Chapter 1

After my rebirth, I stopped bringing lunch to my husband, the man who had just been promoted to Plant Manager.

When he took the south employee entrance to his meetings, I circled around the north gate.

In my past life, I knew he only married a small-town girl like me to secure his social standing in the community. Still, I insisted on the marriage.

I truly believed I could melt his cold heart with time and devotion.

But Quentin Vance kept me at arm's length for our entire marriage.

Whenever I tried to get close, he would just hand me a textbook.

"Read more," he would say. "I do not want people looking down on you forever."

One night, I got drunk and tried to hold him. He just stood there, stiff as a board, staring at the ceiling.

"This is simply a husband's duty," he muttered, sounding like he was reciting a funeral rite.

Decades later, as I lay on my deathbed, I finally read his secret journals.

He described our marriage as "years spent trapped in a suffocating swamp."

He wrote that if there was a next life, he hoped he would never have to be with me again.

The pain felt like a jagged blade through my chest as I closed my eyes for the last time.

When I opened them again, I was back in the past. It was the exact moment rumors started spreading about him and the new Ivy League consultant.

This time, I did not scream or cry. I simply asked for a divorce.

1.

The words left my mouth, and for the first time, Quentin's calm mask shattered.

Beside him, Jolene Sterling's smug little smirk froze. She quickly replaced it with a look of fake, agonizing heartbreak.

"Winona, please do not misunderstand," she said, her voice dripping with artificial concern.

"Quentin only appreciates my professional talents. There is absolutely nothing going on between us."

"I only came here with him to clear the air. If you are angry, please, take it all out on me!"

As she spoke, her knees buckled, acting as if she were about to drop to the floor in a dramatic plea.

Quentin caught her instantly, his hands gripping her shoulders with protective tension. He turned to me, his voice sharp with anger.

"Winona Thorne! Are you ever going to grow up?"

"It is a small misunderstanding. Is it really necessary to humiliate her like this? Apologize to Ms. Sterling right now!"

I had not even said a word, yet once again, I was the jealous, petty villain.

In my past life, every time Jolene and I bumped heads, I was always the one in the wrong.

Quentin would always stand by her side without hesitation, making sure everyone in the mill knew how "unreasonable" I was.

Everyone said I was just a small-town girl with a tiny, bitter heart who didn't deserve him.

"I have not said anything yet. Why should I apologize?" I asked, leaning against the doorframe.

"If her legs are too weak to stand, let her kneel. I am not stopping her."

Jolene did not expect me to keep my cool. She looked surprised that I was biting back instead of breaking down.

Her eyes welled up with tears as she leaned further into her performance.

"Winona, you have to believe me. Quentin and I are truly…"

I cut her off. I did not have the patience for her theater anymore.

"Fine. I am getting a divorce anyway. Doesn't that give you exactly what you want?"

I looked down at her wrist, specifically at the gold watch she was wearing.

"If things are so 'professional,' why are you wearing the watch that Quentin spent three months of his salary on?"

"Some acts are just too fake to watch, Jolene."

Jolene flinched as if she had been burned. She instinctively covered her wrist with her other hand.

I had seen that watch before.

The day he bought it, he hid it in his dresser like it was a holy relic. He even spent hours polishing a wooden gift box for it.

His hands, which usually avoided manual labor, were covered in blisters from the effort.

Back then, I was stupid enough to think he was preparing a gift for my birthday.

I waited for that day with so much hope.

On my birthday, I waited from dawn until dusk. The dinner I cooked went cold.

Finally, I saw them walking together under the streetlights near the park.

The way he looked at her was filled with a warmth and light I had never seen directed at me.

And there was Jolene, showing off that very watch on her wrist while they laughed.

Now, Quentin avoided my gaze, his face tightening.

"It was Jolene's birthday a few days ago. It was just a professional gift. Stop overthinking things."

Even though I had already decided to let go, those words still felt like a needle in my heart.

We had been married for six years. He had not remembered my birthday even once.

And Jolene? They had only known each other for a month.

I remembered what he wrote in his journal―that every day with me was agony.

The last bit of my lingering attachment evaporated, leaving only a hollow exhaustion.

"I really do want a divorce," I said, looking him dead in the eye.

"Quentin, let us just stop making each other miserable."