Chapter 1

This was a painful awakening bought with nine years of my youth—

When marriage became a cage for three,

When every compromise turned into a knife aimed at myself.

Anya Sterling kept a diary,

documenting the ninety-nine times Julian Thorne had abandoned her for his first love, Willow Hayes.

He abandoned her in a fire, chose Willow under a falling chandelier, and even diverted her life-saving blood for Willow—

Until that rainy night, when Anya lost her child and all reasons to hold on.

"Julian, we're finally even."

She vanished completely, as if she'd never loved him.

But when he finally realized his mistake and searched high and low for her,

he only saw her in an interview, smiling softly, leaning against another man:

"That was my past life; it ended long ago."

### Anya's POV

Julian discovered that diary on an ordinary rainy day.

I walked into the study with a freshly warmed glass of milk. Julian stood by the desk, a cream-colored, hardcover notebook in his hand.

The gold-embossed words "Our Story" in the bottom right corner stabbed my eyes.

It was my diary, a testament to a slowly dying marriage.

He had just returned from the flight simulator, his jacket sleeves still carrying the biting scent of rain. It was his signature smell, as unapproachable as the winds at high altitude.

His brows were tightly furrowed, his long fingers clutching the diary. His gaze was so cold it was almost alien.

His study had always been off-limits.

I'd never stepped inside.

Even when helping him organize documents, I waited outside the door.

"You're back." I forced myself to be calm, placing the milk in front of him. "I prepared some warm milk for you."

He didn't take it. He merely tossed the diary back onto the desk, his voice as cold as if it came from ice: "Don't put your things in my study again."

My hand, gripping the glass, trembled slightly, and the milk in the cup rippled faintly. I lowered my head, hiding all emotion in my eyes, and softly said, "Okay, I understand."

I turned, intending to put the diary away.

But the next second, his phone suddenly rang.

He glanced at the screen, and his face instantly changed.

"What did you say?!" His voice abruptly rose. "Send me the address!"

After hanging up, he grabbed his jacket and rushed out.

"Julian, what's wrong?" I instinctively chased after him.

He barely paused: "Willow's villa is on fire!"

Willow Hayes.

The name that had haunted me for three years.

I watched him sprint towards the garage, looking utterly distraught. I pulled open the passenger door and said, "I'm coming with you."

He glanced back at me, his expression clearly impatient, but he didn't refuse.

The engine roared, and the black Bentley lunged into the pouring rain.

He drove fast and furiously, the wipers thrashing wildly, rain drumming against the glass.

I gripped the seatbelt, watching blurred lights flying past outside the window.

I knew that whenever Willow was involved, he would lose control.

I had seen this loss of control too many times.

In our first year of marriage, Willow divorced overseas. He abandoned me and my family's dinner, flying overnight to be with her.

In our second year, she said she was feeling down, so he canceled our anniversary trip and booked the earliest flight to see her.

Each time, he became a stranger, a madman I didn't recognize.

And I could only sit silently beside him, watching.

The car finally stopped in front of the villa halfway up the mountain.

Thick smoke billowed, the wail of fire truck sirens echoing through the hills.

He practically leaped out of the car.

I followed, and the rain instantly drenched my clothes.

He grabbed a firefighter, his eyes bloodshot: "Someone's still inside! Willow is still in there!"

"Sir, please calm down! The fire is too intense, we're working on the rescue—"

But he wasn't listening.

He pushed the man away, staring fixedly at the burning villa, then took a step, about to rush inside.

"Julian!"

A few of his friends who had just arrived grabbed him.

Liam clung to him, roaring, "Are you insane? Do you have a death wish? Do you even care about your flying career anymore?"

"Let go!" Julian's voice was raspy. "I can't let her get hurt…"

At that moment, I stood not far away, icy rain lashing my face, blurring the line between water and tears.

Ultimately, he broke free from everyone and plunged into the inferno.

My heart nearly stopped; I was frozen in place.

After what felt like an eternity, a figure burst from the flames, collapsing to the ground, a woman clutched in his arms.

It was him.

And it was Willow.

He had protected her well.

But his back was covered in burns, his arms a bloody mess.

Ambulances wailed as they sped away.

His friends half-dragged me into another car, and we followed them to the hospital.

The red light of the emergency room glowed, casting the corridor in a stark, pale light.

Willow had only inhaled some smoke, nothing serious; she sat on a bench, tears streaming down her face, looking fragile and pitiful.

All his friends gathered around her.

And I stood at the end of the corridor, as invisible as the air.

I heard Liam's voice, hushed yet seething with anger: "That Willow, she still has such a hold on him! It was like this three years ago, and it's still like this now!"

Owen sighed: "You know how it is. She was the one he'd always idealized since childhood. If Willow hadn't run off to marry that older guy overseas, Anya wouldn't even be in the picture."

"Bullshit! What's wrong with Anya? What's she lacking? We've all seen how she's treated him these past three years. But him? Has he ever treated her like a wife? He only married Anya after Willow dumped him, just to mend his broken heart and fulfill Mr. Sterling's dying wish!"

Mr. Sterling.

My father.

Hearing those words, my thoughts instantly went back three years.

By his hospital bed, my father weakly took my hand and placed it in Julian's.

"Julian, after I'm gone, I beg you to take care of her."

At that time, he had just been dumped by Willow, a dark cloud hanging over him, silent and brooding.

He glanced at me, his eyes void of warmth, yet he still nodded.

I thought that if I tried hard enough, his heart would eventually thaw.

But I was wrong.

On our wedding night, he was a drunken mess, muttering "Willow, don't leave…" over and over.

In that moment, I set an expiration date for our marriage.

I bought that diary, telling myself—

Every time he broke my heart because of Willow, I'd make an entry.

When I hit the ninety-ninth entry, I'd let go.

That diary was his ninety-nine chances,

and my last shred of dignity.

…

After what felt like an eternity at the hospital, I returned home alone.

The house was so empty it only echoed.

I walked into the study, picked up the diary he had discarded onto the desk, and turned to a new page.

The blank page seemed to glare at me.

I gripped my pen and wrote down a new line:

[Entry 77:]

[To save Willow, he rushed into a burning building, disregarding his own life.]

[It turns out, he wasn't careless with his body as a pilot; it was just that the scales of his affection didn't tip for me.]

###