At my 20th birthday banquet, I am to sign and receive the ten-billion-dollar inheritance left to me by my mother.

My half-sister, Samantha Hatfield, and Howard Daley, her husband, who is also a secretary, eagerly urge me to sign the document.

In my previous life, they trick me into signing the very same agreement, and the inheritance somehow becomes theirs.

When I try to fight back, no one listens to me. Together, they have me confined to a sanatorium, where I spend the rest of my life drugged, imprisoned, and forgotten.

But this time, their scheme is going to fail—I have returned with memories of what happens from the past life.

Under their confident, expectant gazes, I pick up the pen. However, I do not pick it up to sign.

I raise my hand and slash the pen's tip across Howard's face.

As he lets out a terrified scream, I tear the agreement into pieces in front of all the guests and hurl the paper scraps at them.

I say coldly, "My mother left all this to me. What makes you two heartless parasites think you're worthy of laying even one finger on it?"

Blood trickled down Howard's cheek and dripped onto his expensive bespoke suit.

Everyone stared at us in shock. The reporters were the first to react, and camera flashes went off one after another.

Samantha finally snapped out of it and shoved me violently aside, shielding Howard behind her.

"Glenn Hatfield, have you lost your mind? Do you have any idea what you just tore up?"

I looked at her coldly and dropped the pen, its nib now stained with blood, onto the floor. It made a sharp clattering sound.

"Of course, I know." I swept my gaze around the room, my eyes finally settling on the faces of the board members and shareholders, who were caught between shock and suspicion.

They were the foundation of Hatfield Group and also the force I needed to win over today.

"What I tore up was an indentured contract, one that tried to 'gift' everything my mother left me to Samantha."

From the flurry of paper shreds, I picked up the largest fragment and held it high. The word "gift" was crystal clear under the lights.

"I barely had time to go through my mother's inheritance, and you already want me to hand it over on a silver platter? Samantha, Howard, you're even more shameless than I thought."

A collective uproar erupted from the crowd.

How did the inheritance document turn into a gift agreement?

Samantha's face went deathly pale. She hadn't expected that I'd be able to uncover the contract she'd buried under layers of deception.

But Howard's reaction was lightning fast.

I had underestimated him, a man who had clawed his way up from the bottom and would stop at nothing to latch onto a wealthy family.

His eyes instantly reddened. Biting down on the agony, he still stood tall, his back straight as ever. He didn't turn his blood-streaked face toward me but toward the countless dark, gaping media lenses below the stage.

In a voice thick with suppressed hurt and shock, he said, "Glenn, I know you've always looked down on my background and felt I wasn't good enough for Samantha, but how can you slander us like this?"

At this point, he cast me a pained look. Then, he pressed his hand against his wound and drew a deep breath, as if struggling to contain his emotions.

"We were only trying to help you. Mom left the company to you, and we were afraid you'd be overwhelmed, so we wanted to share some of the burden. What did we do that was so wrong?"

Samantha immediately caught on. She shielded him tightly behind her and cast me a pained, conflicted look. Seizing the opportunity, she put on the act of a heartbroken elder sister in front of the media.

"We were left with no choice but to resort to this. Yes, our mother left everything to Glenn, but his mental state has long been highly unstable. And he has serious violent outbursts, as I'm sure everyone here just saw for themselves.

"How can a man like that run such a conglomerate? Normally, we wouldn't air our family's dirty laundry in public, but we simply couldn't bring ourselves to disregard the interests of all our shareholders."

Samantha delivered her speech about my mental instability and violent tendencies with impassioned, self-righteous conviction. In an instant, public opinion shifted once again.

The scrutiny on the board members' faces reverted to hesitation and doubt. The way they looked at me now was filled with uncertainty. After all, an heir prone to emotional outbursts was indeed a grave risk to the entire conglomerate.

"Mental instability?" I couldn't help but chuckle.

Samantha frowned when she saw that, instead of panicking, I actually let out a laugh.

I walked straight up to her. Then, under her stunned gaze, I reached into the clutch she was carrying and pulled out the second document she had prepared.

It was a "Property Custodianship Application" that had long since been drawn up by a law firm she had already engaged.

In my previous life, after I discovered that all the shares had been transferred, I had tried to fight back.

But it was precisely with this document that Samantha, together with several board members she had bought off, successfully placed all the shares and assets under my name into custodianship on the grounds of my supposedly unstable mental state.

I held it up high, showing it to everyone.

"After I refuse to give her the inheritance, the next step is to use my so-called emotional outbursts to apply to the board for custodianship of all my assets."

I scanned the faces in the room one by one. "Does anyone here actually think I've shown any sign of emotional instability?"

Some people began to hesitate and started recalling my behavior just moments ago, murmuring among themselves.

"Now that he mentioned it, he didn't really seem emotionally out of control. In fact, he was actually speaking quite calmly."

"But his slashing someone with a pen was pretty terrifying."

"True, but his reasoning was perfectly clear."

Samantha was stunned. She had no idea how I could possibly know her plan inside and out.

The universe gave me a second chance at life so I could come back and settle the score with Samantha and Howard.

But her panic lasted only a fleeting moment before she resumed her performance. She looked at me helplessly and said, "Glenn, if you hadn't beaten Howard so many times before, I wouldn't have been worried about you to this extent.

"I know Mom's death hit you very hard, and you can't accept the fact that you're ill. But everything's going to be okay. Let's just get you properly treated. With all the shareholders here as witnesses, I promise to return everything to you once you're all better."

With that, she looked toward the corner of the room.

A man in his 50s calmly walked up onto the stage.

Someone in the audience immediately recognized him.

"It's Dr. Griffin!"

"The leading authority from the psychiatric department at Union Hospital?"

Samantha was extremely pleased with the crowd's reaction. She affectionately took Dr. Griffin by the arm and introduced him to everyone.

"Dr. Jerome Griffin is the country's leading authority in the field of psychiatry and is also Glenn's attending physician. Glenn is in such a poor state that I had no choice but to ask Dr. Griffin to accompany us to such an occasion. While we're at it, perhaps Dr. Griffin can back me up on this."

Dr. Griffin pushed his gold-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose and looked at me with the kind of pained regret a doctor reserved for a troubled patient.

He let out a sigh and picked up the microphone. "Distinguished guests and members of the media, as Mr. Hatfield's attending physician for the past two years, it pains me deeply, but I am compelled to speak the truth at this moment.

"Mr. Hatfield does indeed suffer from episodic affective disorder. This condition causes extreme emotional instability, characterized by alternating bouts of depression and mania.

"According to my most recent diagnosis, Mr. Hatfield's condition is showing signs of worsening, and he has even begun to exhibit marked antisocial and violent tendencies."

He shook his head sorrowfully and delivered his final conclusion.

"From a professional standpoint, I strongly advise against exposing Mr. Hatfield to any further significant stressors, and I do not recommend that he manage complex business affairs such as those of Hatfield Group. This would be extremely dangerous, both for himself and for the conglomerate."

The room erupted into complete chaos.

Samantha had produced a witness—and not just any witness, but a titan in the field, an undisputed authority!

If everyone had been only half-convinced before, now Dr. Griffin's words were tantamount to a final verdict.

I saw the faces of the board members below grow exceedingly grim.

With this, the most unimpeachable voice in the field had categorically and permanently cemented my reputation as a lunatic.

"It turns out Mr. Hatfield is really sick. No wonder he's so crazy!"

"His attending physician of two years has spoken—there's no denying it now."

"All that youth and good looks, and he's insane. Such a shame."

"What's there to feel sorry about? Just because he's crazy, does that mean he shouldn't be held accountable for hurting people? If anything, Howard's the one who deserves our sympathy."

My assistant, Norman Lowry, was growing agitated behind me.

He patted me on the shoulder, his expression panicked. "Mr. Hatfield, we didn't seem to have prepared for this."

No, we hadn't.

This was the same ploy that took me down in my previous life.

After discovering that Samantha and Howard had swindled away all my inheritance, I had indeed broken down emotionally. However, it was nowhere near the point of being diagnosed with a mental illness.

Yet, it was precisely that breakdown that Samantha exploited to set up such an elaborate trap.

When Dr. Griffin produced that forged, dozens-of-pages-long "medical record", I had no words to defend myself.

All my resistance and screaming were effortlessly dismissed as nothing more than the ravings of someone having an episode.

In the end, they used a single psychiatric evaluation to legally strip me of everything.

But this time, things were different.

I drew a deep breath, suppressing the roaring thirst for revenge in my chest. This was it—the moment everything hinged on.

I fixed my gaze on the sanctimonious Dr. Griffin and said calmly, "Dr. Griffin."

Dr. Griffin raised his eyes to look at me, still wearing that mask of pity and compassion.

"Mr. Hatfield, I understand this is very difficult for you to accept right now, but the fact is—"

I cut him off with a smile. "You said you've been my attending physician for two years. Then surely, you can tell me when our last session was."

Dr. Griffin hadn't expected me to ask that, but he went along with the fabricated report nonetheless.

"It was a week ago." He then added, "Memory confusion is common after episodes of this illness, so it's perfectly normal that you don't remember."

I kept smiling. "In that case, you must recall when I scraped my arm on the rigging during a sailing trip two weeks ago, right?"

At this question, Dr. Griffin visibly froze. He looked to Samantha for help, but she was equally bewildered. Two weeks ago, I hadn't even been here, so she had no idea about any sailing injury.

Staring at my long-sleeved dress shirt, Dr. Griffin had no choice but to bluff his way through.

"Ah, of course. Are you feeling better now?"

My smile deepened, and I raised both hands.

Norman immediately caught on. He carefully unfastened the diamond cufflinks from my sleeves and slowly rolled my shirt cuffs up to my elbows.

Under the lights, the skin of my arms was smooth, the muscle lines lean and flawless.

"I've never gone sailing in my life, because I get seasick." My voice reverberated through the silent hall. "And I've never been injured. Dr. Griffin, you answered with such certainty just now, so why is it that you're the one looking like the person with memory confusion?"

Dr. Griffin sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes filled with utter panic.

"How credible can a diagnosis possibly be from an attending physician who knows nothing about his patient's most basic preferences or physical condition?"

With a courteous smile fixed on my face, I stared him down. Then, as the last word fell, my voice shot up abruptly.

"It seems to me you've forgotten how when your precious son lost three million dollars gambling in Averham last year and got held hostage with the threat of having his hands chopped off, it was Samantha who helped you settle the debt."