Chapter 2

After that, Jacob kept mentioning it. Over and over, he'd jab at my wounds. "You were so desperate to marry me that you even drugged me to get your way. Emily, you brought it on yourself."

He hated me, and after we got married, he found new ways to humiliate me, turning me into the joke of every party and gathering in our circle.

Everyone bet that our marriage wouldn't last a year.

"Once she pops out a kid, Jacob will dump her for sure," people whispered behind my back.

But in the end, I was stuck with him for a full 20 years, unable to break free.

When my life finally faded away, my tombstone still carried those bitter words—"Wife of Jacob Smith."

"Emily, can you tell me why you refused to be adopted?" Grace asked, worry and confusion written all over her face.

Once the Smiths had gone, she quietly brought me into her office.

I was silent for a long while before finally whispering, "I just can't bear to leave this place... or you."

Grace let out a sigh, gently urging me to think it over again.

I knew she only wanted what was best for me.

But I was absolutely determined to escape the future that had been mapped out for me.

Yet that very night, the orphanage kitchen unexpectedly went up in flames.

One fire, and all my carefully laid plans were wiped out in an instant.

"You did it?" I asked, my voice cold and accusing.

The sharp smell of disinfectant hung heavy in the hospital as I stared at Jacob, who had rushed in, my gaze icy.

He looked absolutely worn out, and for a second, he was stunned by my words. Then he forced a bitter smile. "Emily, do you really think so little of me?"

"The investigators said it was just old wiring. I just... wanted to help, that's all," he said.

Jacob shot a look toward the ICU. "I'll pay for Ms. Walsh's treatment, whatever it takes. As long as you..."

He paused, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. "As long as you're willing to come to my home with me," he pleaded, hope flickering in his eyes.

I scoffed. "You think taking advantage of my situation makes you a good person?"

Jacob didn't try to justify himself. He just replied, "You don't have to be my sister—just stay at my home for now. My mom... hasn't been herself lately, and having you around might cheer her up."

It was the exact same reason he'd used in my previous life. Nothing had changed.

I glanced at Jacob—so young, yet those eyes always carried a depth far beyond his age. An overwhelming fatigue washed over me.

"That's really all?" I asked, doubting, my voice barely above a whisper.

His gaze wavered, but he nodded. "That's all."

In the end, I looked at Grace lying there unconscious and nodded.

I just couldn't bear to watch her treatment get put off because of a shortage of money.

On the way back to Smith Manor, Jacob tried to spark up a conversation, but I just sat there in silence.

Gazing out at the city lights streaming past, he finally murmured, "Being part of my family means a better life and future for you—way better than anything at the orphanage. Emily, please don't hate me. I'm really doing this for your own good."

"I'm doing this for your own good."

Jacob always said that in my previous life too.

He hated me and made my life a living hell, but at the very end of my life, he showed nothing but ridiculous regret and a sick need to control me.

When he threw away the stray cat I had taken in, the only comfort I had when I was sick, he was also like, "I'm doing this for your own good."

That was when it finally hit me—everything he claimed he did for my own good was never really about me. It was always about himself.

It was only to satisfy his warped need to possess me and to ease his guilty conscience.

When we pulled up in front of Smith Manor, Andrea was already there, waiting for us just like I'd expected.

She spotted me and rushed over, her smile trying to be bright but couldn't hide how drained she looked. "Em, you're here! We've already got your room ready upstairs."

She gently took my hand, guiding me up the staircase before opening a door for me.

The room was just as I remembered—lace curtains, a princess-style bed, plush toys stacked in every corner, and that expensive piano gleaming near the window.

Everything was exactly the way Sophie had left it—untouched, picture-perfect, as if she might walk in at any moment.

"Do you like it?" Andrea asked, looking at me expectantly.

I pulled my hand away and glanced down. "Mrs. Smith, this is your daughter's room, isn't it? Everything looks so precious. I don't really fit in here. I'd hate to mess anything up by accident. I'll just take the guest room downstairs."

Andrea paused, about to protest, "But..."

"Mom," Jacob interrupted, his voice steady.

"Just let Em decide. She likes her own space," he said.