Chapter 1

Three days before our wedding, I stumbled across an anonymous post: "My fiancée supported me from selling cheap trinkets at flea markets to building an eight-figure empire. Now I want to marry the one that got away. How do I get her to call off the wedding without giving her half my assets?"

The poster wrote that his fiancée was plain, uneducated, and too embarrassing to show in public. He claimed he was only marrying her out of obligation.

Down in the comments, the original poster had even replied to himself: "Honestly, she caught wind of something and tried snooping through my phone. I deliberately changed my passcode to my muse's birthday. She tried three times, got locked out, and cried her eyes out. What an idiot."

My hands trembled as I stared at the screen.

Because the account belonged to Carter—my fiancé.

In my previous life, I had confronted him with his phone in hand. He flew into a rage, accusing me of violating his privacy.

That very night, he deleted every shred of evidence.

Three days later, right in front of our entire company, he painted me as an obsessive stalker with paranoid delusions and had security throw me out of the very business we had built from scratch.

Left penniless and disgraced, I threw myself into the river.

When I opened my eyes again, I was right back to the day I saw that post.

This time, I didn't cry. I didn't scream. I didn't even take a screenshot.

I simply closed the app and called my lawyer:

"Draft an agreement. I'm going to make sure he walks away without a single penny."

I hung up on the lawyer, my finger lingering over the screen.

Carter’s account was still open, and the comments under that post kept rolling in.

Some called him a scumbag, some advised him to end things amicably, and others gave him tips on hiding assets.

He had liked one particular comment.

It read: "Transfer company control to your mom first, and get a prenuptial agreement signed. Clueless women like her never know how corporate shares actually work."

I glared at the words "clueless women," memories of my past life rushing back.

I truly hadn't understood.

I signed whatever papers he put in front of me. When he said the company was bleeding money, I believed him. When he told me we’d have a real wedding once the business took off, I waited.

I waited ten years, only to receive this post.

My phone buzzed. A text from Carter popped up: [Business dinner tonight. Don’t wait up for me. Grab something yourself.]

I replied with a simple: [Okay.]

The exact same exchange as my previous life.

Except this time, I didn't ask when he’d be home, who he was dining with, or whether I should leave the porch light on.

He was so used to my lack of questions that he didn't even bother inventing a half-baked excuse.

I put my phone down, walked into the bathroom, and studied my reflection in the mirror.

My skin was dull, fine lines framed my eyes, and no amount of concealer could hide the dark circles from years of sleepless nights.

My hair was thrown into a sloppy ponytail, and I was wearing a cheap set of pajamas he had picked out from a clearance rack for fifteen bucks because anything else was "too extravagant."

Was I ugly?

Not really.

But standing next to Serena—his refined, high-society muse—I paled in comparison.

Serena had flawless skin, dressed like an influencer, spoke with soft elegance, and boasted an Ivy League master’s degree.

Meanwhile, I had dropped out before college to work odd jobs, barely knowing how to put together a pitch deck.

In my past life, standing next to Serena made me feel like an underpaid housekeeper.

In this life, I was going to make sure she ended up lower than one.

Picking up my phone, I messaged the lawyer: [When will the agreement be ready?]

His name was Julian. He had been a client back when I worked customer support, and he had eventually founded his own law firm.

I had reached out to him in my last life too, but by then, Carter had backed me into a corner, leaving me with zero proof.

This time was different.

This time, I had screenshots of his post. While they might not hold up as ironclad evidence in court, they were more than enough to rattle Carter’s nerves.

Julian replied almost immediately: [Tomorrow afternoon. But are you sure about this? You two haven’t officially filed the marriage certificate yet, so asset division shouldn't be this complicated.]

Me: [I'm sure. I want him stripped of everything.]

Julian: [You both own fifty percent of the company shares. If he refuses to cooperate, we'll have to litigate. Do you have any other evidence?]

I scrolled through my phone.

Nothing.

Just like in my previous life, Carter had wiped his tracks clean. Even the post was anonymous.

If I showed it to anyone, they’d dismiss it as female paranoia.

I had gotten smarter.

I didn't need immediate proof; I needed time.

He thought I was still in the dark, so I would play the clueless fool.

Come the wedding day, right in front of every single guest, he was going to receive a lovely little surprise.

I closed the chat and ordered some spicy noodle takeout.

In my past life on this exact evening, I had stayed up until two in the morning, reheating a pot of homemade soup three times for him.

When he finally came home, he didn't even glance at it before locking himself in his home office.

I sat in the dark living room all night, convincing myself he was just overwhelmed with work.

Looking back, he had probably spent those hours in Serena's bed.

When the food arrived, I ate alone in the cavernous living room.

We had purchased this two-thousand-square-foot luxury condo last year, calling it our future marital home.

During renovations, I spent three months hauling samples from home improvement stores, while he couldn't even be bothered to pick out a bathroom tile.

Now, this place was mine.