Chapter 1

In my previous life, on the day I was diagnosed with a tumor, the doctor was very blunt. The surgery would cost one hundred and twenty thousand dollars. It was early stage, and the success rate was eighty percent.

My mother-in-law said it was too expensive. She told me to go home and drink some herbal tea instead.

Marcus looked at her and said, “I’ll listen to my mom.”

I ended up lying alone on a temporary cot in the hospital hallway. The blood pressure monitor ticked lower and lower. When the EKG monitor finally flatlined, there wasn't a single soul in the room.

When I opened my eyes again, I was standing at my wedding in a white gown. Opposite me was Marcus Rhodes, my gold-digging fiancé, and his mother, who hid a knife behind her smile.

The officiant looked at me and said, “Do you take this man?”

I ripped off my veil in front of two hundred guests. I said three words that changed everything.

1

Auntie Beth was standing by the champagne tower, looking down at her phone. At the second table on the left sat my boss, Mr. Sterling. He wore a new navy suit and was slowly peeling pistachios.

The back rows were filled with the Rhodes family relatives. Men and women were squeezed into three tables. A few kids couldn't wait for the meal and were already grabbing candy from the platters.

Only one person in the entire ballroom was staring at the stage with absolute focus―my mother-in-law.

She stood at the side of the stage in a deep red dress she had clearly borrowed. She was clutching a stack of crumpled A4 papers.

I didn't even need to look to know what was printed on them.

In my last life, she blocked my path with those papers right before the toasts. After the officiant invited her up, she announced three rules to everyone. My salary would be managed by her, my inheritance would pay for her younger son’s down payment, and as the eldest sister-in-law, I had to pay for Leo’s college tuition.

The crowd back then had applauded, calling me “devoted” and “sensible.”

My wedding to Marcus Rhodes became a performance of the “perfect daughter-in-law” from that day on.

In this life, I won't give her the chance to open her mouth.

Marcus stood before me in a rented white tuxedo, holding the microphone. He looked at me with the same eyes from my previous life―tender, focused, and deep.

That look had fooled me for five long years.

“I do,” he said.

Off-stage, his mother, Martha, started dabbing at her eyes. The tears were fake, but the calculation was very real.

The officiant turned to me. “And do you, Clara Vance, take―”

“I don't.”

The entire ballroom felt like someone had hit the pause button.

I reached up and ripped the veil off my head. The white lace slid through my hair and fell onto the red carpet like a ghost.

The officiant froze, and the smile on Marcus’s face stayed stuck, half-paralyzed.

I grabbed the microphone clipped to my waist and walked to the center of the stage. All two hundred pairs of eyes were on me.

“Marcus,” I said, turning to him. I pointed directly at the papers his mother was clutching. “Those pages your mom has been holding for twenty minutes―do you dare to read them out loud?”

Marcus instinctively looked back at his mother. The crowd followed his gaze.

“Handing over my paycheck to her, giving your brother my inheritance for a house, and paying for his four years of college.”

I recited the words one by one. Marcus’s face turned as pale as his suit. “Those were the three rules, right? The ones your mom rehearsed with you in the car three times?”

I looked at him coldly. “Do you want me to play the recording?”

Someone in the audience gasped loudly.

“When I first met you, I thought I found love. Later, I realized your family didn't want a wife. They wanted an ATM, a free house, and a puppet who would never say no.”

“Marcus, I’m done being your slave.”

A sharp crack echoed from the champagne tower―Auntie Beth had dropped her phone.

In the relatives' section, Marcus’s uncle stood up, his face beet red. “What the hell are you―”

I ignored him.

I put the mic back on the stand, picked up my veil, and folded it into my bag.

Marcus finally snapped out of it and grabbed my arm. “Clara, are you insane? Everyone is watching!” “Get back here!”

I shoved him off.

The last time he grabbed my arm, I didn't fight back, and my blood pressure hit 170. This was the first time I had pushed him away, but it wouldn't be the last.

I walked down the stage, through the stunned crowd, and pushed open the glass doors.

The final days of my previous life were etched into my bones. The tumor, the eighty percent survival rate, the hundred and twenty thousand dollars.

I had seventy thousand in savings. I only needed fifty more.

Martha had sent a voice note to the family group: “Hospitals just want your money. Go home and drink some tea, you’ll be fine.”

Marcus had forwarded that message and added four words: “My mom is right.”

Later, I was coughing up blood in a rented room while he took his brother to see three new condos. They signed the papers for a new place with my money.

As the nurse pushed my gurney through the hallway during my final moments, the overhead lights blurred past. I asked her if she could make a call for me.

She asked who she should call.

I thought for a long time, but there wasn't a single person I could turn to. Then, the lights went black.

Suddenly, the bright sunlight hit me.

The registration desk was still on the lawn, the wind blowing the “Marcus & Clara” sign sideways. I walked over, ripped the sign out of its stand, and tossed it into the trash.