When I woke up again, it was already the third day.

"Ma'am, you're finally awake!" The servant, eyes red, poured me some water. "You've slept for three days. We were all so scared!"

I propped myself up in bed, still dizzy, but my voice was hoarse as I asked, "Where is he?"

The servant averted her eyes. "Sir hasn't… come home these past few days."

Of course.

I threw off the blanket and got out of bed, ignoring their attempts to stop me. I had to get dressed and leave the house.

In my past life, I died so miserably, yet I never even met Beatrice Harrington.

She was like a shadow, silently stealing all of Leonard Merrick's love, leaving me utterly defeated.

My obsession with him had already burned out the moment of the drowning. But now that I had a second chance, I still couldn't resist wanting to see—

What kind of woman could make me lose everything, even my life?

I went to the bar where she worked.

The moment I opened the door, sunlight spilled across her as she wiped the tables.

She looked to be just over twenty. A white T-shirt, jeans, a high ponytail. She smiled while greeting customers, saying, "Welcome."

Young. Pure. Cheerful.

Every positive adjective seemed to suit her perfectly.

I stood at the entrance, momentarily dazed.

So this was the woman he loved to his bones? The rival I never once beat in my past life?

"Watch out!"

"Crash!"

A noise came from above. Before I could react, someone shoved me hard out of the way.

"Thud!"

The decorative frame crashed onto Beatrice Harrington's shoulder.

She winced in pain but immediately turned to ask me, "Miss, are you okay?"

I stared blankly at her swollen shoulder, then quickly said, "Let me take you to the hospital!"

"No, no, it's fine!" She waved her hand and smiled helplessly. "I just got back from the hospital, really don't want to go again."

Seeing my face pale, she even tried to comfort me: "It's really nothing. Just need some ointment. You're the guest, I'm the staff—it's my duty to protect you."

I looked into her clear eyes and suddenly understood—

Why he loved her.

Why I lost so completely.

I gave a short laugh, but my eyes welled up:

"Thank you. I'll send you a gift, to repay you for saving me."

She froze, about to say "No need," but I had already turned and walked away.

Leaving the bar, I headed straight to the law firm.

I personally signed that divorce agreement—

The one I had refused to sign at all costs in my past life. This time, I signed it without hesitation.

"Can Leonard Merrick's name be signed on his behalf?" I asked.

The lawyer hesitated. "He needs to give consent."

I gave him a call.

He picked up quickly. Amid the noise of the conference room, his voice was as cold as ever.

"What is it?"

"I want you to sign an agreement. The contents are—"

He didn't even let me finish. He interrupted impatiently: "I agree. No need to read it. I don't care."

Then hung up without hesitation.

Staring at the dark screen, I smiled.

Then picked up the pen and, stroke by stroke, solemnly signed his name in the empty signature box.

The moment I walked out of the law firm, I knew that this would be the last time in my life I left that cold building as "Mrs. Merrick."

I went home once to tell my parents about the divorce.

They sat on the sofa while I sat across from them, as if I were still a child who had made a mistake and was about to be scolded.

But this time, what I heard was a sense of relief.

"Dad, Mom, I've already signed the divorce papers with Leonard Merrick.

Once the cooling-off period is over, he and I will no longer be husband and wife."

I said calmly, my voice devoid of fluctuation, like reading an official notice.

"After the divorce, I want a change of environment.

Didn't you say you wanted to retire in France?

Let's settle down there together."

They were silent for a moment, then almost as if breathing a sigh of relief, they nodded.

They had long seen how humble I was in this marriage.

Loving someone could be selfless, but if you keep wronging yourself for too long, you eventually run out of strength.

Those days, I didn't idle.

While coordinating immigration procedures with the lawyer, I also arranged for the family's assets to be transferred.

It felt like I was packing away my past self, preparing to start anew.

Leonard Merrick didn't show up until our seventh wedding anniversary.

Every year at this time, I would carefully decorate the house, cook by hand, and wait for him to come home for the occasion.

He was busy, so I did more, thinking that if I kept trying, the marriage would eventually respond.

But this time, I prepared nothing.

When he entered and saw the deserted living room, he frowned slightly.

"No celebration for our anniversary?" he asked.

I looked at his still-handsome face, at those eyes that had never really looked at me, and finally spoke with a calm I never thought I could manage, "No. Too much trouble."

He didn't notice anything unusual in my tone, even nodded in agreement.

He handed the gift to his assistant to bring in, saying I used to insist on rituals and that he only went along to please me.

Now that I found it troublesome, he wouldn't bother in the future either.

In the future?

I chuckled softly, then handed him a delicate box from beside the sofa.

"Then this will be the last year. Happy anniversary."

He took it without even opening it, casually placing it into the display cabinet.

Then he said he'd go wash up.

I sat there, watching his figure disappear behind the bathroom door, my mind blank.

That display cabinet still held every gift I'd given him over the years.

I lowered my head and opened the bag he'd sent me—sure enough, it was a diamond necklace.

He had given me the same thing for several years in a row, like copy-pasting, not even bothering to change the color.

He was probably long tired of dealing with my affections, only going through the motions to keep me quiet.

I didn't cry anymore.

I just quietly stood up and began packing my things.

I walked into the study and pulled out the love letters I had hidden for so long, hoping he'd one day find them.

There were thousands of secretly taken photos, more than a hundred pencil sketches I'd drawn of him—

I stuffed them all into a box.

Just as I was about to leave, I accidentally knocked over his safe.

Instinctively I bent down to help it up, only to see inside—

twenty carefully placed gift boxes, each labeled:

One year old, two years old, three years old… all the way to twenty.

There was also a pair of crystal bracelets—his mother's keepsake.

I froze.

So he was capable of preparing heartfelt gifts… just never for me.

With trembling hands, I picked up a postcard.

Familiar handwriting read:

"Beatrice, happy twentieth birthday.I missed the first twenty years of your life, but for the rest of it, I don't want to miss another moment. —Leonard Merrick"

He had never once given me a heartfelt gift,

Yet for another girl named Beatrice, he had prepared twenty years' worth of intentions.

The moment I closed that safe, it felt like I'd sealed the last layer of earth over my own heart.

Suddenly, the study door swung open.He walked in quickly, his expression dark.

"Who allowed you to touch my safe?"