I had funded Tilly Jenkins for five years—and spent those same five years chasing after her.

Just when I thought I had finally won her heart—when I believed she was ready to spend her life with me—I discovered the truth: the one she had loved all along was her childhood sweetheart, the boy who had grown up by her side. I, on the other hand, to her, was nothing more than a privileged elite who used money to grind her pride into the dirt.

A few years into our marriage, she secretly transferred my assets away—and even had a child with that childhood sweetheart of hers. In the end, I died filled with resentment, trapped in a raging fire. The flames reflected the sight of the three of them together, smiling like a perfect family, while I cried myself to death in despair.

After I was reborn, Tilly's childhood sweetheart shoved me hard, sneering with open contempt. "What do you take us for? Toys for rich people like you?!"

I slipped my bank card back into my pocket at once. "Sorry, having money doesn't mean I'm brain-dead. I'm not interested in trashy toys like that."

Back to the Beginning

"I'm telling you, Somerset—just because we're poor doesn't mean we don't have dignity. Who do you think you are, humiliating us like this?" Harvey Thompson shoved me hard and pulled Tilly behind him, the look he leveled at me sharp and hostile.

The familiar scene replayed itself so vividly that my mind went blank for a moment. Hadn't I already died, burned alive in that fire orchestrated by my wife and her beloved childhood sweetheart? Yet what stood before me now was the moment from 12 years ago, the day I had insisted on sponsoring Tilly.

At this point in time, Tilly was still wearing a plain floral dress, a pink ribbon in her hair fluttering in the breeze like a butterfly caught in spring. A few loose strands framed her already pale face, making her look even more fragile and pitiful. That image of her—resilient yet delicate, like an untouched flower—had hooked me completely, turning me into someone who willingly hovered around her, asking for nothing in return.

I had first met Tilly at an upscale bar. We were still in high school back then, and on weekends, she worked part-time to earn her living expenses. That lingering air of youth made her an easy target for sleazy, well-off men.

She clutched a bottle of alcohol in her hands, biting her lip so hard it trembled, tears welling in her eyes. That stubborn refusal to give in only made her look more vulnerable—more tempting.

"Come on, sweetheart. Just drink this bottle, and we'll let you go."

"If you don't want to drink, that's fine too. Spend the night making us happy, and we'll cover all your living expenses."

"Heh, little girl, this pays way faster than working here as a server."

One of them—a bald man—reached out and grabbed Tilly.

"Please don't… I'll pay for the broken glass, I swear…" Her weak, trembling plea only fueled their arrogance.

As the bald man wrapped an arm around Tilly's waist and was about to cross the line, I shot to my feet, grabbed an empty bottle, and smashed it straight down on his head. I was young and hot-blooded back then, and that bar happened to be partly owned by my father.

Once those men realized I wasn't someone they could afford to mess with, they scattered.

After that incident, I couldn't stop paying attention to Tilly. Her parents had jumped to their deaths over loan shark debts when she had just started her first year of high school. Left completely alone, she survived by working odd jobs.

She was poor, but she never accepted public donations, only applying for government aid at most. Even so, she consistently ranked among the top students at the best high school in Addison. With her stipend, scholarships, and part-time income combined, she barely managed to get by.

I had thought that incident would bring us closer. Instead, she began avoiding me.

I was the only child in my family, raised with everything handed to me on a silver platter. There had never been anything I wanted but couldn't get. The more Tilly avoided me, the more determined I became to close the distance.

That was when I fell for her.

I liked her quiet resilience, the cool distance she kept from the world, her ability to tune out everything around her and stay true to herself. I even liked the way she looked at me sometimes—aloof on the surface, yet with a trace of longing and fear buried deep in her eyes. No one had ever captured my interest like that before.

So, I went after her without holding back.

Her classroom happened to be next to mine. Bringing her breakfast every morning became routine—though every single one ended up in the trash. Lolita fashion was all the rage back then, and during breaks, the girls in class were always chatting about it. Whenever those conversations came up, Tilly would press her lips together, retreat to her seat, and bury her head as if she were focused on her exercises.

Proof of Devotion

So, I asked my aunt, a designer, to help me commission a custom piece overseas. When it was finally finished, I brought it to Tilly with barely contained excitement. "Tilly, look—I had this specially commissioned for you through my aunt overseas. You'll look amazing in it."

I watched her expectantly, but she only gave it a cold glance before saying, "Thanks, but no."

Whispers immediately rippled through the room.

"What's Jenkins putting on an act for?"

"That's a privately commissioned foreign designer Lolita piece. It must be worth a fortune—Tilly could work a hundred jobs and still never afford it."

"Oh, what would you know? I bet she's playing the long game, waiting to reel in a bigger fish."

The sharp comments made Tilly's eyes redden instantly. Her hands hung stiffly at her sides, fingers clutching the faded hem of her washed-out floral dress, at a loss for what to do. I shot the room a single look, and everyone immediately fell silent before scrambling out of the classroom.

"Tilly, I just want you to be happy. At the very least, I wish you wouldn't be so resistant toward me." I pleaded carefully, hoping she might accept my goodwill.

Tilly closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and said, "Jace, please stop bothering me. I can't afford the games you rich people play."

I stood there frozen, unable to understand what I had done to make her misunderstand me so badly.

Tilly continued working multiple part-time jobs after class, just as she always had. To keep her from rejecting me outright, I secretly sought out the businesses where she worked, slipped them money, and asked them to treat her better.

If she thought I was just playing around, then I would prove it to her—I was serious about her. From that day on, I forced myself to settle down and actually study. Even just catching a glimpse of her passing the classroom windows during break was enough to keep me grinding through hours of work.

Eventually, we were accepted into the same university. Once we got there, tuition was no longer something that could be covered by a few weeks of part-time work like in high school. The high fees weighed more and more heavily on Tilly, and her name appeared constantly in the school's part-time job group chats.

More often than not, she couldn't even afford to eat after paying tuition.

When I heard that she had started selling blood just to make ends meet, I finally decided to sponsor her. To protect her pride, I asked my father to set up a scholarship fund at our university and specifically had her advisor recommend her for it.

That way, her tuition for the remaining years of college would be completely covered.

Once tuition was no longer an issue, I ran around asking the children of wealthy families whether they needed tutors for their younger siblings. Private tutoring was one of the most lucrative part-time jobs for college students, and in affluent neighborhoods, a single hour could earn what would otherwise take two or three weeks' worth of meals.

After gathering the necessary information, I matched suitable tutoring opportunities to Tilly's class schedule and recommended them to her. By then, the look she gave me no longer carried the disgust or irritation it once had. I was slowly able to get closer to her, spending more and more time together.

After graduating, Tilly had saved up enough money to rent a place with relatively decent conditions. But she had studied design, and her work had never been appreciated or accepted by investors, which meant she had no real chance to break through on her own.

I knew this was her dream career, and as long as it was something she cared about, I would help her see it through. So I brought her to meet my aunt—the world-renowned design master—and asked her to take Tilly on as an apprentice.

I had already worn my aunt down with relentless persistence, and when she saw how diligent and eager to learn Tilly was, she finally agreed.

With my aunt's guidance and introductions, Tilly's work exploded onto the scene, earning her the title of the industry's most promising newcomer. And it was also under my aunt's matchmaking that Tilly and I got married.

"Jace, why are you so good to me?" Tilly asked me on our wedding night.

"I love you, Tilly. I'll treat you well for the rest of my life." I took her hand, pressed it to my chest, and made that promise solemnly.

In my mind, I pictured our future together—peaceful, loving, sweet in every way. But I had been fooling myself. After the wedding, there was no place for me in Tilly's heart—or even in her eyes.

Twelve Years of Devotion, Reduced to Ashes

She used the excuse of studio work to secretly meet Harvey, often staying out overnight. Even after I saw through it—on our wedding anniversary, no less—when I begged her to stay and spend the night with me, she still wouldn’t give me a single kind look.

"The more you cling to me like this, Jace, the more disgusted I feel."

My persistence had turned into harassment in her eyes.

Unable to feel even a shred of love or security, I began to spiral into suspicion, questioning her obsessively every time about why she treated me this way. In truth, I was only desperate to find even the slightest trace of love or care for me in her answers.

"Tilly Jenkins! After everything I've done for you, this is how you treat me?!" I shouted in despair, my heart already shattered.

She finally stopped, but when she turned, her expression was colder than ever. "So what? You want me trailing after you like a dog, Mr. Somerset? I'm human. If you think you can trap me with a cage made of money, you're dreaming."

By then, she was already pregnant with Harvey's child.

Tilly had always been talented. With my aunt's guidance, she rose even faster, eventually founding her own brand. She was no longer the girl who had once had to sell blood just to fill her stomach.

In the second year after my aunt passed away, Tilly finally threw the divorce papers in front of me. "If you disagree, we'll live apart for two years. After that, the divorce will be automatic."

I went mad, tearing the papers into shreds. I loved her to the point of madness—and hated her just as deeply. She wanted to divorce me and live a happy life as a family of three. How could I possibly let that happen?

After lashing out, I even knelt in front of her, clutching her hand and begging. "Please, let's live properly together, okay? I know I was wrong before. You can hit me, yell at me—anything—but please don't dump me…"

Tilly shook her head, disgust written all over her face as she flung my hand aside and walked away.

From that day on, we never spoke another word.

I spent my days drunk, drifting through life in a haze. The company my father had entrusted to me was ruined under my hands, nearly disappearing from Addison altogether. When I finally decided to write my suicide note and end everything, I discovered that Tilly had secretly transferred my assets over the years.

Just as I was about to rush out and confront her, the villa was already engulfed in roaring flames.

That was how I died—twelve years after falling in love with Tilly Jenkins.

"Tilly, don't be afraid. I'll protect you. What do you take us for, Somerset? Toys for rich people like you?!"

Harvey's shrill voice yanked me back to the present. In my mind, the image replayed itself again—the three of them smiling together like a happy family after my death.

I clenched the bank card in my hand, hatred surging violently through my chest.

Why had the villa gone up in flames? Was Tilly really that impatient? She couldn't even wait out the two years of separation for an automatic divorce—she had to put me to death instead. What had my 12 years of wholehearted love amounted to?

I had spent years by her side, thinking we would end up together, never realizing I was just raising a wife for someone else.

'Tilly, oh, Tilly… you must've been thrilled when I died, right? No one stood in the way of you being with your beloved childhood sweetheart anymore. No one humiliated you with money ever again. In your eyes, someone like me—an elite who only knew how to bind you with wealth—probably deserved to die.'

The bank card held 300 thousand. It was money I had saved from years of gift money. In my previous life, at this exact moment, I had stubbornly insisted on sponsoring Tilly and shoved the card into her hands, not even caring when Harvey humiliated me in front of everyone. But in this life—how laughable—I had no intention of sponsoring this ungrateful traitor again.

Harvey was still glaring at me. I curled my lips into a smile and pulled the bank card straight back. "Sorry, having money doesn't mean I'm sick in the head. I'm not interested in trashy toys like that."

He froze. Even Tilly, standing beside him, stared at me blankly. Her eyes were already brimming with tears as she grabbed the hand holding the card, her voice trembling. "Jace, how could this be? This isn't how it was supposed to be."

I looked at her suspiciously. Why was she reacting like this?