After My Death, the Godfather Slipped a Ring onto My Finger

I died because I didn't know Sophia had followed me on a mission, which left her stranded in the chaotic dock district.

My husband Dent was furious. He ordered his bodyguards to throw me into the seafood transfer warehouse.

"Go cool off in the refrigeration room," he said. "Then you'll understand how helpless Sophia felt trapped in that shipping container."

It was a cold storage room used for storing seafood—a constant zero degrees Celsius, the air thick with the stench of fish. I pounded on the door, begging for help. All that came through the intercom was Dent's cold voice:

"Drop the act. The cold storage temperature won't freeze you to death. Stay in there and reflect until you learn your lesson."

He cut off the internal communication.

The temperature in the cold storage kept dropping—someone had switched it to freezing mode! I trembled all over, pounding on the door again and again until my nails scraped bloody marks on the walls. I curled up in agony, my consciousness fading, my body growing stiff.

On the third day, celebrating his takeover of new territory, Dent finally remembered me. He graciously decided to have someone let me out.

But what he didn't know was that my heart had already stopped beating from hypothermia.

I gradually stopped feeling the cold, yet my body felt weightless. Perhaps because I died with such bitter unwillingness, my soul could only follow Dent around.

On the third day of my confinement in the freezer, Dent had taken over a new piece of territory. To celebrate, he finally remembered me the night before hosting a banquet.

In the villa's living room, a tailor placed a gift box on the table. Dent held a cigar between his fingers, glancing at the black evening gown inside the box.

"Has Elena been quiet these past few days? Has she learned her lesson?"

Mark, the bodyguard beside him, wiped the cold sweat from his forehead. "Boss, Mrs. Elena hasn't made any sound in the cold storage for quite a while now."

Dent flicked his ash and said mockingly, "She's just putting on a show for me. Don't rush to let her out. When she can't take it anymore, she'll naturally hand over the encryption key."

"But the cold storage temperature is only zero degrees, with no food or water. Should you perhaps—"

"Enough." Dent cut him off impatiently. "It's a seafood preservation room, not a freezer. She won't die."

"She's Elena—the assassin who underwent extreme cold survival training in Siberia. She survived three days and nights buried in the snow. How could she possibly freeze to death in a zero-degree preservation room?"

He took another drag from his cigar, slowly exhaling smoke rings.

"I just need to break that spirit of hers. She's too proud. I need her to know who's the master of this house. If I don't make her suffer a little, she'll never learn to be gentle and obedient like Sophia."

Sophia was an orphan girl Dent had accidentally rescued six months ago while fighting for territory. Back then, his opponents had set up a series of explosive traps. At the critical moment, she'd grabbed Dent and saved his life. Dent brought her home, treating her as his savior.

Unlike me—hands stained with blood, decisive in killing—she was a pure, clean girl who spoke softly.

But I never imagined that within six months of arriving here, she would cost me my life.