“You won't see a single cent.”

“Make a scene and I'll destroy your career first.”

“Let's see how you pay for your mother's treatment when you're broke!”

For my mother's sake, I swallowed my pride.

I begged him to lend me five hundred thousand dollars.

I offered to sign an IOU, four percent interest, paid back within a year.

He just looked at me with contempt.

“Wasn't your mother the one who was too proud to take anything in the divorce?”

“Then stay proud. Don't come crawling back to me!”

Deborah chimed in from beside him, all false sympathy.

“Lucy, I don't mean to lecture you.”

“But you're a grown woman. You can't just run to Daddy for money every time something goes wrong.”

“Your father works so hard for his money.”

I was shaking with rage.

And my father, like he was tossing change at a beggar on the street, pulled two hundred dollars from his wallet and threw them at my feet.

“Two hundred. That'll cover a few boxes of painkillers for your mother.”

“Take it and get out.”

Security escorted me out. I stumbled back to the hospital in a daze.

That night, I saw Deborah's Instagram post.

In the photo she stood in a Chanel skirt suit in front of a brand-new white Porsche, easily worth a million.

The passenger seat was filled with Ecuadorian roses, a hundred dollars a stem.

And Albert had his arm raised high, deliberately flashing the half-million-dollar Rolex on his wrist.

Underneath was my father's comment：

【Anything you want. You're worth every penny.】

My hand froze on the screen, and my brain buzzed and went blank.

Because in twenty years, even though my mother had built that company alongside him from nothing, lived with him in a basement apartment, stayed by his side until stress gave her stomach hemorrhages, he had never once given her a decent gift.

The year the company posted its highest profit, the most he'd done was stop by a jewelry store on a whim and buy her an 18-karat gold necklace.

Even so, my mother was thrilled. She treasured it like it was priceless.

But for Deborah and Albert, he spent millions without blinking.

I scrolled through the rest of Deborah's Instagram with trembling fingers.

What I'd seen was only the tip of the iceberg.

An Hermès Birkin for Valentine's Day. A private yacht party for her birthday. A mansion worth tens of millions for the two of them……

He'd even hired a fireworks show for Albert's eighteenth birthday.

And now, all I asked was to borrow five hundred thousand to treat the woman who had been his wife.

He wouldn't part with it.

I stared at those photos until my vision blurred, tears falling faster than I could wipe them, and the hatred in my chest grew with every hour until dawn.

But what finally broke me was my father's product launch, after my mother died.

He held Deborah's hand, looked straight into the cameras, and smiled as he told the press：

“She is the woman I've loved and been most grateful for my entire life.”

And my mother?

The woman who had endured his worst years with him, lying alone in the cheapest cemetery on the outskirts of the city.

That was when I lost my mind completely.

I pulled out the knife I'd hidden beforehand and drove it into them both.

Watching them scream and thrash and beg, I felt no regret. Only relief.

But heaven gave me a second chance.

A chance to do it all over.

This time, I would strike first.

I came back to the present, looked at my mother, and told her everything that had happened in my past life, down to the last detail.

The affair. How long it had been going on. The illegitimate son. How my father watched her die and did nothing. How, in the end, she curled up on the hospital bed in so much pain she could barely breathe, but still refused the imported painkillers because they cost too much.

I thought hearing all of it would change her mind about leaving the marriage with nothing.

But she just sat there, eyes red, shaking her head over and over.

“He wouldn't……your father wouldn't be that cruel……”

“When he survived that car accident……it was your grandmother who saved him……our family saved his life, and he swore he would always take care of me……”

“But he still cheated, didn't he?”

The sight of her clinging to denial made my nose sting with tears.

“Mom, people change. Dad stopped being the man you knew a long time ago.”

“If you don't believe me, let's go get you a check-up right now!”

She blinked, caught off guard.

“What?”

“You don't believe me, right?”

I locked my eyes on hers and held them there.

“Then let's go find out.”

“Based on what happened in my last life, you're still in the early stages of stomach cancer. It's still treatable!”

“If the results come back clean, I'll never bring up divorce again.”

That convinced her.

I drove her to the hospital immediately.

Neither of us could have expected what was waiting there.

We ran into Deborah and my father, and standing right beside them was a boy my age.

Albert Walker. The illegitimate son.

My father was lovingly rubbing the top of his head.

“You, you — you can't keep skipping meals for work. Passing out today scared your mother and me half to death.”

Albert gave an embarrassed little laugh.

“Dad, I just wanted to take some of the pressure off you at the company.”

That single word — “Dad” — hit my mother like a bolt of lightning to the skull.

The color drained from her face, and she swayed as though the ground had shifted beneath her.

I reached for her arm, but she pushed my hand away.

She just stood there staring at my father, as though torturing herself.

“All these years, your father was never close to you.”

“I told myself he just wasn't good at showing it. I never imagined he was giving all his love to another child……”

Tears spilled down her cheeks.

“No wonder he was always traveling for business when I was only two months pregnant.”

“No wonder Deborah said she was traveling abroad too……”

“They were together all along……”

“What a joke. I've been the fool, kept in the dark for over twenty years!”

Watching her shatter tore through my own chest.

But I didn't make excuses for my father.

Because only when every last shred of feeling was dead

could we win. Only then would this second life mean anything.

A few steps away, Albert had my father laughing with some flattering line, and Francis patted his shoulder with a look of warm, indulgent pride.

“That's my boy. Once this project wraps up, I'm handing the subsidiary over to you for good.”

“Sooner or later, the whole Lawrence Group will be yours.”

My mother stopped crying the instant she heard that.

She wiped her tears, and when her eyes came back up, they were ice.

“Lucy, you're right.”

“A smart woman doesn't divorce.”

“She becomes a widow.”

“I suffered through years of misery to build this life. Why the hell would I hand it over?”

Relief flooded through me.

I squeezed her hand hard.

“Mom, trust me — we still have a chance to turn this all around!”

“No one is taking what's ours!”

My mother was a woman of her word.

From that day on, she abandoned the idea of divorce entirely.

She took her medication and fought the cancer quietly, while devoting every free thought to how to deal with my father and Deborah.

Know your enemy, she said. That's how you never lose.

She hired a private investigator to tail them.

When the photos came back showing Deborah feeding my father greasy, heavy meals every single day — knowing full well he had high blood pressure — my mother's eyes went red with fury.

“Men are worthless.”

“I watched his health for years and got nothing for it. Meanwhile he's out there thinking her shit smells like perfume.”

This time, she didn't let the pain drag her down the way it used to.

The very next day, the dinner table at home was completely different.

Before, it had always been light, stomach-friendly dishes — three sides and a soup.

Now it was everything my father loved but my mother had always forbidden.

Braised pork belly. Steamed pork with preserved vegetables. Lard-tossed rice. Stir-fried fatty intestine……

Some nights she even added a late spread of grilled meat with ice-cold beer.

My father looked surprised.

“Grace, the food's different tonight?”

My mother smiled, soft as ever.

“I used to worry so much about your health. But lately I've been thinking—life's short. Being happy is what matters.”

“You've been under so much pressure. I just want you to enjoy yourself.”

That hit home.

He shoveled meat into his mouth, sighing contentedly between bites.

“Finally you get it.”

“All that bland health food before—I couldn't even taste anything.”

“Grace, I like you so much better this way.”

My mother smiled and piled several more pieces onto his plate.

“Then eat up.”

And that wasn't all.

She stopped nagging him about the smoking and drinking. Stopped watching to make sure he took his blood pressure medication. Stopped waking him at midnight to brew herbal tea for his stomach.

One night he stumbled in at two in the morning, reeking of liquor, clutching his chest and complaining it felt tight.

The old version of my mother would've had him in the ER before he finished the sentence.

But this time.

She just strolled over and poured him a glass of ice-cold beer.

“It's just work stress.”

“Have a drink, let it settle. You'll feel fine after some sleep.”

He wasn't angry. If anything, when he woke up the next morning, he told her it felt like when they first started dating. Said the house finally felt like a real home. Comfortable. He could eat whatever he wanted, do whatever he wanted.

My mother didn't answer. She just bent her head and straightened the collar he'd soaked with spilled liquor.

“As long as you're happy.”

The lamplight fell across her face, making her look like the most ordinary, devoted wife in the world.

But only I saw it.

When she lowered her eyes, the cold deepening there. The hatred settling in.

And in her notebook, the numbers she was tracking—my father's weight climbing higher, his blood pressure rising with it.

I wasn't sitting idle either.

The moment something actually happened to my father, Deborah Walker and Albert would never stay hidden. They'd smell blood like sharks and come tearing in to grab the company, the shares, the right to call themselves “Lawrences.”

What I needed to do was lock down my position as the “sole Lawrence heir” while they were still in the shadows—so that even if Albert tried to step forward later, he'd look like a joke.

With that in mind, I called my college roommate Clementine Fox.

She'd made a name for herself as a street-interview livestreamer—half a million followers, and nobody was better at manufacturing a viral moment.

She picked up and I got straight to it.

“Clem, I've got a story that could blow up. You in?”

That got her attention immediately.

“How big are we talking?”

I looked out the window and let myself smile.

“Big enough to put someone on a pedestal overnight.”

The next day, I went to the shopping district where she usually streamed, right on schedule.

Once the camera was rolling, Clementine pretended she didn't know me and tapped my shoulder with a grin.

“Hey gorgeous! We're doing random street interviews—you can either take a hundred bucks or answer some questions. Your pick!”

I pretended to think for a second. “I'll do the interview.”

“A girl this pretty—you were definitely raised by people who adored you, right?”

I ducked my head with a shy little laugh.

“I guess so.”

“My parents have always been really in love.”

“My mom told me my dad was dirt poor when he was young. Those first few years of building the business, they lived in a basement apartment. In winter the floor was always damp, the walls sweated water when you touched them, and the sheets never fully dried.”

“But even when things were at their hardest, my dad never let my mom suffer.”

“Later, once the company took off, there were obviously a lot of temptations around him.”

I paused here, then let myself flash the kind of smile only a girl who'd been spoiled her whole life would have.

“But he never once strayed.”