The year I hungered most for love, I leapt from the 18th floor, my body shattering beneath Lysander Crawford’s lifeless gaze. Blood stained the pavement, but he didn’t even flinch.

With chilling calmness, he called the police, the ambulance, and my parents.

The dramatic, tear-soaked family breakdown I had once imagined never came.

When they saw my mangled corpse, my father’s brows finally loosened, my mother exhaled a long, relieved sigh, and even my bitter older brother let out a laugh.

Only when Belle Gomez arrived did a flicker of panic spread across their faces.

Lysander shielded her eyes and said coldly, “It’s dirty. Don’t look.”

My brother quickly stepped in front of her, his voice gentle. “Belle, her death has nothing to do with you. Don’t waste your sorrow on someone like her.”

Even my parents joined in to comfort her. “Belle, your birthday’s tomorrow. Let’s throw you a grand party, alright?”

Their blind favoritism toward Belle turned my death into nothing more than a joke.

In that moment, regret came crashing in.

If I had the chance to do it all over again, I would never yearn for their love.

A gust of wind swept past me, and when I opened my eyes again, I was back on the very day I’d been taken home by the Gomez family.

——

The day I died, the sun burned mercilessly, so bright it hurt even to keep your eyes open.

Yet I saw Lysander’s expression with chilling clarity.

Eighteen floors above, Lysander stood, that familiar mocking smile playing on his lips.

He was laughing.

Laughing at my desperation, my foolishness. At how I still thought I had a place in his world.

Even from that distance, I could read his lips. “Jeanne, stop dreaming. I will never marry you.”

I clenched the report in my hand, knuckles turning white.

At the hospital today, the doctor gave me both good and bad news.

The good news? That one absurd night with Lysander had somehow resulted in a miracle. I was pregnant.

The bad news? Late-stage pancreatic cancer.

I didn’t curse fate, nor did I cry. I simply looked at Lysander and asked, calmly, “Can you give me a wedding, just to make up for it?”

Lysander’s refined brows tightened, his face twisted with disdain. “Jeanne, do you think you’re worthy?”

I didn’t know the answer.

Lysander and I had been engaged since birth, an arranged promise made long ago.

But everything changed the day I was born. Someone switched me with Belle.

And from that moment on, I became the poor girl raised in the mountains, while Belle took my place as the Gomez family’s beloved daughter.

When I was brought back to the Gomez family at eighteen, Lysander was the only one who showed me kindness.

I couldn’t help falling for him.

But I always knew, the girl he had protected for eighteen years was never me. So even in my dreams, I never dared to hope.

Until I turned twenty-two, and Lysander’s grandfather passed away.

Before his death, he left behind a will. Lysander could only inherit the company if he married me. And so, we registered our marriage.

There was no wedding, no blessings. Yet I still felt lucky beyond words.

Lysander gave me the title of Mrs. Crawford.

He brought me to banquets, appeared with me in interviews, and outsiders saw us as the perfect couple.

But behind closed doors, he never touched me. Not even a smile.

Three years slipped by in the blink of an eye.

Once, Lysander took me to a banquet, and someone had spiked his drink. And as his wife, I was naturally the one pushed into the room with him.

One absurd night.

The next morning, when Lysander woke and saw the bruises scattered across my skin, there wasn’t a trace of pity in his eyes.

Instead, he looked at me with cold disgust. “Jeanne, you’re disgusting.”

I parted my lips, just about to explain, but his phone rang.

The moment he saw the caller ID, the hostility in his eyes softened into something gentle.

“Hello, Belle? You’re back from your trip? I’ll come pick you up at the airport.”

After hanging up, he dressed in haste. Even while tying his tie, he didn’t forget to throw a warning at me.

“Jeanne, it’s one thing for you to stoop to such cheap tricks, but if you ever try anything like this with Belle, I’ll make sure you learn what it means to live a fate worse than death.”

I wanted to cry, but no tears came, only a crushing, endless exhaustion.

And today, that exhaustion finally drowned me.

Staring at Lysander’s cold, distant figure standing below, I closed my eyes and jumped without hesitation.

With a sharp crash, my body met the ground.

My body hit the ground, bounced once, then crumpled again, limbs twisted, skull shattered, blood pooling in every direction.

It was so horrific, even the birds overhead seemed to wail in mourning.

But Lysander, he didn’t so much as blink.

With chilling calmness, he called the police, the ambulance, and informed my parents.

And I thought, maybe this was for the best. Maybe in death, they would finally love me.

But heaven never granted me that wish.

The first to arrive was my father. He froze when he saw my broken form. His brows furrowed, then instantly relaxed when he heard I was already gone.

“So Jeanne’s really dead. I suppose that’s for the best. We didn’t treat her badly while she was alive, but she was always unhappy.”

My mother came next. By then, a white sheet had been pulled over my body.

She took one glance, shut her eyes as if startled, but then let out a breath of relief.

“Jeanne was too sensitive,” she whispered to my father. “Her death might be a relief. For her… and for us.”

The third to arrive was my older brother.

Watching them zip my broken body into a black body bag, he let out a cold laugh.

“Jeanne, I told you, someone as weak as you was never worthy of being part of this family.”

The last to appear was Belle.

She hadn’t even reached me when Lysander pulled her into his arms, gently shielding her eyes.

“Belle, it’s filthy. Don’t look.”

Belle shoved him away, tears streaming down her face.

“Lysander, how could you say that about my sister? She died because of me; it’s my fault. I killed her!”

My brother quickly stepped forward, his tone coaxing.

“Belle, her death has nothing to do with you. Don’t waste your tears on someone like her.”

Then my parents joined in, their voices tender and doting.

“Belle, tomorrow is your birthday. Let’s throw you a beautiful party, alright?”

One honeyed word after another, they coaxed Belle into smiling again, her face glowing like nothing had happened.

No one spared a glance at my bloodied, lifeless body as the entire family walked away, cheerful and united.

When they got into the car, Belle turned back and looked in my direction, her eyes gleaming with the pride of a victor.

I wanted to run after them, to scream, did any of you remember that tomorrow was my birthday too?

But my soul was frozen, trapped in that very spot, unable to move, unable to leave.

And in that moment, regret struck hard.

If I had the chance to start over, I wouldn’t waste a single tear on them.

I would love myself with everything I had.

In a daze, I heard the chime of midnight strike twelve.

A soft breeze brushed gently across my cheek, like a whisper from fate.

When I opened my eyes, I was stunned to find myself back on the very day I had been brought home to the Gomez family.

I wore a faded plaid shirt and worn jeans, standing alone on a dusty country road as the driver loaded my few pitiful belongings into the trunk.

His familiar face made my heart stutter, and for a moment, I couldn’t tell what was real.

In my past life, when I first saw him, I had nervously asked if he was my father.

He had stared at me in stunned silence before finally telling me the truth.

My parents and older brother had all flown to the Maldives, celebrating Belle’s coming-of-age ceremony.

From that moment on, I knew I was never welcome in this family.

So I walked on eggshells, shrinking myself in every way just to please them.

But love that never existed would never grow. In their eyes, my obedience was nothing but weakness. My efforts were worthless.

In this life, I would never make the same mistake again.

When we arrived at the villa, the driver gently woke me from sleep, and a servant stepped forward to carry my luggage.

At the sight of my worn-out suitcase, someone snickered and muttered under their breath, “Country bumpkin.”

It had been the same in my past life. Back then, I pretended not to hear, choosing instead to bury myself in etiquette books, working tirelessly to prove I belonged.

But this time, I didn’t look away. I called for the housekeeper and calmly pointed to the ones who had laughed.

“Fire all of them.”

The housekeeper froze for a moment, then his expression shifted into quiet disapproval. “Miss Jeanne, they’ve all been with the family for years…”

I met his gaze with a faint smile. “Aren’t I one of the masters of this house?”

The housekeeper said nothing.

Without another word, I turned and walked straight toward the door. “Since the Gomez family doesn’t welcome me, there’s no reason for me to stay.”

His expression didn’t flicker. He was convinced I wouldn’t have the courage to leave.

But when I picked up my suitcase and stepped right through the gates without hesitation, heading toward the neighborhood exit, his composure began to crack.

All the residents in this villa district were of equal social standing; they all knew about the real and fake daughter incident.

If word got out that the Gomez family had driven their real daughter away, they’d lose all their dignity.

The housekeeper hurried after me, but I didn’t spare him a glance. I quickened my pace.

Who would’ve thought that after only a few steps, I would walk straight into someone’s arms?

A familiar, incredible scent wrapped around me, and I instinctively looked up.

It was Lysander.

Eighteen-year-old Lysander still carried the softness of youth, and baby fat lingered on his face, giving him a hint of innocence.

There was no shadow in his gaze yet; his eyes were bright, clear, untouched by time.

When he saw me, he stopped in his tracks, startled, and blurted out, “Jeanne?”

My heart jolted.

Why would Lysander know me at this point in time? For a brief moment, I wondered if he, too, had been reborn.

But the look in his eyes said otherwise, so unguarded, so pure.

The Lysander I had known at twenty-five would never look at me like that.

So then, how did he know who I was?

I asked the question that had been weighing on my mind without hesitation.

Lysander turned his head slightly, his thumb and index finger rubbing together in that subtle, familiar motion. “The Crawford and Gomez families are close. It’s not strange that I know you.”

He was lying.

Whenever Lysander lied, he would rub his fingers together, like snapping an invisible thread.

But what puzzled me more was what he said next.

He shot the housekeeper a cold glare and demanded, “You brought her back to the Gomez family. Why aren’t you treating her properly?”

It was strange.

In my last life, Lysander had never treated me poorly, but he had never defended me either.

As if realizing my confusion, Lysander awkwardly stepped in front of me, shielding me with his body. His ears flushed red.

I pressed my lips together, swallowing all my questions. After all, this version of Lysander was clearly to my advantage.

Lysander personally escorted me back to the Gomez family villa and gave the housekeeper a firm order to dismiss the maids who had mocked me.

Then he turned to me and said with certainty, “Jeanne, if there’s anything else you want, just say the word. I’ve got your back.”

I paused, letting the silence hang for a moment, then pointed directly at Belle’s room.

“Clear it out. I want to live there.”