainted by any sorrow.

My filthy, scarred hands froze in the air.

He didn't come to save me.

Slowly, I crawled backward, curling back into my dark corner.

It was fine. Luke was out of prison. He was wealthy. He was getting married.

The chains fell silent.

I rested my head against the cold stone wall and quietly took my last breath.

That evening, Luke attended the redevelopment appreciation dinner in the old neighborhood.

My biological mother, who should have been hiding from debt collectors in her hometown, had wormed her way in under the guise of an "old neighbor."

Holding a champagne glass, she fawned over Luke.

"Mr. Mercer, that girl was so cold-hearted! You were so good to her, yet she wouldn't even step into the courtroom. She just ran off with some wealthy businessman!"

"Your poor mother was worried to death because of her. And when I tried to speak up for you, she blocked my number and vanished."

She smiled obsequiously, trying to worm her way into his favor. "You two were practically siblings. If you'd like, you can treat me like your own mother from now on..."

Luke swirled his red wine, his eyes devoid of warmth.

"We were never siblings. And I don't need a mother."

But he tilted his head slightly, gesturing for his assistant to hand over a credit card.

"However, since you didn't try to cover up her lies to the police back then..."

"I'll have my assistant transfer a monthly allowance to this card. It will be enough for you to live comfortably."

Her eyes gleamed with greed as she took the card, bowing repeatedly in gratitude.

I stood just two paces away from them.

Staring at the woman who had sold me into a living hell for three thousand dollars.

My body lies broken, my youth stolen, buried forever in those mountains.

Yet my tormentor stands here, smiling, accepting Luke's charity as if she deserves it.

The irony in this world is truly a sick joke.

As she tucked the card into her purse, I suddenly remembered three years ago.

I had managed to slip my chains once.

I risked my life to steal the village chief's phone and dialed Luke's number.

The second the call connected, I was shaking so hard I couldn't even form words through my tears.

"Luke... please. Help me. My mother..."

But before I could finish, a brutal hand grabbed my hair, slamming my head against the brick wall.

The trafficker's coarse, angry voice boomed through the receiver: "You little bitch! Trying to run? I'll kill you today!"

As I screamed in terror, I heard a heavy silence on the other end of the line.

Then, Luke let out a contemptuous laugh.

"What's the matter? Does your rich older man have some sick kinks? You have to call me for foreplay?"

The line went dead. He blocked my number.

He thought it was some depraved prank from a kept woman.

He never knew that was my final cry for help before they shattered my legs.

My thoughts were pulled back by the sharp vibration of a phone.

Luke answered with a frown.

It was Beatrice, the author who had just finished her TV interview.

The moment the call connected, her frantic, tearful voice filled the quiet private dining room.

"Luke! The police report is out. They found Nicole!"

"She was trafficked into the mountains. But... she's gone. She's dead, Luke!"

The room fell into a dead, suffocating silence.

At the news, my biological mother dropped her wine glass, her face turning instantly pale.

She scrambled to her feet, her voice shrill with panic. "Mr. Mercer, don't listen to her! That brat texted me asking for money just a few days ago!"

"She's struggling out there, and now that she knows you're rich, she's teaming up with outsiders to scam you!"

Luke's hand holding his cigarette froze for a fraction of a second.

Then, he let out a quiet, mocking laugh.

"Did you hear that, Beatrice? Her own mother says she's alive."

He took a slow drag, his tone smooth and detached. "Tell that woman that if she wants my money, faking her death won't work."

He pulled the phone away, ready to hang up.

But Beatrice's choked sob echoed through the speaker:

"Luke! You've been agonizing over her for seven years, just like me. Stop lying to yourself."

"Nicole is dead. She is really, truly dead."

"I'm standing in the county morgue right now. If you don't believe me, come see for yourself."

The County Medical Examiner's Office.

Luke pushed open the heavy door to the morgue, his brow furrowed.

On the steel table sat a clear evidence bag.

Inside was a faded, dirt-caked Oakhaven Prep school jacket.

Beatrice was already a weeping mess, clinging to the edge of the desk, pointing at the jacket with a trembling finger.

"The examiner said... she had multiple compound fractures before she died. She was always so terrified of pain, Luke. How much did she suffer..."

I drifted beside Luke, staring at my old school jacket.

Seven years ago, I thought my life was just beginning, that I would go to the same college as Luke.

Seven years later, our reunion is divided by the boundary of life and death.

Luke's eyes flickered with a violent tremor when he saw the faded four-leaf clover drawn on the fabric.

But he forced his jaw tight, masking his sudden panic with a cold, stubborn facade.

The detective on duty stepped forward, presenting the victim identification and release form.

Without even looking at it, Luke pushed the clipboard back.

"Detective, I don't have a sister."

"She stole my mother's life savings and ran. Even if this is Nicole Collins, it's just the price she paid for her greed. It has nothing to do with me."

Even the young officer nearby winced at his coldness.

The detailed autopsy report, which outlined years of unspeakable abuse, was dismissed by Luke as mere "karma."

The veteran detective in charge of the trafficking task force can no longer stand his arrogant, self-righteous attitude.

With a grim expression, he pressed play on his body camera's recorded audio.

The voice of an old man from the mountain village filled the room.

"That girl was stubborn as a mule when they first brought her in. Kept screaming that her mother tricked her, that she had to get back to save a boy."

"Three years back, she managed to steal my phone to make a call. The buyer caught her and broke her legs for it."

"But the strange thing was... the man on the other end didn't call the police. He just laughed at her, said some cruel things, and hung up. After that day, the light went out in her eyes. She never tried to run again..."

Luke's breath hitched. His tall frame swayed violently, as if struck by a physical blow.

He remembered. Three years ago. The call he blocked without a second thought.

I had begged him.

If he had believed me just once, I would have lived.

All color drained from Luke's lips. His fingers twitched uncontrollably at his sides.

Just then, another detective burst into the room, tossing a file onto the table.

"The buyer confessed! The victim's biological mother took three thousand dollars from the traffickers. She drugged her daughter's water with sleeping pills and sold her into the mountains!"

Luke stared at the detective, his eyes turning a horrific, bloodshot red.

The fortress of hatred and self-preservation he built over seven years crumbled to dust in a single second.

But the sheer, clawing terror inside him forced him to make one desperate, final stand.

He glared at Beatrice, his voice a ragged, guttural growl:

"Even if she was sold... what about the trial? If she didn't have a guilty conscience, why did she run back to her biological family? Why did she skip the court date and let my mother die?!"

Beatrice looked at him, her tears finally spilling over.

She pulled a sealed evidence bag from her coat and slid it across the table.

"The medical examiner found this stitched into the lining of Nicole's jacket."

"Luke, if you still think she betrayed you, open your eyes and look at what she was carrying."