In my previous life, my husband, Finnian O’Malley, faked his own death during a family feud, leaving me to settle his “blood debt”—a price that ultimately cost me my life.

To protect my son, who was still a student at a prestigious private school, I sold the art gallery that had been in my family for generations.

In the end, I collapsed from exhaustion and heartbreak. Lying on my deathbed, I heard my son, who had already been named the family’s heir, laughing on the phone.

"Papa? It's me. Yes, she's dying. The life insurance policy I took out on her will be more than enough for us to start over abroad. You and Moira can finally take the family business for yourselves."

The “Moira” he mentioned was my husband’s mistress, Moira Tierney.

It was only then that I understood. The so-called blood debt, the faked death—it was all a scam orchestrated by my husband and his mistress. They had fabricated the debt to cover their embezzlement of family assets, and he had faked his death to escape the consequences.

And my beloved son, the heir so hungry for the pinnacle of power, had stood by and watched them bleed me dry.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back at the moment my husband faked his "assassination"—the day it all began.

————————

1

"Mrs. O'Malley. I have terrible news. A firefight broke out with a rival family. Your husband… despite our best efforts, he didn’t make it. He passed an hour ago."

Half an hour ago, a call from the family's private clinic had sent me rushing over, only to be met with this devastating news the moment I arrived.

My son, Liam O'Malley, was already waiting for me. He looked up, his eyes red-rimmed.

"Mamma, Papa... he's gone."

I stared at the body beneath the white sheet as it was wheeled out, then turned to my grief-stricken son. The world felt unreal, a suffocating nightmare closing in.

In my past life, seeing Liam so broken shattered me. With tears in my eyes, I’d pulled him into a fierce hug, trying to shield him from the pain.

"It's okay, Liam. I'm here. It's just the two of us now, but I won't let you suffer. I promise."

But just days after Finnian's funeral, Soldatos from a rival family arrived at our door to collect. That's when I learned the truth—my husband had left behind a "blood debt" of nearly a million dollars.

I hid it all from Liam, determined not to burden him. I quietly sold the Callahan family's generational art gallery at a fraction of its worth. I called in every favor I had, desperately scraping together enough to pay off the debt.

Liam was attending an expensive private school, a critical time for him to build connections, and the costs were astronomical. He was accustomed to a life of luxury, never seen without his custom-tailored suits and expensive watches. The businesses I controlled were nowhere near enough to cover his tuition and our living expenses.

So I poured every ounce of my being into managing the businesses left to me, working day and night. I survived on cheap pasta and canned sauce, but I made sure Liam ate prime steak and the freshest ingredients. I leveraged the last of my influence to pave his way to becoming the family's named heir.

My reward for all this? Lying in a hospital bed, my life hanging by a thread, I overheard a conversation between my son and a nurse.

"She's in critical condition, but she's a fighter. If we get the specialists in for surgery now, there's a chance. We just need the family's consent."

I fought for every breath, every ounce of strength I had left, clinging desperately to that sliver of hope.

But my son, the child I had spent twenty years sacrificing everything for, replied in a voice colder than I could have ever imagined: "No. We can't afford the specialists."

Though my eyes were closed, I could hear everything.

No money? How could he say that? Our family wasn't what it once was, but I had worked myself to the bone to rebuild our finances. Just three days ago, I’d signed off on him pulling from his trust fund for that custom sports car he’d been whining about.

The nurse hesitated, her voice full of pity. "Are you sure you don't want to proceed? The total cost wouldn't exceed eighty thousand dollars. Perhaps you could borrow from other family members to cover it?"

But my son cut her off, his tone sharp with impatience. "A chance isn't a guarantee. Why would I waste eighty thousand dollars on a surgery that might not even work?"

The nurse sighed deeply. Without family consent, the clinic's hands were tied.

I was moved to a general ward for so-called "conservative treatment," which was just a polite way of saying they were leaving me to die.

Lying there, I couldn't comprehend it. Eighty thousand dollars? He was letting me die over a mere eighty thousand dollars? After everything I had done for him.

It wasn't until my last moments of lucidity that I managed to force my eyes open. My son was standing at my bedside.

As the steady beep of the heart monitor began to slow, I saw a flash of excitement cross his face. He eagerly relayed my status to the person on the other end of the line.

"Papa, she's about to go. You and Moira get ready. It's time to move the money back to the States."

"And I took out a few hundred thousand in insurance on her. Once she's officially dead, we should clear close to a million."

The voice on the other end was unmistakable—my husband's, the man who was supposed to have died six years ago. And the "Moira" he mentioned was Finnian's mistress.

My son, oblivious to the fact that I could still hear, continued with undisguised pride, mapping out their future.

"Playing the grieving son for Mamma all these years has been suffocating. If it weren't for her damn rules, I'd have been driving my new sports car all over the world."

"But her death paid well. That's another million for us. And as a bonus, I can finally get my hands on the Callahan gallery."

A single tear traced a path down my cheek as the horrifying truth crashed down on me.

The so-called blood debt? It was a lie. A trap meticulously set by my husband and his mistress, who had used dummy corporations to cover up their embezzlement of family assets.

And my son, the person I had poured my soul into, the one I would have died for, had been in on it from the very beginning.

My husband and my son—the two men I trusted most—had conspired to devour my life, leaving nothing but ashes.

Watching my son's practiced, hollow grief, my heart turned to ice.

Liam must have sensed my silence. His feigned sobs hitched, and he looked up at me.

"Mamma?" he asked, a note of uncertainty in his voice.

A wry, almost mocking smile touched my lips as I strode to Finnian's bedside. Without a flicker of hesitation, I yanked the white sheet from his body.

The move was so abrupt that the family doctors and guards standing by were too stunned to react.

My husband lay on the bed, his face flushed with an unnaturally healthy color. This time, I didn't miss the slight twitch of his finger.

How utterly ridiculous. To think I had fallen for such a clumsy act in my last life.

Back then, terrified of upsetting Liam further, I hadn't dared look at Finnian's face. Blinded by sorrow, I'd completely missed the guilty, evasive expressions on the doctors.

My gaze swept coldly across the room, finally locking onto the head physician.

The entire reputation of this private family clinic rested on our trust. Looking back, it was painfully obvious Finnian had bought them all off to stage this elaborate farce.

"Mamma! What are you doing?" Liam scrambled toward me, still too young to conceal the raw terror in his eyes—the fear of a lie being exposed.

"Papa is gone. Please, let him rest in peace. Don't disturb him," he pleaded, his voice trembling.

"The dead know no peace," I replied evenly, not yet ready to spring the trap.

Liam froze, visibly taken aback by my cold tone. He had clearly expected a different reaction, the same blind, weeping grief as before.

"Mamma, what's that supposed to mean?" he stammered.

I ignored him, turning instead to the family elders present in the room. In a clear, steady voice, I declared, "I demand a traditional open-casket wake for Finnian."

"He was a Capo in this family, and he deserves that honor. I want all the Made Men loyal to the O'Malley name to pay their last respects. Have the family morticians prepare him."

Liam's eyes widened in stunned disbelief. He stared at me, speechless, as I made the pronouncement in front of everyone.

"An open-casket wake? Mamma, what are you trying to do?" His voice was thin, laced with shock.

I met his gaze, my expression calm and resolute. "Your father died for the honor of this family. His body is still whole. It is only right that everyone sees him one last time, to remember his sacrifice."

It didn't take long for the family's morticians to arrive. They were stationed nearby and responded at once.

"Mrs. O'Malley. We're here for the arrangements," one of them said upon arriving.

I gave a graceful nod, gesturing toward my "deceased" husband on the bed.

"Yes. The body is here."

Several of the family elders looked at me with approval, clearly impressed by my composure. "You've done well, Aine. To think of the family's dignity at a time like this… you are truly a daughter of the Callahan house."

"It's nothing. My husband valued family honor above all. I am only doing what he would have wanted," I replied smoothly.

The elders nodded. "Time is of the essence. They will first embalm your husband's body and then transport it to the chapel for the ceremony. Is that acceptable?"

"Of course. That would be perfect," I agreed.

But just as the morticians moved to take Finnian's body, Liam finally snapped.

"Wait! Stop!"