My husband, born without affection or love. Turns out, he just couldn't feel it for me.

He found her in the slums—a mute girl with bruises on her skin and purity in her eyes. Emily Clark.

A living angel, he said.

The first person to make the mafia king Robert Johnson feel alive.

He thought he hid her well.

He didn't.

I found out—and flipped the table at the Johnson family's Christmas banquet. In front of a hundred guests. He didn't even blink.

Instead, he wiped his hands clean, like I was dirt under his nails, and slid divorce papers across the table.

"Sarah Miller, sign it. The three private hospitals in D.C. are yours."

I tore them apart. So he raised the stakes.

He pushed me off a pier. Blew up my family's factories.

Then tied my parents to five motorcycles and said: "Sign, or watch them get ripped apart."

I begged on my knees.

He smiled. And pulled the trigger. Their blood sprayed across my face.

"No... Stop!!"

And when I opened my eyes—I was back. Back to the day I first discovered Emily.

But this time, I didn't scream. I didn't cry.

That very night, I contacted a New Zealand vineyard to close joint accounts and file for divorce.

Only after I disappeared…

Did Robert finally go insane?

* * *

In my past life, I'd only seen Emily's photo in Robert's study.

Given a second chance, I wanted to see firsthand what magic this girl possessed—how she made an emotionless demon learn to care.

"John, relocate my parents to New Zealand within the week. I'll join them soon."

After giving instructions, I called my lawyer to draft divorce papers. Then I went to the slum chapel where Emily was.

Standing on tiptoe beneath a stained glass window leaking rain, she was using sign language to "tell" Bible stories to a group of grubby children.

Sunlight filtered through the shattered colored glass, dappling her figure with light—pure as an angel untouched by this world. No wonder… Robert was captivated.

"Look out—!" Suddenly, the aged chandelier overhead came crashing down!

I instinctively stepped back, but Emily lunged forward, shielding the children with her back against the falling iron frame.

Thud! A sharp hook tore through her shoulder, blood instantly soaking her white nun's habit.

Yet she only frowned slightly, turning to sign at the terrified, weeping children: "Don't be afraid. God catches all suffering."

I stood frozen in place.

Her blood dripped onto the ground like crimson poppies blooming in snow.

Half an hour later, I bandaged her wounds in the makeshift clinic. Her paper-thin skin revealed faint blue veins beneath, an old scar etched across her collarbone.

"This is...?"

She answered with sign language and a smile: "Got it from tin sheets as a kid. Doesn't hurt."

But I knew—slum kids just cauterized wounds with fire to stop bleeding.

Suddenly she grabbed my wrist, tracing words on my palm: "Your hands are shaking, sis."

I jerked my hand away.

True enough. I was trembling—because in my past life, Robert used these very hands to press the button that dismembered my parents.

"Wait here." I pulled the prepared check from my bag, pressing it into her palm. "One month. I'll give you a better gift then."

In one month, the divorce decree would be mine.

Emily shook her head, pushed the check back, and gestured: "Helping others shouldn't be exchanged for money."

Just then, her old phone vibrated. With just a glance, I recognized the number—Robert's private line.

She answered it, and a man's deep, cold voice came from the other end: "Where are you hurt?"

Emily couldn't hear, but the phone had a real-time text conversion feature. She lowered her head and typed a reply, but I saw her eyelashes flutter slightly and the tips of her ears turn red.

"I'm fine, it's just a minor injury, no need to come..."

But from the other end came the roar of an engine. He really was a powerful man, to have eyes even here. Emily had just gotten injured when his call came.

But in his "eyes", there only seemed to be Emily. Not me, his wife of ten years.

I gave a self-mocking smile.

The last time I was hospitalized for three days with a stomach hemorrhage, Robert only had his assistant send me a bouquet. The card read: "Don't die in the hospital. I don't have time to bury you."

So it wasn't about having no time—I simply wasn't worth it.

"You go ahead with your work. I should leave."

After estimating Robert had taken Emily away, I took the divorce papers to Johnson's corporate headquarters.

"Madam, Mr. Johnson is in a meeting. Please wait a moment," the secretary respectfully blocked my path.

A meeting? Yet I distinctly heard Emily's voice.

The blinds weren't fully drawn. Through the gap, I saw Emily perched on his leather office chair, dirt on her white dress, her feet dangling in faded canvas shoes.

And Robert—that man who wouldn't flinch if stabbed through the heart—knelt on one knee, delicately using tweezers to remove a wood splinter from Emily's palm, as if that tiny prick hurt him more than a knife wound.

"Ma'am..." The secretary stood awkwardly behind me.

I forced a smile. "It's fine. When will he be available? I need his signature on some documents."

The secretary took the divorce papers and discreetly slid them to the bottom of the contracts awaiting signatures. I thought Robert would hesitate at least, but he didn't even glance before flipping to the last page to sign.

My hands trembled so violently I could barely hold the document when receiving it.

At fifteen, I learned I had a fiancé named Robert—born without pain receptors, emotionally detached, repulsed by any body heat.

He didn't love me, but he loved no one. So I believed if I stayed obedient and patient enough, I'd eventually thaw this glacier.

I followed him like a shadow for ten years. But now, ten years of foolish dreams have finally ended.

Back home, I had the maid take the wedding dress to the backyard and burn it. Victoria Clark was puzzled: "Isn't this your favorite wedding dress, Sarah?"

Yes, I once treated this wedding dress as a trophy. At that time, I thought: Look, this heartless monster still became my husband in the end.

But now, it's time to wake up from the dream.

"There will soon be a new mistress here, so this thing shouldn't be an eyesore to her."

There are fifteen days left until the end of the cooling-off period, during which Robert did not come back even once.

In the evening, I came to the church bored and idle, but unexpectedly, Emily was praying in front of the priest. She was still wearing that faded nun's habit, piously and sincerely gazing at the deity before her.

Suddenly, she seemed to sense something and slightly turned her head, spotting me in the crowd. Her eyes lit up as she jogged over.

She took my hands and gently traced words on my palm: "Sarah, my boyfriend came to see me that day. I'm truly sorry. If possible, I'd like to treat you to dinner to make amends."

In my past life, Robert claimed she differed from us bloodthirsty types—his heart was pure and sacred, an earthly angel. Back then I scoffed, yet now I see it's true.

"The thanks should be mine. Come, let me treat you." I led her to a nearby restaurant. When the waiter served our meal, her eyes reddened. "What's wrong?"

She wiped her tears, pulling out pen and paper to write: "Sarah, I broke the rules for him. Why has he avoided me since I got pregnant?"

So they slept together. Though unexpected, my heart still wrenched at the news.

"Does he have a family?"

The question sent a chill down my spine, fear replacing that stabbing pain.

"Impossible. You're the Father's favorite. If I were your boyfriend, I'd spoil you rotten—why would I run?"

If she discovered Robert was married, she'd break it off. Then he'd surely blame me for sabotaging their relationship and come after my parents. I couldn't gamble on that demon's humanity.

I excused myself to the bathroom and called Mom. Only after triple-checking they'd safely reached the New Zealand vineyard did I finally exhale.

Mom sensed the tension in my voice and asked softly, "Sarah, is there trouble between you and Robert?"

My eyes reddened; I desperately wanted to tell her everything, yet after choking for ages, not a word came out.

In my past life, after my parents died, Robert imprisoned me. He forged my death certificate, then married Emily.

I hated him! Hated Emily! Hated everyone who'd ever hurt me. I tried every prison escape method, but his men shot me dead right after the first checkpoint.

"Sarah, whatever you do, Mom loves and supports you unconditionally. At worst, we restart. Mom and Dad just want you happy."

"Thanks, Mom. I know what to do."

When I stepped out of the bathroom, Emily was cornered by drunks. Their leader—a fat man in a suit sporting a Rolex Submariner—looked every inch the upstart with his bald head.

"Playing dress-up? How much for a night? Have some fun with us!" As he spoke, he reached out to grab Emily.

Terrified, Emily dodged, but this only seemed to provoke the men further. "Mute too! Come on, guys! Let's teach you a lesson today!"

Seeing them lunge at Emily, I snatched a bronze kettle from the restaurant display and smashed it onto the nouveau riche's head.

Thud!

"Get off!" I roared at them.

Blood gushed from the fat man's head where it had been smashed open. He stumbled backward several steps until his lackeys caught him, barely preventing him from hitting the floor.

Snapping back to reality, he glared at me with bulging eyes. "Dare hit me? Get this bitch!"

His henchmen lunged at me like hyenas at his command. Outnumbered, I was dragged before the fat man within seconds.

"You motherfucker! Daring to hit my head!" He swung the copper kettle I'd struck him with toward my skull. "I'll smash your head open today!"

Bang!

My head rang as crimson blood streamed down my forehead.

Patrons scattered throughout the restaurant while the gentle background music abruptly ceased.

The fat man tossed the kettle aside and tore open his shirt, stalking toward Emily.

"D-don't... touch her..." I mustered every ounce of strength to shield Emily, but his crony kicked me to the ground.

"She's not bad looking either. You guys take this one, I'll have fun with that mute!"

Emily's eyes widened. She tried to come to my rescue, but was shoved to the ground by the burly man. As he moved to strike, Emily instinctively squeezed her eyes shut.

Just then, a sudden gunshot shattered the air.

Bang!

Instantly, everyone froze.

Following the sound, Robert strode toward Emily. His face remained impassive, yet his slender eyes glinted with a hint of murderous intent.

Stopping before her, he gently ruffled her hair. "Sorry I'm late."

Emily clutched his arm, about to speak, when a swarm of suited bodyguards stormed the restaurant, surrounding the burly men.

"Take Emily down to rest."

After Emily left, the fat man trembled like a quail, kneeling on the ground and kowtowing repeatedly to Robert. But Robert didn't even glance at him, stepping directly on his hand as he walked toward me.

Just when I thought he'd noticed my injury and would carry me, the cold pistol pressed against my forehead.

"When did you find out about Emily?"

So he believed I'd orchestrated everything.

"Robert, I did it to save her—"

Bang!

The bullet tore through my right leg instantly, the searing pain wrenching uncontrollable screams from me.

"I don't like your answer." He suddenly turned to the fat man. "Now, you answer me."

The fat man was dripping with cold sweat, his eyes darting around before he shakily pointed at me.

"Robert, it... it's her! She told me to harass Emily! She said if we sleep with Emily, she'd let us join your team and handle big business with you!"

"What nonsense are you spouting?!" I stared at the fat man in disbelief, but the next second Robert grabbed my chin.

"Sarah, today you'll learn what it means to reap what you sow."

"You guys, take turns sleeping with her. Do this and I'll overlook today's mess."

He remained as heartless as ever.

"No! You can't do this to me, Robert! I'm your wife!"

"Don't worry, Robert, we'll satisfy you."

The fat man and his lackeys closed in instantly, ignoring my bloodstained clothes, yanking down their pants and pinning me down.

"Bastard! Robert, you're nothing but a bastard!"

The shadow at the doorway froze momentarily before striding away without looking back.

How I wished this wound could be fatal, sparing me from enduring such humiliation.

"Well now, untouched! Not bad, this round's a win!" As the chubby man roared with laughter, a solitary tear traced down my temple.

Pain seared through every nerve, suddenly flashing me back to my wedding day with Robert.

He stood tall in his black tuxedo, gently taking my hand from my father's grasp. That moment felt closest to happiness—I'd believed time would let us grow closer, becoming the perfect couple. How foolish that fantasy seemed now.

Only when dawn broke did the surveillance bodyguards enter.

"You're free to go."

The chubby man looked thoroughly unsatisfied. Tugging up his trousers, he tossed a business card onto me.

"Not bad, girl. Come find your master when you're in need."

After everyone left, the bodyguard turned away and covered me with the torn dress.

"Sarah, do you want me to take you to the hospital?"

Yes, I had a hole in my head and a bullet wound in my leg, but so much time had passed that the injuries had clotted with blood.

I struggled to get up from the floor, silently put on my clothes, then took my phone from the bag on the table.

"John, move up the plan. Please help me erase my identity."

"I want to make sure Robert can never find me again."