The powerful Will Hudson, Bardou City's untouchable kingmaker, was set to marry my sister.

Everyone said he was a monster, a man broken in body and mind, that marrying him was no different from stepping into hell itself.

My sister, Carrie Wheaton, wept as if her heart would break.

I pulled her aside and said, "I'll marry him for you. But in return, you'll stay in the countryside and guard the safe buried beneath Mom's grave. For three years, you mustn't open it."

She thought it held a fortune—billions, perhaps—and joy lit up her face. She agreed without hesitation.

I watched her greedy expression twist with excitement and couldn't help the cold smile that rose within me.

'Carrie, guard it well. Let's see if you can handle the kind of fortune that can destroy you.'

"Jessica, we've wronged you," my stepmother said, dabbing at the corners of her eyes in mock sorrow. "But there's nothing we can do. We can't afford to offend the Hudsons."

Her false tears made my stomach turn.

Everyone in Bardou City's upper circles knew about Will Hudson, the heir of the Hudson family.

Half a year ago, a car accident left him crippled from the waist down. His once-gentle temperament had twisted into something dark and violent. They called him a living demon.

The bride he had named was Carrie Wheaton, the Wheaton family's eldest daughter—beautiful, talented, and perfect in every way.

But now, I—the "fake daughter" they had adopted by mistake—was being shoved forward to take her place.

A substitute bride. A sacrificial offering.

Carrie stood off to the side, her lips curving into a barely hidden smirk of schadenfreude.

A lawyer spoke up, "Jessica, once you sign this agreement, you'll become Will's legal wife. As compensation, the Wheaton family will provide you with a sum of money."

I looked up, my gaze sweeping calmly across the three faces before me.

It was a scene I knew all too well.

In my previous life, I had begged and wept, falling to my knees before them. My only answer had been my father's cold, hard slap.

"An imposter like you should be grateful to marry the Hudson heir. Don't overstep your bounds!"

That night, they drugged me and sent me straight to Will's bed. I became his plaything and punching bag, his living vent for rage and hatred.

Later, I learned the truth. The reason Will had insisted on marrying Carrie was because he suspected the Wheaton family's involvement in the car crash that crippled him.

He wanted to keep his enemy's daughter by his side—to torture her slowly, to lure the snake from its hole.

But the Wheaton family, unwilling to sacrifice their real daughter, sent me instead.

When his plan collapsed, Will's fury turned on me with full force.

I still remembered his cold fingers gripping my jaw in that dark basement, the hatred in his eyes so deep it almost devoured me.

"Nick Wheaton sent me this useless thing? Is he mocking me? Tell him—this game has only just begun."

I died in the second winter of our marriage—my body covered in bruises, abandoned in the snow to starve.

As my soul drifted above the frozen ground, I saw him standing over my corpse for a long, long time. There was no satisfaction in his eyes, only an endless, suffocating darkness.

And I saw the Wheaton family thriving after my death, feeding off the fortune they had stolen from my mother's legacy.

My hatred burned through death itself—and when I opened my eyes again, I was back on the very day they forced me to sign that marriage agreement.

"Fine," I said evenly. "I'll sign."

I picked up the pen and signed my name at the bottom of the contract.

The three of them froze.

They must have expected tears. Pleas. Maybe even a hysterical breakdown.

My father, Nick, looked faintly surprised—then coldly satisfied.

My stepmother's fake smile turned almost genuine.

Only Carrie's smug expression faltered, replaced by a flicker of confusion and unease.

When I finished signing, I stood and walked up to Carrie.

"According to our deal," I said softly, "you'll return to the countryside and observe mourning for my mom for three years. Don't forget, all right?"

"Jessica, what game are you playing?" she demanded, taking an involuntary step back.

I smiled. "Carrie, haven't you always wondered why my supposedly poor mother could leave me a mansion?"

Her pupils shrank. I'd hit a nerve.

It was something she'd never been able to get over.

My biological mother, Audrey Redford, had been a legend in the business world—brilliant, beautiful, and tragically short-lived.

After her death, my father, Nick, schemed to seize everything she'd built, telling the world she'd been nothing more than a country bumpkin, while I was dismissed as some pitiful girl from the sticks.

All that remained in my name was that single mansion.

He'd thought it was worthless—until years later, when redevelopment plans turned it into a goldmine. But by then, it was too late for regret.

I leaned close to Carrie's ear, my tone a whisper laced with poison.

"Because my mom was never an ordinary woman. She was the CEO of Redford Group. And beneath her grave lies a safe filled with unregistered bonds she hid away for emergencies. They're worth a fortune."

"Bonds?"

Carrie's breathing quickened.

"But…" I shifted the tone of my voice, a faint sigh escaping my lips. "That batch of bonds has a three-year lock-in period. They can only be redeemed when it expires."

I paused awhile, letting a trace of regret soften my gaze.

"And… you know what my mother was like—superstitious to the bone. Before she passed, she made it clear that someone must observe mourning for her for three years before disturbing her grave. Otherwise, the fortune's energy would scatter."

Carrie's eyes gleamed with greed.

Three years of mourning in exchange for a fortune beyond imagination.

She looked at me as though I were a fool. A fool who had stumbled upon a mountain of gold, only to give it away with her own hands.

"Carrie," I said, "I'm about to marry the Hudson heir. Whether I live or die… who can say? I won't be able to keep that money safe. So let it be my gift to you, as sisters."

Whatever wariness had lingered in Carrie's eyes melted away, replaced by unrestrained greed.

"Don't worry, Jessica," she said, patting my hand with exaggerated warmth. "I'll guard that money for you. Every last bit of it. And you… take care of yourself in the Hudson family, all right?"

That very afternoon, under the pretense of "observing mourning for my mother," Carrie packed her things and left for the countryside.

Nick and my stepmother were puzzled but ultimately relented. After all, what could possibly be hidden beneath a dilapidated rural grave?

I stood by the upstairs window, watching her car disappear down the road, and a slow smile curved my lips.

There was indeed something inside that safe. But not bonds worth a fortune.

What it held were my birth certificate, proving my true identity, and all the evidence my mother had gathered before her death—proof of Nick's financial crimes.

In my previous life, I'd been so close to retrieving them. But before I could act, I'd been forced into the Hudson family's marriage, my revenge left unfinished.

This time, I'd let that fool guard the evidence for me.

Once I handled Will, I would bring everything into the light.

A week later, I received my marriage certificate and was escorted by the Hudson family's car to their villa.

The butler opened the car door with a stiff, impassive face. "Ms. Wheaton, Mr. Hudson is waiting for you in his study."

I nodded and followed him inside.

The first time I'd walked through these halls in my previous life, my legs had trembled so violently I could barely stand. Every step was cautious and terrified.

Now, as I walked down the same familiar corridor, my heart was still and calm.

The door to the study opened.

And there he was—Will.

He wore a dark robe, seated in his wheelchair, a cashmere blanket draped across his knees. Sunlight poured through the tall windows, touching his shoulders but never reaching his eyes.

"You're Nick's daughter?" His voice was low and cold, roughened by a touch of hoarse darkness.

"Yes," I replied.

At last, his gaze lifted to me. Contempt flickered openly in those sharp, predatory eyes.

"Don't think I don't know you're a fake." His lip curled faintly. "I expected him to send me his precious jewel, not a fake."

I didn't answer. I simply met his stare in silence.

Because I knew—his weakness, his helplessness—was nothing but an act.

In my past life, I'd fallen for it. I'd pitied him, served him, given him everything I had. And in return, he'd only found more ways to break me.

"Get out." His tone turned dismissive, eyes cold with disinterest. "Don't let me see you again. You disgust me."

That was how our wedding night began.

Exactly as it had in my last life.

But this time, I didn't panic. I didn't flinch or look away.

Outside the study, the butler and several servants stood at a distance, watching me with quiet pity in their eyes.

"Are you not afraid of me?" Will's voice was quiet, dangerous.

I hadn't spoken, hadn't even flinched—just met his gaze, calm and steady. But that calmness only deepened the ice in his eyes.

To him, my composure was insolence.

How could a disposable pawn—a substitute sent to die in another one's place—dare to stand before him so calmly?

A muffled sound broke the silence. The cashmere blanket on his lap slid soundlessly to the floor.

His hands gripped the arms of the wheelchair, and the muscles beneath the silk of his robe tightened.

Then, with a low scrape that set my teeth on edge, he stood up.

The illusion of frailty shattered before my eyes.

The "crippled" heir who was said to be broken and helpless was nothing of the sort. Tall, broad-shouldered, and radiating power, he advanced with a quiet, predatory grace. The air in the room thickened—his dominance was suffocating.

I took an involuntary step back.

And then another.

Until my back hit the cold surface of the door. There was nowhere left to run.

"Who gave you the right," he hissed, "to look at me like that?"

Before the words had even finished leaving his mouth, his hand shot out—long fingers closing around my throat with crushing force.

The strength behind that grip was terrifying. My breath caught, my airway constricted, and a sharp, burning pain tore through my neck. My face flushed red as oxygen fled my lungs.

He loomed over me, eyes dark with fury.

"What game is Nick playing now?"

Spots of light danced at the edge of my vision, but even as I suffocated, I knew—I couldn't beg. Begging would only feed his contempt.

I forced air through my crushed throat, the words rasping, broken, desperate.

"Will… Your legs… They recovered… six months ago, didn't they?"

The moment the words left my mouth, his hand froze.

Shock flickered in his eyes, smothering the rage—only for the coldness to return, darker and sharper.

"Who the hell are you?"

His grip tightened again. The edges of my vision blurred, darkness creeping in—but I smiled inwardly.

He was rattled. My gamble had worked.

A long, tense beat later, his hand fell away.

I collapsed to the floor, gasping and coughing, every breath a desperate drag of air back into my lungs.

When I finally looked up, he had already seated himself back in the wheelchair, as if the man who'd stood moments ago had never existed.

He studied me. The murderous hostility had shifted into something far more calculating.

"How do you know that?" he asked.

"Will," I rasped, voice hoarse, "what I know… goes far beyond that."

I steadied myself against the wall and rose to my feet, meeting his gaze head-on.

"I know you're faking your injury to make your real enemies lower their guard. I also know that enemy… is Nick Wheaton, the man who sent me to you."

His pupils contracted sharply.

"We were never enemies, Will," I continued quietly. "We were destined to be allies."

Pain burned in my throat, but I kept my voice steady.

"Nick stole my mother's fortune, switched me at birth with the housekeeper's daughter, and sent me here to die in her place. And he's the one who orchestrated the car crash that killed your parents."

Silence fell.

Then I laid out everything—the fragments I'd pieced together from my past life, the clues I'd tricked out of Carrie in this one.

"The safe my mother left behind doesn't contain bonds," I said. "It holds evidence of Nick's financial crimes… and my birth certificate.

"I've sent Carrie to safeguard it. It's hidden in the countryside. For now.

"And you should have the investigation reports from the car crash. When we piece it all together, every path leads to one man."

"Nick Wheaton." Will spat out the name, his knuckles whitening on the wheelchair's armrest.

The storm in his eyes broke—hatred surging, violent and consuming.

He had thought himself a lone hunter in the dark. He hadn't realized that the prey delivered to his door was another avenger—one with her own war to wage.

Just then, his private phone buzzed sharply on the desk.

The screen lit up with a name.

Nick Wheaton.

A cold glint flashed across Will's eyes. He pressed "accept" and turned on speaker mode.

A sycophantic voice spilled through the line. "Ah, Will! It's been a while!"

Will said nothing. His fingers tapped lightly against the tabletop.

The pause made Nick falter. He gave an awkward laugh.

"Well, uh… I was hoping to speak with my daughter, Jessica. She's adjusting all right, I hope? She's always been a quiet girl, afraid of causing trouble. I just wanted to make sure she's not bothering you—"

"She's busy," Will interrupted coldly, his tone cutting. "Fulfilling her duties as my wife."

The words dripped with implication.

There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end, followed by a sleazy chuckle.

"Haha, of course! Of course! Young people, eh? That's how it should be!"

Then his voice slithered into something more calculated.

"By the way, could you let me have a quick word with my dear Jessica? Father to daughter, just a private moment."

He thought he could manipulate me right under Will's nose.

Will's lips curled in a cold, mocking smile. Without turning off speaker mode, he handed me the phone.

I took it calmly, speaking softly. "Dad."

"Ah, Jessica!" Nick's tone changed instantly—all warmth vanished, replaced by a razor's edge. "Ah, Jessica. Carrie's lined up a new investment project. She's a bit short on capital. Now that you're Mrs. Hudson, you can whisper in Will's ear, can't you? Just have him release some funds. It doesn't have to be a fortune. We're family, after all!"

His voice was low but laced with command.

"And your stepmother's birthday's coming up—you'd better not forget. Get her a proper gift, understand? Don't let people say a daughter of the Wheaton family married rich and turned her back on her roots!"

Before I could respond, another voice shrieked over the line—my stepmother, snatching the phone.

"Jessica! Don't play dead, you hear me?" she screeched. "Did you hear what your father said? You tell Will to invest 500 million in the Wheaton family business—no, a billion! A billion's nothing to him!

"And that car I liked last week—the limited-edition one—you'd better get it for me!

"Don't think marrying into the Hudson family makes you some kind of a queen! You're nothing but a stand-in for our darling Carrie, you understand?

"Carrie's our real daughter! Everything you've ever eaten, worn, or used came from us. It's time you repaid us!"

A deafening crash split the air.

The phone was torn from my hand, hurled across the room by Will. It hit the wall and shattered, scattering into a heap of twisted metal and glass.

The vile voices on the other end went abruptly silent.

The study plunged back into stillness.

Will lifted his head slowly. His eyes were bloodshot, and the fury burning in them could have set the world aflame.