In my last life, my husband fell for a college girl.

I went crazy with jealousy. I tried everything to break them apart.

But I lost.

He destroyed my family... just to divorce me and marry her.

I couldn't accept it.

So I jumped off a building.

And he?

He looked at my body— with disgust.

"Couldn't you die somewhere else? You're ruining my view."

...

When I opened my eyes again, I was back— One month before he fell for her.

So this time, I went to where she worked. Watched her life like a stalker.

I needed to know—

What kind of girl... stole the man I loved for ten years.

In my last life, I never even met her.

All I had was a name... and a few photos.

I lost everything.

And my rival?

She never even showed her face.

--

The streets in Ardovelle were busy—cars and crowds everywhere.

I'd been sitting in a corner of a café called Déjà Vu for two hours already, facing the counter.

A young woman in a sky-blue apron was busy making drinks.

She was around 1.6 meters, probably less than forty-five kilos. Fair skin, always had a smile on her face. Her thick, dark hair was tied up in a high ponytail, and when she smiled, her eyes turned into crescent shapes that lit up the whole room.

“Ma’am, would you like a refill?”

She walked over with a bright smile.

How awkward. I’d been so lost staring at her that I completely zoned out. Good thing I was a woman, or someone might’ve thought I was some kind of creep.

“Sure. Still black,” I smiled politely, my voice giving nothing away.

Soon, she set another bitter black coffee on the table in front of me. But instead of leaving right away, she hesitated for a second before getting a little nosy.

“Ma’am, you’ve already had two cups of black coffee. I know it helps keep you awake, but drinking too much isn’t good for you. Maybe... you could save the next one for another time?”

She was kind and outgoing, her voice crisp and brisk, like wind chimes—pleasant to the ear.

I glanced at the black coffee, then stood up, purse in hand.

“Okay. Check, please.”

She beamed like she was glad I’d taken her advice.

I paid without a word and left the café quickly.

“Mrs. Crowe.”

The driver, Parker Ellis, respectfully nodded at me and opened the car door.

“Home.”

The car pulled off smoothly. I leaned back in my seat and closed my eyes, but my mind kept drifting back to the young woman at the café.

That was Lydia Fairburn.

The woman Preston Crowe was so set on divorcing me for one year from now, even though it meant burning every bridge with his family.

I hadn’t expected the first thing I did after being reborn was to go to her workplace and watch her like some kind of creep.

It was just... I was curious.

I wanted to know what kind of woman took away the man I’d loved for ten years.

In my past life, I never even met her. Preston kept her so protected, like she was the most precious thing in the world. All I had was a name and a few photos.

I lost everything, and my opponent never had to show her face.

Young, beautiful, innocent, kind, cheerful...

All those nice words fit her perfectly.

Her only flaw was her humble background, which created a huge gap between her status and Preston’s.

Just then, Parker broke the silence.

“Mrs. Crowe, today is your and Mr. Crowe’s anniversary.”

I opened my eyes, feeling dazed for a second.

Come to think of it, it had been five years since I married Preston.

Every anniversary, I’d get busy all day, preparing a candlelit dinner and a gift for him.

I was twenty-seven this year, and he was twenty-nine.

“I know.” I rubbed the bridge of my nose, feeling my head throb a little. “You don’t have to remind me.”

Parker probably said that because he’d sensed something off about me this year.

But why was I always the one putting in the effort?

Why did I have to love Preston?

I’d thought about this before dying in my past life.

For Preston, I ended up dying a tragic death, my family destroyed.

While I was lost in thought, Parker pulled up outside the villa Preston and I shared.

To my surprise, I saw Preston’s car.

He was home.

My feelings were complicated.

Now I’d come back from the dead, what kind of expression was I supposed to put on when I saw the person who caused my downfall?

I thought I’d hate Preston.

After all, for another woman, he’d cornered me—his wife of five years.

He’d even driven my parents to their deaths, even though they’d treated him like their own son.

He practically wiped out my whole family.

But now that I was actually seeing him, the hatred wasn’t as strong as I’d expected.

What was left was mostly just acceptance.

In my past life, Preston gave me a chance.

He said we could end the marriage peacefully, and to make it up to me, he’d give me some shares of the Crowe Group—enough to set me up for life.

But I refused.

I was so bitter.

After ten years, I still couldn’t make him love me even a little, yet another woman spent only one year making him fall head over heels.

How was I supposed to accept it?

So I tried everything to win him back.

But step by step, it escalated—from a rift, to a standoff, to a point where only one of us could walk away alive.

This time, none of that had happened yet.

Instead of wasting my energy hating him, I’d rather change the fate that left me a tragedy.

“Why are you standing there?”

Preston sat on the sofa in the living room, his long legs casually crossed. The cigarette between his fingers had burned down. He stubbed it out in the ashtray with practiced ease, then glanced up at me with the same indifference he always had.

The day we married, he told me bluntly that we were at most roommates, that our marriage was basically a partnership, that he felt nothing toward me.

“Nothing. Just surprised to see you home.”

I bent down to change into slippers.

They were Hermès, elephant gray, simple design, understated color.

Comfortable—probably the only thing they had going for them.

Then Lydia in the blue apron popped back into my mind.

Right—there was a little red flower smiley face pinned to her apron.

None of the other staff had that.

Then I thought about my clothes—all expensive and dull.

Simple as always.

Boring as always.

Suddenly, I found those slippers repulsive.

I kicked them off and walked into the living room barefoot.

Preston noticed. He frowned slightly, a hint of surprise flickering across his eyes.

“You’re not wearing your slippers?”

“No. Don’t feel like it.”

I answered flatly, sitting down across from him.

“That’s rare. Who got under your skin?”

He actually chuckled, and his tone was light—both were probably a first.

I wanted to say, “Your future soulmate,” but I held back.

Instead, I looked down at my pale feet.

Because I was so thin, they looked a little bony.

Lydia was different.

She was thin, too, but her skin was firm and healthy.

Me?

I was practically skin and bones.

Five years of a lonely marriage had done a number on me.

I had no appetite, so I kept losing weight, and now I looked like a skeleton.

“Preston,” I said.

“Yeah?”

He was on his phone, not bothering to look up.

My gaze lifted from my feet to him, my voice a little hoarse.

“I want a divorce.”

He scoffed.

Tossing his phone onto the sofa, he looked at me, his gaze familiar—cold and indifferent.

“What are you playing at this time, Bianca?”

“I mean it.”

I sat up straight and met Preston’s intense gaze without flinching.

“It’s been five years. You’re not going to fall for me anyway. Let’s just cut each other some slack.”

In a month, there’d be a big business conference in Ardovelle.

Preston would meet Lydia there.

It would be love at first sight for him, and he’d stop at nothing to get her.

What an epic love story.

No way I was sticking around to be the disposable side character.

In my past life, I did everything I wanted to do, could do, and should do.

And I saw how it ended.

This time, I wasn’t going to make a fool of myself or drag my family into the abyss again.

I decided to step away before Preston met Lydia.

I decided to remove myself from the picture before their rocky journey even began.

Maybe because my gaze was genuinely serious, Preston’s expression darkened instantly.

He’d never had much of a temper—if someone rubbed him the wrong way, he never held back.

“Oh, so I’m a toy now?”

He let out a cold laugh, though his eyes stayed icy.

“Bianca, you’re the one who insisted on marrying me five years ago, and now you’re calling for a divorce? Are you fucking playing me?”

Five years ago, our families were on good terms, so they fixed us up.

Given the kind of man Preston was, he’d never accept an arranged marriage.

But then his grandfather got seriously sick, and that changed everything.

He was forced to marry me.

It was humiliating for him, through and through.

But he didn’t have anyone he really loved or some unforgettable ex.

Besides, he was just starting to take over the family business, so he needed a capable partner.

That was how he ended up making do with me for five years.

I let out a bitter laugh.

“Don’t tell me you want to stay in this marriage in name only.”

“In name only?”

Preston repeated, like he was chewing on those words.

Then he raised an eyebrow and asked, mockery dripping from his voice, “I get it. You’re lonely, aren’t you?”

“No. I just...”

Before I could finish, he stood up and walked over to me.

He leaned down, braced his hands on the armrests, and boxed me in against the sofa.

His voice was a little seductive.

“If you’re lonely, why didn’t you call me? You ask for a divorce so you can be with someone else instead? You that horny?”

Preston smoked.

He always smelled faintly of something clean, mixed with tobacco.

Of course, he never hugged me.

I’d sniffed his jacket secretly, so I knew.

Right now, I was enveloped by his mixed, intoxicating scent.

I was supposed to be thrilled, my face turning crimson, but honestly?

I just felt suffocated.

I was planning to leave.

Anything that made me hesitate felt like bad luck.

“No. That’s not why I want a divorce,” I explained.

After all these days and nights, loneliness had become a habit.

“Oh, really?”

Preston straightened up.

He wasn’t the least bit interested in me, and that teasing flirtation was just to embarrass me, so he wouldn’t lose control.

“I want a divorce because I’m tired,” I said quietly. “Tired of waiting. Tired of hoping. Tired of being unwanted.”

His face went still for a second.

Then the coldness came back.

“Bianca, I know today is our fifth anniversary. But I’m not interested in this kind of thing. If you’re trying to act out because of this and demand a divorce, just cut it out already.”

“We never celebrate our anniversary. No need to make a fuss this year either.”

I stood up too and looked him in the eye.

“Think about it. I barely have any value left for you to use. Compared to me, you’re the one who needs freedom more, don’t you think?”

With that, I turned and headed upstairs to the bedroom.

I didn’t want to say another word.

A sharp bang came from the front door downstairs, followed by a car engine outside the window.

I knew—Preston had left.

But this time, I felt nothing but calm.

Just then, my phone rang.

It was my close friend, Kiera Montague.

“Biana, come out—let’s party! Tipsy & Toast, let’s do this!”

Her big voice instantly chased away my gloom.

She was my age, but she’d stayed single.

After marrying Preston, I barely hung out with anyone, even Kiera.

But she kept asking, even after I turned her down practically every single time.

“Okay,” I agreed right away.

So easily that she was too stunned to speak for a while.

Finally, she spoke again, this time with doubt and astonishment.

“It’s your anniversary with Preston today. Did you just say okay?”

For four years straight, I’d used our anniversary as an excuse to blow her off.

“Yeah. Anniversary? What’s the big deal? Be right there.”

I answered with total certainty and then hung up.

I opened my closet and saw a sea of white, black, and gray—blue was a rare guest.

Behind every luxury brand was a world of stunning designs.

And I, the ultimate sucker, had paid a small fortune for the dullest ones in the bunch.

It took me ten minutes to finally pick out a black halter dress that was comparatively less boring.

It was silk, with a deep V-neck that plunged almost to my navel.

After getting dressed and putting on makeup, I went to the garage, got into a fiery red Porsche, and headed to Tipsy & Toast.

After parking, I went in and found Kiera and the others at the bar counter we’d agreed on.

Back in college, the four of us—me, Kiera, Delia Norcott, and Freya Corbin—were called the Four Talents of the Music Department.

Everyone thought we’d all make it big after graduation.

But I got married early, Kiera became a regular at nightclubs, Delia fought her way up to become a VP at her family’s company, and only Freya stuck to music, entering competitions everywhere, determined to become a singer.

“Well, well, look who’s here!”

Kiera hopped off the barstool and grabbed my hand excitedly, like we were world leaders meeting for a summit.

The other two nodded vigorously, obviously thrilled, too—after all, they’d barely seen me since I got married.

I had given up my entire social circle.

All for Preston.

After a couple of drinks, Delia sighed.

“Biana, if you still hadn’t shown up today, seriously, I’d start to wonder if I went to your wedding or your funeral five years ago.”

The answer might actually surprise her.

It was both.

My heart had died completely as time went by.

“Weird, though. You didn’t stay home and do the whole candlelit dinner thing?” Kiera asked curiously while trying to lift my eyelid. “Here, let me see—have you been crying? Is it that jerk still won’t talk to you?”

“Hey, stop messing with my fake eyelashes, okay?”

I swatted her hand away.

The three of them were my best friends.

In my past life, when my family was destroyed by Preston—who had gone completely mad and would do anything for his so-called love—they were the ones who helped me.

We still weren’t a match for him, but hard times revealed true friends.

I never forgot their kindness.

So I told them I was divorcing Preston.

Well, not the reborn part, of course.

They fell silent for a few seconds.

Then the clapping started.

“That’s amazing! Biana, from now on, you’re officially done being some lovesick fool. This is huge! No one’s leaving tonight until we’re all drunk.”

“Cheers!”

I shouted, grinning from ear to ear, my bony arms held high.

I could almost see myself walking freely toward a new life after divorcing Preston, leaving the tragedy of my past life far behind.

A bit tipsy, we grew bold.

Freya patted my shoulder, slurring, “Biana, look around—see any hot guys you like? Don’t be shy. If you want him, go get him. Preston’s got rumors flying left and right. Don’t let him show you up.”

“Good point.”

I scanned the room with my drunken eyes.

Finally, my gaze landed on a figure with his back to me.

He was tall and lean, and judging by the way he dressed, probably young.

Maybe... a college student?

Preston found himself a college girl.

Surely I could find myself a college guy.

Glass in hand, I stumbled toward him and reached out to pat his shoulder.

“Hey, cutie. Wanna drink? My treat...”

He turned around.

I saw a handsome, young face.

He looked at me in surprise, then shook his head apologetically.

“Sorry. I have a girlfriend.”

“Oh, okay... Sorry. I’ll go find someone single then...”

I bowed deeply.

The alcohol had gone straight to my head—I had no idea what I was saying.

I turned and kept looking.

But before I could take a few steps, someone’s clumsy feet tripped me.

I hit the floor, my glass shattering everywhere.

Dizziness overwhelmed me.

Lying there, I honestly wanted to just sleep right there.

“Give me your hand. I’ll help you up.”

It was the college guy.

I sat up and looked at him, my face red.

Why was I hallucinating?

His face turned into Preston’s, and he was staring at me coldly.

I tried hard to get up, only to press my palm against the shards.

Bright red oozed out.

I was stunned for a few seconds before my vision went blank.

“Bianca, you really think your family can stop me?”

In my dream, I saw Preston’s cruel, ruthless face again.

I sat there in the destroyed living room, a total mess, tears pouring down my face—I must have looked like a madwoman.

After Preston announced he wanted a divorce, my parents teamed up with the Crowe family elders to pressure him.

But he wouldn’t listen to a word they said.

He stubbornly stuck to what he wanted and destroyed my family, even at a huge cost.

His family elders were against him at first—they even gave him hell for it.

Then they had no choice but to help him.

In the end, I heard they accepted Lydia.

Because of Preston’s stubborn protection and favoritism, as time went by, his parents approved of her.

Most importantly, she was already pregnant by then.

“Preston, I’ve loved you for ten years. Do you feel nothing for me? Nothing at all?”

I covered my face, tears slipping through my fingers again.

“No. Bianca, I gave you a chance to end things on good terms, but you didn’t take it,” he said coldly.

Then his phone rang.

That special ringtone of his.

Lydia’s crisp, pleasant voice announced, “Mr. Crowe, pick up! Mr. Crowe, pick up!”

That ringtone—so sweet, so them—echoed in my ears.

I watched as Preston left without a second thought.

My world spun, and my heart ached so much I thought I might die.

In the suffocating pain, I woke with a start.

Breathing heavily, I found myself in my bedroom.

The sunshine was bright and warm outside the window, birds chirping, and flower scents filling the air.

The college guy had dropped me off?

I looked at my bandaged hand, then pressed my throbbing temples.

Just as I glanced around to see if he was there, Preston’s voice came from the other side of the door.

“You guys go have fun. I’m not in the mood today.”

He leaned against the railing on the second floor, a cigarette between his fingers, his voice lazy, his silhouette straight.

I held onto the doorframe and watched as he walked over to me.

“Where did you hide him?”

“Who?”

He furrowed his brows.

“The college guy,” I said.

Other than Preston, he was the first guy I’d found appealing in a while.

In a month, Preston would fall crazily for another woman anyway.

I might as well find myself a distraction to take the edge off.

Anger spread across Preston’s face instantly.

He glanced at my dress, then grabbed my wrist and dragged me into the bedroom walk-in closet.

“Damn it, change! Who said you could walk around dressed like a slut?”

A slut?

I looked down at my chest—so flat, rising and falling weakly.

The fabric was doing all the work to make it look not so pathetic.

Me, a slut?

That hardly seemed right.

Besides, Preston didn’t love me.

What did he care whether I was a slut or not?

“Preston, I heard you’ve been linked to women in the tabloids again. Is that true?” I asked him calmly, not moving at all.

“None of your business.”

Same answer as always.

“Right back at you. If you won’t agree to a divorce, let’s just live our separate lives from now on. Don’t ever mind my business,” I said flatly.

For years, I never got to enjoy what it felt like to be loved.

At least I deserved a little freedom.

So this was what it felt like to stop caring.

It felt so good.

Preston no longer got to affect my mood.

Happy or sad, none of it had anything to do with him anymore.

I finally started to feel like myself again.

Men were such hypocrites.

They could have fun and keep mistresses as they pleased, but their wives had to be perfect, not making the slightest mistake.

Preston was no exception.

He didn’t love me, but still, I had to be his perfect wife, even though only in name.

“You wanna cheat on me?”

Preston laughed coldly.

“You really think any man would be interested in you?”

The words still hurt.

Not as much as before, but they hurt.

Maybe because the old me had spent ten years wanting him to look at me.

Wanting him to want me.

Wanting him to say I was enough.

I pushed his hand away and calmly fixed my dress.

“I’ll eat more, drink more milk—whatever it takes. Then maybe someone will be interested.”

“Bianca, have you lost your fucking mind?”

Preston had finally had enough.

He glared at me.

“What the hell is wrong with you these past couple of days?”

The old me was steady, gracious, sensible, and considerate.

No way I’d ever say something that insane.

If Dad had heard what I just said, he’d probably have a heart attack.

But I had to be insane.

It was the only way to escape from Preston, who was about to go mad with love.

Without Lydia, he wouldn’t divorce me.

After all, arranged marriages weren’t something that could be ended on a whim.

He was a man of rationality—weighing pros and cons was his strong suit.

And I really didn’t want to go through the pain of watching him fall in love with someone else all over again.

“Then divorce me,” I suggested again.

“Dream on, Bianca. You’ll spend your whole life regretting marrying me.”

Preston had regained his coldness and composure.

Maybe he’d seen through what I was up to.

“You want to live separate lives? Fine.”

I was stunned.

Preston could actually live with being cheated on just to make me regret marrying him?

I had no idea being forced to marry me had left such a deep psychological scar—one that could only be healed by getting back at me in every extreme way imaginable.

But this time, I did not want to fight him.

I only wanted to survive him.

After that argument, Preston disappeared again.

He was everywhere—splashed across the tabloids, at nightclubs, at the office—anywhere but home.

I counted the days.

In just half a month, Preston would meet Lydia.

During this time, I went to Déjà Vu now and then, ordered a black coffee, and watched Lydia work in silence.

Everything about her—every little expression, every smile—burned itself into my memory.

If I were a man, I’d fall for her, too.

“Lydia, your boyfriend’s here,” one of the café staff called out.

Oh, right.

I remembered—she had a boyfriend.

But that poor guy was no match for Preston.

Back then, he and Lydia were crazy about each other, head over heels, but in the end, power tore them apart.

By the time I even found out Lydia existed, she’d already broken up with him, so I never looked into him.

The café door swung open, and a young guy walked in.

Clean-cut, fresh-faced, wearing a white T-shirt, light blue jeans, and a white baseball cap.

He had a box of fish and chips in his hand.

I was stunned.

It was the college guy from the nightclub that night.

“Cal! What are you doing here?”

Lydia trotted over to him with a grin, her smile and laughter radiating warmth, lighting up the whole space.

“I was handing out flyers nearby, so I thought I’d drop by and bring you some fish and chips.”

He smiled just like her, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

They were perfect together—even their looks matched.

But their paths had split because of Preston.

That bastard.

I saw both happiness and tenderness in Lydia’s eyes.

“Just you coming to see me is enough. You already work so hard handing out flyers—don’t go spending your money on me.”

“I earn money so I can spoil my sweet Lidy with treats.”

He sure knew how to sweet-talk.

My mind wandered.

Preston never bought me treats.

Not that I liked them anyway.

Lydia was working, so the college guy didn’t stay long.

I kept my head down in the corner, terrified he’d look around and spot me, recognizing me as that older woman who’d tried to hit on him at the nightclub a few days ago.

The second he left, I paid for my coffee and got out of there.

“Mrs. Crowe,” Parker greeted me as usual.

“Home.”

Exhausted, I pinched the bridge of my nose.

How was it that in my second life, all these relationships had only gotten more complicated?

The car had barely driven a hundred meters when I saw Calvin again.

He was waiting at a red light up ahead, holding a stack of flyers in his hand.

For one terrible second, a dark thought flashed through my mind.

In my last life, Lydia took my husband.

Maybe this time, I should take something from her first.

But almost as soon as that thought appeared, shame rose in my chest.

Calvin had never hurt me.

Lydia had not hurt me yet.

The person who had ruined everything was Preston.

I lowered my eyes and told myself to stop.

Just then, a scooter rushed past the curb.

Someone shouted.

The next second, Calvin staggered and fell to the ground.

The driver didn’t stop.

Blood quickly stained his jeans.

“Stop the car,” I said.

Parker hit the brakes.

“Oh no! Are you okay?”

I scrambled out of the car and hurried toward him.

His leg was dripping with blood—he was obviously badly hurt.

“You?” he blurted out through the pain, surprised.

So he remembered me.

I turned to Parker.

“Get him to the hospital. Now.”

Turned out his name was Calvin Ashford, and he was twenty-one—definitely a college student.

Sitting on a bench in the hospital hallway, I stared at Calvin’s phone number I’d just saved, a twinge of sadness in my chest.

I guessed in the end, I wasn’t that magnanimous.

A part of me had wanted an eye for an eye.

She took my husband, so I might as well take her boyfriend.

But after seeing Calvin bleed on the pavement and still try to smile, that ugly impulse slowly died down.

He was just a boy trying to build a future with the girl he loved.

He did not deserve to become another casualty in Preston’s love story.

I covered all of Calvin’s medical bills, even paid for supplements and lost wages.

After all, being hospitalized meant he couldn’t work his part-time jobs.

I was actually pretty good at this.

In just half a day, I’d managed to get Calvin to spill practically everything about himself—ordinary family, both parents still alive, farmers back home, and a married older sister.

He was so naive.

No wonder Preston had no trouble taking his girlfriend from him.

“Focus on recovering. I’ll come check on you every now and then,” I said before I left, playing the part of sweet, kind, and gentle perfectly.

“Don’t worry about me. I’m young and strong—I heal fast.”

He grinned innocently, flashing his white teeth.

Young and strong?

Sounded like he was trying to comfort me.

I wasn’t that old.

I was twenty-seven, not seventy-two.

But five years in a suffocating marriage and a long struggle with anorexia had taken their toll, wearing me down both mentally and physically.

I nodded.

On the way home, I asked Parker to stop by a pharmacy and bought some supplements.

Not because I wanted to use Calvin.

Because I knew how it felt to have no one come when you were hurting.

Back home, I walked in first, my Prada bag in hand, followed by Parker carrying a huge stash of supplements.

I opened the door and happened to see Preston coming down the stairs, straightening his cufflinks.

He seemed so casual, which only made him more attractive.

His gaze landed on what Parker was carrying.

“What’s all that?”

“Supplements.”

“For who?”

I did not want to explain too much.

“A friend.”

Preston looked at me for a few seconds.

“The college boy?”

I met his eyes calmly.

“He was hurt.”

“And that’s your problem?”

His indifference made my fingers tighten around my bag.

“Yes,” I said. “When someone is hurt in front of me, I help. I know that concept may be hard for you.”

His face turned cold.

“Bianca.”

“What?” I asked. “Did I say something wrong?”

He stared at me with that familiar icy gaze.

I used to fear that gaze.

Now, I was only tired.

“Don’t get too close to him,” he said.

I almost laughed.

“You don’t want me. But you don’t want anyone else near me either. Isn’t that exhausting?”

Preston stepped closer.

“Don’t test me.”

“I’m not testing you,” I said. “I’m collecting reasons to leave you.”

His eyes darkened.

For the first time, he looked like he was starting to realize I might mean it.

The next morning, I went to the hospital again.

Calvin was on his phone.

His leg wasn’t broken, but the gash was pretty deep. He’d gotten stitches and was wrapped in thick gauze, so he couldn’t move around easily.

“Morning. What are you doing here?”

He looked surprised and a little embarrassed when he saw me.

“You really don’t have to worry about me this much, or visit me so often.”

But I did.

With a gentle smile, I turned to Parker.

“Parker, bring them in.”

Parker placed several bags of supplements on the nightstand.

Calvin looked both flattered and awkward.

“It’s just a flesh wound. Nothing serious.”

“Still, you got hurt,” I said. “Let me make it right.”

“Hey, I never actually caught your name,” he suddenly said.

“I’m Bianca Baldwin. Just call me Bianca.”

He nodded.

“Bianca.”

Soon enough, he opened up and started talking about his cute, pretty girlfriend.

He said his dream was to get a stable job after graduation and marry her.

I couldn’t help but let out a scoff.

Catching myself, I quickly held it back.

Calvin noticed.

“Bianca, what’s so funny?”

I rubbed the tip of my nose, keeping a gentle smile.

“Nothing. It’s just... seeing you reminds me of my college days. I once had such beautiful dreams for my future, too.”

“Which university did you go to?” he asked curiously.

I gave him a meaningful look.

“University of Ardovelle.”

As it happened, Preston, I, Calvin, and Lydia all graduated from the same school.

Just as I expected, Calvin’s eyes lit up with surprise.

“Really? That’s where I go!”

I acted delighted too.

“Wow, what a coincidence!”

We were laughing together when someone walked in, her voice crisp and clear.

“Cal, I’m here!”

At those words, I heard the echo of Preston’s custom ringtone from my past life in my ears.

The exact same voice.

The exact same tone.

I turned around.

Lydia was dressed in a pure white chiffon dress, her dark hair falling over her shoulders with naturally curling ends—a touch of femininity to her innocent beauty, making her look delicate and charming.

I wasn’t jealous of her looks.

But that youthful vitality radiating from her at twenty years old made my heart ache with bitterness.

“Lidy!”

Calvin’s face lit up at the sight of Lydia, though guilt flickered across it.

“I shouldn’t have told you. I hate making you worry.”

A bag of fruit in hand, Lydia walked over lightly, like a little swan.

“Silly, of course you should tell me. You’re hurt.”

I stood up and let her take the only chair.

I was completely calm.

After all, I was about to let her have Preston—giving up a chair was nothing.

“It’s you!”

Lydia recognized me. She looked at me in surprise.

“What are you doing here?”

I gave an awkward smile.

“I was nearby when Calvin got hurt. I came by to see how he’s doing today.”

Her gaze shifted between us.

Instead of getting upset, she smiled.

“Can you believe it, Cal? She comes into the café where I work all the time. She’s really sweet—I’m sure she helped you a lot.”

I didn’t know what to say in the face of her kindness.

Anyone else might have thought I was really sweet.

But I knew better.

I had come close to turning both of them into pieces on my chessboard.

“I know. Bianca even gave me extra money to make up for it. I felt bad taking it,” Calvin scratched his head awkwardly.

“What? That won’t do.”

Lydia immediately took out her phone.

“Bianca, you really didn’t have to give him more than the actual costs. What’s your bank account? I’ll transfer the extra back to you right now.”

She wasn’t arrogant or submissive, and money didn’t seem to faze her.

That was probably what drew Preston.

A girl without a trace of vulgarity, her eyes clear and pure.

I gave up.

Somehow, she always managed to make my expensive designer clothes feel worthless.

“It’s not about what I should or shouldn’t pay. Calvin’s leg is going to scar—he deserves the money. You two go ahead and chat. I’ve got somewhere to be, so I’m heading out.”

I turned to leave.

There wasn’t much time left for this young, in-love couple.

Then Preston would make his way into their lives.

Lydia would become his prey, and Calvin would never get to happily laugh and chat with her like this again.

In that sense, Preston was really a merciless monster.

On the way home, I asked Parker to find a few reliable helpers from a housekeeping agency.

Good cooks, preferably with nutritionist certifications.

In my last life, I had died young from cancer—my body worn down after years of neglect, stress, and pretending I could survive on nothing but endurance. I didn’t even get a chance to regret it properly.

So in this life, I wasn’t going to repeat the same mistake.

I was going to take care of my body. Properly. Seriously.

That evening, Parker brought several helpers over. One of them was Junia Westfall.

She was quiet, careful, and an excellent cook. All the dishes she made were simple homemade food, but they tasted warm in a way I hadn’t felt in years.

“So good, Junia,” I said after dinner. “Your husband and kids are lucky.”

Junia looked embarrassed. “My daughter likes my cooking too. She often tells me to open a small restaurant, but she’s too naive.”

I didn’t think much of her then.

The business summit came earlier than I remembered.

In my past life, this was where Preston Crowe met Lydia Fairburn for the first time.

That one meeting changed everything.

After that, their so-called love story spread all over Ardovelle. Everyone talked about how a cold, heartless businessman finally learned to love. Everyone praised Lydia for being simple, pure, and different from every woman Preston had ever known.

No one cared about the wife he left behind.

No one cared that I had loved him for ten years.

No one cared that I had been married to him for five.

To them, I was just the bitter, stubborn woman standing in the way of true love.

That night, Preston came home unusually early.

He was standing in the living room, adjusting his cufflinks, dressed in a dark suit that made him look even colder than usual.

“There’s a business summit tomorrow,” he said flatly. “Your father will be there too.”

I looked up from the couch.

“What time are you going?”

“Eight.”

“Can you bring a plus-one?”

Preston paused.

Then he looked at me, a sharp, mocking glint in his eyes.

“Plus-one? You?”

I blinked.

“Legally? Yeah.”

Business summits like this always allowed guests to bring a partner or an assistant. Plenty of executives attended with their spouses, and given my father’s status in Ardovelle, my appearance there would not be strange at all.

But Preston clearly did not see it that way.

He scoffed.

“Not happening.”

I stared at him for a few seconds.

In the past, I would have felt embarrassed. I would have swallowed the hurt and pretended I had only asked casually.

This time, I smiled.

“Fine. Then I’ll ask your father to bring me along.”

Preston’s expression darkened.

Gordon Crowe had always cared about appearances. If he knew Preston refused to bring his legal wife to a public business summit, he would definitely question him.

And Gordon would not do it gently.

Just as I expected, this trick worked perfectly.

Preston shot me a glare so icy it felt almost hostile.

“Be ready by eight tomorrow,” he snapped. “I’m not waiting a single extra second for you.”

“Got it. I’ll be ready by seven thirty.”

I flashed him a bright, cheerful smile.

His face grew even colder.

But I did not care.

I had to be there.

I had to see, with my own eyes, whether fate would repeat itself the same way.

That night, I did not sleep well.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the scene from my past life.

Preston standing in front of me, holding the divorce papers.

His voice cold.

His face calm.

“Bianca, I gave you a chance to end things peacefully. You didn’t take it.”

Then the picture changed.

Lydia’s sweet voice rang from his phone.

“Mr. Crowe, pick up! Mr. Crowe, pick up!”

I woke up before dawn, my back damp with sweat.

For a long time, I sat in the dark and listened to my own breathing.

Then I got out of bed and got ready.

I chose a modest but elegant outfit, put on light makeup, and went downstairs on time.

Preston was already waiting.

He glanced at me once, then looked away.

“Let’s go.”

The drive to the convention hall was silent.

I watched the city pass outside the window and tried to calm myself down.

Maybe something would change.

Maybe Preston would not notice Lydia this time.

Maybe if I left early enough, no one would have to be destroyed again.

But deep down, I knew better.

Some things did not change just because I wanted them to.

When we arrived at the grand convention hall, several elegant ushers were standing by the entrance.

And there she was.

Lydia.

She wore a fitted fishtail gown as part of the event staff uniform. It should have looked simple, but on her, it made her stand out from everyone else.

Her dark hair was pinned neatly back, revealing her fair face and bright eyes.

She looked even prettier than she had at the café.

Young.

Clean.

Alive.

Preston unbuckled his seatbelt and got out first, completely unaware of her at first.

My heart tightened.

“You can go in first,” I said suddenly. “I need to touch up my makeup.”

Preston barely glanced at me.

He did not care enough to question it.

He got out and walked straight toward the entrance.

I stayed in the car, watching through the window.

He was almost at the doors when Lydia stepped forward with a polite smile and slightly bowed to welcome him.

Preston stopped.

Only for a moment.

But I saw it.

His steps paused.

His head turned slightly.

His gaze landed on Lydia.

His back was to me, so I could not see his expression clearly. But I knew him too well.

Preston Crowe never wasted time looking at people he did not care about.

And yet he looked at Lydia for half a second longer than necessary.

Just half a second.

Enough to make my heart sink.

So it had started again.

In my past life, I had not seen the beginning. By the time I knew Lydia’s name, Preston had already gone mad for her.

But this time, I saw the exact moment fate opened its mouth again.

Preston walked into the venue quickly.

Only after his figure disappeared did I get out of the car.

Lydia looked surprised when she saw me.

“Bianca?”

I smiled at her.

“Lydia. What a coincidence.”

“Yeah.” She smiled back, still warm and natural. “This is my last side gig of the summer.”

Her eyes were clear.

She had no idea who Preston was to me.

She had no idea that the man who had just walked past her would soon tear her life apart too.

I nodded and walked into the convention hall.

My seat was right next to Preston’s.

When I sat down, he was talking with the event organizer.

The organizer leaned closer and said something in a low voice.

I only caught the last sentence.

“Alright, Mr. Crowe. I’ll send you her number later.”

Her number.

Lydia’s number.

My fingers went cold.

The organizer glanced at me awkwardly, then stood up and left in a hurry.

So fast.

So guilty.

Preston turned and saw me.

His eyes filled with more annoyance than surprise.

He probably thought I was going to question him.

If this had been my past life, I would have.

I would have asked who he wanted.

Why he wanted her number.

Why he could smile at a stranger but not at his wife.

But now, I said nothing.

There was no point.

Preston fell silent too.

Then Lydia walked over with a tray of headsets.

She set one down respectfully in front of me, giving me a warm smile, then did the same for Preston.

“Thank you,” Preston said.

For once, his voice was not cold.

It was not exactly gentle either, but compared to how he usually spoke to strangers, it was already rare.

Lydia seemed startled.

She glanced at him, and a flicker of quiet awe crossed her face.

Even the most loyal woman could not deny how devastatingly handsome Preston was.

She was still young, easily flustered. That one quiet “thank you” was enough to make her cheeks turn faintly pink.

My chest ached.

For five years, I had tried everything to hear Preston speak to me with that kind of patience.

I had cooked for him.

Waited for him.

Changed for him.

Begged silently with every look I gave him.

But he had never once looked at me like that.

Not once.

The summit officially began.

I barely listened.

I only paid attention when Dad, Preston, or Gordon spoke. Every other minute, my mind wandered back to Lydia.

To Preston’s paused footsteps.

To the organizer’s words.

I’ll send you her number later.

That sentence replayed in my head again and again.

When the summit finally ended, Dad found me in the crowd.

“Biana, what are you doing here?”

“I was bored at home, so I tagged along.”

He looked surprised.

Dad knew I had never been interested in business events. To him, I should have been at home, waiting for Preston like always.

“You came with Preston, right?” he asked.

I glanced across the hall.

Preston was surrounded by a group of people, calm and powerful, every move carrying the quiet authority of someone born to stand above others.

I nodded.

“Yeah.”

“That’s good.” Dad sounded pleased. “You’re his wife. You should show up at these events and solidify your place.”

I smiled.

Solidify my place?

I no longer had one.

I just did not want Dad to know yet.

So I said lightly, “I know.”

Dad was called away by someone soon after.

I took the chance to slip out of the crowd and looked around for Lydia.

I found her near the back exit.

She had already changed out of the headset staff area and was counting her pay with another girl. When she saw me, her face lit up.

“Bianca!”

“Lydia, no way. This is the usher side gig you told me about?”

“Yeah.” She smiled brightly. “It’s my last side gig of the summer. I’m meeting Cal later for a big dinner to celebrate. Want to join us?”

Cal.

Calvin Ashford.

The boy who loved her with everything he had.

I looked at Lydia’s bright smile.

Then I looked back toward the convention hall, where Preston was still surrounded by men in suits.

He was powerful.

She was young.

Calvin was probably somewhere waiting for her with cheap food and a heart full of love.

And Preston had already asked for her number.

I suddenly felt very tired.

“No,” I said gently. “You two go ahead.”

Lydia blinked, surprised.

I forced a smile.

“Enjoy your date.”

Her cheeks flushed pink.

“It’s not really a date.”

I did not argue.

I watched her leave through the back exit.

For a moment, I almost wanted to call her back.

To tell her to stay away from Preston.

To tell her not to answer his calls.

To tell her that being loved by that man was not a blessing. It was a disaster.

But what right did I have?

To Lydia, I was only a customer from the café.

To Calvin, I was only the older woman who had helped him.

To Preston, I was only the wife he never wanted.

No one would believe me.

And even if they did, could they stop Preston Crowe?

I closed my eyes.

In my past life, I had stood between Preston and Lydia until I was crushed.

This time, I would not stand there.

If fate insisted on starting over, then so would I.

Preston had asked for Lydia’s number.

That meant the countdown had already begun.

I lowered my eyes and smiled faintly.

Fine.

This time, I would not wait for Preston Crowe to abandon me.

I would leave first.

That night, Preston drove us back to Lunareth Estates.

Neither of us spoke.

I leaned against the window and watched the city lights slide past. Preston probably thought I was upset because of Lydia. Maybe he thought I was jealous. Maybe he thought I would go home, cry quietly, and pretend nothing had happened the next morning.

That was what I used to do.

But this time was different.

I had seen him stop in front of Lydia. I had heard the organizer promise to send him her number. I had watched him say thank you to her in a voice he had never used with me.

That was enough.

In my past life, I had missed the beginning. By the time I knew Lydia existed, Preston was already deep in love with her. I only saw the ending, and that ending cost me everything.

This time, I saw the first step.

The first look.

The first number.

The countdown had already begun.

When the car stopped outside the villa, Preston finally spoke.

“Why are you so quiet?”

I looked out the window.

“Aren’t I always quiet?”

He glanced at me.

The old me had never been truly quiet around him. Even when he ignored me, I would still try to talk.

Did you eat?

Are you tired?

Will you be home tomorrow?

Do you want me to wait up?

I had turned every small question into a pathetic way of begging him to look at me.

Now I did not want to beg anymore.

Preston unbuckled his seat belt.

“Don’t cause trouble at events like this again.”

I turned to him. “What trouble did I cause?”

“You know what I mean.”

“I don’t.”

His eyes darkened. “You insisted on coming today. You weren’t there for the summit.”

Of course I wasn’t.

I had gone there to watch fate repeat itself.

But I only said, “I was bored.”

“Bianca.”

His voice carried a warning.

In the past, that one word would have been enough to shut me up.

This time, I smiled faintly.

“Preston, if taking your legal wife to a business summit counts as trouble, maybe you really should sign the divorce papers.”

His face went cold.

“There you go again.”

“I’m serious.”

“You’ve been serious for days,” he said. “And I’ve already given you my answer.”

“Yes,” I said. “Dream on, Bianca.”

He paused.

Maybe he had not expected me to repeat his words before he could say them.

I opened the car door and stepped out.

“Fine. Then we’ll see who wakes up first.”

After we entered the villa, Preston went straight to his study.

I stood in the living room and watched him disappear down the hallway.

In my last life, I had chased after that back for too long.

This time, I turned and went upstairs.

The bedroom was quiet.

The bed was perfectly made. The lamp on Preston’s side was still sitting there.

I had bought that lamp during our first year of marriage. Back then, I imagined he might come home early one day, sit beside me, and read before bed.

He had never used it once.

I opened the drawer and took out the divorce agreement my lawyer had prepared.

The lawyer had been cautious when I asked for it.

“Mrs. Crowe, divorce between families like yours and Mr. Crowe’s may involve complicated asset division. Are you sure you want to prepare this now?”

I had said yes.

I did not want Preston’s money.

In my past life, he had offered me shares of the Crowe Group. Enough for me to live comfortably for the rest of my life.

He called it compensation.

I called it proof that he wanted me gone.

Back then, I refused. I cried, begged, fought, and dragged both families into a war. In the end, my parents paid the price for my obsession.

This time, I wanted nothing.

Nothing but my life back.

I sat at the vanity table and flipped to the last page.

The signature line waited for me.

My hand still trembled when I picked up the pen.

Not because I regretted it.

Because the girl who had loved Preston since she was seventeen still existed somewhere inside me. She was stupid, stubborn, and pitiful, but she had once been real.

I pressed the pen down.

Bianca Baldwin.

My name looked clean on the paper.

Not Bianca Crowe.

Bianca Baldwin.

I stared at it for a few seconds, then closed the agreement.

After that, I started packing.

Five years of marriage sounded long, but once I truly decided to leave, there was not much I wanted to take.

My documents.

The jewelry my parents had given me.

A few clothes I actually liked.

Some old sheet music.

That was all.

The rest belonged to the wife I had once tried to be.

The dull dresses I wore because I thought Preston preferred quiet, elegant women.

The gray slippers by the door.

The unopened gifts I had bought him year after year.

Ties. Cufflinks. Watches. Pens.

I left them all there.

They were proof of how hard I had tried, and I did not need proof anymore.

Halfway through packing, my phone lit up.

It was Kiera Montague.

Are you still alive over there?

I looked at the message for a moment, then typed back.

Barely.

Her reply came almost instantly.

Then stop pretending you’re fine. Come to me.

My eyes stung.

Kiera had always been loud and reckless, but whenever I was about to fall apart, she was the first one to reach for me.

I did not reply right away.

If I went to my parents now, Mom would cry and Dad would rage. Within an hour, the Baldwin family would be standing against Preston again.

In my past life, that was how everything got worse.

My parents tried to protect me. They pressured Preston. They begged the Crowe family to give me justice.

And Preston treated them as obstacles.

This time, I would not let them bleed for my mistake.

Not again.

I sent Kiera one word.

Okay.

Then I put my phone away and finished packing one suitcase.

Before leaving, I hesitated for a moment and opened my contact list.

Dominic Hale.

He was one of Preston’s closest friends. In my past life, he had helped Preston pursue Lydia. He had also watched me fall apart without ever taking me seriously.

I did not like him.

But he was Preston’s friend, and Preston would rather listen to anyone in the world than listen to me.

I sent him a message.

Dominic, if you have time tomorrow, please talk to Preston. I want a divorce. I’m serious. I don’t want this to turn ugly.

After sending it, I put my phone away.

Maybe Dominic would help.

Maybe he would laugh at me.

It did not matter.

I had done what I could.

I took the divorce agreement downstairs.

The living room lights were still on. Preston was still in the study, and the door was closed.

Good.

If he came out now, I was afraid I would remember too much.

I placed the agreement on the coffee table.

Then I took a blank card and wrote one line.

Now you’re free to chase her.

I looked at those words for a long time.

They were not enough to hold ten years of love, five years of marriage, and one lifetime of pain.

But they were clear enough.

I set the card on top of the agreement.

Then I pulled my suitcase to the front door.

Parker Ellis was waiting outside. He had been my driver for years. Maybe he had already sensed something from the way I asked him to keep the car ready.

When he saw the suitcase in my hand, he froze.

“Mrs. Crowe...”

I smiled faintly.

“Don’t call me that tonight.”

His eyes flickered.

After a moment, he lowered his head.

“Yes, Miss Baldwin.”

The night wind blew against my face as I stepped out of Lunareth Estates.

For once, I was not the woman waiting inside that empty villa.

I was the one walking away.

I spent that night at Kiera Montague’s place.

When Parker dropped me off, Kiera was already waiting downstairs in a silk robe and slippers. The second she saw my suitcase, her eyes widened.

“Damn,” she said. “You actually did it.”

I smiled a little. “I left him the divorce papers.”

Kiera stared at me for two seconds, then grabbed my suitcase with one hand and pulled me inside with the other.

“Good. Come in before you change your mind.”

“I won’t.”

“Better not. I’ve been waiting five years for this day.”

Her apartment was bright, messy, and warm. There were magazines on the couch, takeout menus on the dining table, and a blanket half-sliding onto the floor.

It was nothing like Lunareth Estates.

That place was huge and cold. Even when all the lights were on, it still felt empty.

Kiera ordered food and made me sit on the couch.

“You look terrible,” she said. “Eat first. Cry later.”

“I’m not crying.”

“Good. Preston Crowe doesn’t deserve your tears.”

I laughed softly, but my chest still felt tight.

After dinner, Kiera sat beside me with a serious look.

“So what’s the plan?”

“Divorce.”

“I mean after that.”

I paused.

After that?

For five years, my life had revolved around Preston. Before that, my heart had belonged to him for another five.

I had imagined every kind of future with him.

But I had never seriously imagined a future without him.

“I don’t know yet,” I admitted.

Kiera’s voice softened. “You loved him for ten years, Biana. Are you sure you can really let go?”

I looked down at my hands.

The question hurt, but the answer was clear.

“Yes.”

Kiera studied my face.

I smiled faintly. “I’m not saying it doesn’t hurt. It does. But I’m done going back.”

In my past life, I had mistaken pain for love. I thought the more it hurt, the more it proved I loved him.

Now I knew better.

Sometimes pain was just your body begging you to leave.

Kiera reached over and held my hand.

“Then stay here as long as you want.”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me. Just promise me one thing.”

“What?”

“If he calls, don’t run back just because he finally sounds human.”

I almost laughed.

“Don’t worry. He won’t.”

That night, I slept in Kiera’s guest room.

I woke up several times, but at least I was not in Preston’s house. I was not waiting for his car. I was not lying beside an empty space, wondering if he would come home.

The next morning, Kiera dragged me out of bed.

“Get dressed,” she said. “We’re going out.”

“Where?”

“Brunch. Shopping. Spa. Anywhere happy. You just escaped a dead marriage. You deserve a good day.”

I had just changed when my phone rang.

It was Helena Crowe.

Preston’s mother.

My fingers stiffened when I saw her name.

Kiera glanced at the screen. “Why is she calling you?”

“I don’t know.”

But I had a bad feeling.

I answered.

“Helena.”

“Bianca,” she said, her voice gentle but serious. “Where are you?”

“I’m outside.”

“Gordon and I are going to stay at Lunareth Estates for a few days.”

I froze.

“What?”

“We heard you and Preston have been having problems.”

My heart sank.

Dominic Hale.

Last night, before I left, I had messaged him because he was one of Preston’s closest friends. He was also the most rational one among them.

I had asked him to talk to Preston and help me convince him to sign the divorce papers.

Clearly, I had trusted the wrong person.

Helena continued, “Marriage isn’t something you end in anger. Gordon and I will be there soon. Come home first. We’ll talk properly.”

Home.

Lunareth Estates had never felt like home.

“Helena, this is between Preston and me,” I said.

“You are both our children,” she replied. “And this marriage concerns both families.”

Both families.

Those words pressed on my chest.

If I refused, Helena would call my parents next. Gordon might contact my father. Then the Baldwin family would be dragged into this again.

In my past life, my parents had stepped in for me.

They had pressured Preston. They had begged the Crowe family to stop him from divorcing me. They thought they were protecting their daughter.

But Preston had already chosen Lydia by then.

To him, anyone who stood in his way was an enemy.

I could not let my parents become his enemies again.

Not in this life.

I closed my eyes.

“Alright,” I said. “I’ll come back.”

The moment I hung up, Kiera grabbed my wrist.

“You’re not seriously going back.”

“For now.”

“Biana.”

“If I don’t, they’ll call my parents.”

Kiera’s anger froze.

She did not know about my past life, but she knew how much I loved my parents.

After a while, she let go.

“Fine. But call me if Preston bullies you.”

“I will.”

“And don’t let them talk you out of the divorce.”

“They won’t.”

When I returned to Lunareth Estates, Helena and Gordon Crowe had already arrived.

Helena was in the living room, telling the housekeepers to prepare the guest room. Gordon sat on the sofa with a stern face.

Preston was not home.

That made things easier.

“Bianca.”

Helena walked over and took my hand.

“You look thinner again.”

“I’m fine.”

Gordon frowned. “Where is Preston?”

“I don’t know.”

His face darkened. “That brat.”

Helena sighed. “No matter what happened, you shouldn’t leave home without saying anything. You and Preston are husband and wife.”

I lowered my eyes and nodded.

There was no point explaining.

In their eyes, I was still the daughter-in-law who loved Preston too much. They probably thought I had left in anger and was waiting for him to lower his head.

At lunch, Helena kept putting food on my plate.

“Eat more. You’re too thin.”

Gordon said coldly, “Preston has been too wild lately. If he bullied you, tell us.”

I smiled politely.

If Preston had only bullied me, this would be easy.

But he had already met Lydia.

He had already asked for her number.

And soon, he would stop listening to everyone.

After lunch, Helena went upstairs to rest. Gordon went to take a call in the study.

I picked up my car keys and left.

I drove straight to the hospital.

Dominic Hale had just finished his rounds and returned to his office when I blocked him at the door.

He was tall and clean-looking in his white coat, with a calm face that almost looked cold.

I smiled without warmth.

“Dr. Hale, got a few minutes?”

“No.”

His answer was quick.

I walked into his office anyway and sat down beside his desk.

“You’re too scared to face me, aren’t you?”

Dominic glanced at me. “I’m working.”

“And I’m here to settle a score.” I folded my arms and looked at him. “I asked you to persuade Preston to divorce me. Instead, you sent my in-laws to Lunareth Estates.”

“I didn’t send anyone.”

“Then why did Helena call me this morning?”

“Gordon and Helena asked about Preston’s recent situation with you,” Dominic said calmly. “I told them you wanted a divorce.”

I almost laughed.

“Just like that?”

“Yes.”

“Dr. Hale, since when are you such a believer in marriage? What is this? Better to demolish ten temples than break up one marriage?”

Dominic finally looked at me properly.

“You and Preston have been married for five years. You suddenly want a divorce. Did you think no one would ask why?”

“I told you why.”

“You said you were tired.”

“That’s the truth.”

He was quiet for a moment.

“Is it because of Lydia Fairburn?”

My fingers tightened.

So Preston had already mentioned her to him.

Or Dominic had noticed something.

Either way, it proved one thing.

Preston was not just looking at Lydia anymore. He had already started moving toward her.

I looked at Dominic’s calm face and felt a strange bitterness.

In my past life, even this man had ended up liking Lydia. Maybe not as insanely as Preston, but enough to stand on her side when things got ugly.

Of course he would not understand me now.

He would only think I was overreacting.

I stood up.

“Dominic, you’re a doctor. You should know that when something is already rotten, dragging it out only makes the patient suffer longer.”

His expression shifted slightly.

I picked up my bag.

“Next time, don’t help me if you don’t understand what I’m asking for.”

With that, I left his office.

Preston’s POV

I saw the divorce agreement the next morning.

It was sitting on the coffee table in the living room, with a card placed on top.

Now you’re free to chase her.

I picked up the agreement and flipped to the last page.

Bianca had already signed it.

Bianca Baldwin.

Not Bianca Crowe.

I frowned.

So she had packed a suitcase and left.

I took out my phone and opened her contact.

Before I could call, a new Instagram Story appeared at the top of my feed.

Kiera Montague.

I tapped it open.

Bianca was sitting on Kiera’s balcony, wrapped in a blanket, holding a cup of tea. Her suitcase stood beside her.

The caption read, Finally free.

I stared at the picture for a few seconds, then laughed coldly.

So that was it.

Leave the divorce papers.

Pack a suitcase.

Run to her friend’s place.

Post a sad little “finally free” picture.

Was she waiting for me to chase her?

I locked my phone and tossed the agreement aside.

If Bianca wanted to act, I would let her act.

I went to the office as usual.

When I returned to Lunareth Estates that evening, I saw my parents in the living room.

My father looked at me with a dark face.

“You finally remember to come home?”

I frowned. “Why are you here?”

“To see whether you still know you have a wife,” he snapped.

My mother also looked unhappy.

“Preston, you’re married. Stop spending every night outside. Come home more often and spend time with Bianca.”

I loosened my tie and glanced toward the sofa.

Bianca was sitting beside my mother, holding a cup of tea.

She looked calm.

Too calm.

The suitcase was gone.

She was back.

I understood everything at once.

Her divorce papers had not worked.

Her little escape to Kiera’s place had not made me chase her.

So she brought my parents in.

I looked at her and smiled coldly.

“Nice move.”

Bianca looked up at me.

There was no panic on her face.

“Believe what you want.”

Of course.

She would never admit it.

My mother frowned. “Preston, watch your tone.”

I said nothing else.

I sat down across from Bianca.

She lowered her eyes and drank her tea like none of this had anything to do with her.

But if she thought this would make me sign those papers, she was wrong.

I would not let her use my parents to pressure me.

And I definitely would not chase after her just because she decided to play runaway wife.