Chapter 1

In my previous life, I casually mentioned I wanted some ravioli, and my husband, Andrew, for the first time ever, put work aside to get them for me. But he ended up dying in a so-called "accident."

Before I could even see him one last time, my mother-in-law, Miranda, dragged me to a church and prayed for three days and three nights. When I finally got out, all that was left of him was a box of ashes.

I struggled through hell to pay off the three million dollars in gambling debts he left me with. I worked myself sick, and in the end, Miranda sold me off to a cripple in the mountains for just 1,500 dollars.

I miscarried three times in that pigsty. Right before I died, I saw Andrew, who was supposed to be dead, pull up in a luxury car, his mistress in his arms. He kicked me in the chest and said, "After all these years, you're even more pathetic than animals."

When I came to, I found myself back on the day Andrew "died."

He lay in the hospital bed, cheeks rosy, chest gently rising and falling. I wiped away my tears and called the crematorium.

He liked playing dead? This time, I would make sure he stayed dead for real.

*****

I woke up to a barrage of insults.

My face burned, and my mouth was crammed full of something so bitter it made me gag. I coughed desperately, tears and snot smeared all over my face, my stomach twisting with nausea.

"You little bitch! Always so greedy, huh? If you hadn't begged for those damn ravioli, Andrew wouldn't have ended up like that!"

I could never forget that voice, not in a hundred lifetimes.

It was Miranda, my mother-in-law from my previous life.

My eyes flew open, and the harsh fluorescent lights pierced my eyes. The sharp scent of disinfectant, white walls, blue hospital curtains. This was definitely a hospital.

My heart was pounding like crazy.

Was Andrew dead? Did that "accident" happen again?

No, something was wrong.

I looked down at my hands. They were slender and pale, nails neatly trimmed, perfectly clean with no dirt, no cracks from frostbite, no thick calluses from years of hard labor.

These weren't the hands that had scraped pig slop in a pigsty.

Another slap hit me, making half my face go numb.

"I'm talking to you! Are you deaf?" Miranda shoved her face right up to mine, spitting as she yelled, "You witch! I'll tear your skin off!"

My eyes narrowed in sudden realization.

Suddenly, I remembered everything.

In my last life, I happened to say I wanted ravioli, and Andrew, for the first time ever, actually put work aside to get them for me. Then that so-called "accident" happened—a car crash, and he was gone.

I never even got to see him one last time. Miranda dragged me out to a church in the countryside and forced me to pray for three days and three nights. By the time I got out, all that was left was a box of ashes.

And then the nightmare just kept going.

Andrew's massive gambling debts crushed me. I spent my days working the assembly line in a factory, my nights hawking goods at a night market, and my early mornings doing housework for others.

I didn't get a single full night's sleep in three years, but somehow, I started my own cleaning business from nothing. Eight years. Eight long years, and I finally paid off every penny of his debt.

I thought the worst was finally over.

Out of the blue, Miranda went out of her way to cook up a pot of chicken soup for me and said, "Cecily, you've had it rough all these years. Let's go to the mountains for a little getaway."

I actually believed her.

But she drugged me and sold me off for just 1,500 dollars to a crippled old loner.

Chains, beatings, pig feed, and that filthy sty. Three years, three miscarriages. The last time, I nearly bled to death in a rain-leaking shack.

But I kept going. Living was harder than dying.

Then, one day, a black sedan rolled into the village. Andrew stepped out in a tailored suit, Denise Wilkins clinging to his arm, and a little boy about seven or eight following close behind.

I recognized him through the filthy fence of the pigsty.

I screamed like I'd lost my mind, my voice so hoarse it sounded more beast than human.

The boy rushed over and kicked me hard in the chest. "Stinking beggar, keep your hands off my dad!"

Denise walked over, crouched down, grabbed my chin, and let out a mocking laugh. "Cecily? How did you end up like this? You used to be gorgeous."

Andrew stood nearby, lit a cigarette, and squinted at me for what felt like ages before finally realizing who I was.

He said with a smirk, "Thanks for paying off my debts. Denise and I have been living pretty well these past few years. Oh, and I sold your company for seven million cash. We bought a nice place in the city with it. Still got plenty left to burn."

Denise stood up, dug her heel into my chest, and laughed. "We should thank you. Without you, we'd never be living it up like this."

I coughed up a mouthful of blood.

The boy spun around and kicked me again. "Homewrecker! Shameless!"

As I was fading out, I heard Andrew say, "Let's go, kid. This place is disgusting."

*****

Right then, I was standing in the hospital hallway, the fluorescent lights humming above me.

Miranda was still cursing up a storm, reaching out to grab me again.

I glanced down at my hands. They were smooth and untouched. I slowly curled my fingers into a fist.

Then I lifted my head and flashed Miranda a smile.