Chapter 1

The day Charles Stanton's first love returned, I moved out of the apartment we'd shared for three years.

He sent me one text: [Smart move.]

I smiled and tossed my phone into a moving box.

He had no idea. This was already the tenth time I'd left him.

Every time I died, time would rewind to our third wedding anniversary.

The first nine times, I begged him to stay. I even threatened to kill myself.

Each time, I ended up either locked in a psychiatric hospital or run over by his car.

The worst time was when I was three months pregnant. He pushed me down the stairs so he could rush to meet his first love, who had just landed at the airport.

He said, "Women like you don't deserve to carry my child."

When I woke up, it was our anniversary again. The same watch he'd forgotten to take was on the nightstand.

This time, I finally learned.

*****

"Julia, drink this hangover remedy." Charles was sitting on the edge of the bed, his shirt collar undone at the top two buttons, showing off his elegant collarbones.

It was the same as the previous nine times.

It was our wedding anniversary, and like always, he came home in the early hours, reeking of booze after a night of business socializing.

By the playbook of the last nine times, I should be standing there with puffy, tear-stained eyes, asking him, "Charles, do you remember what day it is?"

He'd frown, annoyed, and mutter, "I'm exhausted. Stop with the drama."

Then it'd be the same old routine, shouting, crying, stuff flying everywhere.

In the end, I'd lose it and yell, "I've had enough. Let's get a divorce."

He'd sneer and reply, "Divorce? Keep dreaming. If I have to, I'll drag this out for a lifetime."

But this time, I quietly took the hangover soup and set it on the nightstand. "Just leave it. It's too hot."

Charles was caught off guard.

He frowned, like he was waiting for me to cry or throw a fit. After a few seconds, when I stayed silent, he started to get uneasy himself. "Don't you have anything to say?"

"Actually, I do." I turned and pulled a document from the drawer. "This is the divorce agreement. I've already signed it."

Charles's expression turned cold in an instant.

He snatched the papers, flipped through a couple of pages, and his gaze stopped at the property division clause.

I only wanted the tiny apartment and the old car I had before we got married: no company shares, no savings, no real estate, nothing else.

"Are you serious?" His voice was icy.

"I am." I walked over to the closet and started packing my things. "Evelyn's back in the country today, right? I'm making room for her."

That name was like a key, instantly unlocking every emotion Charles had.

He shot up from the bed, crossed the room in a few quick strides, and grabbed my wrist. "Who told you that?"

His grip was so tight, and it felt like he was about to crush my bones.

The previous nine times, that pain would've had me in tears. But at this time, I looked at him calmly. "That doesn't matter. What matters is that you finally get to be together."

"Who said I want to be with her?" Charles nearly shouted, his eyes bloodshot. "Julia, is this another one of your games? Trying to reel me in by pushing me away?"

I smiled and gently pried his fingers off my wrist. "Charles, don't flatter yourself. I don't love you anymore, simple as that."

"You don't love me anymore?" He scoffed, as if he'd just heard the funniest joke. "Three years of marriage, and you decide you're done?"

"That's right." I pulled out my suitcase and started folding my clothes. "Just like you never loved me. Now we're even."

That really struck a nerve with him.

Charles was frozen in place, watching as I packed my clothes, makeup, and books into the suitcase like it was nothing.

His face went from angry to confused, then to a kind of restless frustration he couldn't even describe.

"Where are you going?" Charles asked.

"I'm heading back to my old apartment for a few days, until the divorce paperwork goes through," I replied.

"I won't agree to a divorce."

"We can still get divorced after living apart," I said, snapping my suitcase shut. "If you want to drag this out, I'll play along. But I'm never coming back here."

I wheeled my suitcase toward the door, but Charles suddenly stepped in, blocking my path.

"Julia," his voice was shaky, "what's gotten into you?"

I finally looked him in the eye, the man I'd loved for ten years, married for three, and died for nine times over.

"Charles, do you remember what you said to me on our wedding day?"

He froze.

I knew he remembered.

He said, "Julia, I'll marry you, but don't expect me to love you. The only woman I've ever loved is Evelyn."

I was such a fool back then. I thought if I loved him hard enough, someday I could melt the ice in his heart.

But I finally learned that some people's hearts are frozen solid, like ice that's been cold for a thousand years. No amount of warmth could ever thaw them.

"You said you'd never love me," I said, what he thought. "Well, now I finally get to say it back.

"Charles, from this moment on, I, Julia Summers, don't love you, not even a little."

With that, I pushed past him and stepped into the elevator without looking back.

As the elevator doors slid shut, I caught a glimpse of Charles standing there, his face as pale as a sheet.