The world snapped back into focus, the memories of my brutal end crashing into the present. I was back—right here, right now, the exact moment Jarrold Jameson was trying to hand me that obscenely expensive purse.

In my past life, he'd had a nasty fight with his precious Cindy Mayford. To make her jealous, he decided to use me as his pawn.

I'd been stupid enough to love him once, but my pride had revolted. I'd refused to be a stand-in. It didn't matter. He kept engineering "accidental" run-ins, crafting one public misunderstanding after another, all to get a reaction from Cindy.

I had done nothing wrong. I gained nothing. But I became Cindy's enemy. Her jealousy festered until it turned lethal. She had me kidnapped. The men she hired left my body shattered and broken.

And Jarrold? He held his sobbing darling close and whispered those unforgettable words, "She got what she deserved."

In the end, they stepped right over what was left of me and walked off into their picture-perfect life.

Now, staring into his smug face, a cold clarity settled over me. This time, everything would be different.

I snatched the handbag from his grasp.

"A present for me?" I asked, my voice sweet, a sharp, calculated smile on my lips. "I love it. But just so you know, for next time… I've always preferred the classic design from her family's brand. That's the one you should be buying me."

Jarrold stared, utterly thrown.

He hadn't expected me to take the bag. In the past, I'd always refused his gifts, terrified he'd think I was some cheap gold digger.

When he finally found his voice, he said, "As long as you like it."

I looked down at the purse in my hands—a five-figure masterpiece that screamed old money. The longer I stared, the more I liked it.

My father was a degenerate gambler. My mother was rotting away in a hospital bed. We were drowning in a sea of debt they didn't know I knew about.

In my past life, I'd been a pawn in Jarrold and Cindy's twisted game, tangled in their mess until it got me killed. And for what? I hadn't gained a thing.

Back then, I'd still believed in something as naive as pure love. How pathetically foolish.

Now, I knew better. Now, my only true loyalty was to the cold, hard cash that could buy my freedom.

Since I was stuck in their game, I might as well play to win.

When Cindy saw her bag hanging from my arm, her face purpled with rage. She stomped her foot like a petulant child and fled.

Jarrold's eyes followed her, his expression unreadable but tinged with grim satisfaction. I knew that look. He was pleased. Pleased that Cindy was jealous.

He'd gotten exactly what he wanted.

I played oblivious, then quietly sold the bag and pocketed every last cent.

The next day, Jarrold asked me to lunch.

He took me to a French bistro. The moment I sat down, I knew why he'd chosen it. Cindy was seated one table over, her glare hot enough to burn a hole through my skull.

Halfway through the meal, Jarrold excused himself to take a call.

Cindy was on me in a heartbeat. She strutted over and slapped me, hard. "Susan," she sneered, looking down her nose at me, "don't think just because you look a little like me that Jarrold will ever love you. A trashy chick will always be trash."

My first instinct was to hit her back. But a memory flash stopped me cold—my gruesome death in another life.

Back then, fooled by Jarrold's mixed signals, I'd fought her head-on. It only brought me a world of pain, ending in my murder.

I hadn't learned the truth until after I died: Jarrold never loved me. I was just a prop, a tool to make Cindy fall back in line.

I wouldn't make that mistake again.

Fighting Cindy directly was a death sentence. So, I decided to play the part she'd always cast me in.

"Cindy, you've got it all wrong," I stammered, letting my eyes well up with perfectly timed tears. "Jarrold and I… it's not like that. He insisted I come."

Then, with a masterful touch of wounded innocence, I whispered, "How could you hit me?"

Fury contorted her features, and her hand flew up again.

But I'd already seen Jarrold approaching from the corner of my eye. I shut my eyes, bracing for the impact that never came.

When I opened them, Jarrold had a vise-like grip on Cindy's wrist, his face a thundercloud. "What do you think you're doing?" he growled.

I didn't say a word. I just let the tears trace silent paths down my cheeks, my lips trembling in a picture of perfect, silent suffering.

It worked like a charm. His protective instincts kicked in instantly.

Cindy shrank under his icy glare. "Jarrold, I—I was just talking to her…"

"Enough," he cut her off, his voice final.

Without another glance her way, he took my hand and led me out of the restaurant.

Once we were in the privacy of his car, he handed me an ice pack. "Does it hurt?"

I secretly pinched the soft skin of my thigh, summoning a fresh wave of tears. "It's fine," I whispered, my voice trembling. "She just… misunderstood. You should go explain it to her. I don't mind, really."

Jarrold's frown deepened, his brows knitting together. I could see the pity swirling in his eyes.

I seized the moment, looking up at him through my wet lashes.

"Jarrold…" I said, my voice small and fragile. "Could you… could you possibly lend me some money?"

Jarrold’s gaze was unnervingly calm. "How much?"

"Eighty thousand," I said without missing a beat. "It's for my family's debts. I'll pay you back. I promise."

I wasn't lying. In my past life, I'd have rather worked three jobs than ask him for a cent, clinging to some foolish pride. How pathetic.

A smart woman keeps her eyes on the prize, not her heart.

Jarrold fell silent, his expression an unreadable mask. I couldn't tell what he was thinking.

Was he going to refuse?

After all the times he'd used me to manipulate Cindy, was he really going to get stingy now?

Not a chance.

Just as I braced for rejection, he reached into his suit jacket and produced a sleek black card. "No limit," he stated evenly. "Use it as you see fit."

I didn't pretend to hesitate. I arranged my face into a look of tearful gratitude and accepted the card with both hands—while internally, I was already counting the zeros.

For this kind of money, a slap or two was a bargain. My last life had taught me the hard way what real loss felt like.

After wiring the eighty grand to settle the debts, I went straight to the hospital and paid off my mother's entire backlog of medical bills.

She was both relieved and terrified. "Susan, where did this money come from? You haven't done anything… foolish, have you?"

My mother was a simple woman, worn down by a life of hardship.

I gave her a reassuring smile. "Of course not, Mom. I have a good job now. My boss gave me an advance, and I'll pay it back from my salary."

As far as I was concerned, playing my part in the Jarrold-and-Cindy show was my job—and it paid infinitely better than any minimum-wage grind.

She believed me, praising how capable I'd become.

I just smiled and said nothing. In this second life, I was nobody's pawn. I would get rich, and I would keep my mother safe.

After leaving the hospital, I hit the luxury boutiques. Designer handbags, fine jewelry, haute couture—I bought it all, then liquidated every item through discreet channels.

The proceeds landed neatly in my private account. Jarrold was generous and never questioned my spending.

Soon, my secret nest egg surpassed a hundred thousand.

He did ask once, a faint frown on his face, "You bought a lot of jewelry lately. Why haven't I seen you wear any of them?"

I paused, then gifted him a sweet, guileless smile. "I'm keeping them safe at home. It's better to be low-key. I wouldn't want anyone to start ugly rumors about you."

He didn't ask again.

He still took me out occasionally, and I played my role flawlessly—posing for pictures he could "leak" to make Cindy jealous.

She was slowly losing her mind.

Soon after, she publicly announced she was attending a charity gala and was seeking a male escort.

The moment Jarrold saw her post, he dropped everything—and me—and left.

I let a suitably wounded look cross my face for a moment before turning to my real work.

I'd always admired the design department at the Jameson Group. But with only a high school diploma, I'd never even gotten an interview. Now, things were different.

I had an in, and everyone treated me with deference.

Who needed love when ambition felt this good?

The next day, Jarrold showed up unannounced, holding a garment bag. "You're accompanying me to the Foundation Gala tonight," he commanded. A simmering anger lurked in his eyes—clearly, things with Cindy had not gone well.

Sure enough, when we entered the ballroom, Cindy's gaze hit me like a physical blow. Her knuckles were white around her champagne flute, and I thought the crystal might shatter.

I glanced at Jarrold, calibrating my performance. He met Cindy's stare, then pulled me firmly against his side.

Her glass shattered on the marble floor. She turned and fled the room.

Jarrold's eyes followed her, but he didn't give chase.

Later, a group of fellow trust-fund heirs pulled him aside to discuss business.

I waited. Ten minutes. Twenty. He didn't return.

Then a waiter approached. "Susan Wendell? Mr. Jameson requests your presence upstairs."

I nodded and headed for the grand staircase.

But as I reached the landing, I found Cindy waiting for me, her eyes blazing with pure hatred.

"Jarrold loves me, Susan," she spat. "You're just a cheap stand-in!"

I didn't bother arguing. "Is that so?" I asked, my voice dripping with bored amusement.

My indifference was the final straw. A terrifying, manic light ignited in her eyes.

"You think you can compete with me?" she hissed, her lips twisting into a deranged smile. "You're out of your league."

Before I could move, she violently grabbed my wrist and let out a piercing scream, tears instantly streaming down her face.

"Susan, no! Don't push me! Please—don't push me!"

The moment Cindy’s fingers closed around my wrist, I knew exactly what she was planning.

A setup. She’d pulled this same stunt in my past life.

Back then, Jarrold had believed her lies—that I’d maliciously pushed her down the stairs. His retaliation had been swift and brutal. He’d made sure I was blacklisted, that no one in this city would ever hire me again.

Not this time.

The second I realized her intention, I didn’t resist. Instead, I yanked her toward me, spinning us in a half-turn. Then, I let the tears fall—louder, more desperate, and infinitely more convincing than hers.

I smirked inwardly, 'You want to play the victim, Cindy? Let me show you how it's done.'

"Please, Cindy, let me go!" I cried, my voice trembling with feigned terror. "Don't push me! Somebody, help!"

Then, feeling her grip loosen in shock, I released my own.

I let my body fall backward, tumbling down the staircase. The world became a blur of pain and motion until I landed in a heap on the cold floor.

Gasps echoed through the hall. Footsteps pounded toward us.

Through my swimming vision, I saw Jarrold’s face appear above me. His eyes widened, pupils contracting to pinpricks at the sight of the blood streaming from my forehead.

He surged forward, scooping me into his arms.

"It wasn't me!" Cindy shrieked from the top of the stairs, her face ghost-white. "She jumped! I didn't push her!"

But her protests were useless. The scene spoke for itself.

Jarrold didn't even look at her. He held me tightly against his chest as he carried me out of the ballroom. My vision blurred at the edges, but I could still see the raw, unmistakable panic in his eyes—a fear that seemed genuinely for me, as if the thought of losing me truly terrified him.

For a heartbeat, I remembered why I’d fallen for him in that other life.

What a pity. I knew better now. Love was a luxury I couldn't afford.

I lifted a trembling hand, my fingers gently brushing his furrowed brow. "Don't worry," I whispered. "I'm okay."

"Don't speak," he commanded, his voice rough with emotion. "You're going to be fine. I promise."

His tone held a tenderness that felt more dangerous than any threat.

At the hospital, the doctor announced the gash on my forehead would need twelve stitches and I’d have to stay overnight for observation.

Sitting on the stiff hospital bed, I gingerly touched the bandage. The staircase hadn't been that high. Realistically, I should have gotten away with just bruises. But it hurt so much, and this kind of pain required significant compensation—preferably of the monetary variety.

As if reading my mind, Jarrold had a messenger deliver a velvet box. Inside lay a ruby necklace, a limited edition piece I’d once seen online, valued at well over two hundred thousand dollars.

Tonight, I’d spilled blood. He was spilling cash.

Jarrold placed the necklace in my palm. "I know you suffered."

Looking at the glittering gemstone, any lingering grievance was instantly replaced by a dizzying awe. I wasn't sure what hurt more now—my head, or the devastating blow to his bank account.

His phone rang, and he put it on speaker.

"Jarrold!" a frantic voice cried—one of their mutual friends, clearly a pawn Cindy had sent to test him. "Cindy just twisted her ankle! You need to come, now!"

The question hung in the air: would he still run to her?

"Got it," Jarrold said flatly, then ended the call.

I looked up at him, my expression gentle and understanding. "I'm stable now. You should go."

He seemed taken aback. "You don't mind if I check on her?"

Mind? Why would I mind? My personal ATM was free to make withdrawals elsewhere, as long as my account remained open.

I gave him a small, magnanimous smile. "It's fine, really."

He hesitated, then left.

I felt no disappointment. Instead, I looked down at the brilliant ruby resting in my hand.

So expensive. So beautiful. So mine.

…

What I hadn't anticipated was that even in this new life, I couldn't escape Cindy's vicious schemes.

The next morning, her mother stormed into my hospital room, face contorted with fury. "You've already stolen my daughter's fiancé! What more do you want? How dare you have her kidnapped!"

My blood ran cold. The same false accusation—again.

In my past life, Cindy had staged her own kidnapping and framed me for it. She'd even claimed I'd taken illicit photos.

No matter how I'd pleaded my innocence, no one believed me. Jarrold and his circle had their "justice," a retaliation so cruel it ultimately cost me my life.

The memory alone made me tremble. I looked up at Jarrold, who stood silently by my bedside. "I didn't take her," I said, my voice soft but clear. "Do you believe me?"

His silence was more damning than any accusation.

My heart sank. He still didn't trust me.

Cindy's mother shrieked, stamping her foot. "Give me back my daughter! I know it was you!"

I met her hysterical glare with forced calm. "How was she taken?"

"She twisted her ankle last night and came to this very hospital for treatment!" the woman spat. "You seized the chance to have her snatched!"

"What time did this happen?" I asked evenly.

"Around eleven o'clock!"

I turned back to Jarrold. "After you left last night, the pain was unbearable. The nurse gave me a sedative around 10:45 PM. I was asleep by eleven. There's no possible way I could have orchestrated a kidnapping."

I called the nurse in to confirm my alibi.

"Yes," the nurse verified. "Miss Wendell was administered a sedative and was asleep by 11 PM."

"Furthermore," I added, pulling out my phone, "at 11:15 PM, Cindy was still actively sending me these messages." I showed them the screen filled with venomous insults and curses.

Jarrold's brow furrowed. "What is she playing at...?"

But Cindy's mother was beyond reason. She began hurling anything within reach—a vase, a water pitcher—screaming hysterically. "Lies! All lies! You saw those messages and sent your thugs after her!"

Jarrold finally lost his patience. He had security physically remove her from the room. Then he turned back to me, pulling me into a gentle embrace.

I leaned into him, making my eyes wide and shimmering with unshed tears. "Jarrold, I'm scared," I whispered, injecting a delicate tremor into my voice. "Could you... please assign me some bodyguards?"

Within the hour, two imposing men in dark suits were stationed outside my door.

Only then did I allow myself to truly rest.

Two days later, I was discharged.

I stood waiting at the hospital entrance while the bodyguards went to fetch the car.

That's when the unmarked van screeched to a halt in front of me.

Several men jumped out. A cold, chemical-soaked cloth was clamped over my mouth and nose—

Darkness swallowed me whole.

Careless. I had miscalculated.