Chapter 3

I processed the flower shop transfer and contacted a private investigator.

Back home, everything was still familiar.

The wind chimes he made by hand hung in the living room, and the succulents on the balcony were neatly arranged-plants he watered every weekend.

The fridge was filled with my favorite drinks, plastered with sticky notes.

"Remember to eat breakfast."

"Temperature dropped today, wear more layers..."

I traced those yellowing notes, then peeled them off one by one and tossed them into the trash.

That night, I dreamt.

In the dream, we still lived in this little house. He was in the kitchen, wearing an apron, experimenting with delicious recipes for me.

I wanted to help, but he shooed me away to watch TV.

He never let me get involved in household chores.

He'd even wash fruit and bring it right to my mouth.

When our passion burned brightest, we'd spend entire days nestled together at home, lost in each other's kisses and embraces.

I didn't want to wake up until the doorbell jolted me.

When I opened the door, a bank card slapped against my face.

"Here's your money."

"I'm here to get my things."

Jason stood there in a sharp suit, his face cold and unyielding, a completely different man from the one in my dream, wearing an apron.

He had brought Sarah with him.

The giant wedding photo in the living room hadn't been taken down yet. Jason paused for a moment as he walked past it.

If I hadn't wanted to postpone our wedding after my parents passed, we would have been married last year.

Everything was ready, just one step away from the final ceremony and registering our marriage at the government office.

"You even manipulated Jason into taking wedding photos, still fantasizing about marrying into wealth, huh?"

Seeing this, I grabbed the baseball bat from the corner and swung it hard.

The glass of the photo frame shattered across the floor.

"Amber! What are you doing?!"

Jason's face darkened. He instinctively grabbed Sarah, pulling her behind him, as if afraid I'd swing the bat at her.

He pushed me away with his hand.

I instinctively protected my stomach, and as I fell, my hand accidentally landed on the shattered glass.

He looked at the twisted, broken wedding photo and scoffed.

"So why were you faking it at the hospital?!"

His gaze landed on me, as if asking why I wasn't confessing.

I didn't speak, enduring the pain, and pulled all his belongings out in a heap.

"Jason Thompson, do you still want this junk?"

Sarah emerged from behind Jason, walking over in her heels, and kicked over a box.

It was the first gift he ever bought me, a music box with a dancing figurine inside.

The music box hit the floor with a crisp, shattering sound.

Something I usually cherished fiercely was now split in half, but I felt nothing.

Jason never answered, only instructing his bodyguards to move everything out.

It wasn't until he was leaving that he asked in a low voice,

"Are you really going to let me go so easily?"

I lowered my head and gave a bitter laugh.

"Mr. Thompson, you're joking. Isn't this what you wanted?"

In my previous life, if he'd just been honest, said he was tired of me, I wouldn't have clung on.

But he chose to act, giving me cold shoulders, letting Sarah target and humiliate me.

Even when I had a miscarriage right there, he didn't hold Sarah accountable. Instead, he blamed me for scaring her and demanded I apologize.

He played me for a fool, tormenting me, and I could feel a subtle undercurrent of hatred from him.

But I never knew where that hatred came from.

Sarah grabbed my arm then, thinking I was still clinging to him.

I couldn't resist, and slapped her across the face.

The slap echoed sharply, and the next second, Jason's hand swung out.

"What the hell are you doing?!"

My head snapped to the side from the impact, my vision went black for two seconds, and my stomach throbbed faintly.

My hand trembled, but I managed a smile.

"You've got your things. Now get out."

I pushed them out the door, tears tracing the red mark on my cheek.

My chest ached with pain and nausea.

I couldn't help but rush to the bathroom and retch.

That slap felt like it settled the score for Sarah pushing me into miscarriage in my last life.

Jason and I were finally even.