I Pretended to Be Dead and They All Panicked Chapter 08

I Pretended to Be Dead and They All Panicked Chapter 08

With overwhelming evidence against her, 

Evangeline was eventually convicted of attempted 

murder and sentenced to three years in prison. 

When the judge delivered the verdict, she completely broke down. 

She screamed, cried, and demanded to see my 

parents. 

But at that moment, my parents were far too busy 

sitting at my bedside to spare her another 

thought. 

The moment I opened my eyes, my mother rushed 

over with a steaming bowl of chicken noodle 

soup. 

She carefully blew on a spoonful before bringing it 

toward my lips. 

“Cordelia, come on. Have some soup.” 

Her tone was almost embarrassingly eager to 

please. 

“I personally supervised this batch from start to finish. I even tasted it myself. I promise it’s not too salty.” 

My father sat beside her, carefully peeling and cutting fresh fruit into bite–sized pieces. 

He speared a piece with a fork and held it out to 

1. me. 

“Come on, sweetheart. Eat some fruit. You need the vitamins.” 

Julian was practically beaming when he saw that I was awake. 

He immediately rushed out to get the doctor and brought him back for a full examination. 

When the doctor finally smiled and announced that all my vitals were stable and I was recovering well, my entire family let out a collective sigh of relief. 

Watching them hover around me so carefully, I actually felt a little overwhelmed. 

The doctor chuckled. 

“Miss Sinclair, you’re definitely the favorite.” 

He shook his head with an amused smile. 

“Ever since you were admitted, your parents have been taking shifts staying here twenty–four hours a day. They haven’t even been going into the 

office.” 

He lowered his voice jokingly. 

“Honestly, if it weren’t for you, people like me probably would’ve gone our whole lives without 

ever seeing the country’s richest family in person.” 

My mother smiled awkwardly. 

Then she took my hand. 

Her eyes slowly turned red. 

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” 

She squeezed my fingers gently. 

“We misunderstood you so many times.” 

Her voice cracked. 

“Your father and I finally understand now. When 

you didn’t defend yourself, it wasn’t because you were admitting you were guilty.” 

She swallowed hard. 

“You just didn’t think it was worth wasting your energy arguing.” 

My mother’s grip tightened. 

“You must have been misunderstood so many 

times before. You must have gone through so 

much and suffered in silence.” 

With tears in her eyes, she promised me that from 

then on, she would make it up to me. 

And so began the Sinclair family’s massive campaign to spoil me rotten. 

My father went first. 

With one signature, he transferred a luxury 

penthouse duplex in downtown Viremont, 

complete with a temperature–controlled rooftop 

pool, into my name. 

He also handed me the keys to ten exotic sports 

cars. 

Then he gave me a black card with no spending 

limit. 

My mother took things even further. 

She hired an elite team of private staff just for me. 

From then on, I wouldn’t even have to lift a finger. 

Whatever I wanted to eat. 

Whatever I wanted to wear. 

One look, and someone would handle it for me. 

Julian wasn’t about to be left behind. 

In one spectacular display of brotherly generosity, 

he transferred ownership of several high–end 

entertainment venues and racing clubs near some 

of the country’s most prestigious universities. 

“From now on, have fun however you want.” 

He grinned. 

“I’ve got your back.” 

I lay in my hospital bed, listening to them casually 

throw absurd amounts of money at me. 

And somehow, my heart, which had barely been 

beating thirty times a minute, began to show 

signs of life again. 

Quietly, I did the math in my head. 

The penthouse alone was worth tens of millions. 

The ten sports cars were worth several million 

more. 

Then there was the unlimited black card, the 

private staff, the racing clubs, and everything else. 

And suddenly, I had an epiphany. 

My low energy levels had never really been the 

problem. 

I was just broke. 

When you didn’t have money, you couldn’t buy 

happiness. 

You couldn’t buy comfort. 

Every day was exhausting because simply staying 

alive took everything you had. 

I stared at my phone. 

My new monthly spending allowance had just 

landed in my account. 

Eight figures. 

I took a deep breath. 

To hell with dying. 

Suddenly, I didn’t want to die at all. 

After I was discharged, I completely embraced my 

new life. 

My schedule became remarkably consistent.. 

And outrageously luxurious. 

Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, I drove my 

Rolls–Royce to the most exclusive shopping 

districts in the city. 

If I liked something, I bought it. 

If I liked too many things, I bought out the entire 

store. 

Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays, I took my 

bright red Ferrari to the racetrack to indulge my 

need for speed. 

Sundays were reserved for flying my private jet to 

Switzerland for skiing. 

And just like that, I spent money and burned through energy without restraint. 

Three years flew by. 

By then, I had become one of the most recognized 

socialites in the elite circle. 

Every movement I made radiated confidence. 

Every room I entered knew exactly who I was. 

On my birthday, I rented an entire private island 

and threw a massive party with my friends. 

After the celebration, I rushed back home to 

celebrate with my parents. 

I was humming to myself as I headed toward the entrance of the Sinclair estate when suddenly, a dark figure lunged out from the side. 

I barely had time to react. 

Evangeline drove a knife deep into my abdomen. 

Her face twisted with hatred. 

“Die, you bitch!”