Chapter 1

I didn't realize my son was the product of Bianca White and her high school sweetheart until my grandson's DNA test came back.

She didn't even try to hide her contempt, smirking as she spoke. "We've lived like this for decades. What can you possibly do about it now?"

The betrayal hit me like a physical blow. My vision blurred, and my heart gave out from pure, unadulterated rage.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back in the late eighties.

I looked down at the letter in my hand from my Uncle Silas, a wealthy businessman in Austin.

I picked up my pen and wrote with a calm I hadn't felt in years. "Uncle, I accept the offer to run the plant."

1

"What useless junk are you scribbling now?" Bianca walked into the room, her face as delicate and pretty as a porcelain doll. I instinctively covered the letter.

She began brushing her hair, her tone carries that same indifferent edge I had endured for a lifetime. She didn't notice anything different about me.

Her brow furrowed when she saw the bedside table was empty. Usually, I had a plate of sliced fruit waiting for her, prepared with pathetic care.

She opened her mouth to snap a question at me, but her bulky brick phone started ringing. Her lips curled into a genuine smile the moment she saw the caller ID.

She walked away to answer it, but I caught the muffled, husky voice of a man on the other end. "The back of my motorcycle feels empty without you, babe―"

I watched Bianca's retreating back and let out a dry, mocking laugh. It was pathetic. She was pathetic, and so was the life I had built around her.

In my past life, Bianca would run off to meet Hunter Hans at the drop of a hat. I had stayed quiet, thinking she only married me because her father forced her.

I thought if I treated her well enough, she would eventually love me. I gave up countless opportunities just to stay by her side.

In the end, she betrayed every cell in my body. I spent thirty years raising a child that didn't share a drop of my blood.

This time, I wasn't going to be the fool.

I gave the envelope to our housekeeper, Martha, and told her to mail it. She looked at me cautiously, whispering that the Missus had gone out with Hunter again.

She expected me to start breaking things. In my previous life, I would smash every vase and heirloom in the house to vent my silent, agonizing jealousy.

But now, looking at the memory of those two, I felt no anger. There was only a cold, quiet sense of ridicule.

When I didn't react, Martha stomped her foot in frustration.

"Oh, Mr. Thorne! I shouldn't speak out of turn, but it's just not right. That Hunter is a lowlife. Miss Bianca is pregnant, and he's dragging her around on that loud bike. It's reckless."

I remembered that Bianca was currently carrying "our" son. My face remained a mask of indifference as I dismissed Martha.

My fist clenched until my nails bit into my palm, leaving deep, bloody crescents. Only then did I force myself to let go.