Joke's On Him, I Died First

Three years after I died, Matt came back.

The boy who couldn't even scrape together three hundred dollars had transformed into a cutthroat business titan.

This time, he returned for one reason only: to watch my life crumble.

He wanted to see me broken. Begging for his mercy.

What he didn't know was—I'd already been dead for three years.

Every LED screen across the city flickered to life, all broadcasting the same breaking news: "Matt Harding Returns."

A mob of reporters trailed him from the airport all the way to the entrance of Harding Corporation. And there, in the middle of the chaos, was my father—deaf, mute, and desperately pushing through the crowd.

Of course, Matt saw him.

His assistant even made a show of letting my father through.

Dad's hands flew in frantic sign language, his face etched with panic.

Matt didn't even blink.

"Three years," he said, voice dripping with scorn, "and your precious daughter still hasn't gotten you treated? Looks like she hasn't been doing so well after all."

The disgust in his eyes was palpable. He looked at my father like he was trash.

Still, Dad kept signing, sweat glistening on his forehead.

Matt let out a cold laugh. "I don't have time for this."

Then—my father dropped to his knees.

Every camera swung toward him. Flashes exploded like lightning, painting his helpless figure in stark white. But Dad didn't stop. His hands trembled as he signed, over and over.

Matt's brow furrowed.

He didn't understand sign language. But he recognized one sign: money.

"You're begging me for money?" he guessed.

My father nodded eagerly.

A wave of murmurs and shocked gasps swept through the crowd.

"Who is this guy? Has no shame begging here?"

"You don't know? That's the former president of Foster Corporation."

"Foster? Didn't they go bankrupt three years ago?"

"Yeah—all because his daughter, Laura, dumped Mr. Harding for some rich guy. Talk about karma."

"And now he has the nerve to show up asking for money? Pathetic."

The story spread through the reporters like wildfire. In minutes, everyone knew.

And Matt? He was loving it. A cruel smirk touched his lips.

"Why would I give you money?" he sneered. "I'm not Brian."

Brian Heath. The man I left Matt for.

Back then, the Foster empire was already collapsing. The only way out was a marriage alliance with the Heaths.

I still remember—Matt's father was dying. It was when he needed me most. And I walked away without looking back.