A Nurse Slapped a Millionaire’s Dead Wife in Front of Everyone The Reason Shocked Them All!

Tech billionaire’s wife, society’s golden girl, dead of a supposed heart attack. Every magazine in the country had splashed her smile across their covers, those big parties, those perfect outfits. Now she was here, zipped into a body bag, guarded by more suits than the president.

Carl, another tech, helped me get her in a chamberbie. The second the paperwork changed hands, those men in black vanished like it never happened. You’d think I’d feel nothing, having seen so many bodies by now.

But the second I pulled back the sheet, my breath caught. Clarissa didn’t look dead. Her skin had a strange flush, her lips a glossy pink, her hair perfect.

I pressed her arm, felt a faint warmth, muscles that hadn’t gone slack. Something inside me rang the alarm bells. Carl brushed it off, she’s dead, Naomi.

Paperwork’s all here, don’t start imagining things. But I couldn’t shake it. After he left, I stood over her, heart pounding, studying every inch.

No rigor, no obvious signs of death. The longer I stared, the more I knew something was wrong. What if she wasn’t gone? What if this was all a mistake, or worse, a coverup? Maybe it was crazy, but I did what I did next anyway.

I raised my hand and slapped her firm, loud, desperate. That crack echoed off the stainless steel walls, and for one wild heartbeat, I regretted it. Then her eyelids fluttered, her fingers twitched, her chest rose, a gasp struggling out her lips.

Oh my god, she’s alive! I whispered, fumbling for the emergency button, mind racing, hands shaking. Carl burst back in, eyes wide. What the? Then Clarissa’s eyes opened, glazed with panic.

Chaos follow doctors, nurses, alarms blaring. She was alive, pulse weak, but real. I should have felt triumphant…