My husband, Preston Hawthorne, took a nasty fall from a ladder on the second floor of our Hamptons mansion, suffering three broken ribs and a devastating injury to his groin.

Instead of rushing him to the nearest New York-Presbyterian, I sent him by private jet to Arizona, over a thousand miles away.

In my past life, Preston’s fall was orchestrated.

He’d staged the accident so his influencer girlfriend, Tiffany Reed, could land a cover story by performing a so-called “exclusive energy therapy” on him.

At the time, I refused his absurd request, and as a result, Tiffany lost her shot at fame.

Though he recovered, he blamed me entirely for sabotaging her career. The day he was discharged, he cut the brakes on my sports car, staging my death as an “accident.”

The next thing I knew, I was right back on the day of Preston’s fall.

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1

“Scarlett Vance, don’t just stand there! My ribs are broken! Get me on the private jet to Tiffany’s wellness center in Sedona, now!”

Preston Hawthorne's roar snapped me out of my daze. I stood frozen on the marble floor of our mansion, my eyes fixed on where he lay crumpled on the ground—freshly fallen from the second-floor ladder.

He gritted his teeth against the excruciating pain, his eyes filled with a familiar, venomous disgust.

“Scarlett, if you dare take me to a New York hospital and disappoint Tiffany again, I swear, I’ll make your death even more gruesome this time.”

Those words obliterated any lingering doubt. I’d been reborn—and so had he.

In my previous life, I married Preston out of a misguided sense of gratitude after he saved me from a yacht fire.

I leveraged my Wharton education and the massive inheritance from my parents to transform his hollow business concept into a multi-billion-dollar empire.

While he flitted between parties, I was the one burning the midnight oil in our penthouse office, perfecting one business plan after another.

When his mother, Carol Hawthorne, needed heart surgery, I was the one at her bedside, orchestrating every detail flawlessly.

I poured everything I had into this family, into his career.

Yet, all my devotion meant less than getting his high-school ex-girlfriend, Tiffany Reed, a magazine cover.

In my past life, I hadn't listened. I didn't send him to Sedona. Consequently, Tiffany was publicly humiliated and lost the opportunity.

He blamed me for denying him her “treatment.” Then, in a fit of rage, he severed my brake lines, sending me to a fiery death on the highway.

The absurdity of it was staggering. I gave him everything, and he repaid me with a meticulously planned murder.

He wants Tiffany to “treat” him, does he? Fine. This time, I’ll grant his wish.

A wicked part of me hoped the high-altitude turbulence would be just enough for his broken ribs to puncture a lung.

“Scarlett, take me to Tiffany’s wellness center! She’s waiting for me! And don’t you forget what happens if you disobey!”

Fearing I would defy him again, he bared his teeth, roaring like a cornered beast.

Just then, Carol rushed out of her room, her eyes widening at the sight of Preston's wretched state.

“Are you insane? Tiffany’s place is in Arizona, a thousand miles away! You’ll be bleeding internally by the time you get there! No! Scarlett, call an ambulance right now and take him to New York-Presbyterian!”

I suppressed a cold sneer, forcing a conflicted expression onto my face. “But he insists on going there…”

“Don’t listen to him! We all know Tiffany is just some social media influencer! What does she know about medicine? Scarlett, stop dawdling and call an ambulance!”

“I'm not going,” Preston snarled. “If you don’t take me to Tiffany’s, I’ll leak all your family’s scandals to the New York Post!”

Seeing Carol refuse to back down, he grew even more aggressive, glaring at us with a vicious threat in his eyes.

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of my mouth before I sighed, feigning resignation. “Alright, Carol. We’ll do as he says. I’ll arrange the plane.”

“No!” Carol stood her ground, planting her feet. “Preston has lost his mind, you can’t indulge this madness, Scarlett! That woman isn’t qualified to touch him!”

Before she could finish, Preston erupted. “Don’t you dare talk about Tiffany like that! I know better than anyone how powerful her energy is!”

Then, he shot me a fierce glare. “Tiffany just wants a chance to prove herself. She would never risk my life! Scarlett, you’re the malicious one. If you had just listened to me last time, Tiffany wouldn’t have failed!”

I knew he was talking about our past life, but I had no intention of exposing him.

Carol looked completely bewildered, so I played along, furrowing my brow. “What on earth are you talking about? Why would Tiffany fail?”

Preston scrutinized my face, searching for any sign that I’d been reborn with him. A flicker of arrogance and the smug satisfaction of holding all the cards flashed in his eyes. Then he barked, “Just get me to her wellness center now! If she fails again because of you, you’ll be dead long before she does!”

I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms to suppress the wave of hatred that threatened to consume me.

The image of the sports car spinning out of control, the screech of metal, the consuming fire—it thundered in my mind. I would never, ever experience that pain and despair again.

Preston had done it once; he would do it again without hesitation. This time, I wouldn't give him the chance.

Carol, oblivious to his hidden meaning, waved her hand in frustration. “You’re truly insane! Scarlett, have the bodyguards restrain him and get him in the car!” she shouted, trembling with rage.

Not wanting Preston to suspect I remembered everything, I pretended to comply and moved toward him.

He snatched the nearest crystal figurine and hurled it at my head. “You bitch! If you don't take me to see Tiffany right now, I’ll kill you first!”

The figurine slammed hard against my temple. Carol screamed.

Preston seized my wrist, yanking me to the floor before his hands wrapped around my neck. Even with broken ribs, his strength was terrifying. My vision began to spot.

Carol shrieked, finally conceding. “Enough! Stop it! If you hurt Scarlett, who’s going to fly you to Tiffany?”

Preston released me, a triumphant, cruel smile spreading across his face.

Clutching my throbbing head and bruised throat, I struggled to my feet. The smug satisfaction in his eyes only fanned the flames of hatred in my chest.

I piloted the private jet for three hours, arriving in Sedona that afternoon.

Carol and I checked him in. She was arranging for immediate surgery when Preston realized the attending physician wasn't Tiffany. He flew into a rage, tearing the consent form to shreds.

“I told you, I’ll only let Tiffany treat me!”

A young doctor tried to reason with him. “Ms. Reed isn’t on-site today. Sir, your injuries are severe. You really can’t afford to wait. Please let our trauma surgeon handle this.”

Carol was about to argue, but Preston was already on the phone with Tiffany.

Her sickly-sweet voice chirped through the speaker, “Preston, are you here? Oh, sorry, I didn’t expect you so soon. I’m in the middle of hot stone yoga. Just wait a bit, I'll be right over!”

Carol’s chest heaved with anger, and she looked like she might actually faint.

“It’s fine, I’ll wait for you,” Preston said, his voice tight with pain. “With this exclusive treatment, they're sure to give you that magazine cover.”

Watching the scene unfold, I found it both tragic and utterly ridiculous.

I’d been assaulted by him and had just flown him a thousand miles, yet he hadn’t offered a single word of concern.

But I no longer needed his concern. This time, I was morbidly curious to see if his infatuation would cost him his most precious asset.

We waited. And waited. Still no sign of Tiffany.

Preston's panic grew with each passing minute until the trauma center director, his patience worn thin, finally pulled me aside.

“You're his wife, aren't you? He's out of time. A broken rib could puncture an organ at any second. Any further delay risks permanent, irreversible damage. You need to choose another surgeon and sign the papers now!”

Before I could answer, Preston cut in, his face dark. “You’re just trying to steal Tiffany’s thunder! Forget it! Only Tiffany is touching me!”

He glared at me, his eyes flashing a warning. “Listen to me. Only Tiffany's energy can heal me. If she doesn't come, I'll wait. If you want to keep your status as Mrs. Hawthorne, you’ll shut your mouth and wait quietly!”

I couldn’t be bothered to argue. From the moment I’d woken up in this second life, all I wanted was to be free of him.

But first, I was deeply interested in seeing how an unqualified influencer would handle this disaster.

Another hour passed before Tiffany finally sauntered in. Decked out in designer yoga wear, her hair perfectly coiffed and her makeup flawless, she looked as if she’d just stepped off a magazine cover.

Carol was practically vibrating with anxiety. The moment she saw Tiffany, she grabbed the gurney to push Preston toward a treatment room. “Thank God! She's here! Get him in there, now!”

Tiffany pressed a hand to the gurney, batting her eyelashes innocently. “Wait, didn’t we agree I’d be performing his energy therapy?”

Carol fought the urge to roll her eyes, her gaze raking over Tiffany. “How are you going to do that dressed like that? You don't have a medical license. You’re an influencer who sells crystals online. If something happens to Preston, can you take responsibility for that?”

Dr. Marcus Thorne, the trauma center director who’d been patiently trying to reason with Preston, finally lost his composure. “Ms. Reed has no medical credentials on file with us. Allowing her to lead this procedure is extremely reckless. The price he might pay could be far greater than a few broken ribs!”

I chimed in, feigning concern. “They're right. A treatment room needs to be sterile. I’ve never seen a healer work in yoga pants. Preston, think about this. You’re not just risking your health—you’re risking your life.”

Tiffany’s lower lip jutted out, her voice dripping with wounded pride. “Preston, I rushed over because I was worried about you, that’s why I didn’t have time to change. Scarlett is just looking down on me. If none of you believe in me, then let someone else do it! If this ruins my shot at the exclusive…”

Before she could finish, I was shoved aside with immense force, my shoulder slamming into the wall. Pain flared through me as Preston glared, his eyes full of cold disgust.

“Wipe that jealous sneer off your face! Tiffany is on the brink of success, and I won’t let you sabotage her this time!”