Chapter 1
Blaire Shaw, the seven-year-old orphan of my husband Matthew Nolan's comrade, leapt off our balcony.
I had loved her as my own for three years, cared for her with everything I had.
But she left a diary behind. Angry, hurting words on every page, calling me two-faced.
She wrote: [Mrs. Nolan always calls my mom a tramp and even hits me, saying I'm just a burden.]
[She says when I'm gone, she won't have to pretend to love me anymore.]
Each sentence was a verdict. My execution order.
Blaire's mom, Cynthia Evans, collapsed into Matthew's arms, sobbing. His eyes were bloodshot as he glared at me, then slapped me hard across the face. "Evelyn, how could you be so cruel?"
He just held Cynthia, letting everyone condemn me without saying a word in my defense.
"The worst mistake I ever made was marrying you," he spat.
Everyone I loved turned away. My life and work fell apart. In the end, I jumped.
When I opened my eyes again, I found myself back on the second day of my wedding with Matthew.
He was looking at me with concern. "Evie, bad dream?"
I looked at him, and for a split second, deep in his eyes, I saw a flash of coldness that mirrored my own.
*****
I froze.
This was our new bedroom—the one in our first home, mine and Matthew's.
The wedding photo was up on the wall, those cheerful red "Just Married" banners dangling, and the subtle scent of his shower gel lingering in the air.
I had really come back.
Back to the second day of my marriage to Matthew.
"Evie?" he called out, his voice gentle.
He reached out, placing his hand on my forehead, trying to comfort me.
"Don't touch me!" I snapped.
I shoved him away, scrambling to the far corner of the bed, my heart pounding.
The sting of his slap from my previous life, the way he glared at me with hatred while holding Cynthia, and those words—"My biggest mistake is marrying you"—still burned in my memory.
My breath came in short, shaky bursts as I stared at him, my whole body trembling.
Matthew's hand froze in mid-air, the concern on his face fading, replaced by a chilling indifference.
He sat up slowly, the blanket sliding down to expose his toned chest.
He studied me, his eyes deep and impossible to read.
After a long pause, he gave a cold, mocking laugh.
"Evelyn, what game are you playing now?" His voice dripped with sarcasm.
My breath caught.
Those words.
That look.
This wasn't the tender concern of a new husband.
This was the same cold, distant stare he'd shown me before when he'd already decided I was the murderer.
I stared at him, unblinking. "Did you... come back too?"
Matthew didn't answer. He just got up slowly and put on his robe.
With his back to me, his voice was completely devoid of warmth.
He replied, "Looks like it.
"Good. That means you remember too."
He turned, looming over me, his gaze sharp with warning and contempt.
He went on, "Whatever you did to Blaire last time—in this life, I won't let you lay a finger on her."
"Evelyn, stay away from Cynthia and Blaire," he warned.
"Or you'll regret it." He threatened.
I was shaking with rage, almost bursting out laughing.
Even with a second chance, he hadn't changed at all.
He never cared about the truth. He'd already tried me and found me guilty.
My husband. The man I had loved. From the start until the end, he had only ever believed the "pitiful" Cynthia and Blaire.
"Fine," I said coldly, without a trace of hesitation in my voice.
I threw the covers off and got out of bed. My bare feet hit the cold floor.
"Matthew, I want a divorce," I said, my tone unwavering.
His hand paused mid-motion as he was tying his robe. He snapped his head up, his eyes wide in disbelief.
"What did you just say?" he blurted out, stunned.
"I said, I want a divorce." I repeated, each word sharp and deliberate.
"Wasn't marrying me your biggest mistake? Isn't protecting Cynthia and Blaire all you care about?" I threw back at him, my voice icy.
"I'll give you exactly what you want," I said, cold and unyielding.
"Matthew, in this life, you, your noble duty, and your little family—just stay the hell away from me," I spat.
His face went dark in an instant.
He'd probably expected that, coming back, I'd be just like before—clinging to him, begging, crying, and plotting against Cynthia.
But he clearly hadn't expected that I'd just want him gone.
"Evelyn!" he roared, his voice shaking with rage.
He went on, "Do you think this marriage alliance is some kind of joke? We just had our wedding yesterday, and now you want a divorce?"
"I don't care," I snapped, yanking open the closet and throwing on whatever I could grab. "I can't stand the sight of you for even one more second."
"In your dreams!" Matthew snarled.
He grabbed my wrist, his grip like iron.
His eyes were bloodshot.
He sneered, "Evelyn, is this another one of your attention-seeking games?
"You think threatening divorce will make me come crawling back to you like before?
"It won't work. Not now.
"Ever since the day you got Blaire killed, you..."
I slapped him across the face with every ounce of strength I had.
I spat, my voice cold as ice, "Matthew, hear me loud and clear.
"First, I never hurt anyone.
"Second, you make me sick.
"Third, this marriage is over. I'm divorcing you. There's nothing you can do to change that."
I slammed the door and headed straight for the guest room.