Chapter 3 He Is Dying

After her death, Gabrielle's soul drifted aimlessly until moments ago, when it was forcibly brought back. Thinking of this, Gabrielle clenched her fists tightly. Half an hour later, the luxury car stopped outside a mansion. “Mrs. Zechman, Mr. Zechman is upstairs. Please, this way,” Charles Moreno, the butler, said respectfully, gesturing politely. Hearing this, Gabrielle entered alone. The old residence was oppressive with its antiquated atmosphere. She walked further inside, noting the living room filled with various antiques. After surveying her surroundings, Gabrielle ascended the stairs by herself. As she stepped inside, she saw a tall figure standing with his back to her. The sunlight enveloped him, obscuring his features, but the powerful aura emanating from him was unmistakable. “You're Jonathan Zechman?” Gabrielle asked in a low voice. The man turned slowly upon hearing her voice, his deep black eyes exuding a chilling indifference. He looked at her as if she were a stranger, his gaze icy and devoid of warmth. He merely nodded politely towards her. Even though he didn't do anything, his authoritative aura was so oppressive that it left one breathless. He stood there, briefly scanning the calm girl before him. “This marriage is my grandfather's fixation. You need not take it to heart. We won't register, nor will there be a wedding. After I die, you'll be free to leave,” Jonathan said, his deep, magnetic voice low and hoarse. His words left Gabrielle slightly taken aback. In truth, she didn't know much about Jonathan. In her past life, she had died before she could marry him, so she had never met him. All she knew was that he was twenty-eight years old, the head of the Zechman family, gravely ill, and beyond medical help. His existence was shrouded in mystery, with no information available to the outside world. Jonathan Zechman was like a phantom, an invisible ruler watching over everyone from the shadows. Before she could respond, Jonathan suddenly coughed a few times. Though his tall figure remained upright, the metallic scent of blood permeated the air, even overpowering the nearby burning incense. “Mrs. Zechman, please return to your room,” Charles quickly stepped forward, signaling her to leave. Gabrielle narrowed her eyes, staring at Jonathan's figure. She walked briskly forward, bypassing Charles, and approached Jonathan. The closer she got, the stronger the scent of blood became. Though Jonathan hadn't visibly bled, the intensity of the blood-like aroma seemed almost on the verge of bursting forth. Sensing her approach, Jonathan turned his cold gaze on her, exuding a natural authority. “Go back to your room,” Jonathan said hoarsely, his voice firm. He then tried to leave, his steps hurried and unsteady. As he passed her, Gabrielle suddenly grabbed his arm. His body stiffened, and he tried to shake her off, but she countered by grabbing his collar and yanking it forcefully. With a sharp rip, Jonathan's shirt tore open, revealing his bronze skin. Everyone gasped audibly. Charles was so startled his eyes widened in shock. No one had ever dared to get close to Jonathan, let alone lay a hand on him. Her movements were so swift that they caught everyone off guard. “What are you doing?” Jonathan grabbed her wrist in retaliation. Despite the tight grip on her wrist, Gabrielle was focused entirely on his skin. Beneath the seemingly intact surface, something writhed as if trying to burst free. The veins and cells inside his body appeared to be in conflict, causing his veins to bulge and pound against his skin, ready to rupture. The faint scent of blood hung heavily in the air. Jonathan's body felt like it was being stabbed by a million needles, his skin continually breaking apart and reforming. The excruciating pain gnawed at his flesh, relentlessly consuming him. “Ah,” Jonathan groaned softly, his handsome face losing all color. Clenching his fists to endure the pain, Jonathan shot a sharp glance at Charles and the bodyguards. “Take her back to her room,” he ordered hoarsely. “Yes,” Charles responded, rushing forward to intervene. Unexpectedly, Gabrielle pressed her slender fingers against Jonathan's chest, her touch deliberate and unhurried, as if seducing him or tracing a pattern. Then, in one swift motion, she pushed against his chest with great force. Jonathan's body froze. As her touch lingered, the electric sensation spread across his entire body. The previously violent surges within him seemed to falter, the aggressive blood vessels suddenly restrained. His blood, which had been on the verge of bursting forth, now reversed course, coagulating in an instant. A sharp pain pierced his heart. Jonathan coughed violently, spitting out a mouthful of blood. Black blood seeped from the corners of his lips as the rancid stench of the blood filled the air. Jonathan staggered back a step, his pupils narrowing. The torment that had plagued his body began to subside, the pain receding into a strange calm. The pain in his body came in waves, sharp and wrenching, then gradually faded away. His body swayed a few times. Jonathan narrowed his dark eyes, a hint of bewilderment flickering in their depths. His impenetrable facade nearly cracked as he lowered his gaze to examine himself. His skin had not split open. Unlike before, there were no blood vessels bursting under his skin, no grotesque ruptures leading to flesh torn beyond recognition. He had expected the usual agony that left his body drenched in thick, putrid blood. But now, aside from spitting out a mouthful of blood, his skin remained intact, and the pain had been subdued. This was unprecedented. Every doctor had told him the same grim truth: his condition would only worsen, his skin repeatedly tearing until his body could take no more, leading inevitably to death. There was no cure. And yet now, Jonathan's disbelief was palpable as he sharply raised his head to look at Gabrielle. He saw her withdraw her hand, her gaze sweeping over his body with a thoughtful expression. “I heard you were close to dying. Didn't think it was true.” As she spoke, she drew a handkerchief to wipe her fingertips and raised her head to meet his gaze. “But you mentioned just now that your grandfather wanted me here to bring luck. You're not planning to marry me, and it just so happens that I have no intention of getting married either. If I'm not mistaken, the doctors have already given their final verdict—you've got less than a month to live. “ She lowered her voice. “How about we strike a deal? I'll keep you alive for a month, and when the time's up, you let me go.” Even though her tone was casual, she sounded convincing. Jonathan's dark eyes narrowed further, a flash of incredulity crossing his face. “You can keep me alive for a month?” “Yes.” Gabrielle nodded. She reached out and lightly touched the corner of his mouth, her fingers brushing away the blood. She brought her fingertips to her nose, sniffing briefly. “You're just deeply poisoned and beyond cure, but it doesn't necessarily mean you're dying right this second.” “I can ensure you live for another month,” she continued, wiping her fingers clean before tossing the handkerchief into the trash can.