My best friend gifted me a luxurious mansion. But my time enjoying it was short-lived. One night, as the world outside lay in silence, an intruder broke in, a glinting knife clutched in his trembling hand.

"Tristan, you framed me and sent me to prison! You destroyed my family! Go to hell!" he bellowed, his voice thick with fury and desperation.

Tristan was my best friend's name. The pieces fell into place in an instant—too late. I was nothing more than a scapegoat. And before I could even speak, cold steel slashed across my throat.

The pain was sharp, blinding and then... nothing. I collapsed, warmth pooling beneath me as my vision blurred. The last thing I heard before darkness swallowed me whole was the deafening crack of gunfire. The police had shot my attacker on the spot.

Then, amidst the chaos, he arrived. Tristan strolled in, cradling a woman in his arms, his lips curling into a sneer as he gazed down at my lifeless body.

"Charlie, thank you for dealing with my troubles and leaving me a fortune. I'll make sure to enjoy everything you left behind. Rest in peace."

My wife—the woman I had loved and trusted—nestled against his chest, her voice dripping with satisfaction. "Tristan, I told you I'd help you take everything from him. And I did."

When I opened my eyes again, I was no longer drenched in blood. Instead, I was standing in the golden afternoon light of a lavish estate.

——

In front of me stood Tristan, his face beaming with the same carefully measured sincerity. His suit was immaculate. And beside him, wearing a gentle smile, was my wife—Vanessa.

"Charlie, you've taken care of me all these years," Tristan said, his voice filled with warmth. "As a token of my gratitude, I want to gift you this mansion."

A strange chill crawled down my spine. The words were painfully familiar. My fingers curled into my palms as I forced myself to stay calm.

"You're a big-shot CEO now," he continued, gesturing toward the sprawling mansion behind him. "And with Vanessa by your side, you should have a place that matches your status."

A lump formed in my throat. This already happened.

Hearing that line again, the same one from my previous life, sent a shiver through me. I could still remember how I had eagerly accepted his "gift," oblivious to the trap he had so carefully laid.

But now I knew better.

That mansion had been nothing more than a stage—an elaborate setup Tristan had orchestrated from the very beginning. He had deliberately purchased it in front of the media, ensuring that every news outlet knew it belonged to him. Then, in private, he transferred it to me, making sure I would live there.

By doing so, he had painted a target on my back. His enemy—the man he had framed and sent to prison—had come for me, thinking I was Tristan. And just like that, he had rid himself of a dangerous adversary and walked away with my wealth.

A perfect two-in-one scheme.

I turned my gaze to Vanessa, who stepped forward with a radiant smile. "Honey, Tristan is like a little brother to me," she said sweetly, latching onto my arm in a rare public display of affection. "This is a small gesture from him. Don't overthink it."

The way she touched me felt wrong. Vanessa had never once held my arm in front of others. And yet, she now clung to me, her touch unnaturally forced, as if trying to reassure me.

My gaze flickered downward—to where her other hand rested lightly on Tristan's wrist. It was subtle. Almost imperceptible. But I saw it.

Had I not lived through this before, I might have brushed it off as simple affection. But I had lived through it. I had seen how this story ended.

And now, I could see what I had been blind to before.

The lingering touches. The stolen glances. The way Vanessa always spoke up in Tristan's defense.

She wasn't just my wife. She was his accomplice. And she had helped him get rid of me.

I exhaled slowly, my mind racing. My killer would be released from prison three days after I moved into that mansion. That meant if I never accepted it, if I never stepped foot inside, then history couldn't repeat itself.

"You should keep it," I said finally, my tone casual. "I'd rather live in a house I buy myself."

A flicker of surprise crossed Tristan's face, though he was quick to mask it. But Vanessa? She wasn't nearly as controlled. Her smile faltered, her brows drawing together in a frown.

"Charlie, what's wrong?" Tristan asked smoothly.

Vanessa, however, didn't bother with subtlety. "Honey, why would you refuse?" she demanded, tightening her grip on my arm. "Tristan is being sincere and you're rejecting him? You're hurting his feelings."

I chuckled softly, my gaze drifting to where their bodies were slightly angled toward each other, unconsciously drawn together.

"He won't feel hurt," I murmured, my voice tinged with amusement. "You're already keeping him warm, aren't you?"

Vanessa instantly stiffened. "Charlie, what do you mean by that?!"

Her reaction was instant—defensive, outraged. The perfect mask of an innocent wife falsely accused.

"I only see Tristan as my little brother!" she cried, her voice rising. "We've been married for so many years and you still don't trust me?!"

I said nothing. I simply watched as she grew more agitated.

Before she could launch into another tirade, Tristan cut in smoothly. "Vanessa, don't get mad. Charlie's probably just jealous—that's why he won't accept the gift." He turned to me with an easy smile. "Maybe we should keep our distance, so he doesn't get the wrong idea."

Despite his words, he made no move to step away from Vanessa. If anything, he leaned in closer, his fingers brushing against the small of her back.

Then, as if nothing had happened, he turned back to me, his expression effortlessly composed.

"Charlie, don't worry," he said reassuringly. "I only see Vanessa as a big sister. There's nothing going on between us. If you don't like the mansion, I'll prepare another surprise for you later."

I met his gaze, a slow smile curling my lips.

"Sure," I said, my voice light. "As long as it's not a shock."

"What... what do you mean?"

Tristan's usual air of confidence wavered for the briefest moment. His brow twitched and there was an unmistakable stiffness in his expression.

Vanessa, on the other hand, scoffed, crossing her arms with an exasperated glare. "Charlie, seriously? You're going to act all high and mighty now that the company's gone public? After everything Tristan's done for you, this is how you repay him? With this ungrateful attitude?"

I glanced at her without a word. The way she clung to self-righteousness was laughable. But now, I couldn't be bothered.

I turned away, adjusting the cuff of my sleeve as I walked past them. "Think whatever you want. I have things to do."

Vanessa's complaints trailed after me, but I let them fade into the background. Right now, I had no interest in wasting my time because there was something far more important at hand.

Before my death, I had seen my attacker's face clearly. It had been Martin Steele—the company's former Chief Financial Officer.

Martin had been convicted and sent to prison after Tristan personally testified against him for embezzling a massive amount of kickbacks. At the time, I had believed Tristan's words. But now, the pieces no longer fit.

If Martin had truly been guilty, why had he come after Tristan the moment he was released? Why was he willing to kill?

I needed to investigate the case from back then. I couldn't let the betrayal and hatred from my previous life go unanswered. But, most of the trails had gone cold, so I had no concrete leads.

That afternoon, as I pored over old documents in my office, my phone buzzed with a message from Vanessa: [I have something to do tonight. I'll be home late.]

I chuckled, shaking my head. She had no idea I hadn't set foot in our home all day. If she were truly concerned about me, she would've known. But of course, she wasn't concerned—because she was too busy spending her nights with Tristan.

A few minutes later, the soft chime of the elevator reached my ears, so I instinctively turned off the office lights.

Footsteps. Two sets. It had to be them.

I remained still, waiting, listening as their voices filtered through the door.

"Vanessa, I've already looked into it," Tristan said in a hushed but eager tone. "That bastard Martin is getting released in three days—at night."

Vanessa's voice was laced with satisfaction. "Perfect timing. The media's been eating up the news of you moving into the mansion. It's all over the trending list."

Tristan let out a soft chuckle. "Exactly. The moment Martin gets out, he'll go straight there for revenge. And with it being dark, he won't be able to tell that Charlie's the one living there instead of me."

My fists clenched at my sides.

"As soon as he attacks," Tristan continued, "the police will shoot him for murder. And just like that, I'll never have to worry about him again. And once Charlie's out of the picture... well, we won't have to hide anymore."

Vanessa let out a small sigh. "It's just a shame... Charlie isn't falling for it. He refused the mansion."

Tristan clicked his tongue in irritation. "That idiot. He's never turned down anything from me before. Why now?"

"Don't worry," Vanessa said soothingly. "I'll find a way to help you."

Tristan's voice dipped into amusement. "He was jealous today. You didn't go home tonight—he didn't suspect anything, did he?"

Vanessa scoffed. "Suspect? Charlie's been a pathetic, lovesick fool from the start. If it weren't for my parents forcing me to marry him, I wouldn't have even looked at him. No matter how much I fool around, he wouldn't dare ask for a divorce."

Tristan laughed lowly. "That's good. But still, just thinking about how that idiot would react if he found out his wife and his best friend have been screwing each other for three years—it's hilarious."

He hummed in amusement before his tone shifted into something more suggestive. "Vanessa, the office is empty at night. And we didn't have enough fun at the hotel earlier. How about here?"

Vanessa's laughter grew breathy. "You're so naughty..."

Then, the unmistakable sounds of hurried movements. The rustling of fabric. The stifled gasps and whispers.

Anger boiled in my veins. Vanessa—the woman I had spent years loving, protecting, cherishing—had never once hesitated to betray me.

She had never truly cared.

I had fought for her, bled for her. I had given up opportunities to stay by her side. When her parents had fallen ill, I had drained my own savings to help them. When she had told me she was afraid of childbirth, I had never once pressured her for children.

And yet, all these years, I had been nothing more than a fool in her eyes.

Through the haze of fury, I forced myself to breathe. Now wasn't the time to act rashly. Tristan was more dangerous than I had ever realized and I needed solid proof—evidence of his crimes. Only then could I bring him down completely.

Silently, I slipped out of the building.

But one thing still didn't make sense.

No matter how bitter someone was about being framed, no matter how much hatred burned inside them—who would risk their life to commit murder the very moment they were released from prison?

Just what exactly had Tristan done to Martin?

On the way back, I suddenly remembered a very crucial person. Without hesitation, I pulled out my phone and made a call, issuing a few instructions. There was no room for error in what I was planning.

Not long after I lay down in my apartment, I heard the sound of the door unlocking.

I didn't get up immediately. Instead, I listened, tracking her movements. The slight hesitation in her steps, the hurried rustling of her bag, the soft creak of the mirror cabinet as she undoubtedly checked her appearance.

Finally, I stepped out of the bedroom, my movements deliberate.

Vanessa flinched the moment she saw me. Her eyes widened and her hand instinctively shot up to her neck, but she was too slow. I had already seen them—the faint, deep-red marks marring her skin. She hurriedly adjusted her collar, tugging it up in a futile attempt to hide the evidence of her betrayal.

"Honey, you're still up?" she asked, forcing a smile.

I responded evenly, "Yeah, just got back from the office."

Her smile faltered for a split second before she masked it with an exaggerated pout. "I just went to the office to look for you, but I didn't expect you to come home early. Geez, I made the trip for nothing. You have to make it up to me."

Saying this, she stepped forward, wrapping her arms around mine, leaning in as she always did when she wanted to manipulate me.

In the past, I had been utterly weak to this act of hers. I would have given in without hesitation, drawn in by the illusion of her affection. I would have pulled her close, murmured reassurances and allowed her to convince me that she truly cared.

But now? I felt nothing. Calmly, I removed her arms from mine and stepped back.

Vanessa blinked in surprise, but she quickly recovered, tilting her head with a feigned look of concern. "Honey, what's wrong? You're not still mad just because I defended Tristan earlier, are you?"

Her voice carried the same gentle persuasion she had used countless times before, as if I were some naive fool easily swayed by her words.

"I just think that you shouldn't be so distant with Tristan," she continued, her tone light but insistent. "Before, you guys used to exchange gifts so easily, but this time you hesitated. Of course, he's going to overthink that."

She sighed dramatically, as if my actions were unreasonable. "You wouldn't be where you are today without Tristan. If you have a falling out with him, who will come help you if you need it? I'm saying this for your own good. Why not just accept the house?"

I sneered inwardly. Saying it was for my own good, yet she was setting me up to be killed.

Without revealing my emotions, I replied coldly, "Since you think the house is great, why don't you move there instead?"

Vanessa's expression shifted in an instant. "Charlie, what the hell are you talking about?! I'm your wife and you have the nerve to say something like that!"

Her voice grew shrill, her face contorting with anger. "My parents were so blind to have made me marry a man like you, someone with no vision!"

I let out a cold chuckle. "Yeah, I have no vision. Otherwise, I wouldn't have married a woman like you."

That was the final straw. Vanessa's face twisted with rage and before I could react, she grabbed the nearest object—a porcelain cup—and hurled it at me.

The cup struck my forehead, shattering on impact. A sharp sting erupted across my skin as warm blood trickled down my temple.

Vanessa pointed a trembling finger at me. "Charlie, do you still want to stay married or not?! If you do, then take that damn house! I've been with you for so many years—even if you don't want to live there, I do!"

She was still pushing for it, still trying to maneuver me into that death trap.

"I even planned a celebration banquet in your name to build up your reputation and this is how you repay me? You've disappointed me!"

Before I could respond, my phone buzzed.

I glanced at the screen—Zane, the company's current CFO.

"Mr. Ross, your wife said there's a celebration banquet this evening. I saw you weren't at the office, so I wanted to remind you to come early. The guys are getting impatient."

A banquet? So, this was her next move. I had no idea what Vanessa was plotting, but since the company had just gone public, it wouldn't be good to dampen employee morale.

I sighed and agreed.

Vanessa, seeing that I had given in, smiled in satisfaction. She patted my arm, her earlier anger vanishing as if it had never existed. "Good. Don't let me down, okay? Be sure to attend."

That evening, I arrived at the venue she had chosen.

Something felt off.

I noted the location immediately—it was less than a hundred yards away from that mansion.

Inside the hotel, the banquet hall was already lively. Many employees had arrived and the air buzzed with chatter.

But my eyes landed on two specific figures standing by the bar. Oscar and Bruno.

A frown crept onto my face.

"Oscar, Bruno, what are you two doing here?"

These two had spent the last year slacking off, violating company policies and harassing female employees. I had been meaning to fire them, but Tristan had protected them.