Dying, I Made a Billionaire's Regret

1: 1

My life was already counting down to zero, and I wanted to retrace the Sahara trip Kent and I had once promised each other back when we were in love.

The first day I only wandered the nearby market before my body gave out, and I cut the trip short to go back and rest at the hotel.

Scrolling through my feed, I came across a video of Kent Hughes proposing under the stars to Cynthia Swanson, my best friend from college.

The lit-up sign glowing behind him stabbed at my heart.

*Thank you for standing by me through the hardest three years.*

Back when I made myself leave him, he'd said with red eyes,

"Sylvia Floyd, you have no heart! I'll never forgive myself for this in my whole life."

So it turned out that in the three years after, Cynthia had been the one beside him the entire time.

In the comments, old friends piled on one after another.

*Cynthia deserves it.*

*She stood by Kent from rock bottom to today. They should've gotten married a long time ago.*

*You find out who's real when times are hard. It's about time those ugly people and ugly things got put behind us.*

I turned off my phone.

I was dying soon anyway. Better to stay far away from them, so no one had to hurt.

I pushed myself upright, took out the souvenir I'd bought at the market that day, and studied Aladdin's lamp closely.

The moment I finished wiping it clean, purple smoke suddenly billowed up in the room, and a towering shadow bowed its head before me.

"Master, within three wishes, anything is possible."

I laughed until tears ran down my face.

My body had grown so weak that it was making me see hallucinations.

But still I spoke the wish buried in my heart.

"I want to live."

......

"As you wish, my master."

The shadow slowly dissolved in front of me, and the purple smoke drew back.

The stomach pain that had haunted me for years actually vanished.

I tried to draw a deep breath. There was no more crushing stab in my lungs.

Could I really go on living?

If I wasn't going to die, then I'd cancel the expensive international remains-transport service I'd arranged.

A refund would come back to me, just enough to stay at that most famous hotel.

When Kent and I were in love, we'd once come here on a shoestring, and back then he'd said,

"Sylvia, when I've made it, I'll bring you back here for sure. We'll stay at that most expensive Starlight Hotel, where you can lie in bed and see the whole galaxy."

Now I'd come. Alone.

The car stopped in front of a brilliantly lit camp deep in the desert, and an attendant opened my door.

This was the Starlight Hotel we'd once gazed at from far away.

On the electronic screen in the hotel lobby, a set of photos was scrolling past.

I was stunned to see that the man and woman in the photos were Kent Hughes and Cynthia Swanson.

Across the top of the screen ran a huge headline:

*From Having Nothing to Standing Side by Side*.

So he had come back here, booked out the whole camp, to hold Cynthia's engagement thank-you dinner.

"Sylvia? Why are you here?"

A voice came from the crowd. It was Ned Chavez, a friend of us both.

A few familiar faces stood around him, and when they saw it was me, their expressions ran the whole range.

"I booked a room here."

I'd barely finished when another friend spoke up:

"Well, well, come into money, have you? Chased him all the way out here too."

"Today's Kent's big day. Don't go doing anything stupid, now."

"Right. You cut things off so cruelly back then, and now that he and Cynthia have made it work, what exactly are you doing showing up here?"

Ned cut them off and gave me a perfunctory smile.

"All right, that's enough."

"Anyway, you should go on in. Kent's inside seeing to the guests."

I nodded and dragged my suitcase toward the front desk.

"How'd she get so thin? She looks like a ghost."

"Who knows. Probably hasn't been doing well. Sees Kent riding high now and regrets it, that's all."

"Serves her right! How much did Cynthia suffer beside Kent all these years? What makes Sylvia Floyd think she has any right?"

I lowered my eyes and handed my passport to the front desk.

Just then, a hand caught the handle of my suitcase.

I turned, and my eyes met a familiar pair.

It was Kent Hughes.

He wore a suit. He was nothing like the man from three years ago.

"How did you get this thin?"

The concern in his voice left me dazed for a second.

But the next moment, Cynthia Swanson, in a long white dress, came over and hooked her arm through his, happiness practically spilling off her face.

She followed Kent's gaze to me, looked a little surprised, then broke into a smile.

"Sylvia? Long time no see. You've lost so much weight."

"You came all this way to wish Kent and me well. That really makes me happy. Come in and sit for a bit."

Kent snapped back to himself in an instant, and that trace of warmth in his eyes cooled fast.

He pulled his hand back.

"Tonight is an important day for Cynthia and me. What did you come here to make trouble for?"

I looked at him and offered no explanation.

I just held up my phone with the single-room booking details on the screen for the front desk to see.

"I didn't know you'd be here too."

"Not convenient? Then I'll check out."

Once the front desk finished processing it, I turned with my suitcase and walked toward the door.

As I passed Kent, I didn't spare him another glance.

"Tch, acting so high and mighty. Bringing the humiliation on herself"

With the whispers trailing behind me, I walked out of the lobby.

The hotel manager came hurrying out with a receipt in hand, and, not seeing me in the lobby,

assumed I was with the rest of that party.

Wearing his professional smile, the manager handed the receipt to Kent.

"Mr. Hughes, this is the young lady's refund slip. Please keep it safe."

Kent didn't take it. His eyes went to the document.

Beneath the refund slip was a faxed page.

The front desk had received it on my behalf, a confirmation letter sent by the travel agency.

It stated, plain as day:

*Final Journey Care Package. International remains-transport service successfully canceled.*

Kent's head whipped back toward me.

Cynthia saw the line too, and the smile froze on her face.

"Kent, what does that mean?"

2: 2

I'd heard the noise and come back, and I answered for him instead:

"It doesn't mean anything. Just some hotel package gimmick."

Then I took the receipt, and vanished into the night.

The next day, I went straight to the old medina market.

The lamp had given me a new life, so it was time to deal with a few old things.

I stepped into a jewelry shop that looked ancient, the air thick with mixed spices.

From the pocket close to my chest, I took out the silver bracelet I'd worn for years.

Kent Hughes had designed and shaped it himself.

Back then his company was just getting off the ground, and he was flat broke.

But he'd spent a whole month designing and making this silver bracelet by hand.

He kissed my hand, his eyes shining.

"Sylvia, I know I'm making you go without. Once I have money, I'll design you the biggest, reddest gemstone ring in the world, and you'll marry me."

The memory rose like sand on the wind, stinging my eyes.

I set the silver bracelet on the counter.

"Sir, could you take a look at this? I'd like to sell it."

The white-bearded Moroccan man glanced at it and shook his head.

"Miss, this isn't worth much. Just ordinary silver."

Just then the wind chime at the shop door rang.

I turned to look without thinking, and it was Kent and Cynthia Swanson.

Seeing them come in, the white-bearded owner smiled at once and brought out a velvet box.

"Mr. Hughes, the ring you ordered is finished."

The box opened, and a pigeon-blood ruby glinted in the sunlight.

The style of the ring matched, down to the smallest detail, the sketch Kent had once designed for me.

Cynthia let out a delighted cry.

"Kent, when did you sneak off and order this? It's gorgeous!"

She cradled the ring in her palm, unable to put it down.

She leaned into Kent's arms.

"Thank you. I love it."

Kent gently slid the ring onto her finger.

"You went through so much hardship with me. You deserve the best."

His voice was low, but it landed square on my heart.

The ring he had once promised me was now on another woman's finger.

When Kent finished speaking and looked up, only then did he see me standing on the other side of the counter.

And the dull, faded silver bracelet lying in front of me.

His expression turned unnatural in an instant.

"It's just just a similar design"

I looked at him and dragged out a smile.

Cynthia had noticed me too, and the smile fell from her face.

She recognized the bracelet in front of me.

The air went awkward for a moment.

I took back the bracelet, told the shop owner I was sorry, and turned to leave first.

I made my way through the packed crowd to the market's management office.

I gently placed the bracelet into the lost-and-found box by the door.

"Hello. I found this bracelet."

"If no one comes to claim it in a week, please dispose of it."

Once it was done, something heavy inside me finally lifted.

Then someone grabbed my wrist from behind.

Kent had chased after me, glaring at me.

"Sylvia Floyd! Do you really have to do this?"

I looked at him and tried to pull free, but couldn't.

"Kent, you're hurting me."

"Hurting? So you know what hurting is?"

He gave a cold laugh.

"Back when you walked off without a word, when you were playing me for a fool, did you ever stop to think whether I might hurt?"

I gave up struggling and looked at him, saying it word by word.

"Since the ring you promised me has already gone to someone else,"

"it wouldn't be right for this bracelet to stay with me either."

My words froze him, and the grip on my wrist loosened.

At the market entrance, Cynthia stood there, staring blankly at the two of us.

In the sunlight, the ruby ring on her hand shone painfully bright.

"So this ring's design, it was originally made for you?"

3: 3

I didn't answer her. I pulled my wrist free, turned, and walked away.

The sand came up out of nowhere, and the sky changed in a breath.

The three of us, along with the other travelers, ended up stranded in the same restaurant beside the desert highway, waiting out the storm.

I took a corner table, a few tables away from them.

Not long after we ordered, Cynthia pressed a hand to her stomach and leaned against Kent.

"Kent, my stomach hurts a little."

Kent's arm went around her at once, and he called out for the server.

"Excuse me, could we get a cup of hot water? Quickly, please!"

Cynthia scolded him softly.

"It's your fault. You just had to take me for seafood yesterday. You know my stomach can't take that, and you saw I wanted it, so you spoiled me anyway."

"My fault. It's all my fault."

Kent dug a pill case out of his own bag like he'd done it a hundred times.

"Here, take your medicine first."

He coaxed her, his voice gentle.

I watched it all in silence.

And that burning started up in my stomach again.

Three years ago, the night I was first diagnosed with stomach cancer.

I was alone in my rented room, frightened and shaking, the pain soaking the back of my shirt with cold sweat.

I held my phone in my hand, Kent's number glowing on the screen.

That day, his company's cash had run dry. Creditors were after him. He was drowning.

Over and over I told myself I couldn't be a distraction, couldn't drag him down.

In the end, I never made that call for help.

I took a bottle of pills out of the inner pocket of my coat.

The painkillers I used to take, all the time. I didn't need them now.

I dropped the bottle into the trash bin at the corner of the table.

Kent settled Cynthia and turned around, and his eyes landed right on the bottle in my hand.

He read the label, and his face changed.

Hospital prescription only. He frowned, and it looked like he wanted to come over and ask.

Cynthia called to him, low.

"Kent... it still really hurts..."

Kent's step toward me stopped short.

He turned back to Cynthia, drew her half into his arms, and murmured to her.

"There now, it's all right. The medicine takes a while. Just hold on a little longer."

Cynthia leaned into him, and over his shoulder her eyes settled on me.

She looked at the bottle in my hand, something complicated in her face.

"Sylvia, these three years, have you... been unwell the whole time?"

I gave a small smile.

"I was. But I'm fine now."

I picked up my water and took a sip.

I'd meant to finish out the rest of the trip, but a moment ago I changed my mind.

Enough.

All I wanted now was to be far away from them.

Outside, the raging sand had stopped at some point, and sunlight spilled through the clouds, staining the desert a warm gold.

I shouldered my backpack, walked out fast, flagged down a car at the roadside, gave the airport address, and left without looking back.

I never noticed that the worn side pocket of my backpack had split at the bottom.

An old phone and some papers slid quietly onto the seat.

Kent stared out the door in the direction I'd disappeared, then hesitated and picked up what I'd left on the seat.

His eyes locked onto the diagnosis report.

*Patient: Sylvia Floyd.*

*Diagnosis: stomach cancer, late stage.*

Cynthia leaned in to look too, and clapped a hand over her mouth, disbelief flooding her eyes.

"So... the international remains-transport service on that refund slip was real?"

4: 4

Kent said nothing. He grabbed the diagnosis report and the old phone and ran after me, out of the restaurant. But I was already gone.

That night, Kent didn't go back to the room he shared with Cynthia.

He avoided everyone, got a separate room, and plugged my old phone in to charge.

When it powered on, the wallpaper was still therea selfie of him holding me, taken three years ago.

His hands shook as he opened the photo album.

There was only one photo inside.

My late-stage stomach cancer diagnosis.

The date it was taken was the day before I told him we were over.

He backed out and opened the notes app.

Inside was one unfinished draft.

Kent, I'm leaving. I sold the old house on the east side of town. The money will go into your startup through a trust fund. That house was what my parents left me, the one thing I had of them. It's yours now. Consider it settled, for these years you spent with me. Don't look for me. Forget me. Live well.

That was meant to be the breakup letter I'd send him. In the end, I changed the words.

Kent's breath stopped.

He kept searching like a madman and opened the call log.

The night of the diagnosis. Three in the morning.

My number had called him three times.

Every time, the second it started ringing, I hung up in a hurry.

He remembered that night. He'd been cornered at a dinner table by a few creditors, and he'd turned his phone off and thrown it aside.

He thought that night had been agony for him.

He never knew that on the other side of the city, I was alone, living through a despair he couldn't imagine.

The next day, when he turned his phone back on, the first message he got was my breakup text.

Kent, I'm done. I gave up my dreams and stuck it out with you for three years, and I just can't do it anymore. I happened to meet someone new. He's richer than you. Don't come after me. It would only make me look down on you.

"Aaah!"

He drove his fist into the wall, hard, until it was bleeding.

He rushed out of the room, wanting to chase after me, to tell me he was wrong.

After that breakup text, he'd never gone looking for the truth. His heart had held nothing but hate for me.

He'd been so wrong it was unforgivable.

He'd just reached the corner of the hallway when a figure blocked his path.

Cynthia's face was streaked with tears.

She looked at Kent, tears falling one after another.

"I know you should go after her right now. I know you want to tell her you love her."

"But Kent"

She stepped closer and grabbed his arm.

"What about these three years? I went to every business dinner with you, I clawed our way up out of having nothing with you don't these three years count for anything?"

Kent's feet stopped.

It wasn't that he no longer loved Sylvia.

It was that he couldn't erase Cynthia's three years of standing by him and holding him up.

He looked at her tear-covered face, and something painful and torn flickered in his eyes.

"Cynthia, give me some time."

I'd realized I left something behind and come back to get it from Kent. I stood at the end of the hallway, listening to them, watching him hesitate.

Never mind. So now I knew. These old things were of no use to me anymore.

I didn't make a sound. I left down the stairs on the other side.

Walking through the empty corner of the street, I took out that Aladdin's lamp again and rubbed it gently against my palm.

The purple smoke rose once more, and the Genie's faint shape bowed its head before me.

"Master, speak your second wish."

I looked out along the direction the streetlights stretched, and said quietly,

"I want money. I want a lot of money. Enough to live on my own, free, for the rest of my life."

The moment I finished, my phone buzzed.

A financial news alert popped up.

The long-dormant startup "Singularity AI" was acquired by an industry giant today. Its share price has soared a thousandfold, and early angel investors are now estimated to be worth over a hundred million!

That was the small company I'd put a hundred thousand into, right out of college, on a whim, backing an upperclassman.

And now it had actually made me rich

Boarding the flight home, I turned off my phone, leaned against the window, and watched that stretch of golden desert grow smaller and smaller behind me.

Back in the terminal, Kent, who'd finally made it there, was stopped by security outside the checkpoint.

Only, none of it had anything to do with me anymore.