Chapter 1The Dead Star's Livestream

I was the most hated female celebrity on the internet. Even drinking water could get me cursed onto the trending list.

On my birthday, I died in the bathroom.

The first person to find my body was my best friend.

She didn't cry, nor did she call 911.

The first thing she did was pry open my eyelids and bring my phone close.

Ding.

Face ID unlocked successfully.

Followed by the sound of a Venmo transfer. She transferred all my money away.

Floating in mid-air, I watched helplessly as she finished transferring the money, then took a high-definition ugly photo of my corpse.

Caption: "My heart hurts so much, Lexi, how could you leave just like this?"

Send.

The internet exploded.

* * *

I died.

Died quite suddenly, heart attack.

When my soul floated out, I subconsciously covered my face.

No makeup, bare face. If the paparazzi caught this, the gossip blogs would write about my "looks collapsing" again.

The bathroom door was pushed open.

It was Samantha.

My only friend in this circle, my bestie, the famous "Innocent Angel" persona—oh no, she really is pure and kind, at least that's what I thought when I was alive.

"Sam! Save me!"

I shouted, reaching out to pull her.

My hand passed straight through her body.

Sam couldn't see me.

She looked at me lying beside the bathtub, froze for a second.

Then, she smiled.

Not a sad bitter smile, but the maniacal laugh of someone who just won the Powerball jackpot.

"Finally dead."

She said two words.

I was stunned.

Sam squatted down, didn't check for breath, didn't check for a heartbeat.

She skillfully pried the phone out of my stiff hand.

The screen lit up.

She grabbed my hair, lifted my head, and faced the phone camera.

I watched my pale face, eyes wide open in death, appear on the screen.

Beep.

Unlocked.

Sam's hand speed was amazingly fast.

Opened the banking app, transfer, enter password.

The password was my birthday, she knew it.

"Transfer successful."

"Transfer successful."

"Transfer successful."

The phone kept vibrating, notification sounds ringing like a death knell.

That was my acting fee, my appearance fee, the money I saved for five years to buy a house and retire.

A total of $1.2 million.

All transferred into an account called "Sam's Studio".

Floating beside her, I was so angry I wanted to strangle her.

"Sam! What are you doing! That's my money!"

"Didn't you say you're my best sister? Didn't you say you don't love money?"

Sam couldn't hear.

After transferring the last sum, the balance showed: $0.00.

She let out a long breath, as if unloading a heavy burden.

Then, she took out a bottle of eye drops from her bag.

Dripped two drops.

Her eyes turned red instantly.

She raised the phone, aiming at my corpse, finding an angle.

Must capture my torn pajamas, my pores without makeup, and that face full of death.

Click.

Photo taken.

She opened Twitter, edited the post:

"Best sister, how could you bear to leave me alone? My heart hurts, hurts so much I can't breathe."

Location: LA County Hospital.

Click send.

Only after doing all this did she leisurely dial 911.

"Hello? Emergency center? Woo woo woo... my friend fainted... come quickly... I'm so scared..."

Voice trembling, crying tone, the Oscars owe her a statuette.

I floated on the ceiling, looking at this woman I trusted for five years.

Suddenly felt, my death was truly a joke.