I Found a Livestream of My Own Murder

I came across a trending post on my phone.

[Live Stream: My fiancée is cheating - I'm at her place right now. Should I kill her?]

I clicked on the post, and the content made my blood run cold instantly:

[I installed spyware on her phone and have been listening for almost two weeks. She talks to some guy on the phone every day. She agrees to marry me to my face, but cheats behind my back. Does a woman like this deserve to die?]

The comment section had gone completely insane. Hundreds of replies were blatantly egging him on - not a single person trying to stop him. Every word dripped with the malice of people who just wanted to watch the world burn:

[Hell yeah, she cheated on you. What else would you do but kill her?]

[Don't just talk - start the livestream and we'll send you gifts. Rape her first, then kill her - that's how you show you've got balls]

[You in Emerald City? Drop the address, I'll come help you out. My hands are itching for some action]

[And here I thought you were tough. You're already in her house and still hesitating? I bet you don't even have the guts to kill a dog]

My fingers were shaking badly. Out of curiosity, I clicked on the poster's profile, and with just one glance, every hair on my body stood on end.

This account belonged to James Smith - the blind date my relatives had forced on me when I came home.

His profile was filled with posts about me, a timeline spanning two whole weeks, starting from the day of our blind date.

He had secretly photographed me, with captions full of disgusting fantasies:

[My fiancée went on a date with me today, wearing a white shirt with such a low neckline - clearly trying to seduce me]

[She told me she works as a hotel receptionist, which is code for wanting me to take her to a hotel tonight. Women always say the opposite of what they mean]

[She says she has a boyfriend, but that's just playing hard to get. Deep down, she's dying to marry me].

But I had clearly told him on the day of the blind date, right in front of the matchmaker, that I had a boyfriend of three years.

I only went on that date to appease my family. I was polite but distant the whole time and didn't even drink a glass of water from him!

As for the hotel stuff, that was complete nonsense. I had only casually mentioned that I worked as a hotel receptionist!

Just as chills ran through my body, the post refreshed with an update from three seconds ago:

[Actually, I'm hiding in her house right now. She's lying in bed scrolling on her phone, completely unaware that death is at her door.]

The instant those words loaded, a clear rustling sound of fabric suddenly came from the closet behind me.

1

The nightlight by my bed suddenly flickered violently twice, stretching the closet's shadow long across the room.

My scalp went numb instantly, like countless icy ants were crawling up my spine.

My finger froze on his profile page, and my whole body started trembling uncontrollably, my teeth chattering.

The IP location clearly showed Emerald City, matching my location exactly.

John Williams' voice was still coming through my earphones, but I couldn't hear anything anymore.

All I could hear was my heart pounding like a drum, and from the closet, that intermittent rustling sound that would stop and start again.

He's in there. He's really in there!

I bit my lip hard, not daring to make a sound. My trembling fingers swiped to another one of his posts, where he was broadcasting our "blind date experience," painting me as a slut. The comments below were even more vulgar and obscene.

I carefully turned around, pressing my back tightly against the cold wall, then opened my phone camera, zoomed in as far as it would go, and aimed it at the closet.

In the camera view, the crack in the closet door was pitch black, like an open eye staring at me.

I zoomed in more and more, but could only make out a vague dark outline. I couldn't see clearly what was hiding inside.

But the sound continued - rustling, as if someone was adjusting their position inside, fabric scraping against the wooden panels of the closet. In the dead silence of the early morning hours, every sound was amplified infinitely, each one stepping on my nerves.

I took a deep breath. My heart jumped violently with each step I took, hitting my chest so hard it hurt.

I grabbed the pepper spray from my nightstand, my fingers gripping it so tightly they turned white. The cold metal seeped through my skin, but it couldn't suppress the cold sweat covering my body.

One step, two steps, three steps...

I stopped in front of the closet and reached out, placing my hand on the cold closet handle.

The next second, a voice suddenly exploded in my earphones, scaring me so badly I nearly threw the pepper spray.

"Why aren't you talking? Did you fall asleep?"

It was John.

My mom had always thought John's personality was too extreme and didn't approve of us being together.

This trip home, I had only agreed to meet the "reliable" James because I couldn't resist my relatives' pressure.

Every night I would voice chat with John. Tonight, because I was so terrified, I had completely forgotten about this.

Maybe this habit would save my life tonight!

I quickly took off my earphones, turned my phone volume to maximum, deliberately raised my voice - the trembling in it impossible to hide - and forced myself to say:

"I'm fine, I'm just reading a novel. John, didn't you say you were coming back to Emerald City tonight? When you get here, can you bring me a Coke?"

"Bring me a Coke" was our pre-arranged distress signal.

Whenever I said this, it meant I was in danger and needed him to call the police immediately.

Sure enough, there was two seconds of silence on the other end, then his steady voice came through, deliberately gentle and reassuring:

"Okay, I'm at a convenience store right now. I'll be home soon. Lock your door and don't be scared."

Just as my anxious heart relaxed slightly, my phone suddenly vibrated. That post had updated again.

[Her man seems to be coming back soon.]

The online users went even crazier, comments flying past:

[So what if he comes back? Just kill them both! Saves you the trouble]

[You're not getting scared, are you? If you're chickening out, just say so. Don't make excuses]

[That's it? And here I thought you had guts]

James was clearly provoked by these comments and instantly replied:

[How could I be scared?! When that guy gets here, I'll kill them both!]

Standing in front of the closet, I was shaking like a leaf in the autumn wind, my back soaked through with cold sweat.

I quickly switched back to WhatsApp. My fingers were shaking so badly I kept hitting the wrong letters. I finally managed to type out the post's content, that James was in my house, telling him not to come back and to call the police immediately.

But the moment I sent the message...

The call was disconnected, and I was blocked on WhatsApp.

Panic-stricken and covered in sweat, my mind went blank. My hand gripping the pepper spray was bulging with veins, and only one thought remained in my head:

He's in the closet. He's about to come out!

Gritting my teeth, I suddenly yanked open the closet door!