A Hundred Million Reasons to Leave

The day I was reborn, my parents were forcing me to sign an agreement that would hand over my beloved Lynn to my sister, Camilla.

I remembered how my last life ended. I had cried and begged, trying to make him believe I was the one who had cared for him at that countryside villa, not Camilla, but my pleas only deepened his disgust.

Heartbroken and dazed, I crashed my car. I dialed his number, only to hear his cold voice on the other end. “Enough with the theatrics. You’re interrupting my engagement party with Camilla.”

He then hung up and blocked me.

I bled out in the highway wreckage, my consciousness fading to the sound of their party’s live broadcast crackling on the radio.

This time, I clenched the expensive fountain pen, my fingertips turning white.

This time, I would never beg again.

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1

Camilla and I are twins.

Our talents were worlds apart. My gift for design was innate; she was utterly mediocre.

To bolster her image, my parents forced me to let her take credit for all my designs. Over the years, they turned me into her ghostwriter, attributing every one of my achievements to Camilla's name.

This went on for years.

At first, everyone was grateful for my "sacrifice."

But as Camilla gained countless accolades on the back of my talent, their world began to revolve around her. She grew jealous of the talent that was rightfully mine and began slandering my name, stripping me of everything I had.

My parents were completely on her side.

I gave up everything.

Except for the only person I had ever loved—Lynn Sterling.

Lynn was the heir to the Sterling Group, a man poised to become a powerhouse in the East Coast business world.

But when I first found him, he had lost everything. A car accident had left him with severely injured legs and amnesia, wiping his memory so clean he couldn't even recall his own name. His family, believing he had lost all immediate business value, exiled him to a remote countryside villa.

I stumbled upon him during a research trip for design inspiration.

From then on, I snuck out every day to care for him.

He once asked for my name.

I drew a letter in his palm—G.

He couldn't see my face, nor could he remember me. But he would describe how he imagined I looked. He would read me passages from Nietzsche to make me laugh. On stormy nights, he would hold my hand tightly, calming my fears.

The night before doctors were to restore his memory, he held my hand and made a solemn vow.

He said the first person he would recognize after his recovery would be me. That he would marry me. That we would be together forever.

But on the day of his treatment, my parents discovered that Camilla wanted Lynn, too.

They locked me in the wine cellar for three whole days.

They presented Camilla to Lynn, swearing it was she who had been by his side all along.

When Lynn's memory returned, the first person he saw was Camilla.

He believed the "G" I had drawn in his palm stood for "Camilla."

He never doubted it. Not once.

The treatment was a success. Lynn reclaimed his position as heir to the Sterling Group.

He and Camilla officially became a couple. Preparations for their engagement ceremony began.

I tried to explain, over and over. No one believed me. Not until I died.

This time, I looked my parents straight in the eye and, in front of the lawyer, signed the cruelest agreement imaginable.

"I, Giselle Hawthorne, hereby forever renounce any and all connection to Lynn Sterling and his family. If I violate this agreement, I will be liable for one hundred million dollars in damages."

I stared at them. "Satisfied?"

My parents stared back, shocked.

In my past life, I would have rather died than sign.

My mother was the first to recover. She stepped forward, patting my shoulder with a practiced look of relief.

"Good, Giselle. You've finally come to your senses. Lynn is about to propose to Camilla anyway. Getting involved would only bring you trouble."

I said nothing. I turned and went to my room.

A little while later, Camilla sent me a message.

"Lynn said there's something familiar about you. He wants to talk."

In my past life, I had believed every word.

I had rushed over, my heart pounding, convinced he had finally remembered us.

I pushed open the ajar door and saw Lynn, shirt half-open, holding Camilla tightly on the sofa, his lips pressed to her neck in a deep, possessive kiss.

It was all a setup. She wanted me to see it with my own eyes.

This time, I glanced at the screen and deleted the message.

I never wanted to see either of them again.

I pulled out my suitcase and began to pack in silence. All I wanted was to leave.

But Camilla wasn't finished with me.

That evening, as I was packing upstairs, she brought Lynn home.

I froze for a second, then understood immediately.

If I wouldn't go to the show, she would bring the show to me.

Soon, sounds drifted up from the living room. Camilla’s laughter, deliberately loud and piercing, was punctuated by deeper murmurs that could only be Lynn's.

With my back to the door, I shoved clothes into my suitcase.

My hands were shaking uncontrollably, but I didn't stop packing.

While going through a drawer, I found a silver locket.

In my past life, I had spent my savings to have a craftsman make it. Inside, it held the first design sketch I had ever drawn for Lynn—a testament to our time at the countryside villa.

I had planned to show it to him, to prove everything.

But the doctors had warned that his memory was unstable. Too great a shock could wipe it clean again. So I had waited, hoping he would remember on his own.

In this life, I no longer needed it.

The sounds from downstairs dragged on.

I finished packing.

Finally, the house fell silent.

I stood and went downstairs for a glass of water.

At the top of the stairs, Camilla was waiting.

She leaned against the railing, her shirt pulled low. The fresh mark from Lynn’s lips burned a glaring red on her collarbone.

She blocked my path, her voice low and dripping with satisfaction.

"You heard all that, didn't you? He only loves me."

"What are you even holding on for?"

I stared at her, my face a blank mask.

"Move."

I tried to step around her.

Just then, Lynn emerged from the kitchen.

In that instant, Camilla screamed.

She threw herself backward, tumbling down the stairs. As she fell, she grabbed my arm, dragging me down with her.

We crashed to the bottom, one after the other.

Camilla had a scratch on her arm. That was all.

She curled up on the floor, clutching the scratch and wailing as if she were grievously injured.

My forehead had slammed into the sharp corner of a step. Warm blood gushed from my hairline, streaming down one side of my face.

Camilla looked at Lynn through her tears, her voice trembling violently.

"Why does she hate me so much..."

"I was just trying to talk to her..."

Lynn's jaw tightened.

He crossed the distance between us in two long strides and swept Camilla up from the floor.

He examined her arm, his eyes filled with concern.

He didn't look at me once. He stepped right over my body as I lay in a pool of my own blood.

He carried Camilla toward the door.

"You'd better pray to God she's okay."

The door slammed shut.

The last of my spirit, hollowed out by years of theft, finally shattered. My creative spark—the one thing that had always been mine—was extinguished.

The pain dragged me into an abyss. The edges of my vision turned black.

Before I lost consciousness completely, I fumbled in my pocket for my spare phone.

I opened a contact and sent a message.

"I'm in. Come get me."