Chapter 1

"Sign it. I'll give you three million dollars." Alexander tossed the divorce papers in my face.

I woke up rubbing my temples and realized I had gone back to the day he humiliated me. In my last life, I cried until I passed out. He, on the other hand, had wrapped his arms around his one true love and celebrated that I had stepped aside.

This time, I tore the papers into pieces right in front of him. "Mr. Grant, you want a divorce? Then have your sweetheart come and beg me for it."

*****

My head felt like it was splitting open. A sharp ringing filled my ears, so shrill it made my stomach churn, leaving me dizzy and disoriented.

Evelyn's eyes flew open. At first, everything was blurry. Then her vision slowly came into focus.

Above her hung an expensive crystal chandelier. Its many cut surfaces reflected the cold white ceiling lights, so bright they made her eyes ache.

A faint scent lingered in the air, one she knew down to her bones and had later grown to hate. It was cedar and fir, the fragrance Alexander always used.

This was not the smell of hospital disinfectant. And it was not that cold ward where she had spent her last three months, staring at a pale ceiling while feeling her life slip away.

She turned her neck with effort, like old hinges that had not been moved in years.

Her vision cleared slowly. The bedroom was done in shades of gray and blue, minimalist to the point of coldness. Everything was expensive, perfectly arranged, and stamped with Alexander's unmistakable need for control.

Beneath her lay smooth cotton sheets, cool and silky against her skin. Under different circumstances they would have felt luxurious. Now they clung to her like a shroud, turning her stomach.

Here was the master suite of her home with Alexander. He rarely set foot in here. Only when she was expected to "do her duty," or when, like today, he had something important to settle, would he deign to appear.

She was back.

The realization struck like lightning, splitting through the fog in her mind. It hurt. But it also brought a brutal kind of clarity.

She had truly returned—three years ago, at the very point where her life began its plunge into darkness.

"Evelyn, are you awake?" His voice came from the doorway—low, cool, and stripped of emotion, like he was just asking about the condition of a piece of furniture.

Evelyn went rigid. For a moment, it felt as if the blood in her veins had frozen. Slowly—so slowly—she turned toward the sound.

Alexander leaned against the bedroom doorframe, dressed in a sleek black velvet robe with the belt loosely tied, showing a hint of his toned chest. His hair was still damp, a few strands falling over his forehead—he must've just showered. Even at home, he looked like he belonged on the cover of Forbes—handsome, classy, and absolutely flawless.

But his eyes. Those eyes she had once drowned in now held nothing but cold distance. They swept over her without warmth, without softness, as if she were nothing more than an eyesore or a problem he needed to deal with.

In his hand was a cream-colored folder.

Right on time. It was today.

In her last life, this had been the exact moment. He had walked in holding that same folder, his voice just as cold as he declared the end of their ridiculous marriage. In one stroke, he had crushed what little dignity and hope she had left.

The floodgates of memory burst open, and the scenes came rushing back, sharp and brutal.

He had tossed the folder straight at her. The hard edge had scraped her cheek, leaving a burning sting. Papers scattered everywhere, covering her like falling snow.

"Sign it. I'll give you three million dollars." He had said it as casually as if they were talking about the weather. As if that money were a generous reward for three years of her youth, her love, and the child growing inside her. A child he didn't even know about.

And how had she reacted?

Right. She had collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut, crumpling to the floor. Tears had poured down her face, blurring his cold expression. She had sobbed her heart out, asking him why. Asking if he had ever loved her, even for a second. Asking if he had any idea how much she loved him.

She had cried until her vision went dark. Until her breathing turned ragged. Until she finally blacked out, curled up on the expensive carpet like a fish out of water.

And him? The last thing she remembered was the way he had looked down at her, a faint crease in his brow, as if she were nothing more than a nuisance. Then he had turned and walked away without a second thought.

Later, she found out that while she had been rushed to the hospital for shock and low blood sugar, he had driven to that famous French restaurant in the south of the city. There, he had wrapped an arm around Sophia, the woman he truly loved, who had just returned from abroad in her flowing white dress. They had raised their glasses in celebration.

Celebrating what? Celebrating that she, the unwanted and inconvenient Mrs. Grant, was finally stepping aside.

How ridiculous. Her world was falling apart, her life hanging by a thread, and to him and his sweetheart, it was just a throwaway line in the background of their date—a milestone worth celebrating, a problem finally cleared away.

A dull ache pounded in her chest, like someone was hitting it again and again with a blunt hammer. Nausea rose hard and fast. But this time, Evelyn bit down on the tip of her tongue.

The taste of blood spread through her mouth. The sharp pain forced her emotions back down, pushing her tears back.

She could not cry—not in this life, not in front of him, not a single tear.