Five months pregnant, I watched from the garage as my husband Linus's adopted sister, Lydia, severed the brake line of our car with a pair of pliers.

This time, I didn't press the emergency button.

In my previous life, after I called for help, Linus saved me, but Lydia lost her left leg in another "car accident."

He acted as if nothing had changed, his touch still tender, but on the fourth night after our son was born, he ordered us thrown into the cold Chicago River. "Because of you, Lydia is a cripple," he’d snarled.

He pushed me under the water with the same hands that had caressed me countless times, whispering in my ear, "I want you to sink with the one thing you cherish most."

When I opened my eyes again, I found myself back in the Cadillac, careening uncontrollably off the highway.

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1

The smell of gasoline stung my lungs—thick, suffocating, and deadly.

I awoke, five months pregnant, in a cacophony of twisted metal and shattered glass.

Through the broken windshield, I saw her: Lydia, my husband's adopted sister, the family's Principessa, flicking open a Zippo lighter, ready to ignite the leaking fuel.

I didn't press the emergency button on my wrist, the one connected to the family's security system.

In my previous life, I used that private line to call for his help. Linus—my husband, the Don of the Valeriano family, the man I’d loved since medical school—rushed to my side. He pulled me from the mangled car just as an explosion engulfed Lydia, supposedly costing her a leg.

For the remaining months of my pregnancy, his devotion was flawless. Linus arranged for the country's top obstetricians and accompanied me to every check-up, his care so meticulous it felt like a beautiful, damning lie.

But on the fourth night after our son was born, he took us to the family's private dock on the Chicago River. He stood under the moonlight, impeccable in a bespoke suit, and delivered our sentence.

He ordered us thrown into the depths—first my son in his stroller, then me. "You made Lydia a cripple," he said as the cold river consumed me. "So you can sink with the one thing you cherish most."

When I opened my eyes again, I was back in the Cadillac, hurtling off the highway.

This time, my trembling fingers dialed 911. Let him choose her again, but this time, in front of the entire Chicago underworld.

A few minutes later, the mangled car door was crushing my leg. A shard of metal pierced my shoulder. The sharp agony of breaking bone ripped a scream from my throat, but the sound was lost in the overwhelming, acrid stench of gasoline. Another piece of burning metal slammed into my abdomen. Blood gushed out, soaking the leather seats I had once so carefully chosen for him. My baby—my five-month-old baby, once so safe inside me—stirred faintly, then went utterly still.

I heard his arrival before I saw him. The distinct, confident rhythm of his Italian leather shoes on the asphalt, his tall figure striding through the dense smoke.

Linus had arrived.

I heard Lydia's voice first, perfectly fragile: "Linus—I can't breathe—"

He bent down and swept her into his arms, her face pressed against his chest. "I've got you. I'll never let go."

He stepped over the burning gasoline, over the police tape, over his wife and his unborn heir, leaving us to die in the flames.

I turned my head, the thick smoke searing my eyes, choking me into a violent cough.

A handmade leather shoe prodded my ribs with a casual, dismissive motion, like one might check on roadkill. It was his Capo, Nico. "Pathetic," he sneered. "So jealous you crash your own car. Too bad the Don isn't here to see this little performance."

I crawled forward, my wedding ring scraping harshly against the shattered glass. My white coat was charred, my exposed skin blistering. The top-tier medical resources that had once served me were now being used on Lydia's flawless skin three blocks away.

"Please... the baby..." I pleaded, my voice a hoarse whisper.

Nico glanced down, his lips twisting into a cruel smirk. "Cut the act, Doctor. Everyone knows you hate Lydia. But crashing your own car to frame her? That's a new kind of desperate. A real shame the Don missed it."

He kicked my abdomen contemptuously with the tip of his shoe. "The Don chose her. You're just humiliating yourself. Keep this up, and he'll have the lawyers draw up the annulment papers before sunrise."

I couldn't speak. My uterus was spasming, sharp and violent. I tasted the coppery tang of blood in my mouth.

The family's Soldati moved around me, extinguishing the flames on the expensive car, not a single one sparing me a glance.

A voice cut through the chaos: "Blood! God, she's bleeding!"

"Probably red wine," Nico shouted back without turning. "Miss Lydia said she's a drama queen. She's five months along; it's not like the baby just disappeared. Let her have her moment."

Darkness gathered at the edges of my vision.

I saw Linus's Italian leather shoes stop within my line of sight. He crouched down. His gloved hand—soft leather, stained with the scent of Lydia's Chanel N°5—gripped my chin, forcing my face toward his.

"Wake up, Cassandra," he snarled. "Stop the act. I'm here."

He shook me, roughly.

"You think I can't see through your tricks? Sabotaging your own car to frame her? Pathetic."

His hand left my face and fell to my stomach, pressing down hard.

I arched my back in agony, a silent scream tearing through me.

"A convincing performance," he murmured, "but I know you, Cassandra. You'd burn down the city for a scrap of attention."

"Linus—" I grabbed the cuff of his Armani suit, my hand weak, my fingernails caked with blood. "The baby... he isn't moving..."

He glanced at my abdomen, at the slight, five-month curve.

Then he looked back toward the side of the road. From the roadside, Lydia's voice called his name—weak, perfectly rehearsed, and utterly flawless.

He clenched his jaw and pried my fingers from his sleeve, one by one.

"Very convincing. If Lydia hadn't warned me you'd pull a stunt like this to get sympathy, I might have actually believed you."

He stood, turned, and walked away without a second glance.

Darkness consumed me.

In my dreams, I returned to the first time I met Linus.

It was at a medical charity gala. He stood before a Francis Bacon painting, his features sharp, his deep brown eyes like flames trapped in amber.

His dangerous charm had already ensnared countless high-society women across the city.

I was one of them. After that one look, I decided he would be mine.

Back then, I was just a promising medical graduate from a middle-class family, and he was oblivious to my existence. To enter his world, I relentlessly published papers, securing a place in top journals until my research sent shockwaves through the medical community.

I hosted a private dinner for a select few elites under the guise of an academic celebration and sent him an invitation. That night, I finally caught a flicker of interest in his eyes.

I seized the opportunity, pursuing him with everything I had: inside medical intelligence, rare art pieces, vintage watches that suited his taste. Eventually, he let me in.

I thought it was the beginning of my success, but it was the prelude to a nightmare.

After our marriage, he grew more distant. Any date could be canceled at a moment's notice for "family business." I never suspected a thing until our wedding day, when I accidentally saw the security footage from his office.

Lydia had compiled a decade's worth of call logs—every time she called him away with a trembling voice, every feigned crisis that summoned him to her side.

All those times he'd canceled on me, he was at her beck and call.

He would stay by her bedside all night to ward off her "nightmares," soothe her "fragile nerves" with the most expensive gifts, and move heaven and earth for her at the slightest grievance.

To my shame, I never found the courage to expose any of it. I was too terrified of losing him.

In my previous life, when Lydia supposedly lost her leg in the car crash, he acted remarkably calm. I was naive enough to believe I had won.

He devoted himself to me and our child, pouring all his affection onto us.

That sudden deluge of affection blinded me completely.

It wasn't until I died at his hands after giving birth that I finally understood: it was all a long, cold prelude to his revenge.

When I woke up, I was in a shabby underground clinic. Beside me was not Linus, but a stranger.

"You're awake?" A middle-aged man leaned over me. He didn't carry the scent of gunpowder like a mobster, only the sterile tang of disinfectant from an unlicensed clinic in a rough part of town.

"I was just a block away when the explosion happened. Saw the whole thing, went to check, and found you bleeding out. I brought you here myself." He clenched his jaw. "Those bastards… the Valeriano family… they were all crowded around some other woman, didn't even give you a second look."

I struggled to move. When my hand touched my abdomen, I froze.

"I'm so sorry," he said, his eyes filled with pity. "The baby... By the time I got you here, it was too late."

A bitter smile touched my lips. "It's not your fault. I know." I paused. "Thank you for bringing me here."

A stranger could see I was dying, yet my husband of five years wouldn't spare me a glance.

Seeing my condition, the stranger, whose name was Liam, was more furious than I was. "What the hell is wrong with that family? A pregnant woman is lying there bleeding to death, and they do nothing?"

He growled, "If I hadn't gone over, you would've died! Doesn't your husband give a damn? Give me his number. I'll call him. You shouldn't be alone."

I shook my head, and when I tried to speak, only a hoarse rasp came out. "The father of that child is dead to me."

Liam's face was filled with sympathy. He offered to stay and take care of me until I recovered.

I refused. I transferred a sum of money to his account for the medical fees and warned him not to get any more involved.

After he left, the storm was just beginning on the underworld's rumor mill.

The topic "Valeriano's Wife in Car Crash" exploded across encrypted channels and underground forums, shooting to the top of every list within minutes.

A bystander had uploaded a photo of me—crawling from the wreckage, covered in blood, while the family's Soldati stood guard around an unharmed Lydia.

The public channels erupted. Thousands of people cursed, demanding an explanation from the Valeriano family, condemning the soldiers who were more concerned with dousing a fire on a luxury car than with a pregnant woman's life.

I scrolled through the angry comments, but this level of punishment was still too light for Linus. I was opening my phone to send a message when a gloating text from Lydia arrived first.

It was a selfie. She was in a VIP hospital room, Linus feeding her soup with a silver spoon, his gaze as gentle as a warm spring day. On her hand was a ring—the signet ring that symbolized the Don's power.

I had seen countless intimate photos of them. This one stirred nothing but ice in my veins.

I closed the chat window and dialed Linus's number. He answered on the fifth ring, his voice thick with suppressed fury.

"You have the nerve to call?" he roared. "What do you want? To see if Lydia's dead? Sorry to disappoint you—I saved her. She's alive and well!"

"Cassandra, I've known you for five years, and I never thought you were capable of murder. Do you have any idea what you've done? You tried to kill her! Are you insane?"

"You have one hour to get over here and apologize. Otherwise, we're done."

Before I could speak, Lydia's voice came through the phone—a wounded cry, performed to perfection.

"Linus... don't blame her. It's all my fault. If she insists I was the one who cut the brakes, just tell her I did. Don't fight with her; a pregnant woman can't handle the stress."

Linus let out a long, disappointed sigh. "You're just too kind, Lydia. That's why she dares to walk all over you. We grew up together. She's nothing compared to you. What right does she have to lay a finger on you?"

"Don't worry. This time, I'm going to teach her a lesson she'll never forget."

While they were lost in their hypocritical performance, I spoke clearly into the phone.

"Fine. Annul the marriage. I agree. I'll have my lawyer draw up the papers. Just be ready to sign them."

Linus had clearly never expected me to be the one to demand an annulment.

He froze for a second, then his fury erupted over the phone. Before he could roar another word, I ended the call.

Immediately, my phone was bombarded with messages. Text after text flooded my phone, each one practically vibrating with his fury and wounded pride.

"Where are you? Cassandra, are you insane? The only reason I tolerate you is because you're carrying my heir. Don't push your luck."

"You think being pregnant gives you a free pass? I will dissolve this marriage immediately, and when you give birth, you'll be on your knees begging me to sign that birth certificate!"

"And this news on the forums—make it disappear! Now! Don't force me to make an announcement to the entire underworld. This annulment is happening on my terms, not yours."

Before I could reply, he hung up.

Regardless, I went to the hospital for treatment—the same private hospital where Linus and the others were.

"The Don is so handsome," a passing nurse sighed. "I've never seen such a perfect couple! Childhood sweethearts from the same family, a match made in heaven—so romantic!"

"Are you kidding? You're way behind," another laughed. "The latest rumor is he paid a fortune to book the entire hospital kitchen just so he could make her soup himself!"

"I tried to change her dressing earlier, but he wouldn't let me near her. Insisted on doing it himself. It was like something out of a movie."

I stared numbly at the diamond watch on my wrist. The raw, healing skin on my arm itched and burned beneath the bandages.

After the nurses left, I gasped for air, my mouth open, fighting a panic that was trying to suffocate me.

That evening, the attending physician examined me. He told me the severe blow to my abdomen had caused permanent damage. I would probably never be able to conceive again.

My first reaction, strangely, was relief. Thank God. Now no child will ever have to suffer with me. An innocent life deserves a better fate.

After everyone had left the room, I checked the public forums. The media storm had become unstoppable, forcing the family to issue a statement. Their explanation was that the explosion was entirely my elaborate scheme, that I had acted out of jealousy, deliberately harmed others, wasted rescue resources, and dragged my distinguished husband's name through the mud.

In the report, the family spokesman spoke of peace, but every word shifted the blame squarely onto my shoulders. To add credibility, Linus registered an official account and broadcasted a confirmation of our impending annulment to the entire city. His post crucified me.

The vitriol once aimed at the Valeriano family for their inaction now turned on me like a tidal wave. My social media accounts were flooded with hate, and my access was revoked by administrators. My attempts to explain were drowned out by the howls of the online mob.

In the following days, I could feel the hostility emanating from every nurse who entered my room. If not for their professional oath, I would have been thrown out onto the street long ago. Every morning, packages arrived from all over the city—each containing a threat.

I never once defended myself.

Once my wounds had healed enough, I returned to my apartment, accessed the cloud storage for my security system, and copied the footage of Lydia cutting the brake line.

I sent a message to Linus.

"Tomorrow. Pala Restaurant. To finalize the annulment."

The next morning, I went straight to the designated restaurant with my documents. But waiting for me on the marble steps was Lydia.

"I told you," she smiled, her eyes glinting with malice. "You can never win. Your husband is nothing but my dog on a leash."

Her gaze dropped to my abdomen, and she covered her mouth in feigned surprise. "Oh, the bastard's gone? Such a shame. In our last life, his own father drowned him. This time, he was killed by indifference. With a mother like you, the poor thing never stood a chance."

She had been reborn, too.

Before my brain could process the words, my hand flew out, and a crisp slap echoed through the air. Weakened from blood loss, I had no strength, but she fell backward with dramatic grace.

"Lydia!"

Linus rushed out from behind me. His shoulder slammed into my back, knocking me aside. I tumbled down the stone steps until my skull hit the bottom, and warm blood instantly streamed down my cheek.

Linus gathered her into his arms, murmuring reassurances. Then, as if remembering something, he snapped his head toward me.

His gaze locked onto my stomach. Flat. Empty.

All the color drained from his face.

He rushed over, looking like he wanted to pull me into his arms. "The baby—" his voice was hoarse, choked with terror, "where is our child?!"