Love Burned to Ashes

Three years ago, Samantha Jade and her parents were trapped in a raging fire. She watched with her own eyes as the flames devoured her mother and father. At the critical moment, it was Connor Parker who charged in and saved her. She fell hopelessly in love with him. For the following three years, she drowned in the tenderness he wove so carefully around her. But later, Samantha discovered the truth: that fire three years ago—Connor had set it. He had approached her on purpose, loved her on purpose, all to avenge his first love. Every bit of love, every gentle word, every beautiful moment between them—none of it was real. It had all been a lie. Since he hated her that much, Samantha decided to play along. Amid Connor's revenge, she faked her death. But when he saw the charred body—believing it was hers—Connor lost his mind. Chapter 1 In the bathroom of the most luxurious hotel suite in Reystein City, Samantha Jade was pinned down in the bathtub by Connor Parker. His movements were wild and unrestrained. Before her stretched a massive floor-to-ceiling window. The lights of half the city flickered and shifted in her field of vision. Gripping her throat with unsettling excitement, Connor teased her, "Turns you on, doesn't this?" When it was finally over, Samantha soaked in the bathwater, drained. She shut her eyes for just a moment. When she woke, the bathroom was empty. The door had been locked from the outside. She banged on it with all her strength, but there wasn't a single sound from beyond. "Connor! Are you there? The door's broken—I can't open it! Connor!" Her voice rang out, sharp and panicked, but he was nowhere to be found. Ever since the fire three years ago, she'd been left with deep psychological scars. Claustrophobia had taken root. The moment she was trapped in a closed space, the fear became unbearable. Her whole body would begin to tremble. She cried for help again and again, but no one came. Her breathing grew rapid, and the sensation of suffocation tightened around her, invisible but real—as if unseen hands were closing in around her throat. Her mind flooded with the image of her parents burning to death. Just before she lost consciousness, there was movement outside. Connor had returned with a locksmith. "Samantha, the door's broken. Hold on, the locksmith's opening it now." The moment the door swung open, she collapsed into his arms. "Samantha, I'm sorry. This is all my fault. I should've stayed with you," he whispered, holding her close, his eyes full of what looked like regret. She rested for a while, and Connor went to the next suite to play cards with his friends. Though she tried to calm herself, the fear and unease still gripped her tightly. Forcing herself up despite the lingering discomfort, she thought of bringing them some late-night snacks. But as she approached the door to the neighboring suite, she found it slightly ajar. Voices drifted out, impossible to ignore. "Connor, if you ask me, you should've waited longer before going in. Let her symptoms get worse. You're too easy on her." "Hahaha, that idiot probably still thinks Connor is her savior. She has no idea he doesn't love her at all. The whole three-year relationship? Just revenge." "Exactly. Remember when Connor secretly swapped her thesis? That's why the school canceled her diploma. He just said a few sweet words, and she thought her life had hope again." "And the ashes of her parents—she thought someone stole them and threw them away. Connor went with her to file a police report, and she cried like he was her only support. But it was him. He did it." "Oh, and when she was working late at the company and a colleague was seriously injured—she got arrested and was scheduled to be locked up in jail for a month. Connor pulled some strings to get her out, and she nearly married him on the spot. She doesn't know he set up the entire scene!" "…" Samantha's heart slammed against her chest. Her throat tasted bitter, her palms damp with sweat. Her mind blanked. She leaned on the wall, struggling just to stay upright. One by one, the events of the past years replayed in her head. Every piece slid into place. So Connor never loved her. So everything she'd suffered—every misfortune, every loss—he had orchestrated. And she hadn't seen any of it coming. "Well, she's only got herself to blame. She's the one who pushed Cathy off the building back then. There was no proof, so the cops couldn't do anything. But we got our revenge and made her watch her parents die in that fire. Couldn't even keep their ashes. Hahaha. Too bad for Connor though, had to grit his teeth through it all." In the center of the group, Connor sat with a glass of liquor in hand, his gaze cold and unreadable. He said nothing. He was nothing like the man who'd once spoken so many soft words to her. Samantha felt bile rising in her throat. Clutching her stomach, she turned and rushed back to her room. Her nerves still raced out of control, sparking like live wires under her skin. Her phone rang. It was her uncle, who had only recently reconnected with her. "Samantha, have you thought about what I mentioned last time? Our family business is still—" She parted her lips, forcing back the pain tearing at her heart. "I'll come back. But I need your help with something. I want to fake my death. I need you to prepare a body and a new identity for me." There was a pause on the other end. He didn't ask why. "Alright," he said. Chapter 2 Drunk and reeking of alcohol, Connor stumbled back into the room. The moment he climbed into bed, he pulled her into his arms, wrapping himself around her from behind, his hand fitting snugly around her narrow waist. In a low, raspy voice, he murmured her name. "Samantha... Samantha, I missed you so much." His words and his touch were thick with tenderness, so convincing that Samantha found herself hesitating. Her back stiffened slightly. She placed her hand over his, inhaling deeply before testing him. "Connor, do you really love me?" His chin nuzzled into her hair like a kitten seeking warmth. Without a pause, he said, "I love you. I love you so much. Samantha, let's never be apart. Ever." Her eyes were blank, unfocused. She gently guided his hand to her chest, right over her heart. After a long silence, she echoed, "Alright. Let's never be apart." If Connor was willing to throw himself into this cruel game of revenge, then she was just as willing to offer up her entire life in return. Later, his breathing evened out. He'd fallen asleep. Samantha sat up suddenly, reached for his phone, and tried unlocking it with her birthday. Wrong password. Her lips curled into a bitter smile. Then she entered Cathy Simone's birthday. The screen lit up. The shame of her own blindness hit her hard—how easily she'd trusted him, how oblivious she'd been to the deceit that had wrapped itself around her life like a noose. She opened WhatsApp, scrolled through his group chats, and clicked into one with his friends. [Connor, it's almost Cathy's death anniversary. Let's do something big that day, really give Samantha a lesson she won't forget. Consider it a tribute to Cathy.] [Yeah. I've got an idea—let her relive that nightmare from three years ago. But we'll make it worse. When the fire starts, you swoop in and 'save' her again. She'll be even more obsessed with you. Then when she's madly in love, just dump her.] There was a long pause before Connor replied: [Alright. But don't take it too far. Safety first.] His friends replied: [Connor, you're still too nice to her. Have you forgotten? If it weren't for her, Cathy wouldn't be dead.] [You're not actually falling for her, are you?] His reply came instantly. [As if. She killed Cathy. I could never love her. Not in this lifetime.] Samantha stared at that message. She could almost picture the look on his face as he typed it—eyes cold, jaw tight. He must hate her. Hate her so much he could barely stand it. And yet, for years, he'd played the role of the doting lover. How much pain must he have endured, pretending every day? Her chest felt hollow. But her thoughts were already settling into clarity. On Cathy's death anniversary—one month from now—she would "die". Right in front of him. She'd give him what he wanted: release. But she also had a parting gift for him. She was going to uncover the truth behind Cathy's death. Because that death had always been strange. And she had nothing to do with it. The day it happened, they had been practicing dance together at the studio. The security cameras confirmed no one else had entered or left the building. Then out of nowhere, Cathy jumped. No signs of suicidal thoughts. No reason to end her life. So naturally, everyone pointed fingers at Samantha. But she was innocent. Her fingers clenched into fists. She could already imagine the moment Connor found out that Cathy's death had nothing to do with her. And by then, she would already be gone—destroyed by his revenge. She couldn't wait to see the look on his face. Chapter 3 The next day, Connor said he wanted to take Samantha out to a bar. Samantha declined, saying she wasn't feeling well. But he held her tightly, his voice low and soft against her ear, coaxing. "Come on, baby. After what happened at the hotel, everyone's still worried about you. Just come out, relax a little, yeah?" Samantha stared straight into his eyes. She couldn't tell what game they were playing this time—or what kind of revenge they were planning now. After a pause, she forced a smile. "Sure. Let's go." At the bar, people kept coming over to toast her. Samantha accepted every glass without hesitation. Seeing her drink so freely, everyone around her smiled in satisfaction. "Samantha, a toast to you." Hannah Simone walked up to her, grinning, a drink in hand. Hannah was Cathy's twin sister. They looked nearly identical. For years, she'd been by Connor's side. Back then, Samantha had simply thought of her as a friend. But after learning the truth about Connor and his revenge, Samantha couldn't help but look at Hannah differently now. "Alright." Samantha tipped the glass back and downed it in one go. Suddenly, Hannah stumbled slightly, and the glass in her hand tipped forward. The drink spilled down the front of Samantha's clothes. "Oh no! Are you okay?" Hannah asked, feigning concern. "I'm fine." Samantha's cheeks were slightly flushed, and she rubbed her temple as if she were tipsy. "Samantha, your clothes are soaked. You'll catch a cold like this. I'll take you upstairs to change, alright?" Samantha glanced at Connor. He gave a small nod. "It's fine. Go ahead." So she got up, staggering a little as Hannah helped her walk. There were clean, private rooms upstairs in the bar. Hannah led her into one of them and said gently, "Take off your clothes first. I'll go grab something clean for you. Just wait here, okay? Don't wander." "Mhm. Got it." As soon as the door clicked shut behind her, the hazy look in Samantha's eyes disappeared. Her gaze turned sharp. She had taken hangover medicine in advance. The drinks they'd poured into her earlier had no effect at all. She was playing along, just to see what they were really planning. She pulled out her phone. Earlier, she had slipped a bug inside Connor's jacket. Now, with a single tap, the voices of Connor and his friends came through clearly into her ear. "Don't worry, Connor. Everything's ready. The intel's solid. Matt Wilson is coming here tonight to talk business. That room upstairs is prepped for him." "Everyone knows Matt isn't into women. So many people tried to cozy up to him, even sent girls to his bed—he beat them half to death." "Anyway, Samantha's not getting out of this tonight. And tomorrow morning, you'll rush in looking all panicked and worried. Show up right when she's barely hanging on. She'll love you even more after that." Connor didn't say a word. His head hung low, face unreadable. "But… what if he actually does something to her?" he finally asked, hesitant, after a long silence. Just then, Hannah came back. She rested her hand on his shoulder, her voice sweet and playful. "Connor, are you actually worried about her? Everyone knows Matt's a weirdo. No matter how hot a girl is, even if she's on his bed in her birthday suit, he won't even look at her. And besides, Samantha killed Cathy. If Matt decides to take Samantha tonight, she should be thanking her lucky stars." Chapter 4 When Cathy's name was mentioned, something in Connor's expression hardened. Yes. It was Samantha who killed Cathy. Whatever happened to her now—she deserved it. And yet… why did his chest tighten ever so slightly when he thought of her, eyes red from crying, throwing herself into his arms? He couldn't help himself. He downed several gulps of liquor. Sweat formed on his forehead. It numbed his nerves just enough to push the thought away. Upstairs, Matt opened the door to his room. The air was thick with the sharp scent of alcohol, laced with the faint, cloying sweetness of perfume. He instantly became alert, his voice sharp and cold. "Get out. Now." From under the covers, a small figure stirred. Samantha's head slowly emerged from the bedding. She looked straight at him, lips curling into a calm, almost defiant smile. "Let's make a deal." Matt narrowed his eyes. "What kind of deal?" "I'll give you one million. Just let me stay here for the night. You don't have to do anything. You don't even have to say anything." He stared at her for a long time, silently, taking in the audacity of this girl who dared to speak so boldly in front of him. She clearly had no idea who he was. Matt was the kind of man who never lacked money. In fact, he was the richest person in Reystein City. But for someone to offer him one million just for a night of silence—this was a first. Strangely, he didn't hate her for it. Instead of flying into a rage, as he normally might, he did something completely unexpected. He agreed. The night passed quietly. Nothing happened between them. The next morning, there was a knock at the door. Connor's voice rang out anxiously from the hallway. "Samantha? Are you in there? Are you okay?" Samantha was still in the bathroom doing… something. Matt sat on the couch, arms crossed, an amused look on his face, like he was waiting for the show to begin. When she finally stepped out, she wore a silk slip dress. Her hair was tousled, her eyes red, as if she'd just been crying. Faint marks—bluish-purple bruises—dotted her pale, slender neck. They looked suspiciously like… hickeys. Matt's gaze lingered on her, curious now. Samantha walked unhurriedly to the door and opened it. The moment it swung open, tears streamed down her face like pearls spilling off a broken string. Without a word, she collapsed into Connor's arms. She didn't speak. Just cried. Connor and the people behind him froze in place, stunned by what they were seeing. "You… how could you—" His voice cracked as he held her close, his tone filled with disbelief. She cried like a broken doll, her tears soaking his shirt, clinging to him like a kitten that had been kicked one too many times. "Connor… I… I… what do I do… I don't want to live anymore…" His eyes slid past her, settling on the man still seated inside, and his gaze hardened into burning fury. Matt exuded an oppressive stillness, a cold and eerie aura. The friends behind Connor sensed something was off. One by one, they tugged at his sleeve, urging him to calm down. Connor clenched his jaw, face twisted in fury. Without a word, he bent down, scooped Samantha into his arms, and walked off. His expression was like ice. The group followed behind, lost and unsure. Back in the room, Matt sat casually, lips curling into a faint smile. In his hand was the bank card Samantha had given him. "Interesting," he murmured. Samantha continued to cry. No matter what Connor asked, she wouldn't respond. He held her tightly, gently patting her shoulder in an attempt to soothe her—as if afraid that if he pressed even a little too hard, she might shatter. Chapter 5 "Samantha, I'm sorry. It's all my fault. Cheer up. You can hit me, yell at me—whatever you want, as long as it makes you feel better." Samantha just stared at him, her eyes wide and glistening like a wounded pup. She didn't say a word. Just sat there, looking heartbreakingly fragile. No one else dared to speak. It took Connor a long time to finally soothe her into sleep. The moment he rose from the bed and gently closed the door behind him, the warmth on his face vanished completely, replaced by a biting cold. Downstairs, he glared at the group, rage simmering behind his eyes like it might set the whole room on fire. "What did you tell me? Wasn't this supposed to be foolproof? Didn't you say that Matt never touches women? What the hell happened?" Everyone stood frozen, holding their breath, exchanging nervous glances but not daring to speak. Hannah pressed her lips together in frustration and cautiously stood up, placing her hand on Connor's shoulder. "Connor…" "Get your hand off me." He shook her off immediately. Her hand froze awkwardly in the air. After a beat, she scratched at her hair and forced a bitter smile. "Connor, so what if someone else slept with her? What's the big deal? You don't even really like her, right? Why are you so angry?" Others chimed in, trying to help. "Exactly, Connor. Don't tell us you've actually fallen for Samantha? Have you forgotten? She's the one who got Cathy killed!" The mention of Cathy made the vein at Connor's temple twitch. He waved a hand irritably. "Of course not. I'm just mad because this didn't go according to plan. The plan was for Samantha to get beaten. But now look at her…" Without warning, an image flashed in his mind—Samantha, tangled in bed, helpless beneath another man's weight. His breath quickened. "It's okay, Connor. So what if the plan failed? We still got back at her in a way. Didn't you see how hard she was crying just now? And I've still got more tricks up my sleeve." A sly grin curved Hannah's lips. "I just—what if she can't take it? She loves me so much. What if she kills herself in a moment of despair? What if she breaks up with me? Then what?" Even voicing the possibilities made a flicker of anxiety flash across his eyes. A snide voice replied, "Break up with you? Come on, Connor. Samantha has no one in this world but you. If she leaves you, where would she even go?" Only then did some of the tension in Connor's body seem to ease. That's right. Samantha had no one left. No family. No support. No future. He was the only one she had. And the best revenge? Would be to slowly become someone she couldn't live without. Then one day, toss her aside without warning. She'd be shattered. Completely. Samantha stood quietly at the top of the stairs, hiding behind the wall. She had heard everything. Not a single word had escaped her ears. After a while, a smile tugged at her lips. Beautiful, but broken. Even now—after everything—Connor still wasn't satisfied? Her parents' ashes were scattered and lost. Her college diploma was gone. She'd nearly been thrown in jail with a criminal record. What more did Connor want? What kind of ending would finally satisfy his need for revenge? Chapter 6 Samantha stepped quietly back into the room, closed the door behind her, and made a call. "Uncle, there's something else I need your help with," she said. "Can you look into something for me? Three years ago, at a dance academy in Reystein City—a girl jumped off a building. I want to know what really happened." It had only been three months since she'd reconnected with her uncle. Before that, she hadn't known she still had family in this world. He'd been urging her to come home ever since, to inherit the family estate. But she had loved Connor too much back then—so much that she kept refusing. Now she finally understood. No matter how passionate love might seem, it could never compare to the quiet weight of blood ties. This time, she would play the game herself. She would make sure that Connor spent the rest of his life drowning in regret and misery. … "Samantha, there's a party tomorrow," Connor said. "Reystein City's elite will all be there. I'll take you with me—introduce you to everyone. Once we're married, events like this will be a regular thing. You should start getting used to it." He wrapped his arms around her from behind as she stood in front of the bathroom sink. His lips brushed against the delicate curve of her earlobe, lingering there before he inhaled deeply, as though savoring the scent of her hair. In the mirror, Samantha looked at herself, forcing a smile that never touched her eyes. "Okay," she said. His hand slid down, fingers tugging at the sash of her nightgown. Instinctively, she reached back and caught his wrist. "Connor, I'm not feeling well today. Can we not?" His gaze lingered on her, his eyes searching hers for a moment—quiet, uncertain. Something seemed off. But then he remembered the night she had spent with Matt. His mouth curled into a bitter smile as he nodded. "Alright. You should rest. I'll sleep in the other room tonight. Don't want to disturb you." "Mm. Good night, Connor." "Good night, Samantha." As the door clicked shut, Samantha's body, tight with restraint, finally began to ease. Her exhaustion spilled across her features. She braced herself on the sink, ripped two tissues from the box, and scrubbed at the place on her skin where he'd kissed her. For all she knew, his saliva might be laced with poison. Men like him—venom lived in their touch, in the sweet nothings they whispered. And she had no idea what tomorrow would bring. … At the party, she wore the gown Connor had sent someone to deliver first thing that morning—a custom piece from a high-end boutique. The pale teal fabric complimented her already fair skin, giving her a fragile, almost untouchable elegance. She held onto his arm as they moved through the crowd, greeting one person after another. Her expression never faltered—gentle, poised, appropriate. "Mr. Reddington, it's been a while," Connor said with a smile. "Let me introduce you—this is my fiancée, Samantha." Fiancée. The word lodged itself in her chest like a splinter. Her fingertips trembled ever so slightly where they rested on the sleeve of his suit. Through the thin fabric, she could feel the warmth of his body. Her nose stung, and she swallowed hard. That word—fiancée—had once been everything she'd dreamed of. She had longed for it, prayed for it, even begged for it in silence. Now, it felt like a dagger pressed against her ribs. "Samantha, are you alright?" Connor's voice pulled her back. He was watching her, concern flickering behind his eyes. "You don't look well." "I'm fine." "Come on, I'll take you to sit down for a bit." "Alright." Not far off, Hannah approached them, a glass of wine in her hand. "Samantha, you look gorgeous tonight," she said with a smile, eyes scanning Samantha from head to toe. "No wonder Connor's so taken with you." There was something thin and sharp hidden in her voice, something just beneath the surface. Samantha didn't react. Her face remained still. "Thank you," she said. Chapter 7 Hannah trailed behind them toward the sofa. There was something in her presence that made Samantha uneasy, a tension that tightened with every step. Sure enough, the moment stretched and snapped. Without warning, Hannah stepped hard on the hem of Samantha's dress. Samantha furrowed her brows, instinctively reaching out to steady herself on Connor's arm. But she had underestimated Hannah. This wasn't about making her trip or fall. It was about the dress. Before Samantha could react, a ripple of gasps spread through the crowd. Her gown—delicate, custom-fitted, elegant—split apart at the seams under the pressure, slipping off her body in a sudden whisper of silk. All that remained was the thin lingerie clinging to her frame. "I'm so sorry, Samantha, I didn't mean to," Hannah said immediately, though her voice carried no weight of sincerity. Eyes swarmed over Samantha, unashamed and leering. Shame struck her like a slap, sharp and burning. She snatched the fabric from the ground, clutching it to her chest. Then, without hesitation, she raised her hand and delivered a tight slap across Hannah's face. Color bloomed instantly on Hannah's cheek. Connor stepped forward and yanked Hannah behind him, his eyes turning cold as they met Samantha's. "How could you hit her? She apologized! It wasn't even on purpose!" Samantha's lashes trembled, but she said nothing. She simply stared at him. Of course she knew. This had been orchestrated from the start—Connor and Hannah, playing their parts. The dress had been tampered with. There was no other explanation for how it fell apart so effortlessly. He wanted to humiliate her. To break her pride in front of everyone. But he had miscalculated. There was no collapse, no tears, only the distant flicker of disappointment in her eyes—cool, steady, strangely calm. Something in Connor faltered. Her gaze sent a ripple of panic through him. His brows twitched. He reached out instinctively to take her hand, but Samantha pulled away. "I'm sorry, Samantha, I…" He fumbled with his jacket, draping it over her shoulders. "Let me get someone to help you change. Samantha, I'm really sorry." He kept apologizing, frantic now, but Samantha barely responded. She let the staff guide her away, and he watched her go, unease blooming in his chest. Something had shifted. She wasn't the same. And for the first time, he felt it—her eyes no longer held love when they looked at him. Fear curled cold in his stomach. "Connor," Hannah leaned in close, voice low enough for only him to hear. "I arranged for a man to go in while she's changing—just a little scare…" "No!" Connor snapped. "Call it off. Now." Hannah blinked in disbelief. "What?" "I said cancel the plan!" His tone was sharp and commanding. "But—" She faltered. "She's already been humiliated enough!" His voice dropped again, but the anger remained. "This place is full of important people. You want to blow this up even more? I'll be the one who's shamed." Hannah hesitated, then finally relented. "Fine." That night, on the way home, Connor held Samantha's hand the entire time. Somewhere deep down, he was gripped by a strange premonition. If he let go, she might vanish completely. "Samantha… I was wrong. I shouldn't have yelled at you. Will you forgive me?" Samantha smiled faintly, without hesitation. "Okay." Chapter 8 Soon, it was the anniversary of Cathy's death. Samantha was ready to disappear for good. She had already thrown away every gift Connor had ever given her. Even the photos they had taken together—all of them were tossed into the trash. There was nothing left in the apartment that belonged to her. Now, all that was left was to wait for the show to begin. "Samantha," Connor said hesitantly, "I just got an email. Someone claims to have a lead about the fire three years ago. They want us to go to the site." "Let's go." Samantha didn't hesitate. "Alright," he nodded. "I'll have the driver get the car." He took her hand, holding it tightly. Her fingers were ice-cold today. His palms were warm, yet no matter how tightly he held her, they never warmed up. The site of the fire had long since become a ruin—an abandoned building, still bearing the blackened marks of smoke on its walls. Inside, it was choked with dust. "Don't worry, Connor," one of his friends had told him during a conversation Samantha had overheard. "We've already set up the timed incendiary. You just need to lure her in and lock the door from the outside. Once it starts burning, she won't be able to get out. Based on the last fire, wait fifteen minutes, then go in and save her. She won't die—maybe just a few burns. But when she sees you coming through the flames, she'll be so grateful and start crying." Samantha had heard it all. And she was ready to let "Samantha" be buried in this fire for good. "Samantha." Connor's hand trembled slightly. He looked at her delicate face—so lovely, so distant. Something in him hesitated. "What is it?" she asked. "Nothing." He lowered his head. Then, as if he thought about something, he looked up again and said, out of nowhere, "Samantha, will you marry me?" Samantha let out a sudden laugh and pointed at the decaying building. "Are you proposing to me here?" "You're right. I didn't think it through." Inside, Samantha played dumb. "Did the person who emailed you say what time they'd be here?" Connor glanced at his watch and pressed his lips together. "No. Samantha, I left my phone in the car. I'll go grab it. Can you wait here for a moment?" "Sure." He turned to leave. Just before the door shut, even though she'd prepared herself for everything, Samantha felt something deep in her chest twist sharply. She smiled and called out to him, "Connor, will you always love me?" His hand froze on the doorknob. He turned to look at her—this woman who had stood by his side for three years. She was so trusting. After all his deceit and revenge, she still believed in him. His throat tightened. He lowered his gaze, unable to meet her eyes. "I will," he said softly. "Alright," she smiled. "I'll wait for you." The door closed. His hands shook violently as he locked it. With a heavy click, the lock fell into place—shutting the door on Samantha's life. She had to admit, they had timed it perfectly. Flames were already licking their way into the building. She ran deeper inside, quickly arranging the body her uncle had prepared in advance. Everything was set. Then she jumped from a second-floor window. Before getting into the car her uncle had parked nearby, she turned once to glance at the building now fully consumed by fire. And silently, in her heart, she said, 'So long, Connor. I hope your heart will remain stone-cold forever. Even when you learn the truth—don't mourn for me.'