The stench of gas hung heavy in the air on New Year's Eve, suffocating the holiday cheer.

I turned, heart hammering, to find my husband staring at me with eyes devoid of warmth.

"Do you remember the beauty of the Forensic Science Department?" Derek asked, his voice chillingly calm. "She's dead. And I have no intention of living without her."

My mind went blank. Then the click of his lighter shattered the silence.

Flames roared to life, consuming the room, but his gaze never left me—vicious and full of hate.

"If you hadn't interfered," he screamed over the fire, "she would have been the one to save me from the lab! It should have been her!"

I died in agony, skin blistering as the world turned to ash.

When I opened my eyes, the fire was gone.

In its place: the sterile white of the university hallway. The shrill ring of the lab alarm echoed in my ears.

I had returned.

I didn't plan to play hero this time. But curiosity gnawed at me. I wanted to see this "department beauty" he was so obsessed with. In the Forensic Science Department, I was the only female student.

So who exactly was this phantom woman?

——

The acrid scent of sulfur hit me, mixed with the chemical bite of formalin. It coated the back of my throat, bitter and sharp.

A dull boom rattled the end of the corridor, followed by a wet hiss—like flesh and plastic melting under intense heat.

My pulse quickened. I walked toward the source.

The lab door was ajar. Orange light flickered through the gap, thick black smoke curling into the hallway. The main alarm must have malfunctioned; aside from the local buzzer, the building was silent.

No one else knew.

I peered through the observation window.

There he was. Derek Finch.

His right leg was pinned beneath a collapsed steel rack, his pristine white lab coat scorched black. He must have sensed my presence because his head snapped up, panic warring with recognition.

Then he did something unexpected. He shook his head frantically, waving me off. Don't come in.

I crossed my arms and leaned against the wall.

The confusion cleared instantly.

He had been reborn too.

That was the only explanation. The old Derek would have been screaming for help by now. But this Derek was telling me to leave.

In our previous life, I had rushed in without a second thought. Pried the equipment off his leg. Dragged him to safety. And because of that, he convinced himself I had stolen his romantic moment—robbed him of a chance to be saved by his "true love."

That delusion eventually led him to burn me alive.

Phantom pain ached in my bones. Watching him struggle, panic etched into his soot-stained face, a cold smile touched my lips.

I had been so stupid.

I saved his life, and he treated it as an unforgivable sin.

The smoke grew thicker, waves of heat distorting the air.

Derek coughed violently, shouting through the haze, "Leave me alone! Get out of here!"

I raised an eyebrow. "What? You're just going to wait here and die?"

He choked, his gaze darting away before hardening with resolve. "I don't need your fake kindness! Someone else is coming to save me!"

"Oh?" I drawled, remembering his hysterical screaming on the night he killed me. My smile turned icy. "This Forensic Science beauty you mentioned? I'd love to see who she is."

Since the department was founded, it had been a monastery. Our cohort had exactly one woman: me. Not even a female transfer student to pad the numbers.

When Derek heard me mention the "beauty," his eyes lit up, fear receding slightly.

"Just you wait! She'll be here!"

I didn't argue. I simply stood my ground, watching the show.

Moments later, the click of heels echoed against tile. A crisp, feminine voice called out.

"Hello? Is something burning down here?"

I looked toward the sound.

The newcomer had delicate features and an innocent expression. Pretty, certainly.

But I knew one thing for a fact: she was definitely not a student in the Forensic Science Department.

At the sound of a voice, Derek Finch screamed toward the doorway.

"I'm here! Save me! Hurry!"

His voice cracked, shrill and pathetic—a far cry from the cold, ruthless man who had watched me die on New Year's Eve.

The girl recoiled, startled by the sudden shout. Seeing a figure amidst the flames, her face twisted in distress. "How are you even in there? The fire... it's too big. I..."

"I'm stuck!" Sweat streamed down Derek's face, stinging his eyes as panic took hold. "Get me out! You have to find a way!"

The girl peered into the inferno, coughing as thick smoke filled her lungs. She covered her nose and shook her head, backing away. "No way. It's suicide. I can't save you alone. I'll go find security—they'll be here soon."

She turned to flee.

"Don't go!"

Derek shrieked, terror seizing him. "I'm a Finch! My father is Vincent Finch! Get me out and I'll give you a million! No—two million! Anything you want!"

In this city, the Finch name carried weight, but two million dollars was life-changing.

The girl froze.

Slowly, she turned back, hesitation giving way to greed. She stared at Derek, then at the roaring fire, and bit her lip. "Two million? You swear it?"

"I swear! I promise!" Derek nodded frantically. "Just get me out! I'll transfer it immediately!"

Decision made, the girl rushed toward the doorway.

I stood in the shadows, watching dispassionately.

In my previous life, my first move had been to cut the gas valve and smother the source before daring to approach the steel frame. But this girl lacked basic common sense. Spotting a bucket of water nearby, she didn't think twice. She heaved it up and splashed it directly into the heart of the flames.

"Don't—!"

Derek's scream merged with the roar of the explosion.

The secondary blast blew half the doorframe off its hinges. Flames erupted outward, licking the ceiling and engulfing the room in a wave of heat. Derek let out a blood-curdling shriek as his body convulsed.

Then came the smell—the sickly sweet stench of burning flesh.

His hands.

Moments ago, he had been gripping the lab bench for support. Now, exposed to the flash fire, his skin curled and split, leaving his hands a charred, bloody ruin.

The blast knocked the girl off balance, but the thought of two million dollars drove her forward. Gritting her teeth, she lunged through the smoke, grabbed Derek's arm, and hauled him backward with all her strength.

"Stop! It hurts! Let go!"

Derek's wails were guttural, piercing the roar of the fire.

His right leg was still pinned under the steel frame. Her violent yank tore at the trapped limb, sending spasms of agony through his body.

"My hands! My hands are ruined!"

Deaf to his pleas, the girl braced her feet and dragged him out from under the debris. Derek collapsed onto the floor, curling into a fetal ball. He clutched his mangled hands to his chest, sobbing uncontrollably.

Sirens wailed outside as the fire brigade and ambulance arrived. Firefighters stormed the hallway, suppressing the flames, while paramedics rushed in with a stretcher.

Amid the chaos, I watched them lift Derek onto the gurney. His face was twisted in agony, a mask of pure suffering. I felt nothing but cold amusement.

A debt from a past life, repaid in this one.

Hadn't he wanted to wait for his "department beauty" to save him?

Well, he got exactly what he wished for.

Derek Finch's wails echoed through the hospital corridor. I laughed.

In my past life, I'd be lying in the bed next to him right now, mummified in bandages, foolish enough to expect his gratitude—waiting for a "thank you" that would never come.

Not this time. I stood outside the emergency room, completely unscathed.

The girl who "saved" him had a death grip on a nurse's arm, her voice sharp enough to shatter glass.

"Hey! Don't walk away! That guy hasn't paid me yet! Two million! He said he'd give me two million!"

The nurse looked ready to snap. "Miss, the patient is severely burned and unconscious. He needs immediate trauma care. Get out of the way!"

"No! If he dies, who am I supposed to get the money from?" She actually lunged for the stretcher. "I risked my life for this!"

Watching her claw at the dying man, her face twisted with greed, I couldn't reconcile her with the "Department Beauty" Derek had hallucinated about.

I shook my head and turned to the police officers.

As the sole eyewitness, I laid out the facts exactly as they happened—especially the most crucial detail: Derek had refused my help.

"He was lucid," I told the officer. "He explicitly rejected my rescue attempt because he was waiting for the 'Department Beauty' to save him."

I also described how the other girl's clumsy dragging caused the secondary explosion.

The young officer frowned. "Let me get this straight. The victim was conscious, and he refused to be rescued?"

"Yes. He insisted on waiting. The hallway surveillance cameras will back me up. I didn't abandon him—he sent me away."

The officers exchanged baffled looks.

After finishing my statement, I stepped back into the corridor just in time to run into Derek's parents.

In my previous life, Vincent and Isabella Finch had despised me. They picked apart every aspect of my existence, claiming my common background made me unworthy of their "genius" son.

Now, Isabella was sobbing hysterically while Vincent cornered the doctor, his face purple with rage.

"What do you mean his hands are gone?" Vincent roared. "He's going to hold a scalpel! He's a future surgical prodigy! You have to save his hands!"

The doctor shook his head. "Mr. Finch, the hands were subjected to extreme sustained heat. But the real damage came from the secondary tearing caused by rough extraction. The nerves and tendons are necrotic."

He paused. "Saving his life is a miracle in itself. As for his hands... he'll struggle to hold chopsticks, let alone a surgical instrument."

Isabella's eyes rolled back. She collapsed in a dead faint.

Vincent slammed his fist against the wall. "I don't care! My son is not ruined! Fix him!"

Watching from the sidelines, I felt nothing but cold detachment.

Is this the choice you wanted, Derek?

In the past, I'd cut the power and used wet cloths to shield his hands. I'd used leverage to move the debris carefully, ensuring he was extracted intact. I destroyed my own lungs in the process, leaving me with a lifelong respiratory illness.

And he hated me for it.

I wondered if he'd be satisfied with the "Department Beauty" who'd just crippled him for life.

Right on cue, the savior herself stormed over.

"You're his parents, right? Perfect!" She held out her hand. "Your son promised me two million if I got him out. Hurry up and pay!"

Vincent whipped around, brows knitting furiously. "Who the hell are you? This is a hospital—stop screaming!"

"I'm his savior!" The girl puffed out her chest, oblivious to the atmosphere. "If I hadn't dragged him out, he'd be a pile of ash by now! Pay up. Two million, not a cent less!"

Vincent froze. His eyes narrowed.

"You dragged him out?"