Is 'I Thought My Time Was Up 64' Based On A True Story?

At my best friend's wedding, a girl lunged forward and caught the bouquet—only for it to slip from her hands and land squarely in my arms. My best friend, Lauren Walker, beamed at me. "Madison, looks like you're the next bride." The guests exchanged knowing glances and turned toward my boyfriend of eight years—Mason Ryder, the CEO of the Ryder Group. But he calmly plucked the bouquet from my hands and casually passed it to the girl standing beside me—his secretary, Natalie Carter. "She caught it first." He ruffled my hair, his voice gentle. "Be good. Give it back to Natalie for now. We'll wait for the next time." The spotlight—and the guests' attention—shifted with the bouquet, settling on Natalie. I looked at her startled yet shy expression, then rested a hand on my stomach and forced a bitter smile. Mason didn't know there wouldn't be a next time. Our eight-year promise had already come to an end, and we still hadn't taken the step into marriage. And I had already promised my parents, who were royalty, that next week, I would leave and return to Montelvia to inherit the family legacy.

I was the real son, finally found and brought back by my billionaire parents, only to be diagnosed with leukemia right after. The only person who matched my bone marrow was the adopted son, Doug Daniel. So my parents rushed to bring him back into the family, making him my donor. To make it up to him, they did everything they could for him. My parents handed over the inheritance. My fiancée, Moira Stevens, hovered around him every day. When the pain got so bad that I could barely stand it, my parents pointed at me and snapped, "Jay! You keep bringing up your illness. Are you really that eager to take away Doug's health?" Moira, a medical school professor, didn't hold back either. "I'm a doctor. You think I don't understand your condition? You act like you're dying every single day. You just can't stand that we're being nice to Doug." On the day of the transplant, I lay on the operating table and waited. But Moira, the one in charge of harvesting Doug's marrow, never came in. I closed my eyes and waited for death. None of them knew I had already signed up to donate my body.

The year my boyfriend is dead broke, I leave him. Later, he becomes a mafia boss and uses every means at his disposal to marry me. Everyone says that I am the first love he can never forget, the wife he cares about the most. However, he then starts bringing home a different woman every night, making me a laughingstock. Still, I don't cry or make a fuss. I quietly stay in my own room, never interrupting his affairs. Elton Carter is furious. He pins me beneath him, kisses me harshly, and growls, "Aren't you jealous?" He has no idea that I'm gravely ill. He could buy half the city with violence, threats, and money. He could buy my freedom, my marriage… and each night bring a different woman home, oblivious to the truth. Little does he know, I have just seven days left to live.

When I was born, the nurse handed me over to my parents, and the smiles on their faces instantly vanished. Hovering over their son's smooth head was a line of numbers that no one else could see. 6570 days. It was exactly 18 years. Not a day more, not a day less. The nurse thought they were just nervous first-time parents, but my parents knew the truth. That number was my lifespan. While everyone else in the delivery room was celebrating a new life, my parents were staring at my death. For the next 18 years, I was the most precious person in the family. No matter how poor we were, the eggs were always mine, the new clothes were always mine, and the meat was always mine. My younger sister could only look on enviously. My parents often told her, "Let your brother have it. He doesn't have much time left." I was well-behaved from a young age, never causing trouble, quietly waiting to die. On my 18th birthday, I blew out the candles and said a sincere goodbye to the world. The next day, my parents and sister, dressed in black clothes, walked into my room with swollen eyes. I rubbed my eyes, smiled at them, and said, "Good morning." The air froze. The sadness on their faces slowly turned into astonishment, then coldness.

I was sent to a correctional facility by my family for five years. The first thing I learned there was obedience. If people told me to do one thing, I would never dare do anything else. The day my wife, Casey Anderson, came to pick me up, she stood at the entrance and said coldly, "If you dare say another bad word about Roger, I'll make sure you never speak again." The moment she finished speaking, I turned and ran straight into traffic. When she saw me get thrown by the impact of the car, she nearly lost her footing. At the hospital, my foster brother stood beside my bed with a sinister smile. "So you actually managed to survive. But that's fine. I have plenty of ways to kill you and make sure you never make it home." After saying that, he smashed the bowl of porridge onto the floor, then deliberately fell onto the shattered glass as he cried out loudly, "Bobby, if you hate me that much, I'll leave! Please, just let me go!" My mother and Casey happened to walk in at that exact moment. Casey immediately rushed over to help Roger up. My mother, meanwhile, slapped me hard across the face. "You'll never change, huh? If Roger's hand is ruined because of you and he can't play the piano anymore, I'd rather see you dead in this hospital bed." Obediently, I walked toward the window and jumped. The harsh, sharp-tongued woman who had always been my mother—and Casey as well—went completely pale with fear. I happened to crash onto my father's car. Trembling, he threw open the door and shouted for the medical staff. My consciousness gradually faded. Then, a system suddenly appeared and said, "Congratulations, Host. You have completed ninety-nine tragic storylines. Finish this final one, and you will be able to return to your original world and revive your younger sister."

In my previous life, I was accepted as a pilot and was about to enter aviation university for training. But because I stepped in to save the campus belle, Diana Fowler, from being assaulted by thugs, they retaliated against me. They broke both my legs, shattering my dream of flying. What angered me even more was that Diana, the very woman I saved, led the police to my hospital bed and identified me as the rapist. The two thugs who assaulted her were praised as heroes instead. My mother was so furious that she suffered a heart attack. When I was in prison, I fell into despair and took my own life. After being reborn, I watch indifferently as Diana cries for help in the alley. This time, I coldly put on my headphones.