My best friend was a self-proclaimed loyalty tester.

She said she was afraid I'd get hurt by cheaters, so every time I started dating someone new, she'd transform herself into his ideal type and pursue him relentlessly until she lured him into bed.

Every single time, she'd send me photos of them together:

"Bestie! If it weren't for me protecting you, you'd have been fooled by another scumbag! Aren't I good to you?"

It drove me to the brink of a breakdown. I cut her off completely and moved to another city.

Then I met the love of my life—Clay Vance.

On the day of our wedding reception, I came face to face with my so-called best friend, disguised as a makeup artist.

"Bestie! Let me finish testing him before you tie the knot!"

She drugged me unconscious, put on my wedding dress, and crawled into Clay's bed.

I woke up just in time. I brought people with me, burst into the bridal suite, and had her hauled off to prison.

Later, I got pregnant. During delivery, I hemorrhaged.

Clay watched me writhing in agony and refused to sign the consent form to save me.

"Roberta just wanted to give herself to me before the wedding—to fulfill a wish!"

"But you threw her in prison and drove her to suicide! When she died, she was carrying my child!"

"You and that bastard in your belly should pay for her life!"

Only then did I realize that the man I thought was the love of my life had fallen for my best friend long ago.

I died an unjust death. He didn't even spare my ashes—he dumped them in a gutter.

Then I opened my eyes again.

I was back on the day my best friend showed up at my wedding, disguised as a makeup artist.

——

When my eyes focused, I saw Roberta Harding's face again—that familiar, stunning face.

Just like in my previous life, she pointed at me and howled with laughter.

The people around us had their phones out, cameras shoved in my face, snapping photos.

I didn't need to guess what they were laughing at.

I looked calmly into the mirror.

Sure enough, stamped across my face in blue ink were the words "GRADE-A INSPECTED MEAT"—exactly like last time.

"What's going on? What happened? What's so funny?"

The door swung open, and Clay Vance strolled in wearing his suit, a smile playing across his handsome features.

Roberta giggled and bounced over to him, grabbing his wrist.

"Mr. Vance, I set up a little pre-wedding prank for you two. What do you think—funny, right?"

Her foot slipped. She let out a soft gasp, as though she'd lost her balance, and tumbled right into Clay's arms.

She looked up at him, her cheeks flushed pink.

"Sorry."

That was her favorite little seduction trick. I'd seen it more times than I could count.

In my previous life, the moment I opened my eyes and saw Roberta standing over me like a nightmare come to life—saw my long-awaited bridal makeup ruined beyond repair—watched her flirt and pull the same old moves to seduce my husband—

My fear and rage had come crashing down like a flood.

I'd screamed and lunged at her, ripped her away from him, and slapped her across the face.

I'd shrieked: "Get out! You're trying to seduce my boyfriend again, aren't you? I won't let you get away with it!"

Clay had immediately called the bridesmaids over to hold me down.

Roberta had cowered in the corner, face red, eyes brimming with pitiful tears:

"I didn't do anything. Mrs. Vance, you've misunderstood. This was just a pre-wedding prank."

No matter how I tried to explain—that she was a loyalty tester, that she'd seduced boyfriend after boyfriend, that she'd destroyed relationship after relationship—

Roberta just stood there, trembling and crying:

"I really didn't! I don't even know you. I'm just a makeup artist."

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I'll get on my knees and apologize if you want. Please stop making up stories about me…"

Everyone had whispered among themselves:

"A loyalty tester? She reads too many novels. People like that don't exist."

"She's probably been the jealous wife for so long she thinks every woman is after her husband. Tsk, tsk, tsk. How embarrassing..."

My protests had grown feeble against the tide of sneering and mockery from the guests, and under Clay's weary gaze.

He sighed, resigned, and walked over to wrap me in a gentle embrace.

"It's okay. If you don't like her, we'll fire her. How about that?"

"But you should've just told me directly, instead of making up rumors about the poor girl..."

I'd thought he was simply like the rest of the guests, fooled by Roberta's lies and her act.

It wasn't until the moment I died that I finally understood.

His heart had already shifted toward Roberta.

...

This time, I watched expressionlessly as Roberta threw herself into Clay's arms.

I didn't miss the flicker of desire that passed through his eyes.

But a second later, he shot a quick glance my way.

He pushed the woman in his arms back, his face turning cold. "That joke wasn't funny. Apologize to my wife right now, and take that stain off so you can redo her makeup."

"No need."

My voice was calm.

I picked up a makeup wipe and began cleaning the marks from my face.

Clay let out a breath of relief and patted Roberta gently on the head. "Hurry up and thank my wife. If she weren't so kind and forgiving, you'd be in real trouble—"

I cut him off.

"Clay, there's no need to redo the makeup. The wedding is off."

He stared at me in disbelief. After a long pause, he let out a short laugh. "That's not funny."

"It's not a joke."

I reached back and unzipped the wedding dress—the one Clay had pulled God knows how many strings to have flown in from overseas. I stripped it off and tossed it aside like it was garbage.

"The wedding is canceled. We're done."

I pulled on my coat and headed for the door.

"Lydia!"

Only then did Clay realize I was serious. He grabbed my wrist, veins bulging at his temples from the effort of keeping his composure.

"You're calling off the wedding over a makeup artist's prank?"

He looked at me, those handsome eyes brimming with hurt and confusion. "Lydia, stop this!"

"This wedding—do you have any idea how much we put into it? Our friends and family are all here. You can't just—"

I wrenched my wrist free. I ignored the whispers and pointed fingers around me and fixed him with a cold, mocking stare.

"Clay, you know exactly why I won't marry you."

"I'm giving you a chance to be with the person you actually love. Isn't that a good thing?"

I expected to see panic flash across his face.

Instead, his expression didn't waver. He looked at me with that same wounded confusion. "Lydia, what are you talking about? Everyone knows you're the only one I love."

He pointed at Roberta. "Is this about her?"

His tone turned helpless. "I had no idea she was going to pull that stunt."

"Besides, didn't I already say I'd make her apologize? If that's still not enough, I'll fire her on the spot."

Roberta burst into tears, sobs wracking her shoulders, and turned to run.

Clay didn't spare her a single glance. His dark eyes locked onto mine, deep and unwavering. "Are we good now?"

I looked back at him, my gaze flat. I said nothing.

Clay's parents walked in, their voices already laced with reproach.

"He's already apologized, Lydia. Playing hard to get at this point is just petty."

"Do you have any idea how good Clay has been to you? Have you forgotten who performed your mother's surgery? Who arranged her follow-up care? A person shouldn't bite the hand that feeds them."

A sharp pain lanced through my chest.

My mother's stroke had been Roberta's doing. She'd deliberately played those bedroom photos at my wedding to my ex, broadcasting them for every guest to see. Then she'd eloped with him right there, leaving me as the punchline of the entire reception. The shock and fury sent my mother collapsing, unconscious.

To get her the treatment she needed, I'd transferred her from hospital to hospital until we ended up in Havenport, where I met Clay, a renowned neurosurgeon. Over the course of my mother's treatment, we'd gradually fallen in love.

I understood the threat buried in Julia's words. The Vances were a prominent family. If I ruined this wedding and embarrassed them, my mother would be thrown out of Vance Hospital.

"Mom!"

Clay cut Julia off, his tone measured but firm. "Lydia is my wife. Her mother is my mother-in-law. Taking care of her is my responsibility."

He turned to me, his voice softening into something close to a plea. "Sweetheart, if nothing else, at least for the sake of everything I've done for your mother, can we not make a scene today? Please?"

I dug my nails into my palms and let my expression crumple into something wounded and fragile.

"Clay, do you really not know that makeup artist? Because she whispered to me just now that you told her to make me look ugly on purpose, to get back at me for something. That's why I got upset."

The moment the words left my mouth, the guests who had been looking at me with disapproval shifted. Sympathy replaced their irritation.

A muscle twitched at the corner of Clay's mouth. Then he smoothed it over with a reassuring smile. "She was talking nonsense. Just jealous that you married well."

When I didn't respond, he sighed and relented. "I'll file a complaint against her right now. Would that make you feel better?"

Only then did I let myself smile. "Then you have to swear."

"If you really have anything to do with her, if you ever betray me, we divorce. No discussion."

Clay coaxed me gently, raised his right hand, and swore.

The guests laughed warmly. "You're overthinking it. Clay only has eyes for you."

Outside the banquet hall, Roberta's face flashed past the doorway, twisted with venom at having failed. I didn't spare her a glance.

The wedding ended.

I had just started toward my room to change out of the gown when someone pressed a cloth over my nose and mouth. I held my breath, closed my eyes, and let it happen.

Just like last time.

Roberta and Clay stumbled together, tangled in each other, and crashed through the door of a neighboring guest room. They fell onto the bed, unable to contain the sounds spilling between them.

My eyes snapped open. I moved fast, slipping downstairs to where my in-laws were still chatting with guests.

This time, I didn't do what I'd done before. I didn't blurt out that Roberta had drugged me and crawled into my husband's bed.

Instead, I put on a look of concern.

"Mom, Dad, I think Clay had too much to drink. He doesn't seem well."

Julia and Garry Vance, ever doting on their son, were on their feet in an instant. A swarm of Vance relatives, eager for any bit of excitement, followed close behind as I led them all upstairs.

The moment we reached the guest room door, the sounds from inside were unmistakable.

Every face in the crowd went rigid.

They rushed to block the door, to cover it up, but I was faster. I pushed it wide open.

"Clay? Are you feeling okay?"

The door swung back. The two figures tangled on the bed sprang apart, scrambling to yank the sheets over themselves.

Through the wall of stunned relatives, Roberta caught my eye and flashed me a triumphant smile.

The hallway erupted.

"Oh my God, that woman. Isn't that the makeup artist from this morning?"

"So Lydia was telling the truth the whole time. I can't believe..."

Garry's face turned a deep, furious red. "Clay! Look at what you've done!"

Julia charged past everyone and seized Roberta by the arm, dragging her off the bed. "This is all your doing! You little tramp, you must have slipped my son something. You made him think you were Lydia!"