A year after her husband's death, Emma Ruiz was handed a terminal diagnosis.

She contacted his lawyer, ready to donate the fortune she had spent a lifetime building to charity, only to be informed that her husband had executed a will before his death, leaving all their assets to his twenty-seven-year-old son.

Emma was shocked. "That's impossible. We decided thirty years ago not to have children."

"He is certainly your husband's biological son. But... you aren't the mother on record. Dorothy Turner is."

Emma's vision went black. The voices around her blurred into static.

When she opened her eyes, she was back in the third year of her marriage.

She steadied herself, took stock of the situation, and immediately did three things.

First, she transferred the company assets. She made sure every cent she had earned herself was stripped from their joint accounts.

Second, she filed for divorce, starting the clock on the mandatory thirty-day cooling-off period.

Third, she tracked down Dorothy, who was already heavily pregnant.

Dorothy looked as mousey and timid as ever. The moment she saw Emma, her eyes filled with tears.

"Emma, please don't kick me out. My husband stole our money and ran. The baby and I... we honestly have nowhere else to go."

A cold smile touched Emma's lips.

In her previous life, she had bought these lies. She'd let Dorothy stay out of pity, never suspecting that the child Dorothy carried belonged to her own husband, Willard Martel!

She knew Dorothy and Willard had grown up together, but she had never doubted Willard's devotion.

Her mind drifted back to when she was fifteen—the year they became neighbors. Willard had come to her with flowers, blushing as he asked, "Can we be friends?"

When she was eighteen, he shielded her from a mugger in a narrow alley, taking a knife for her. Covered in blood, he said, "Emmy, I'm dying. But I love you. I'd die for you."

When they got married at twenty-five, he handed her his vasectomy records and kissed her cheek. "Emmy, you're delicate. I don't want you to suffer through childbirth. It'll be just the two of us, forever."

He had given her his whole heart—or so she thought—and she had fallen deeply in love with him.

Knowing Willard was buried in his scientific research, she had started her own business to support them, building an empire in just three years.

She never imagined that a lifetime of struggle would end up bankrolling Willard's illegitimate son!

Emma stared down at Dorothy, whose face was a mask of sorrow and panic, and sneered, "I haven't seen your husband in two years. So how are you eight months pregnant?"

Dorothy froze, her eyes darting away.

"He... he came back once before..."

Before she could finish, a hurried voice cut in.

"Emma..." Willard strode toward them, his face dark. He pulled Emma aside, his breathing ragged. "Why are you coming after Dora again?

"I told you she has it hard enough. When will you stop getting jealous over such small things?"

A sharp pain spiked in Emma's chest, and her eyes burned.

It was exactly the same as in Emma's previous life.

Any time there was conflict between Emma and Dorothy, Willard sided against Emma—seeing her as the jealous bully and Dorothy as the helpless victim.

Right on cue, Dorothy let out a sob. "I'm sorry. I really have nowhere to go. Please don't send me away."

Willard's expression shifted instantly. "Emmy, you used to be so kind. What happened to you? If you won't let Dora stay, then I have no choice but to take her and leave."

As he spoke, he shoved Emma aside to go support Dorothy.

The force sent Emma stumbling into the wall. She bit her lip to stifle a gasp of pain, but watching them together made her eyes sting.

Willard looked back, seeming to sense her discomfort.

"Emmy... I'm sorry, I didn't mean to push you."

His voice softened. "Just stop throwing these little tantrums. Learn to be a bit more tolerant, okay?"

Emma closed her eyes, sorrow washing over her. Did his idea of tolerance mean happily welcoming his mistress and bastard child into their home?

She had been a fool for one lifetime; she wasn't going to make the same mistake in this one.

The asset transfer and the divorce had to go through perfectly!

"Willy... My—my belly hurts..."

Dorothy suddenly groaned and doubled over, her face draining of color.

Willard's face fell. Ignoring Emma, he rushed to Dorothy's side and held her, frantic. "What is it? Where does it hurt?"

His voice trembled, his hands shaking.

The sight tore through Emma like a blade to the heart. She had once believed Willard only showed that kind of raw fear for her.

She had been so naive. She was never his one and only.

"I'm taking you to the hospital." Willard didn't wait for an answer. He scooped Dorothy into his arms, not even sparing a glance for Emma.

When the door finally clicked shut, Emma let out a bitter laugh. "I was just lying to myself all along..."

Why had she ignored all the signs in her previous life?

It took three hours for Willard to finally come back. When he did, he was carrying Dorothy in his arms, holding her carefully. The moment they stepped into the living room, he laid down the law, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Dora needs peace and quiet for a few days. She's staying here, and that's final."

Emma paused for a beat, then pulled herself together. "Fine," she said.

Her voice was flat, her face giving nothing away.

Willard seemed thrown by how easily she agreed. After a moment of stunned silence, his expression softened. "Look, Dora's husband walked out on her, and she's pregnant with nowhere else to go. I know you've always been a kind person..."

"She can take whatever room she wants. I'm going to mine."

Emma cut him off and turned toward her bedroom without hesitating.

She didn't want to hear his moral maneuvering. He framed it as praise, but every word carried a subtle threat—that any objection would be cast as cruelty.

That evening, Emma grabbed the prepared divorce agreement and knocked on the door of Willard's study.

Willard was at his computer, focused. Several books lay open on the desk, and Emma clocked the titles immediately—recipes and nutrition guides for pregnancy.

Her fingertips trembled.

"Something wrong?" Willard asked without looking up.

Emma bit her lip and handed him the file. "Sign this. It's a filing document for the company; it needs a spousal signature."

Willard barely glanced at the paper before scrawling his name. He stood up in a rush. "Done. I need to go get dinner started for Dora. Her diet is tricky, so I'll be handling her meals personally from now on."

Emma stared at the document. "Since when do you cook?" she asked softly.

In all their time together, Willard had never lifted a finger around the house. He was always buried in his research, busy in the lab. Emma had always been the one to take care of him, the one to put food on the table.

Willard paused. "I just picked it up. Dora is going through a hard time, and as her friend, I need to look out for her."

"Is that so?" Emma didn't look at him, her voice barely a whisper. "We've been married three years, and I've never seen you cook."

She'd never seen him cook for her.

She used to tell herself his career came first, so she never asked. But the comparison made the truth impossible to ignore—he simply hadn't wanted to make the effort.

Willard stiffened. He started to say something, but Emma had already taken the document and walked away.

A faint aroma drifted through the house. Emma stood motionless by the bedroom window.

She had tucked the divorce agreement away safely. Now, she just had to wait for the asset transfer to finalize and the thirty-day cooling-off period to end. Then she could leave for good.

In the yard, the tree they had planted when they got married was lush and green. She remembered a time, long ago, when he had dropped to one knee under that tree, holding up a ring and looking at her with absolute adoration.

"Emmy, I want a lifetime with you. I will never betray you."

Her phone vibrated, snapping her back to the present. It was a message from her lawyer, Garfield Reynolds, "Ms. Ruiz, 80% of the asset transfer is complete. The rest will be handled before the divorce proceedings begin."

Emma replied with a simple "Okay" and deleted the chat history.

She slipped the wedding ring off her finger and dropped it into the bottom drawer of her vanity.

Outside, the sound of laughter and conversation drifted in. Emma closed her eyes. The memories of the past clashed with the sharp pain of the present, and a single tear rolled down her cheek.

Some mistakes only needed to be made once.

Emma dreamed for a long time. In the dream, she was eighteen again.

She was cornered by a group of thugs in an alley. Willard rushed in without a thought for his own safety, stepping in front of her just as a knife thrust forward.

The thugs ran off in fear, and she held Willard, who was covered in blood, weeping in terror.

His bloody hand wiped away her tears. "Emmy," he whispered, "seeing you cry breaks my heart."

Even through the pain, Willard managed a happy smile. "Emmy, I've never dared to say it, but I love you. I love you enough to die for you."

Then the dream shifted. Willard's face twisted into something cruel.

He shouted, angry and hateful, "I love Dorothy now. You're in her way. Why don't you just die?"

Emma woke with a start, drenched in cold sweat.

The bedroom was pitch black. She breathed in ragged gasps, and once she finally managed to calm herself, she heard low voices coming from outside.

There was the sound of suppressed retching, mixed with Willard's quiet murmurs of comfort.

Driven by a strange compulsion, Emma got up and cracked her door open. The door at the end of the hallway was slightly ajar, and Dorothy's tearful voice drifted out.

"I feel so sick..."

"Just try to bear it a little longer. Drink some warm water." Willard's voice was gentle, full of concern. "It's part of the pregnancy. It'll get much better in a few weeks."

Emma's chest tightened. She walked forward stiffly, mechanically, until she could see inside the room.

Dorothy was leaning against Willard's chest. He held a glass of water in one hand and rubbed her back with the other. They were huddled together, looking for all the world like a real married couple.

"Willy, tell me a story, please? Just like when we were kids..."

Willard's expression softened. He began to speak, his voice tender as he stroked Dorothy's long hair.

"Once upon a time..."

Emma felt a wave of dizziness hit her.

She clamped her hand over her mouth to keep from making a sound.

She remembered leaning into Willard's arms just like that. Even if he had looked gentle back then, his words had always been dismissive. "Not now. I have experimental data to analyze tomorrow."

She had never once heard him finish a story.

"Willy, you're so good to me." Dorothy's voice was cloyingly sweet. Suddenly, she tilted her head back and kissed Willard on the lips.

Willard stiffened noticeably, but he didn't push her away. He only murmured, "Stop. You need to be careful with your body right now."

Despite the words, a moment later, he gripped the back of Dorothy's head and kissed her deeply. The sounds of their intimacy drifted into the hall as their silhouettes merged.

Emma fled.

She returned to her bedroom and slid down against the door until she hit the floor. Her face was already wet with tears. A wave of nausea surged, and she ran to the bathroom, vomiting violently.

It was revolting. Her chest ached with actual, physical pain.

She didn't know how much time had passed before she walked out on numb legs. Every step felt heavy. She opened a drawer and pulled out a heavy photo album.

It was filled with pictures of her and Willard. In every photo, the way Willard looked at her caused her immense pain now.

The love in his eyes didn't look fake, but clearly, she wasn't the only one he looked at that way.

Emma took a pair of scissors, cut every photograph into pieces, and threw them all into the trash.

It was barely light out when Emma took the trash down and found Willard busy in the kitchen.

"Up early?" He glanced at the bag in her hand. "What's that?"

"Trash," Emma said, stepping past him.

Willard didn't press it. He set a carefully plated breakfast on the table, speaking without turning around. "Dora's appetite has been off, so I made her something light. Didn't have time to make yours, so you're on your own."

Emma paused, her chest tightening.

She stood there for a quiet moment before answering, her voice steady. "Fine. I'll go out and..."

Before she could finish, a loud crash echoed from the other room, followed instantly by Dorothy's pained groan. "Willy..."

Willard's expression shifted in a split second. He dropped what he was holding and rushed over. "Dora? What is it?"

Dorothy was clutching her throat, struggling for air, her face drained of color.

Panic took over. Without thinking, Willard scooped Dorothy up and bolted for the door.

Emma was too slow to react. She stood frozen, blocking the path, hearing only Willard's angry shout, "Move!"

A second later, she was shoved hard to the side.

A cabinet tipped over, sending everything crashing down on top of her. A sharp pain cracked against her forehead, and she felt warm blood trickling down her temple.

Willard was already gone. He never looked back once.

Emma lay there for a long time before slowly pushing herself up. Gritting her teeth against the pain, she carefully dabbed medicine on her forehead.

The wound was already starting to swell. She fought to keep the tears back.

Suddenly, she heard rapid footsteps coming from downstairs.

"Emma!" Willard's voice was sharper than she'd ever heard it.

Emma had just stepped out of her room when Willard charged up the stairs and grabbed her wrist.

His eyes were bloodshot, the veins in his forehead bulging, his breathing ragged.

"Did you prep the food in the fridge?" Willard stared at her with pure hostility.

Pain shot through Emma's wrist, but she couldn't pull away. "Let me go! What food?"

"Don't play dumb with me!" Willard shouted. "Dora almost died just now. Food poisoning. The nitrite levels were ten times the limit. Someone did this on purpose."

Emma's eyes went wide.

Willard never cooked, so naturally, she had prepped the food in the fridge—but she didn't understand what he was saying.

"When did you get so vicious?" Willard's expression was terrifyingly unfamiliar. "Just because I care a little about Dora, you try to hurt her? Do you realize you almost killed her and the baby?"

The barrage of accusations made Emma dizzy. She swayed slightly, her voice hoarse. "Calm down. Why would I poison the food? I prepped those vegetables for myself."

"For yourself?" Willard clearly didn't buy it. He let out a cold laugh and dragged her downstairs. "Fine. Then eat it right now!"

He hauled Emma into the living room and grabbed the breakfast that was still sitting on the table.

He forced her jaw open and jammed a spoonful of food into her mouth.

Emma struggled, tears streaming down her face.

Willard didn't stop, shoving another spoonful in with relentless force. "You said it wasn't poisoned, right? Eat it!"

He looked completely unhinged, his eyes red and cruel. "Prove it!"

Pinned against the table, Emma was forced to swallow a second spoonful, then a third, until the food was gone. Nausea surged; she bent over and retched, but nothing came up.

A moment later, a burning, stabbing pain ripped through her stomach. Emma stumbled, lost her balance, and collapsed to the floor.

Her breathing went rapid, her vision blurred, and a high-pitched ringing filled her ears. She whimpered in pain.

It hurt. It hurt so much.

"Willy..." she gasped, instinctively reaching out for help.

But Willard just stood there. He watched her writhe on the floor, watched her struggle for air, watched the foam form at her mouth as her movements slowed.

"Hurts, doesn't it?" Willard finally crouched down, his voice drifting in and out. "This is exactly what happened to Dora."

Emma could barely hear him anymore. She curled up in agony, tears flowing silently as she started to fade.

Was she dying? Was she actually dying sooner and more miserably than in her past life?

In two lifetimes, this was the first time she had eaten a meal Willard made with his own hands, and it ended like this.

Through the haze, she saw Willard calling 911.

"Don't worry, I just wanted to teach you a lesson. I won't let you die. You have to be punished for what you did, right?"

Emma coughed up blood, but she felt a sudden urge to laugh.

Yes, she was wrong. Her mistake was loving a bastard.

The sharp smell of antiseptic filled the air as Emma slowly opened her eyes.

The sensation of suffocating was still there; she instinctively clutched her throat and coughed violently.

A single tear slid down, then another. She tried to wipe them away, but they only fell faster.

It wasn't for Willard's betrayal, but for her own stupid trust. Even after dying once, she had still held onto a sliver of hope for this man.

And that hope had only brought her more pain.

The door opened softly, and Willard walked in. His shirt was rumpled, and dark circles hung heavy under his eyes.

When he saw she was awake, he rushed forward to take her hand, but she pulled away.

Willard stiffened. He grabbed her hand anyway, his voice trembling. "Emmy, are you still in pain? I... I was out of my mind to do that to you."

His eyes were red, his voice rasping. "When I saw Dora in the ER, I was terrified. I couldn't believe you'd do something like that, and I snapped.

"It was what you did—it scared me."

"I didn't do it." Emma's voice was rough and grating.

A flicker of pain crossed Willard's face, but his expression made it clear—he still didn't believe her.

Emma let out a mocking laugh. Of course.

Exhaustion washed over her, and she lost the will to speak.

"You really went too far this time," Willard said. "Dora is pregnant. No matter what, you can't just..."

Emma cut him off. "Do you love her?"

Willard's head jerked up. "What? No. Of course not. She's just a childhood friend. I only help her because I feel sorry for her."

All lies.

Emma choked back tears and whispered, "I want a divorce."

The silence in the hospital room was suffocating. Willard's face cycled through a rapid series of expressions—shock bleeding into anger, his features twisting before settling into a dark scowl.

"Impossible," he said. "I won't agree to it."

Emma gripped the bedsheets. Before she could get a word out, Willard's voice rose, sharp with fury.

"You seriously want a divorce? I told you, nothing is going on between us. Why are you still acting so jealous?

"We're married. If we divorce, I get half your company. Are you really willing to lose half of your life's work?"

A chill spread through Emma's limbs. Willard was using her business to threaten her.

But of course he was. In her past life, hadn't he handed over half the company to his illegitimate son?

"Emmy, look, I love you."

Willard stepped forward, bending down to pull her into a hug. His tone shifted, becoming gentle, earnest. "I really can't live without you. Please, just stop making me so angry, okay?"

His lips pressed against her forehead. Emma remained rigid.

That kiss used to make her feel safe and warm; now, it just made her sick.

"Willy?" Dorothy's weak voice drifted in from the hallway. "My stomach hurts again."

Willard stood up immediately and strode toward the door. With his hand on the knob, he looked back at Emma. "Get some rest. Quit thinking about all this nonsense. I'll come pick you up tomorrow."

The moment the door clicked shut, Emma shuddered.

The gentle, calm man who slept beside her was actually cruel and manipulative.

With shaking hands, she fished her phone out from under the pillow. There was an unread message from her lawyer, Garfield.

"Ms. Ruiz, the final batch of assets has been transferred to the offshore account, but the changes to the company equity still require your signature."

Emma let out a long breath and typed a shaky reply, "Okay."

Her health was falling apart, but she told herself this was the price of a second chance.

She wasn't turning back.

The hospital staff advised Emma to stay for observation, but she couldn't bear the thought of seeing Willard again, so she discharged herself that same day.

Though she still felt terrible, she wasted no time, working against the clock to settle her affairs.

Among her paperwork was a file from her private investigator. Emma opened it to find Dorothy's complete prenatal records.

A DNA test confirmed a 99% match; Willard was definitely the father.

Emma's expression didn't change. She had already guessed the truth; the evidence just confirmed it.

She made a call. "Suspend all funding and investments for Willard's laboratory for the next month."

The doorbell rang. Emma frowned, glancing at the security monitor to see the distorted, angry faces of Willard's parents.

She took a deep breath and opened the door.

"What took you so long?" Willard's mother, Ashlyn Martel, shouldered past her, her critical gaze sweeping over Emma. "I heard you were in the hospital. You do look a bit haggard."

Emma stayed silent. Ashlyn didn't seem to care as she started digging through the bags she'd brought. "I found more folk remedies for infertility. I'm going to supervise you taking them every day this time.

"You've been married three years and haven't conceived. I can only imagine how people are mocking the Martel family."

Packets of dark medicinal powder were laid out, filling the air with a pungent, chemical odor. Emma frowned. "I'm not drinking that."

"Don't you dare!" Willard's father, Landon Martel, roared. "In the old days, women like you were drowned for their failure. I found an old doctor who can help. Since you have money, give me 15 thousand dollars so I can buy him a gift."

Emma let out a cold laugh.

So, the pressure to have a baby was just a front; they really just wanted money.

"What are you laughing at?" Ashlyn snapped. "You barren woman, how dare you laugh?"

"Mom, Dad, what are you doing here?" Willard's voice came from the doorway. He strode over, shooting Emma a reassuring look.

"I've told you so many times to prioritize Emmy's health and career. Why are you pressuring her about a baby again?"

Landon's anger flared. "If she can't have children, the Martel family line ends. Your mother and I are too ashamed to even leave the house."

Willard said, "Don't worry. I already have a plan."

They looked at him. Willard took Emma's hand, his voice warm. "Emmy, since we don't have children, why don't we adopt Dora's baby once he's born?

"It would satisfy my parents' wish for a grandson, and when the boy grows up, he can help you manage the company. Isn't that the perfect solution?"

Emma froze, wondering if she had heard him correctly.

Willard wanted to openly adopt his own illegitimate son into their family? And have him run her company?

Did he think she was a complete idiot?

Anger and a sharp sense of injustice rose within her. "No!" Emma snapped.

Before the word had fully left her lips, Ashlyn slapped her across the face.

"How did we end up with such a despicable daughter-in-law? If Willy says it's happening, it's happening! What right do you have to refuse?"

The blow was heavy, knocking Emma's head to the side. A burning pain spread across her cheek.

"Enough. It's decided," Willard said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Dora is in a pitiful situation; we should help a struggling single mother. You're being unreasonable, Emmy.

"Besides, your company is marital property—I have the right to make decisions regarding my half.

"I intend to treat Dora's child as my own. Stop being so difficult.

"I'm a man; I need an heir to carry on the family name. It's just an adoption. You understand, don't you?"

Willard's voice drifted in and out. Emma tasted blood in her throat, and then her vision went black.

She didn't know how much time she'd lost. It felt like she'd been moved, dragged somewhere while she was out, until a jolt of pain snapped her awake. She realized then that she was tied to a chair.

Her mind was a fog, drifting in and out of focus. She forced herself to concentrate, and the room sharpened. Willard was standing right in front of her, gripping a paring knife.

He looked completely unhinged. He kept muttering to himself, "Dora is still in the ER. The doctors... they say it doesn't look good..."

A chill went through Emma. Her voice came out raspy, barely a whisper. "What are you doing?"

Willard looked at her, his expression a twisted mix of agony and guilt. Suddenly, he lunged toward her, his voice thick with tears he hadn't shed yet. "Emmy, my mom told me about this old folk remedy. She said if we use the blood of the person Dora is closest to—as a catalyst—we can call her soul back."

Emma's eyes went wide. "Willard! Have you lost your mind?"

He was a scientific researcher. A man of logic. How could he possibly believe in this superstition?

Willard pressed the blade against Emma's arm. "I don't have a choice... I really don't. The labor is going wrong; we're losing the baby...

"I have to bleed with you. Dora and the child... they can't die!"

Before Emma could even process it, sharp pain seared across her arm.

Blood welled up immediately, dripping steadily into a cup he'd placed there.

"It'll be over soon." Willard sliced his own wrist next, letting their blood mingle in the container. "It's not enough. We need more."

Emma's face went pale. As the blood continued to flow, the room began to spin.

She mumbled, "You are actually insane..."

Breathing became a struggle. She felt the life draining out of her, a cold tide leaving her body. Through the despair and the pain, the whole situation felt absurd. Laughable, even.

"Willard," she said, using her last reserve of strength. "I hate you."

Then, everything went black.

Emma drifted back to consciousness in a haze, the sound of hurried footsteps echoing around her.

"The patient has a rare blood type. We need an emergency transfer!"

"I found her file. She's a frequent donor; she's got records in the blood bank. We can prioritize her for the supply!"

The events before she passed out replayed in her mind, looping until her chest ached with a numb, dull throb.

"Blood is ready," the nurse announced. "Preparing for transfusion." The voice pulled her back to reality, but a second later, the door was shoved open.

"Wait. Don't give it to her!" Willard rushed in, pale and red-eyed. "Dora is out of immediate danger, but she's hemorrhaging from the premature delivery. The blood bank is low. She needs this blood first!"

The doctor recognized him and frowned deeply. "Professor Martel, your wife has lost a significant amount of blood. If we wait, her life could be at risk."

"No!" Willard scrambled over to the bed, his expression pleading. "Emmy, you can hold on, right? That's two lives on the line with Dora. Please, let her have it!"

He broke down, sobbing right there in the room.

For a moment, Emma felt detached, like she was watching a stranger. She had never seen Willard cry before.

The only other time he had begged like this was years ago, when she had collapsed from an illness. He had held her tight then, begging her not to die, begging her not to leave him.

She thought she was past heartbreak, but the pain in her chest was so intense she could barely draw a breath.

She told herself that she would be leaving soon.

Emma nodded calmly. "Fine. Give it to her."

Willard paused, stunned, before his face lit up with relief. He practically snatched the blood bag and ran out of the room.

Silence fell over the ward. The doctors sighed quietly. "Hurry. Put in another emergency request!"

Emma slowly closed her eyes and smiled.

She had finally given up on him completely.

Her phone buzzed against the bedside table. With great effort, she picked it up and answered.

"Ms. Ruiz, all asset transfers are complete. The divorce waiting period is over, and the decree has been mailed to your home," said Garfield, her lawyer, his voice calm and professional.

He continued, "We've fully divested from Willard's lab. Also, the evidence you requested is ready. We can file suit whenever you give the word."

Emma let out a long breath and smiled—a genuine one this time.

She was finally free.

After hanging up, Emma reached over and pulled out her IV needle.

The nurse gasped. "Ms. Ruiz, you can't—"

"I don't need it." Emma forced herself to stand. Although she stumbled slightly, her body felt lighter than it ever had before.

"It's fine. My life is my own responsibility now."

She slowly put on her coat and walked out of the room without looking back.

At the end of the corridor, Willard was still waiting outside the operating room. She could hear his frantic questions directed at the staff.

But she didn't spare him a glance. She walked straight to the elevator.

The world was wide open before her, and she would never look back.