Chapter 3

But when Ava heard this, she did not feel sad. Instead, she began to laugh.

She turned to Mason and said:

“See? I knew this was what he would do. He’s trying to trick me again!”

Then Ava said to the owner:

“Boss, I know Ethan is the most famous and capable boxer under your management, but after what he did today, there’s no need for you to help him deceive me.”

The comfort that had been about to leave the owner’s mouth was forced back by Ava’s words.

“We contacted the police and found Ethan’s body. Do you want to come and see him?”

The owner’s voice remained sorrowful and earnest. He wanted Ava to understand that I was truly dead.

But Ava still gave a disdainful laugh.

“Well, that’s impressive. You even brought the police into it.”

“Boss, please give Ethan a message for me. Tell him to stop playing these childish guilt trips.”

She hung up directly and opened her chat with me.

In the conversation, I had constantly asked about her.

I had asked whether she was tired, bought her clothes, and asked whether she had eaten…

My constant care and concern were obvious in every message.

But her replies had been painfully empty: “Okay.” “Yeah.” “Sure.” Sometimes, when I talked about myself, she could not even be bothered to give me a perfunctory response.

She did not think there was anything wrong. She simply frowned and put on an expression of anger and sorrow.

Then she said to me, “You coward. I wouldn’t have blamed you even if you lost, but you were not even willing to show up for the match. I really look down on you!”

“When you come back, we’re getting divorced. I, Ava Bennett, will never stay married to a cowardly bastard who is too afraid to fight!”

As I stared at the word “coward,” a chill spread through my heart.

Three deep scars ran across almost the entire length of my back. They were horrifying to look at.

They were proof that I had once saved Ava from a group of criminals.

One night, when she was walking alone, several men with bad intentions had cornered her against a wall.

I happened to be on my way to pick her up. Blood rushed to my head, and without caring whether they had weapons, I charged straight at them.

There were four of them. I could barely defend myself against all sides, but I felt none of the pain from their fists and kicks.

For her, I was willing to give up everything.

After knocking them all down, I pulled Ava tightly into my arms and comforted her.

But one of the attackers still had some awareness left. He struggled to his feet, grabbed a machete from the side, and swung it three times in a row.

With my reaction speed, I could have dodged perfectly the moment he raised the blade and escaped without a scratch.

But I was holding Ava in my arms, my wife.

I would rather die than let my wife get hurt.

After knocking out the last attacker, the adrenaline gradually faded.

The weakness from losing too much blood and the pain throughout my body overwhelmed me. I fell to my knees and passed out.

When I opened my eyes again, I was lying in a hospital bed. Ava was clutching my bruised arm and crying uncontrollably.

I asked her, “Was I brave?”

Through her tears, she told me:

“Ethan, you idiot. You’re the bravest, most courageous man in the world!”

From that day on, I never hid the scars on my body. I never avoided telling the story behind them, either.

They were my medals, and my wife’s love was the greatest reward I could have received.

But today, Ava held another man’s hand and looked at me with contempt as she called me a coward.

Even as a ghost, I felt the scars on my body begin to ache. It was as if blood were about to burst from every inch of me.

Anger and grief tore my heart apart.

My tears disappeared the moment they hit the ground. I wanted to stand in front of her and ask her:

Why did you call me a coward when you were the one who killed me?

The pain nearly consumed me completely.