My Funeral, Your Wedding
At this moment, I stand in a corner of the banquet hall, fingers gripping a cold glass.
The light from the crystal chandelier shattered on the floor, much like the ballet slippers that were broken so many years ago.
A commotion stirred at the doorway.
Christian Hoffman appeared.
He wore a bespoke suit, adorned with pearl cufflinks — the coming-of-age gift I had saved up for three months to buy him.
Reporters swarmed around him, their microphones nearly pressing against his face.
"Mr. Hoffman, what is your take on this year's fluctuations in the financial market?"
"It's saying that the Christian Group is acquiring a tech company in Country M. Is this true?"
A faint smile played at the corner of his mouth as he answered effortlessly, as if he were born to stand in the spotlight.
My heart clenched abruptly.
Five years have passed, and I thought I could face him with calm.
But when his gaze swept over me, sharp as an icy blade, I couldn't help but step back half a pace.
He saw me.
That faint smile disappeared instantly, replaced by a hatred so fierce it seemed ready to spill from his eyes.
A reporter noticed the tension between us and curiously asked, "Mr. Hoffman, do you know this young lady?"
Christian didn't reply at once.
He lifted a glass of champagne from the waiter's tray and took a measured sip.
Then, under everyone's gaze, he looked at me, his voice low but clear enough for those around to hear: "Of course."
"We knew each other before."
"But she's someone who should have disappeared long ago; it would be a great thing if she died."
Those words fell like a heavy hammer striking my heart.
Whispers rose around me, those glances piercing me like needles.
I bit my lip hard, fighting the tears back.
Yes, we were no longer the Katharine and Christian we once were.
We had become enemies.
He was the one who personally dismantled my dance troupe, shattering the dreams I once cradled in my palms.
It was he who cornered me in the alley on that rainy night, the cold steel pipe pressed against my leg, his eyes utterly devoid of hesitation.
And in his mind, it was I who, at his company's most trying time, allied with his competitors, leaving him ruined, nearly driven to jump from a building.
Between us, there was nothing left but hatred.
"Katharine?"
A gentle voice sounded beside me.
I turned my head and saw Kate Hoffman.
She wore a pink gown, her long hair arranged into an exquisite bun, the diamond necklace around her neck a rare treasure Christian had acquired at auction last year.
She was an orphan whom Christian took in; later, she took his last name and is now his fiancée.
"Ms. Hoffman." I tried to keep my voice steady.
Kate suddenly stepped forward, deliberately brushing the hem of her skirt against my hand.
"Katharine, what are you doing here?" Her face wore an innocent expression, but her voice was deliberately raised, "This is a business cocktail party; not just anyone can get in, right?"
The gazes around us instantly grew sharper.
I clenched my palm tightly, my nails almost digging into my flesh.
"I've received the invitation." I pulled the invitation from my bag and held it out to her.
Kate didn't even look at it; instead, as if she'd been burned, she took a step back and exclaimed, "Ah!"
Her hand brushed the hem of her dress, where a dark stain had appeared without her noticing.
"My dress..." Her eyes reddened as she looked toward Christian who had just approached. "Christian, my dress is stained."
Christian immediately stepped forward and shielded her behind him.
His gaze fixed on me with a fierceness that seemed to want to tear me apart. "Katharine, did you mean to do it?"
"I didn't." I explained.
"Didn't?" Christian sneered coldly and grabbed my wrist so hard I winced, "When you destroyed my company back then, why didn't you say 'didn't'? Why pretend to be innocent now?"
His words were like knives, cutting into my heart again and again.
The reporters around us raised their cameras in unison, flashes flashing incessantly.
I looked into the hatred in Christian's eyes and suddenly felt utterly exhausted.
Five years. We have tormented each other for five years.
Enough.
Really, enough.
I pulled my hand free with force, stepped back two paces, looked at him and Kate, and said, word by word, "Christian, from today onward, I, Katharine, declare that the cursed bond between you and me is utterly ended until death."
Having spoken, I turned and, amid a flurry of camera flashes and murmurs, walked out of the banquet hall.
The wind outside was cold, biting my face like shards of ice.
I looked up at the night sky; stars were sparse, with only a waning moon hanging above.
Just like the past between Christian and me—left nothing but a frozen wasteland.
No sooner had I stepped out of the banquet hall than the murmurs behind me surged like a tide.
"So, she is Katharine—the one who brought down Mr. Hoffman's company back then?"
"She looks so fragile; never expected her to be so ruthless."
"She must have stained Miss Hoffman's skirt, pretending to be innocent."
These words stabbed at my ears like tiny needles.
I quickened my pace, desperate to escape this suffocating place as soon as possible.
But I hadn't taken more than a few steps before a group of reporters blocked my way.
"Miss Lincoln, may I ask what grudge you hold against Mr. Hoffman?"
"Are you here today to sabotage the relationship between Mr. Hoffman and Miss Hoffman?"
"Did you deliberately stain Miss Hoffman's skirt?"
Countless questions bombarded me, camera flashes flashing relentlessly before my eyes.
A dull ache began throbbing in my head, and the scene before my eyes grew blurry.
I shook my head hard, trying to clear my mind.
But in the next moment, a warm sensation surged in my nostrils.
I instinctively raised my hand to touch it; my fingertips were stained bright red with blood.
"Bleeding!" Someone shouted.
The reporters instantly erupted with excitement, their cameras clicking even more rapidly.
I felt my body weakening, barely able to stand steady.
Just then, Christian and Kate stepped forward.
Kate saw the blood trickling from my nose, and a faint, barely noticeable smile flickered across her face before she quickly replaced it with a worried expression: "Katharine, are you alright? Are you feeling unwell?"
Her insincere attitude turned my stomach.
Christian frowned, eyes filled with disdain: "Katharine, what did you wanna do? Trying to win sympathy with a self-inflicted act?"
I opened my mouth, wanting to explain I wasn't pretending, but as soon as I spoke, more blood flowed from my nostrils, dripping to the floor and staining the hem of my white dress crimson.
"I didn't..." My voice was as faint as a mosquito's buzz.
Christian, however, did not believe me at all. He took a step forward, grabbed my arm, and forcefully threw me aside.
I fell heavily to the ground, a sharp pain shooting through my arm.
"Stop putting on a show here," Christian looked down on me coldly. "You think this will make me pity you? Dream on."
Kate quickly stepped forward, gently supporting Christian, and said softly, "Christian, don't be angry. Katharine might really be unwell. Let's just leave for now."
As she spoke, she deliberately lifted her skirt to show the stain to the reporters: "It doesn't matter that my dress is dirty. I'm just worried about Katharine's health; after all, we used to be friends."
Her words seemed to defend me, but in truth, they were steering the reporters to believe I had deliberately soiled her dress out of jealousy and resentment.
As expected, the reporters grew even more agitated, their eyes filled with contempt as they looked at me.
"What a shameless person!."
"Miss Hoffman is way too kind, still speaking up for her after everything."
I lay on the ground, watching this scene unfold before me, overwhelmed by a profound sense of despair.
I struggled to pull a small bottle of medicine from my bag, spilled out a few white pills, and tried to swallow them to relieve my discomfort.
But Kate suddenly stepped forward, snatched the bottle of medicine from my hand, opened it to take a look, then held it up for the reporters: "Everyone, look closely—this is just vitamin C! Katharine, why are you pretending to be sick with vitamin C?"
The reporters immediately burst into laughter.
"So it was vitamin C all along, and quite convincingly faked."
"Desperate for attention—that's truly unscrupulous."
Kate looked at me proudly, a victorious smile curling at the corners of her mouth.
I stared at the medicine bottle in her hand, then glanced at the scornful eyes of the reporters around us, and at Christian's expression of disgust. My heart felt as if gripped tightly by an invisible hand, aching so fiercely I could hardly breathe.
I slowly crawled up from the ground, wiped the blood from my face, and looked at Christian and Kate with calm eyes: "I don't need to pretend to be sick, nor seek anyone's sympathy."
Having said that, I ignored them and the reporters, dragging my injured body forward, step by agonizing step.
With every step, sharp pain coursed through my arms and legs, and the metallic scent of blood in my nostrils grew stronger.
But I dared not stop; I feared that if I did, I would utterly break down.
I walked for a long time, until no sounds remained behind me, then leaned against a large tree and slowly slid down to the ground.
The night deepened, and the wind grew colder.
I curled up beneath the tree, hugging my knees, tears finally spilling down my cheeks.
Why?
Why does Christian never believe me?
Why does Kate keep betraying me, again and again?
What should I deserve this?
I don't know how long I sat under that tree, but as dawn approached, I slowly rose and made my way home.
Home— the small apartment where I was alone— was my only refuge.
But I never imagined that what awaited me would be an even greater blow.
The moment I pushed open the apartment door, I almost fell inside.
The cold floor pressed against my knees, and the scrapes on my arms stung sharply.
I struggled to crawl to the edge of the sofa and pulled a crumpled medical certificate from the bottom drawer of the coffee table.
The words"Advanced stomach cancer" burned like four black brands, making my fingertips tremble.
The doctor had handed it to me three months ago; I spent an entire afternoon sitting in the hospital corridor clutching that certificate, only daring to go home after night fell.
I haven't told anyone—not even my parents, who live so far away abroad—they cut me off long ago because of the bitterness between Christian and me.
I thought I could endure it, even if only to quietly finish the last stretch of the road.
But now, I can't even stand steadily.
A sudden, sharp pain twisted through my stomach. I curled up on the sofa, pressing my forehead against the cool cushion, cold sweat instantly soaking my back.
I fumbled for the painkillers and swallowed two dry, barely easing the pain.
I don't know how much time had passed when suddenly the doorbell rang.
I thought it was a neighbor. Struggling to get up and open the door, I saw Christian standing outside.
He was wearing a black trench coat; dew still clung to his hair, and his gaze was as cold as ice.
"What are you doing here?" Instinctively, I stepped back, trying to hide the medical certificate.
Christian, however, walked straight in, his eyes sweeping over the painkiller bottles on the coffee table, a mocking smile curling at the corner of his mouth: "Playing sick again? Katharine, is this the only trick you have?"
My heart sank sharply. I stopped hiding it altogether and pushed the medical certificate in front of him. "Christian, I'm not pretending to be ill. I have stomach cancer—terminal stage."
He glanced down at the medical certificate, his eyes utterly unmoved. Instead, he reached out, crumpled the certificate into a ball, and threw it to the ground. "Katharine, can't you come up with something new? Terminal illness? Why don't you just say you're about to die and try to make me pity you?"
That crumpled piece of paper fell at my feet like a butterfly crushed beneath my shoe.
I looked into his cold eyes and suddenly felt that all explanations were pointless.
"I'm not lying to you," I whispered, my voice carrying a subtle plea even I hadn't realized. "I really don't have much time left."
"Not long to live?" Christian stepped forward and gripped my shoulders so hard I thought he might crush my bones. "Then why don't you just die? When you ruined my company back then, did you ever think you'd end up like this?"
The pain in my shoulders intertwined with the ache in my heart; my vision blurred, and I nearly fainted.
Seeing my pale face, Christian assumed I was just playing the victim again and abruptly let go. "Don't pull that stunt in front of me."
He turned and walked toward the door, but stopped suddenly at the entrance. Looking back at me, he said, "Next Saturday, I'm marrying Kate. If you really want to settle things, come to the wedding."
I was stunned, unable to understand his meaning.
Christian's eyes flickered with a hint of amusement, as if watching prey about to be discarded: "If you dare show up, I will, in public, expose everything you did to me back then, one by one. If you don't dare..."
He paused, his tone growing even colder: "Then never appear before me and Kate again."
With that, he slammed the door and left me standing alone in the empty apartment.
The sharp pain in my stomach returned. I leaned against the wall and slowly sank down, tears falling onto the cold floor, spreading a small puddle.
Attend his wedding? Be humiliated in front of everyone?
But I no longer have the strength to argue with him.
I looked down at the crumpled medical certificate on the floor, slowly picked it up, carefully unfolded it, and smoothed out the creases with my hand.
Perhaps this really is the only way to find closure between us.
That afternoon, I fainted again in my apartment; it was the neighbor who found me and called 911, sending me to the hospital.
Lying on the hospital bed, the white ceiling above blurred and made my eyes ache.
When the nurse came in to change the dressing, she couldn't help but sigh: "Miss, you need someone to take care of you with this illness. Why has no one come to visit you?"
I smiled but said nothing.
Yes, I have long since become a lonely soul.
In the evening, the ward door was pushed open.
I thought it was a nurse, but when I looked up, I saw Kate.
She wore a white dress, carrying an exquisite fruit basket, a false smile playing on her lips: "Katharine, I heard you were hospitalized. I came specifically to see you."
She walked to the bedside and placed the fruit basket on the nightstand, her eyes briefly scanning my medical record book, a faint, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corner of her mouth: "Advanced stomach cancer, huh? Katharine, you are really pitiable."
I closed my eyes, not wanting to face her.
But Kate was relentless, reaching out to grip my hand so tightly it made me frown: "Don't be too upset—at least Christian is marrying me. Even if you die, you'll still get to see our happiness, won't you?"
That sentence enraged me completely.
I snapped my eyes open and forcefully shook her hand off. "Kate, don't go too far!"
Kate took a step back, then, as if suffering the greatest grievance, her eyes instantly reddened. "Katharine, I'm only concerned about you. How can you treat me like this?"
Just then, the ward door was flung open, and Christian stormed in.
He saw Kate's eyes rimmed with red, then caught sight of my pale face. Instantly, he pulled Kate behind him, the hatred in his gaze nearly swallowing me whole: "Katharine, are you bullying Kate again?"
"She provoked me first!" I struggled to sit up, but Christian pressed my shoulder down, forcing me back onto the bed.
"Provoked?" Christian sneered coldly, grabbed the medical record book from the bedside cabinet, and flung it to the floor without a second glance. "You really think a fake medical record will win my sympathy? Katharine, you make me sick."
The medical record book slipped from my hands, its pages scattering across the floor.
I met Christian's cold gaze and saw Kate's triumphant smile hiding behind him; in that moment, my heart shattered.
I no longer explained or struggled—I simply stared silently at the ceiling.
Christian, seeing my silence as consent, sharpened his tone: "Stay put in the hospital, and don't even think about pulling any stunts again. You'd better be on time for the wedding next Saturday, or I'll make sure you regret it for the rest of your life."
With that, he turned and left with Kate, the ward door slamming loudly behind them.
I lay on the hospital bed, tears slowly streaming down, falling onto the pillow and spreading a small wet stain.
Outside, the sky gradually darkened, and inside the ward, only the ticking of the machines remained.
I reached out and picked up the medical record book from the floor, page by page, smoothing it out slowly.
Advanced stomach cancer—I don't have much time left.
Christian, don't worry, I will attend your wedding.
I will watch you and Kate as you share your happiness, and then, completely disappear from your world.
But I don't know if I can hold on until that day.
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