I've been married to the mafia prince for ten years.

I fought alongside him through life and death, my piano-playing hands growing gun calluses, stained with blood.

Yet at twenty-eight, he became obsessed with a girl from the slums.

He hid it well until I caught him accompanying her to a prenatal checkup.

I confronted him hysterically, but he casually handed me divorce papers:

"Maria Flores's Catholic. She can't have a child out of wedlock. I must give her a proper status."

"Sign it, and 40% of my shares are yours."

When I refused to step aside, he pressured me relentlessly.

Finally, he dragged my paralyzed brother under a hydraulic press.

"Sandra Sanchez, choose: sign or watch him turn to mincemeat."

I begged on my knees, but as the machine activated, my brother's blood coated me.

Clutching my cramping abdomen, I screamed into darkness.

When I reopened my eyes,

I was back at the moment I saw him with that girl at the hospital.

This time I stayed silent, contacted an overseas sanatorium overnight, and fled after divorcing.

Yet when I truly vanished, he lost his mind.

-

Huddled behind the wall, I covered my mouth, trembling uncontrollably.

The ghastly scene of my brother's death still haunted my vision.

John Scott was reassuring Maria in a soothing tone:

"We'll get married once your pregnancy stabilizes."

Hearing those words again, I kept my cool.

Last time I confronted him, he feared Maria would discover he kept a mistress.

He smashed my jaw with his gun butt.

Remembering this, I pressed deeper into the shadows.

Across the way, John wrapped his arm around Maria and walked off.

Only when certain they wouldn't return did I enter the clinic with my report.

The doctor gently advised: "Miss Sanchez, your uterine lining is thin. You may struggle to conceive after terminating this pregnancy."

I stared silently at the report confirming two months.

My mind replayed John pressing his ear to Maria's belly, eyes brimming with tenderness.

Ten years ago, I'd drowned in that same gaze, abandoning my Ivy League acceptance and piano dreams for him.

Step by step, I learned to pull triggers with piano-playing hands, grew accustomed to a life of blood and blades.

Then Maria appeared, turning every sacrifice into a cruel joke.

When I stayed silent, the doctor continued:

"Your case is complex, Miss Sanchez. Is your husband aware?"

Meeting the doctor's gaze, I stated flatly:

"My husband's dead."

An hour later, I staggered from the hospital, pallid fingers scraping against the wall for support.

My lips regained their color as I pulled out my phone to call my brother's caregiver:

"Aaron Jackson, transfer my brother to the private sanatorium in New York this week. Keep it quiet, and ensure absolute confidentiality from Mr. Scott."

I also instructed my confidant to prepare divorce papers.

Just as arrangements were made, my assistant sent me Maria' complete dossier.

In my past life, I'd loathed her so intensely I couldn't bear seeing her photo.

Now reborn, I felt oddly serene, genuinely curious about what kind of woman could captivate John—a man who'd seen countless beauties.

I clicked the compressed file. A video played.

Inside a dilapidated church, a girl played "Mariage d'Amour" on an old piano.

Sunlight fell on her faded dress.

She looked pure as a daisy after rain.

John, showing only his profile, smiled tenderly, utterly enchanted.

I slammed the pause button on my keyboard.

Rushing to the bathroom, I retched violently.

How absurd.

The woman he fell for... was me from ten years ago.

Chapter 2

Leaving the hospital near dusk,

I drove in a daze, just rounding the corner

when an out-of-control truck slammed straight toward me.

I swerved hard but couldn’t avoid it. After the world spun wildly,

I was pinned in the driver’s seat, couldn’t budge.

No need to guess—John’s enemies had found me.

My shattered phone wouldn’t turn on.

Just then, a familiar black Maybach passed the intersection.

John’s car!

"John!"

I screamed with all my strength, struggling to catch his attention.

As the car slowed, my heart nearly stopped.

He saw me!

But the next instant, it accelerated away without hesitation.

Through the window, I watched John raise a hand to shield Maria’s eyes.

All my will to shout vanished.

Maria was in that car—he’d never stop.

Revenge plots, crash scenes... He’d spare her such ugliness.

My strength drained away, consciousness flickering.

I woke to a hospital’s pure white ceiling.

The door ajar, I heard John’s subordinate murmur:

"Mr. Scott, what if Mrs. Scott sees Miss Flores?

If she investigates... it’ll be hard to keep under wraps."

John crushed the cigarette butt under his heel:

"Don't worry about these things. Your only job is to protect Maria."

"She's too pure, not like us."

"Sandra has plenty of dirty tricks up her sleeve. Maria's too naive to outplay her."

"When necessary, use Sandra's disabled brother against her. He's her only remaining family—she won't ignore that."

I clenched the sheets, biting the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood.

Years ago when he proposed, he'd promised:

"I'll always protect you. You'll never get hurt."

The same protective instinct, the same words—now reserved for Maria.

The woman he'd once shielded so carefully had become the dangerous schemer in his story.

Footsteps approached. I shut my eyes, then slowly opened them.

"Woke up?

My people traced it to the Wang family."

"Sign this settlement. They'll back off from the west district land."

He stood before me.

Our eyes met.

Words died in my throat.

My near-death experience had become his bargaining chip.

Ice flooded my veins:

"When did you plan this, John?"

The moment he saw my wrecked car? Or when he learned the Wangs were coming for me?

John frowned slightly, displeased by my probing.

I wisely stopped asking.

Spelling things out wouldn't benefit me.

As if to placate me, John spent these two days working from my hospital room.

He always wore headphones though, his lips occasionally curving into that once-familiar smile.

While he was on call with Maria, I slid the divorce papers toward him.

I thought he'd notice—it was glaringly obvious.

Yet he didn't even glance, flipping straight to the last page to sign.

His eyes never left the computer screen.

My hands trembled as I took the document, staring at his signature, the ink still wet.

Suddenly I remembered our first encounter ten years ago.

Back then, he was fleeing enemies, lying bloodied beneath a derelict overpass.

Eighteen-year-old John's eyes were frighteningly bright, like an injured cub.

I should've gone to piano practice, but meeting his gaze stirred pity.

I turned and walked toward him.

Never imagined that single step would plunge me into an abyss.

Later, he took a bullet to the chest protecting me.

Those eighteen hours in the operating room.

Made me realize for the first time: in his world, innocence and kindness protect no one.

Ten years—I've gone from a girl who trembled at the sight of blood.

I've become Mrs. Scott who now handles dirty deeds without batting an eye.

I thought we could stand as equals.

But he just sees me as no different from others, equally tainted.

I rubbed the calluses on my hands from guns.

Then remembered Maria playing the piano.

Suddenly felt pointless.

All my resentment and bitterness landed like punching cotton.

After leaving the hospital, John claimed a business trip and never returned during our cooling-off period for divorce.

Yet I never imagined I'd actually see Maria.

To pray for my deceased child, I went to church and asked a priest to hold a mass.

I don't believe in religion, but I hope my child can go to heaven.

When I pushed the door open, Maria was accompanying the choir children.

The final chord rang out, a jarring wrong note piercing through.

Compelled by some unseen force, I stepped forward and pressed the correct key.

"It should be like this."

Our first encounter was far calmer than I'd imagined.

Maria's eyes instantly lit up:

"You know piano?

I've practiced this part forever but always mess up here."

I gave a cold smile, yet she chatted with me like we were old friends.

She learned I came for my lost child.

She actually knelt before the Virgin Mary, praying devoutly for my baby:

"Lord, please welcome this pure soul to heaven and comfort this wounded mother."

I froze. She reminded me so much of myself it left me dazed.

I even felt pity for her.

An urge surged to save my past self.

Tell her to leave John.

Getting close to him only brings misery.

But I stared at Maria's belly and sealed my lips shut.

If Maria discovered my history with John, she'd shatter and leave him.

Then John would go berserk seeking revenge.

Blood-drenched memories from my past life flooded my mind.

I pretended to repent and hid in the confessional.

I opened the surveillance feed from my brother's sanatorium, calming down only after seeing him painting quietly.

After our parents passed, he became my only family.

This time, I wouldn't drag him into my world with John.

When I finally steadied myself and stepped out of the confessional,

a black muzzle pressed against my forehead.

Every muscle in me tensed as I glanced toward Maria.

She had already collapsed limply on the ground.

I cursed under my breath before the rifle butt knocked me out cold.

I woke again in an abandoned warehouse, tied back-to-back with Maria.

Maria's voice choked with tears:

"We paid off the debt ages ago!

What more do you want?

John warned you..."

A sharp smack cut her off.

The scar-faced leader yanked her hair:

"Debt's settled, but he broke three ribs of our boss!

In this line of work, how do we swallow that insult?"

"Since he treasures you so damn much, I'll make you suffer slow today!"

Loan sharks' low-level thugs—no wonder they didn't recognize me.

I steadied my breathing and flicked the blade from my ring, starting to saw through the ropes.

Being tied up wasn't new to me; I'd picked up some tricks.

Seeing I was awake, the scar-faced man rifled through my Hermès wallet:

"Bad luck for you, Miss Sanchez. Three million dollars. Tell your family to wire it."

"Sorry, sis, I got you into this. But don't worry, my boyfriend's amazing. He'll save us."

Her eyes shone with adoration, like John was some savior.

My hands stilled. I left it hanging.

Suddenly Scarface cursed "Fuck!" and brandished his phone:

"Damn it, he dares doubt me? Guess I'll send him a little gift."

He flung the knife before Maria and me:

"Cut her baby out. Send it to him."

My pupils constricted instantly.

If Maria died here today, he'd tear me to pieces for vengeance.

Maria sobbed, cowering backward:

"Please don't do this! Don't hurt my baby!"

Chapter 4

Her white dress was stained with dirt, her nose red from crying, like a little lamb caught by wolves.

Her tears only fueled the savagery of those madmen.

"Damn, boss, let us have some fun first. This chick's a knockout."

As they reached to drag Maria away, I cut the ropes and charged forward.

I rammed into Scarface, shielding Maria behind me.

"Fuck's wrong with you all? Get her!" Blondie roared, clutching his bleeding nose. The thugs surged forward like rabid dogs.

"Beat her senseless! Break her, then take our time."

Outnumbered, I could only curl over Maria, taking the blows.

"Miss Cheng... please stop... stop hurting her..."

She sobbed, pushing weakly at my shoulders, begging them to relent.

Utter despair washed over her.

Just then, an SUV smashed through the iron gate with a deafening crash.

Gunfire erupted.

All eyes snapped toward the entrance.

John rushed to Maria, crushing her against his chest.

"You're safe."

Maria's cries dissolved into silent tremors before she went limp in his arms.

He carried her to the ambulance, gently tucking her stray hair behind an ear.

I staggered up from the ground, meeting John's icy stare.

My stomach dropped.

"Sandra."

His voice was soft, yet it froze my blood for an instant.

"Why were you with her?"

I swallowed the metallic taste in my throat, forcing a smile:

"Ran into her. Believe me?"

A slap struck hard, sending me crashing to the floor.

"Sandra, when did you find religion?"

I spat blood, never revealing I'd attended mass for our child.

His shoe crushed my fingers, grinding down mercilessly.

White-hot pain tore screams from my throat.

"When did the scheming start?"

"I didn't."

John spun and fired into Scarface's thigh, then leveled the gun at his head:

"She didn't?"

Scarface shrieked, trembling finger pointing at me:

"It... It was Miss Sanchez who found me! Paid me to hurt Maria!"

"Liar!"

My protest died as his men pinned my shoulders.

John chuckled—one shot blasted through Scarface's skull.

"Sandra."

He knelt, vise-gripping my hand:

"Hurt my precious treasure? Pay with something equally dear."

Snap—my index finger snapped like dry wood.

"AH—!"

Agony swallowed my vision; my body convulsed:

"John!

What right have you?!

I'm your wife!"

He stood up and straightened his cuffs, saying calmly, "Break the rest."

"Do it."

Two words, falling lightly.

I was roughly pressed against an oil drum, my hands forced open.

"John!"

I screamed hysterically, "I hate you!

Ten years ago, I shouldn't have saved you!"

His retreating figure paused slightly.

In the end, he didn't turn back.

Before the excruciating pain hit, I remembered the first piece I played for him, when he knelt on one knee beside me.

He took my hands and said gently,

"Sandra, I really love you like this."

Ten years ago, I saved him from stepping into hell.

Ten years later, he personally severed the last thread between us.

Three in the morning.

I lay limp in the abandoned factory, my fingers twisted at grotesque angles.

Several assistants rushed over with medical equipment.

The factory behind me burst into raging flames.

I leaned back in the seat and called the contact:

"Have the boat wait at the port, get me new identity papers."

"I want the name Sandra to disappear completely from the world."