Chapter 2

"What are you playing at?" Charles finally asked, his voice thick with disbelief.

"Exactly what it says," I replied, pointing at the agreement. "I've already signed. Sign it, and we'll get the paperwork done tomorrow. Don't worry, I'm walking away with nothing. I don't want a single thing from the Quinn family."

Charles tapped his fingers lightly on the table, then opened the agreement and skipped right to the property division part.

Sure enough, it read: [Carina Quinn gives up any claim to Quinn Group—shares, dividends, decision-making, everything she could've gotten from being married to Charles Sterling.]

His grip on the paper tightened slightly.

Quinn Group, even with all its drama and chaos, was still a gold mine everyone wanted. As the only daughter of the Quinn family, I held 15% of the shares my mother left behind, temporarily managed by my father.

When the Quinns pushed for the marriage alliance with the Sterlings, Larry Sterling made sure this clause was added. Binding our interests together was supposed to keep the marriage solid.

Now, I was walking away from it all.

Charles looked up, the cold gleam on his gold-rimmed glasses hiding whatever he was feeling. His voice was even lower than before. "Carina, what exactly are you trying to do?"

"I want you out of my life," I said, blunt and direct, flashing him a smile. "And I'll be out of yours, too. We're even."

Wendy stood off to the side, her expression hard to read. She glanced between me and Charles, nervously twisting the hem of her dress.

Charles stayed silent. He clearly didn't buy that I'd just walk away from everything. This wasn't the Carina Quinn he always thought he knew, the greedy, possessive one.

"You know what's going on with the Quinn family," Charles said slowly, his tone somewhere between a warning and a test. "Without this marriage, without my family, you'll have nothing."

"Well, isn't that exactly what you wanted?" I shot back, raising an eyebrow.

Charles stared at me for what felt like forever.

I held his gaze, unfazed. The blood on my forehead had crusted over, and the wound pulsed with pain. But honestly, after three years locked up in my previous life, after surviving the fire that ended everything... This was nothing.

"Alright," he spat out at last, grabbing the pen from the table and snapping off the cap.

The pen hovered over the signature line. He hesitated for a second, and then pressed down and signed.

His name, "Charles Sterling", cut deep into the paper, the ink nearly bleeding through.

He was decisive and ruthless, just like when he signed the testimony that sent me to prison in my previous life.

I picked up the agreement he'd just signed, double-checked it, and confirmed everything was correct. Deep down, I felt utterly indifferent.

"See you at the city hall at nine tomorrow morning," I said, tucking my copy away and walking out without another word.

"Wait," Charles called out.

I stopped at the door, but didn't turn around.

"Your wound..." His voice came from behind, and there was the slightest hint of hesitation. It was so subtle that he probably didn't even realize it himself.

"It won't kill me," I cut him off, pulled the door open, and walked straight out into the storm.

Carl rushed to catch up, shielding me from the rain with his umbrella.

The rain quickly drenched my shoulders, but strangely, I didn't feel cold at all.

Instead, I felt a lightness, like I'd shaken off the shackles.

Charles, did you really think this was the end?

No, this was just the beginning.

I was back.

I was back to reclaim everything that belonged to me.

I was back to watch you cough up everything you took from me, down to the last cent, with interest.

I was back to watch you march, step by step, right into the fate I set for you in my previous life.

*****

As soon as I slid into the car, Carl fired up the engine, sneaking glances at me in the rearview mirror. "Ms. Quinn, are you really divorcing Mr. Sterling? And giving up your shares in Quinn Group? If your father finds out, he'll lose his mind."

I leaned back against the leather seat, eyes shut. "Carl, take me to the hospital."

"What? Oh, okay," Carl mumbled, not daring to press further. He headed straight for the nearest hospital.

The wound on my forehead needed stitches. The doctor, a gentle middle-aged woman, worked quietly as she murmured, "How did you get this? It's pretty deep, so it might leave a scar.

"You really should take care of yourself, young lady."

I kept silent.

A scar? Did it even matter?

This body, and the heart that once beat inside it, had already been battered and broken beyond repair. Another scar wouldn't make any difference.

Once the doctor finished stitching up my wound, I asked Carl to take me back to the Quinn residence.

Not the place I shared with Charles, but the home I grew up in. My father, Matthew Quinn, hardly ever came back, so most of the time, it was just me and the servants.

The villa was lit up, but it was quiet as a luxurious tomb.