The year my boyfriend was at his poorest, I broke up with him. Later, after he achieved fame and fortune, he employed every means possible to marry me. Each night, he brought different women home, shattering my heart. Yet, I never cried or made a scene, never disturbing his amorous affairs. He was driven mad by this, kissing my lips fiercely as he growled, questioning me in a low voice, "Aren't you jealous?" What he didn't know was, I had mere days left to live...
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