To become the wife of the richest man in the city, my sister did something unthinkable—she kidnapped Wallace Jacobson’s beloved wife.

Then she turned to me.

"Help me," she said, eyes gleaming with madness. "Perform plastic surgery to make me look exactly like Mrs. Jacobson."

I tried to talk her out of it. I warned her that Wallace was no ordinary man—he was powerful, dangerous, and utterly obsessed with his wife. If he found out the truth, it wouldn’t just be her downfall. It would be a bloodbath.

She smiled sweetly and nodded, pretending to accept my advice.

That night, while I was asleep, she crept into my room and slashed my face with a fruit knife.

"You bitch!" she screamed, her eyes wild. "You didn’t want to help me, did you? You’ve always hated me!"

"If I can’t become Mrs. Jacobson, then you don’t deserve to live!"

The pain was unbearable—but death came quickly.

Or so I thought.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the very day she first came to me with her insane request.

This time, I wouldn't beg her to stop. Since she was so eager to die, I’d grant her wish myself.

——

"Sister," she said with excitement, just as before, "I kidnapped Wallace’s wife. Hurry and give me surgery to make me look like her. I want to replace her and become Mrs. Jacobson!"

She was practically trembling with anticipation.

My sister already bore a 70% resemblance to Mrs. Jacobson. Every time she saw headlines of Wallace showering his wife with luxury, she’d scowl and mutter bitterly, “We look almost the same. Why is she living in a mansion while I’m crammed into a subway with a bunch of losers?”

In my past life, I thought she was just venting.

I had no idea she was planning a real kidnapping.

After the crime, she came straight to me, demanding I reshape her into Mrs. Jacobson’s mirror image. She said it like she was asking for a manicure. Like it was reasonable.

I was stunned by her madness.

I tried to explain: even if she looked like Mrs. Jacobson, their personalities, habits, even the way they walked—everything was different. Wallace wasn’t a fool. He would find out.

And when he did, he would destroy her.

He was infamous for his cruelty, especially when it came to his wife. Rumor had it, once Mrs. Jacobson ate something spicy and coughed—the next day, the chef’s teeth were all pulled out and he was soaked in chili water for three days.

Another time, she caught a cold, and Wallace personally dragged all the nannies into a freezer, furious that they hadn't protected her better.

If he ever learned someone dared kidnap and impersonate his wife…

My sister nodded as if she understood, praised me for my "reason."

Then she butchered my face that night.

And now, reborn with the knowledge of her betrayal, I agreed to her request without hesitation.

I arranged her surgery at the clinic where I worked. As we prepped the operating room, every news channel was broadcasting the same thing:

“Mrs. Jacobson has disappeared. A two million dollar reward has been offered for information.”

“Wallace has issued a chilling warning: Anyone who dares touch his wife will wish they were never born.”

The whole city was in a frenzy. Some were terrified. Others were tempted by the reward.

Yet my sister sat there, calm as ever.

I glanced at her, unable to hold back my unease. "Aren’t you afraid Mrs. Jacobson will be rescued? If she is, she’ll expose everything."

My sister smirked. “She won’t say a word. Trust me.”

My hand froze mid-disinfection.

Something in her tone told me everything I needed to know—Mrs. Jacobson wasn’t just kidnapped.

She was in danger. Real danger.

I never imagined my sister would go this far, just to live a life of luxury.

"Why are you zoning out?" she snapped. "Hurry up and start the operation!"

Then she smiled cruelly. "When I become Mrs. Jacobson, I’ll reward you with a job as my nanny. That’s good enough for someone like you, right? You’ll be able to brag about it to your little friends for years.”

I looked down at her face, calm and expectant.

And I smiled.

She had no idea what was coming.

As if already living the dream of being the wife of the richest man, the corners of my sister’s mouth curled upward in triumph. I didn’t hesitate any longer—I sedated her quickly and began the operation.

My dear sister. Since you’re so eager to die, I’ll grant your wish.

She bore an uncanny resemblance to Mrs. Jacobson—same build, same facial features. The surgery was straightforward. Just a few delicate tweaks, and she looked exactly like her.

After the procedure, we returned home together. The moment we stepped through the door, my mother gasped in delight and rushed to my sister’s side.

“So alike... so alike! I always knew my Mary was born to be a rich man’s wife!”

She shoved me aside like I was nothing, her eyes glued to my sister’s face, as if she were admiring a priceless artifact.

My father shot me a look of disgust, then turned to Mary, grinning from ear to ear. “Mary, you’re identical to Mrs. Jacobson now. Later, we’ll call Wallace and tell him we’ve found you. Once you take her place, we’ll receive tens of millions in reward!”

His eyes gleamed with excitement, lips trembling with joy. My parents had always believed Mary was destined for wealth and privilege. Since childhood, she was treated like a precious jewel—fed the finest food, dressed in luxury, showered with everything she desired.

And me? I lived on her leftovers.

In my past life, after my sister murdered me, my parents didn’t even flinch. They cremated me without a second thought and covered up the truth by claiming I committed suicide.

I thought they were merely biased. I never expected them to be this monstrous—helping her do something so despicable.

I looked at their greedy, deluded faces and couldn’t help but speak. “Do you really think it’s that easy to deceive the richest man? That a pretty face alone can fool him? Chase money blindly, and you’ll end up losing more than you bargained for—maybe even your lives.”

My mother slapped me hard across the face.

“Who are you trying to scare, you useless coward? You’re just jealous we’ll be living the high life while you rot in that pathetic little hospital of yours!”

She sneered. “What have you even accomplished in your miserable life? The only good thing you’ve done is give your sister a new face. Honestly, raising a dog would’ve been more worthwhile than raising you!”

My father scoffed and added with contempt, “You’re destined to be poor forever. Worthless. When Mary becomes Mrs. Jacobson, the entire Jacobson Group will be ours!”

Mary gave me a cold glance and said mockingly, “Some people are just bitter nobodies who know nothing but how to envy others.”

Then she smirked. “Did you really think I wouldn’t be ready for this?”

She strode into her room and came out wearing a limited-edition Hermès dress, its scent rich with high-end perfume. It didn’t take a genius to realize it had once belonged to Mrs. Jacobson.

My mother practically circled her, eyes glowing. “Now that she’s dressed up, she looks even more refined. That aura—it’s like she is Mrs. Jacobson!”

My father nodded with pride. “That woman just got lucky. Our Mary is smarter, more deserving. Once she replaces her, the richest man will fall even harder in love.”

To them, it was as if Mary had already stepped into the shoes of Mrs. Jacobson. They laughed wildly, drunk on delusion.

I could only shake my head.

Mary turned to me, lips curling into a smug smirk. Then, in a voice chillingly identical to Mrs. Jacobson’s, she spoke:

"I've been studying her every day—her posts, her photos, her routines. I know what she eats, how she smiles, even the way she breathes."

"From this moment on, I am the only Mrs. Jacobson in this world."

"You’ll always be beneath me—out of reach."

Her performance was eerie—flawless, even. And that only made the scene more grotesque.

My mother clapped her hands with delight, eyes shining with pride.

"Our Mary is amazing! She can mimic anyone! Even the voice—it's exactly like hers!"

My father nodded in agreement.

"That tone, that attitude—it’s spot on! Like Mrs. Jacobson herself is standing here!"

They were bursting with pride and ambition, completely intoxicated by their twisted fantasy.

But to me, they looked utterly insane.

Did they really believe this would work? That Wallace—a man known for his obsession with his wife—wouldn’t notice something was off? He knew her every expression, every inflection, every breath. My sister's cheap imitation wouldn't fool him for a second.

And yet, they continued rehearsing their grand deception.

Mary turned to them and instructed calmly, like a director briefing her actors:

"Later, call the bounty hotline. Say you found me unconscious on the roadside and brought me home out of kindness. When the time comes, I’ll thank you personally, and Wallace’s ten million will be in your hands."

My mother’s grin stretched ear to ear.

"Don’t worry, we’ll act our hearts out."

She turned to Mary with pride swelling in her voice.

"My brilliant daughter, one move and you’ve made us millionaires!"

Mary arrogantly lifted her chin.

"From now on, call me Mrs. Jacobson."

Without hesitation, my mother bowed slightly, as if greeting royalty.

"Yes, Mrs. Jacobson. Our future depends on you."

Even my father, usually reserved, was practically trembling with excitement. He wiped his hands on his pants before dialing the number on the reward poster. With a composed voice, he gave them our address, just as rehearsed.

When he hung up, the house burst into excitement. My parents began fantasizing about mansions, cars, and lavish dinners.

I watched them, my face cold.

They had no idea the hell they were summoning.

In the eyes of someone like Wallace, they were nothing but ants trying to impersonate a god. Once he uncovered the truth—and he would—their fates would be far worse than they imagined.

I had already died once because of them. I would not let them drag me down again.

While their backs were turned, I quietly packed my things. My only goal: get out before the storm broke.

Just as I reached for the door handle, my father stepped in front of me.

"Where do you think you’re going?"

I forced a steady voice.

"The hospital sent me on a business trip. I have a flight to catch."

Mary’s gaze locked onto me, cold and sharp. She sneered.

"Sister, you’re not thinking of betraying me, are you?"

Before I could answer, my mother lunged forward and gripped my arm, her nails digging into my skin.

"You ungrateful wretch!" she hissed. "If you dare say a word, I’ll kill you myself!"

She raised her hand to strike me.

But before it fell—a knock at the door.