I cancelled all my business events and shut myself inside the house. Still, the spots on my face darkened, my hair thinned, and wrinkles covered my skin. Worse still, weakness and blurred vision forced me to go to the hospital.

After studying my test results, the doctor told me I was aging unusually fast, had early signs of diabetes, and had developed presbyopia. "Your condition is extremely rare, Ms. Hawthorne. We'll need to run more tests."

Deep down, I knew that no amount of tests could help if I didn't tackle the real problem. My prolonged absence sparked rumors in high society. Word spread that the CEO of Hawthorne Group might have contracted some strange disease.

Meanwhile, Mirabelle's account gained over 100 thousand followers as she visibly looked younger every day. In her livestream, she wore yoga clothes and no makeup. Her skin looked fair and luminous, her figure flawless, and she appeared more than ten years younger than before.

"This is insane, Mirabelle! How on earth did you do it?"

"At this rate, she'll look like she's in her 20s in less than a month!"

"Why are you still calling her Mirabelle? She's Belle now. In a few more days, she'll look even younger than you!"

Mirabelle read the comments with a triumphant smile, swaying her hips as she thanked them.

I, on the other hand, watched in horror as worm-like stretch marks appeared across my abdomen and thighs. The very next second, clumps of hair slid off my head and landed on my shoulders.

Just then, bits flooded Mirabelle's livestream. "Thank you so much! How did I do it? The good energy here must've rubbed off on me."

I stared at the brittle bundle of hair in my hands and felt something inside me snap. I couldn't take it anymore. I stormed into Mirabelle's room like a madwoman, seized her arm, and demanded, "Spit it out! What did you do to shift all of your problems onto me?"

Mirabelle's scream drew Marcus to her room.

He took one look at me and scowled in disgust, yanking me away from her. "What the hell are you doing? Look at what you've become!"

"Marcus, take a good look at me and then at her. She's only been here for two weeks! Don't you think something's off?"

Marcus glanced at Mirabelle. Her skin was creamy, her sports tank revealing a taut, sculpted abdomen, and her long legs perfectly shaped by the cling of yoga pants. A flicker of admiration crossed his eyes.

I sneered inwardly when I noticed that. Sure enough, a leopard couldn't change its spots.

Mirabelle abruptly dropped to her knees and sobbed, "Mr. Pembroke, I take care of the cleaning, groceries, and cooking every day and have never made a mistake.

"I genuinely have no idea what's come to Mrs. Pembroke. It's not my fault she's getting heavier or losing her looks!"

Looking up at me with teary eyes, she continued, "Mrs. Pembroke, are you lashing out at me because you're stressed? It's alright, though. I know we housekeepers are just your punching bags."

After hearing that, Marcus shoved me to the floor in disgust. "Look at you. You don't look anything like the lady of the house anymore. In fact, you look worse than a housekeeper!"

The color drained from my face.

Even though our marriage was arranged by our families, we'd known each other since childhood and were practically childhood sweethearts. On our wedding day, he'd vowed before everyone that no matter what happened, he would stand by me.

I gazed at him, recognizing the exact same disgust that had marked his face in my previous life. I warned, "Think carefully, Marcus. Are you sure you want to make an enemy of me for a woman like that?"

Our families were bound by mutual interests. Marcus fell silent, clearly aware of the stakes.

Mirabelle abruptly sprang to her feet and wept, "Mrs. Pembroke, since you can't stand the sight of me, I'll resign and leave this instant! I'll never show my face in front of you again. Happy now?"

She bolted out in tears, and an inexplicable fear gripped my chest.

In my previous life, I began to age at lightning speed soon after I fired Mirabelle. To be honest, it puzzled me. Mirabelle was only in her 40s, yet I ended up looking like I was in my 60s or 70s. Why was that?

I had only just swallowed my fear when something horrifying struck. All of a sudden, I felt a foreign object in my mouth. When I spat it out, I found two of my teeth lying in my palm.

At that moment, I no longer cared about anything else. I hurriedly texted Mirabelle, asking her to come back.

…

Mirabelle had settled down somewhere and was still live-streaming. The scene of me barging into her room earlier had been broadcast live, and now thousands of viewers were pouring into her stream.

"You latecomers just missed it, but the heiress of the Hawthorne family went ballistic over her housekeeper's glow-up."

"Are you sure that was Rosetta? She looked nothing like her; she looked more like a middle-aged woman who'd let herself go."

Mirabelle received my message and flashed it to the camera with a smug grin. "See that? My employer is begging me to come back."

Her words sparked a flood of comments.

"Don't go back, Belle. I'll send you more bits. We don't need that measly paycheck anyway!"

"That employer of yours sounds unstable. For your own safety, stay away!"

Mirabelle preened at the camera. "Hear that, Mrs. Pembroke? Everyone's worried about me and telling me not to go back. If you want to know how I became prettier and younger, beg me for it!

"Maybe then I'll tell you. Didn't you say you'd pay any price?" So, she'd known all along that I was watching her stream. My heart sank.

Recalling the information my assistant had uncovered, I sent her a message. "You're from Montsrutt, right? You never worked at the Larkspur residence.

"I heard your husband died under suspicious circumstances. Shall I keep digging?"

Without the slightest change in expression, she read my message and sighed at the camera. "There my employer goes again, begging me to come back. It looks like she really can't do without me. I suppose I'll take pity on her and go back tomorrow."

When I heard that, I clenched my fists, yet I also felt strangely relieved.

…

However, the following day, moans drifted from the master bedroom next door. Swallowing my revulsion, I walked to the door.

The sight inside struck me like a bolt out of the blue. The woman lying beneath Marcus with a look of pure bliss was none other than Mirabelle, looking younger than ever. The gown I'd commissioned for Pembroke Group's anniversary celebration lay torn to shreds on the floor, along with used condoms.

It was no wonder my best friend had messaged me, asking where I was and why Marcus had shown up at the banquet with another woman.

Mirabelle met my eyes and smiled sweetly. "Mrs. Pembroke, I'm Isabelle, Mirabelle's daughter. My mother went back to her hometown and asked me to cover for her for a few days."

Marcus, on the other hand, hurled the glass of water from the nightstand at me. "Who said you could come in? Get out!

"I've already arranged a room for you in a nursing home. You're moving in first thing tomorrow."

He slammed the door in my face. Through the crack, I caught a glimpse of Mirabelle's face twisted with malice and delight. A sharp ache gripped my chest, and I slowly sank to the floor.

In the depths of my despair, I noticed my best friend running toward me. The necklace around her neck swung before my eyes and reminded me of something. My eyes widened, and I urged, "Cecil, quick, get me out of here!"

"Alright, let's get you to the hospital!"

"No, not the hospital. Take me to the place we went last month!"

…

The following day, I clicked on Mirabelle's livestream as if nothing had happened and watched as she clasped my diamond necklace around her neck. "Isn't it beautiful? Mr. Pembroke gave it to me as a birthday present!"

All of a sudden, she let out a shrill scream and then stopped. However, I caught it clearly: a dark spot had suddenly appeared on her porcelain skin. I let out a long, heavy breath of relief.