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In my previous life, the movie star Maya James got into a car accident. My husband rushed her into the ER in his arms and begged me to operate on her. I did. The surgery was a success, and she made a full recovery. Her way of thanking me? She unleashed her fans on me, destroyed my career, and got me disowned by my own family. Suffering from depression, I eventually slit my wrists and died alone in my rented apartment. Meanwhile, she stood on my grave and married my husband in a lavish ceremony. Then I returned to the past. On that very day, Maya was lying in front of me again, covered in blood, her eyes pleading. I simply smiled and pointed toward the operating room next door. "Sorry. I have another surgery waiting for me. "You'll have to find someone else."