What Evidence Supports Claims Coryxkenshin Passed Away Recently?

At our college graduation, my fiance suddenly proposed to Lillie Stewart, my best friend, in front of everyone. I became a joke in front of everyone. Right after Lillie accepted my fiance’s proposal, Lloyd Becker, heir to the biggest mafia family on the West Coast, publicly said he loved me. Lloyd was known in the mafia world for being serious and never getting involved with women. So, when he showed an interest in an orphan like me, it made the news. We got married, and for five years, he was so sweet and treated me like a princess. But one day, I accidentally overheard him talking to his friend. “Lillie is already set to become the future lady of the Gacira family. Are you really going to keep the act up with Nelly?” “If I can’t have Lillie, it doesn’t matter who I marry. As long as I’m with Nelly, Lillie can live peacefully.” He even gave Lillie the symbol of the Becker family’s lady. He helped Lillie build her career while letting me fade into the background. After five years of marriage, I finally understood. On our fifth anniversary, I pretended to die in a shooting so he could be with the woman he truly loved. But instead of being happy, Lloyd completely broke down.

Three years after my death, my mother finally remembered my existence. As my older brother was having kidney failure, she wanted me to give him my kidney. To force me to make an appearance, she pushed my severely depressed wife into committing suicide and left my daughter roaming the streets to be killed in a hit-and-run. However, she still did not give up. She started making up things about me on the internet. In the end, my friend told her, “Mrs. Harding, Aiden died in the earthquake three years ago. A steel girder pierced him right through the heart after he saved you, and he died on the spot due to blood loss.”

After three years of pretending to be dead on livestreams, I finally earned enough money to treat my daughter. I was about to go home and tell my wife and daughter when I overheard a call between the platform administrator and my wife. The administrator said humbly, “Chairman Morgan, Mr. Wells’s livestreams have generated tens of millions in revenue over these years. “The company withheld ninety-five percent of it. Should we keep withholding more?” Stacy fell silent for a moment before answering, “No need. Three years of testing him is enough. He barely moves year-round. He even developed muscle atrophy and didn’t tell me.” John’s voice came through the phone next. He said, “Stacy, Sam can even pretend to be dead, so what if this is an act too? “Besides, Emma’s already used to Sam being gone, so she probably won’t accept having a dad again anytime soon.” After some hesitation, my wife said indifferently, “If that’s the case, then withhold it for another six months.” I smiled and tossed the diagnosis report confirming amyotrophic lateral sclerosis into the trash. There was no need for them to test me anymore. I no longer needed to pretend.

It was my birthday. I thought he would take me to see the fireworks by the sea, but he showed up with another woman and her child. “Vera has a kid with her, and it’s inconvenient for them. Be a little understanding. She doesn’t know her way around here, and she has a lot of luggage. I’ll just drop them at the hotel.” He said it so casually, as if he were just explaining some trivial, everyday chore. It was that very gentleness of his that made me feel like I was so unreasonable getting angry over it. He helped them into the car. He leaned down to buckle the seatbelt on the child. Then, he turned to me with a smile. “I’ll be right back. Don’t overthink things.” I stood by the roadside and watched them drive away like a picture-perfect little family. As night fell, the sea breeze turned sharp and biting. Still, I waited until a notification of Vera Cannon’s social feed update lit up my screen. He was holding her daughter in his arms. They were watching the fireworks by the beach. It was a surprise I had planned for my own birthday. The comments poured in. [What a perfect match. What a beautiful little family!] Someone asked him why he was not picking me up. He just smiled and said, “Indy is very patient. She won’t be mad.” At that moment, my birthday cake melted into a puddle of frosting. I finally realized that he had not done that to be cruel to me. He was certain that I would always wait for him. However, even the warmest heart grew cold when neglected too many times. The waves crashed against the shore, over and over. With each crash, another shred of my hope washed away. This time, I was not going to wait for him to come back.

On the day the male influencer patient was discharged, he posted a tearful video accusing my chaste, principled doctor wife of sexually assaulting him. In the clip, he cowered in a corner of the hospital, trembling, his clothes disheveled. With a terrified cry of "Dr. Shelby," he abruptly cut the footage. Overnight, my wife became a monster in a white coat—public enemy number one across the internet. We begged him, again and again, to come forward and clarify the truth. Instead, he posted an injury assessment report and wept about being bullied by his doctor. My wife had no way to defend herself. She was suspended pending investigation—and in the end, she leapt from the thirtieth floor. I endured humiliation and waited for the truth to surface. When it finally did, I obtained a reexamination report that proved her innocence. But by then, no one cared about the truth anymore. And I, consumed by despair, died of cancer. When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the day that patient was first admitted. This time, I begged my wife to take leave—I wanted to take her away from this doomed fate. But my gentle wife wrapped her arms around me, her eyes red, and said, "Don't be afraid, honey. This time… I won't run away."

"Honey, the soles of my shoes are made of sheepskin. I can't get them wet, so come pick me up right away." Just as I send a WhatsApp message to my wife, Cora Harden, a barrage of floating comments explodes in front of me in the downpour. "I really can't stand a high-maintenance second male lead like Allen Brandt. Cora, the female lead, is a billionaire CEO, and yet she lets him boss her around like a lapdog." "The male lead has already joined the company. Once Cora sees how sweet and thoughtful he is, she's dumping that loser Allen for good." "This is hilarious. After the divorce, Allen can't do anything, so he'll end up as some cheap thirst-trap live streamer." Staring at the screen of venomous insults, I clench my fists in anger. Just then, Cora arrives with an umbrella, half of her bespoke dress soaked from the rain. Noticing my whitened knuckles, she pauses for a moment, then timidly tugs at my sleeve. "Sorry, darling. If I had driven any faster, I would have been speeding."