Chapter 1

Brinley's POV

I've been dead for three months and four days.

But tonight, I'm still "watching" this Grammy Awards ceremony.

Don't ask me how—maybe it's because I can't let go, maybe it's because tonight is too important. Louis is wearing that black tuxedo we picked out together, standing on the red carpet. Except now, the woman on his arm isn't me.

Isabella Martinez. What a beautiful girl, her Latin heritage blessing her with perfect features and elegant grace. She clings tightly to Louis's arm, flashing that professional smile at the cameras—the kind I never learned to master.

"Louis! Isabella! Look this way!"

"Music industry's most watched new couple!"

Camera flashes explode like rainfall. I watch Louis mechanically turn his head, accommodating every angle. His eyes are hollow in that way that breaks my heart—that's the expression I know best, the one he wears whenever he wants to escape something.

My dear Louis, you still haven't learned to be happy in front of cameras, have you?

Isabella rises on her tiptoes, her red lips brushing his ear as she whispers, "Tonight's the night miracles happen."

I almost want to laugh. If only she knew that tonight's real miracle isn't Louis winning an award—it's a dead woman about to send birthday wishes to the man she loves most. Would she still say that?

The red carpet ends, spotlights and cheers fade away. I follow their steps—the advantage of being dead is you can be anywhere—into the glittering awards ceremony hall.

In the front row VIP seats, my boy sits beside his "new girlfriend." I watch Isabella occasionally stroke the back of Louis's hand—that used to be my habit, how I'd comfort him whenever he got nervous.

Now someone else is doing what I used to do.

Should I be jealous? Should I be angry?

No, I only feel a deep exhaustion. Death hasn't brought me peace—it's brought deeper longing.

"Next, let's present one of tonight's most important awards—the Grammy for Best New Artist!"

The host's voice echoes through the venue. My heart pounds—if dead people still have heartbeats.

"Especially our Louis Wilson, whose album Silent February not only swept music charts nationwide but also, with his fairy-tale romance with Isabella Martinez, made him America's most watched new music star!"

Silent February.

Tears should be streaming down my face now—if I could still cry. Every song on that album holds our secrets. Silent February—the month I left him.

Louis, do you know? Even in my final moments, I was still listening to your songs.

"The winner is—Louis Wilson!"

As the audience erupts, I watch Isabella embrace him excitedly. But Louis's expression absolutely shatters my heart.

He's not happy.

He stands, walks to the stage, accepts the trophy we once dreamed about together. He stands at the microphone, three thousand people below, thirty million watching on screen—everyone waiting for this moment.

I'm waiting too.

Louis grips the trophy, silent for several seconds. Then his lips curve into a smile I've never seen before—cold, vicious, full of hatred.

"Thank you, Grammy. Thank you to everyone who supported me. Today is February 4th, tomorrow will be February 5th—might be a special day for some people."

My body begins to tremble. Louis, what are you doing?

"I want to especially thank Dr. Brinley Santos, my former therapist. She violated professional ethics to date me, made me believe someone actually cared about my birthday. Then when I needed support most, she disappeared with our dog, leaving behind a pile of medical debt."

No! Louis, don't do this!

If I were still alive, I'd rush the stage to stop him. If I still had a voice, I'd shout the truth to the world. But I can't do anything—I can only watch helplessly as he pours all his hatred onto my grave.

"She taught me the most important lesson: therapists lie too, and birthdays can become curses. Thank her for showing me that the best music comes from the deepest betrayal."

Dead silence below, the live stream chat explodes. I watch people pull out phones to search my name, see shock and disgust on their faces.

"Wait... Dr. Brinley Santos... isn't she already dead?"

"My God, he's attacking a dead person?"

Yes, I'm already dead. I died of acute leukemia, in a hospital room without him, in Max's warm embrace.

And now, the man I love most is humiliating my name before the entire world.

Louis, do you know what you're doing? Do you know why I left you? Do you know what I used my last strength to do for you?

Below, Isabella's face turns paper white. She hisses angrily under her breath, "Louis, are you insane?"

Yes, he's insane. My Louis has gone insane.

Mad from love, mad from hate, mad from not knowing the truth.

As he walks off stage, I see his shoulders trembling slightly. Regret? Or relief? I don't know. I only know that the man who spoke those vicious words on stage is the same boy who once wrote songs for me until dawn.

The backstage celebration party continues in awkward atmosphere. Louis sits alone in a corner, drinking. Online condemnation builds wave after wave—people cursing him, condemning him, unfollowing him.

I watch it all, heart breaking like glass.

I chose to leave to protect him, and now I've become the reason for his destruction.

At midnight, most people have left. Louis sits drunkenly on the couch when his phone screen suddenly lights up.

It's time.

My preset Instagram auto-publish function activates precisely at the first minute of his 29th birthday.

@TherapyWithBrinley posted a new video: "Happy 29th Birthday, Louis - A Message from Heaven"

Posted: February 5th, 2024 00:00:01

I watch Louis's hands begin to shake, watch him stare at the screen, watch the blood drain from his face.

Louis, my love, you have no idea what's coming.

You have no idea why a "dead" person would send you birthday wishes at the first minute of your birthday.

You have no idea what you're about to face.

He clicks the video with trembling fingers. The screen shows my pale face wearing a cap—recorded during my final month, when Max was still by my side.

"Happy birthday, Louis. I have so much to tell you..."

Louis's phone crashes to the floor, screen shattering, but the video keeps playing from the marble surface.

Happy birthday, my Louis.

This is my first gift to you from heaven.