Rachel White was caught cheating by her husband, David Smith, right at the entrance of a hotel.

In a panic, she called me, begging me to help distract David.

Later, her lover used secretly taken photos of their affair to blackmail her for a huge sum of money.

She hid it from David, selling off valuables at home and even embezzling money from his company.

When David found out, he was furious.

But Rachel blamed everything on me—claiming I was jealous that she had married a good husband, saying I had hired someone to ruin her reputation and then used the photos to extort her.

Enraged, David broke my arms and legs, stuffed me in a sack, and threw me into the Hudson River to drown.

In the blink of an eye, I was reborn—back to the very day Rachel had her affair.

I sat dazed on the living room sofa, staring blankly at the familiar decor.

The memory of suffocating pain, my limbs broken before being thrown into the river, still made my heart tremble.

Most of all, I could never forget David’s twisted expression and Rachel’s smug smile before I died. The hatred burned deep.

Now that I had been given a second chance, I would never let the same tragedy happen again.

Just then, Rachel called.

She casually said, “Bestie, I’m not coming home tonight. If my husband asks, just tell him I’m with you.”

I replied flatly, “Off to another hotel with your boy toy again?”

Rachel chuckled smugly. “That’s right. I’ve been holding back for days. Tonight, I’m going to let loose.”

I showed my disgust and deliberately asked, “Aren’t you afraid David will find out you’re keeping a man on the side? You know his temper—if this ever gets out, he’ll lose his mind.”

Irritated, Rachel shot back, “He’s sneaking around with that slutty secretary of his. Why should I play the faithful wife while he fools around? Not only am I keeping a man, I’m going to have his baby. When David’s old, I’ll tell him the truth—that the child he raised so carefully isn’t even his. Don’t you think that’ll kill him with rage?”

Her words dripped with venom.

Recently, Rachel had discovered evidence of David’s affair with his secretary. She dragged me to his company to cause a scene.

She thought David would apologize and admit his mistake. Instead, he slapped her across the face in front of everyone.

“Everything you eat, drink, and wear comes from me,” he scolded. “What more do you want? Even if I have a few women outside, what can you do? Don’t forget—we signed a prenup. If you dare divorce me, you won’t get a single penny.”

David even cut off Rachel’s credit card, leaving her desperate.

That night, she knelt by his bed, crying pitifully, blaming me for encouraging her to confront him.

In the end, David forgave her—but from then on, he resented me.

And so, to take revenge on him, Rachel secretly found herself a boy toy.

To put it bluntly, both of them were trash.

After hanging up, I opened the recording I had just secretly made of our call and smiled with satisfaction.

In my previous life, Rachel had ruined me completely.

Now that I was reborn, this phone recording was my key evidence.

A few minutes later, my phone rang again.

This time, it was David.

I sneered and picked up.

The moment the line connected, his furious roar blasted through:

“Grace Miller, where the hell did you take my wife this time?”

“I’m warning you—if you dare take her to those filthy places again, if you dare drive a wedge between us, I won’t spare you!”

Before he could continue, I cut him off coldly:

“Your wife isn’t a child who needs babysitting, and I’m not your family’s nanny. If you can’t find her, that’s your problem, not mine.”

And I hung up without hesitation.

In my last life, I had helped Rachel cover for her, but instead of being grateful, she slandered me. That led to my miserable death.

This time, I wouldn’t be foolish enough to jump into that cesspool again.

But I knew one thing: if David ever caught Rachel in the act, she would definitely play the fragile innocent, and once again dump all the blame on me.

And David—petty and vengeful—still hated me for going with Rachel to cause a scene at his company. He was convinced I had egged her on.

So when the time came, he would almost certainly take out his rage on me.

I had to be ready.

Around six in the evening, as I was packing a suitcase, my husband Eric Johnson came home from work.

He looked puzzled. “Honey, why are you pulling out the suitcase?”

I shot him a look of disgust and said nothing.

In my past life, when Rachel slandered me and I had no way to defend myself, I thought Eric was my one pillar of support.

But he sided with Rachel, scolding me as a vicious, deceitful woman, saying he regretted marrying me, and even forcing me to sign divorce papers in public.

This man who once swore he loved me had abandoned me without hesitation—because David was his company’s biggest client, his golden goose.

And worst of all, before I died, I discovered the truth: Eric had been secretly meeting Rachel at hotels many times.

I once adored him.

Now, when I looked at him, all I saw was filth.

Eric didn’t notice the hatred in my eyes. Frowning, he asked, “Honey, what’s wrong? Who upset you this time?”

Before I could answer, my phone rang again.

It was Rachel.

I answered right in front of Eric.

Her panicked, angry voice burst out:

“Grace, I told you to stall David! What the hell are you doing?”

“He’s already here at the Holiday Inn with people to catch me. If he finds me in bed with someone, I’m finished! You’d better think of a way to draw him off, now!”

I said coldly, “Not my problem.”

And hung up.

Eric was stunned.

When he snapped out of it, Eric turned to me in shock.

“Honey, what are you doing? Rachel’s your best friend—how can you just let her walk into disaster?”

“You know David’s temper. If he catches her in bed with someone, she’s finished—don’t you…”

I cut him off, voice icy:

“You seem awfully concerned about Rachel.”

His expression turned awkward. “I’m not worried about her. I just think—you two are so close. Sure, what she did was wrong, but we can’t just stand by and watch her crash and burn, right?”

He was frantic—whether for Rachel, or because he feared David would take his anger out on us and cut ties with him, I didn’t know.

I sneered inwardly. “If you want to help her, you’d better go now. You heard where she is—Holiday Inn, not far from here. Don’t go to the wrong place.”

Seeing I was determined not to intervene, Eric sighed helplessly and rushed out the door.

I finished packing, then waited quietly at home.

Around seven, the front door was kicked open violently.

David stormed in with a dozen thugs.

Behind them trailed Rachel, weeping, and Eric, his face dark.

David’s eyes blazed with fury. He strode over and slapped me across the face.

“You filthy bitch!” he roared. “How dare you set up my wife! I’m going to kill you today.”

He knocked me to the floor, then kicked me several times.

Crying out in pain, I shouted, “I didn’t frame her, it was she—”

Before I could finish, Rachel lunged at me, slapping me hard across the face, sobbing with fake indignation.

“Grace, I must have been blind to ever call you a friend! I treated you like a sister, always cared for you, and you—jealous of my husband—you drugged my drink, had me humiliated, and even recorded it! Do you even have a conscience?”

“If it weren’t for my husband trusting me, I’d never wash away the shame!”

“Our friendship ends here. From now on, we’re nothing.”

Eric rushed over then, kicking me too, glaring at me in fury.

“Grace, I never imagined you’d be this kind of person! You fooled me so well. If I had known what a vicious woman you were, I’d never have married you. I want a divorce—you don’t deserve to be my wife!”

I stared at their hypocrisy through the pain, grinding my teeth.

“I’m innocent!” I shouted.

David slapped me again, yanking me up by the hair.

“Innocent?” he snarled. “Your husband and your best friend are both accusing you. Do you really think anyone will believe you? Still playing tough? You’re just a worthless bitch.”

“Killing you outright would be too easy. I’ll destroy your name, make you the rat everyone spits on.”