When college entrance exams came, Victor abandoned mathematics for computer science.

"Math Olympiad is fine," he'd said, "but I want to make money. A lot of it."

I remembered my promise. "If you want to be an academic titan like your uncle, I'll fund you. If you want to coast, I'll give you enough to spend however you please."

He achieved his dream—tech mogul, billions in the bank. But he betrayed the boy he used to be. The man who once vowed to shield me from the storm became the one plotting against me for Georgia's sake.

In my previous life, Georgia achieved a breakthrough in high-throughput DNA synthesis during her second year of graduate school. It fast-tracked her graduation.

I called a press conference with irrefutable evidence of her plagiarism. Victor intervened. The proof meant to hang Georgia became the noose around my own neck.

His PR team spun the narrative with terrifying efficiency. Recordings meant to expose Georgia were doctored to frame me—soliciting bribes, forcing students to entertain clients. My research notes were twisted into a petition detailing my "obscene tyranny."

Overnight, I went from respected scholar to pariah. The public bayed for my blood.

I gambled everything on one final press conference. Victor responded with a single medical report. He had me committed.

"I failed her as a husband," he told the cameras. "My wife is suffering from severe delusional disorder."

Five years later, when Victor finally remembered I existed, I truly had lost my mind. Georgia had tampered with my medication to secure her position. Clarity returned only in the final moments before death.

Victor, I had thought as darkness took me, you have nothing left to threaten me with.

My diary from that time was written in blood and tears. Even across two lifetimes, the resentment burned fresh. I loved my research, but I craved freedom more.

Back in the present, I walked into the bedroom to find history repeating itself.

Victor and Georgia, entangled in our marital bed. Stark naked.

I didn't scream. I raised my phone and snapped a photo.

"Enjoying yourselves?" My voice dripped ice. "Aren't you worried all that vigorous activity might dislodge the baby?"

Victor froze.

"We aren't even divorced yet, and you're dragging her back here?" I continued. "Or does defiling your wife's bed give you an extra thrill?"

I tapped my chin. "I suppose that makes sense. Animals don't need logic to rut."

He scrambled to shield Georgia, face twisting. "Get out!"

I stepped closer. "You used to call me Gracie, remember?"

His chest heaved.

"You swore on my father's grave—and your grandmother's—that you would only ever love me. That you'd never hurt me." I tilted my head. "Have you forgotten? Or are you waiting for lightning to strike her tombstone?"

I smiled. "My father wouldn't care, of course. To him, you were always just an outsider."

His grandmother was his only weakness. At her name, the veins in his neck bulged.

He lunged.

His hand clamped around my throat, slamming me to the floor. "Grace, you've gone too far!"

I didn't struggle. Just stared up at him, eyes void of fear. Perhaps my cold detachment terrified him more than screaming would have. He released me as if burned.

Then the switch flipped. He scooped me from the floor, trembling violently.

He carried me to the guest room, kicked the door shut, and crushed me into a suffocating embrace.

"Gracie, I told you! Once the baby is a month old, I'll remarry you. Why do you have to be so difficult?"

He seized my hand and forced me to slap his face. Over and over.

"Hit me. Punish me. I couldn't control myself, okay? But I need this child." His voice broke. "Gracie, I'll give you money. Whatever you want. Go anywhere—just tell me where you are. Don't leave me."

"You need to behave. I can't lose you."

His voice dropped low, threaded with something twisted. "Gracie, I'm no longer the boy scavenging rotten vegetables to survive. I'm Victor Weston of Skyfire Tech. My reach is infinite."

The door clicked shut. The lock engaged with finality.

I sat before the vanity, the diary's contents burning in my mind. He was right. Against his capital and power, my resistance was an ant against a tsunami.

A knock. Then that artificial floral perfume—sickeningly sweet.

Georgia slipped in, placing a glass of milk on the table. "Professor Sullivan, please. For your health."

Bile surged. I lashed out, sweeping the glass off the table. It shattered, a jagged shard slicing the top of her foot. Blood bloomed, turning the spilled milk a grotesque pink.

I seized a handful of her hair, yanking her head back until she met my eyes.

"Georgia Kaufman. After all these years—how exactly did I wrong you?" My voice shook. "I brought you to the city. Helped your mother divorce that monster. And you? You let your father lure you back with candied hawthorns. Your mother went to find you and was beaten to death."

I tightened my grip. "I took you in at sixteen. Raised you. Where is the debt?"

She shoved me away, eyes veined red.

"Who asked you to save me? If you hadn't meddled—if your lawyer friends hadn't pushed for the death penalty—my father would still be alive! I wouldn't be an orphan!"

I froze. The realization struck like a blow. She had hated me from the beginning.

"You hate me because justice was served? You think your mother deserved to die?"

Her silence was answer enough.

The commotion drew Victor in. His gaze flicked from Georgia's bleeding foot to my face. Cold disappointment settled in his eyes.

"Gracie, I've indulged you too much."

I didn't understand those words until the psychiatric hospital's iron gates slammed shut behind me.

He visited a week later. "Apologize to Georgia. I'll take you home."

I looked him in the eye and cursed her name instead.

He left furious. I thought it was a bluff—a power play to break me.

Then reality shattered.

In the garden, a girl who spent her days counting leaves was strangled by another patient mid-episode. I watched the life leave her eyes. Primal fear finally took hold.

I begged the doctors for three days before Victor returned. To buy freedom, I sold my pride.

"I was wrong, Victor." I forced out the lie. "I love you. That's why I was jealous. Please—take me out."

Satisfaction softened his features. He helped me out of the hospital gown, sprinkled pomelo water over me to wash away bad luck.

"Gracie, leave it all behind. From now on, be obedient. Let's go home."

Back at the villa, the yard was ruined earth. The peach trees—once vibrant—had been uprooted, leaving ugly, gaping pits.

A memory surfaced: the year Victor got into No. 1 High School, Grandma Weston died. He'd wept all night by her grave. Terrified he'd abandon everything, I'd asked, "Victor, will you stay?"

He'd gripped my hand. "My home is wherever you and Joel Sullivan are. Silly girl, I'm not going anywhere."

Tears pricked my eyes. My voice rasped. "Victor, with Georgia Kaufman living here now... is this still the home you wanted?"

He looked down at me, Adam's apple bobbing. Before he could speak, Georgia's voice drifted from upstairs.

"Victor! I found the graduation photos! You looked so young!"

She bounded down, but froze when she saw me. The photos disappeared behind her back.

I released Victor's hand and stepped toward her, palm extended.

"Give them to me."

She glanced at Victor, panic flickering in her eyes.

"Give it to me!" I roared.

I couldn't fathom the depths of their depravity. Their relationship had crossed the line as far back as her college entrance exams—when she was barely legal and I was her sponsor.

I snatched the photo. The moment it registered, my legs gave out. I slid to the floor.

In the image, they were naked. Georgia curled in Victor's arms, flushed with post-coital warmth. But it was the look in his eyes that gutted me—tender enough to melt ice.

Georgia fidgeted, pinching her fingers as she leaned into Victor's side, playing victim.

"I didn't do it on purpose, Grace. I didn't know you'd find out... I didn't mean to show off."

Her excuses became white noise. My focus narrowed to the man beside her. I forced myself up, staggering toward him step by step.

I slammed the photo into his chest. "Victor Weston, is this how you repay me?"

His expression stayed cold, unrepentant. "She's been by my side since high school. You watched her grow up. You know she relies on me."

"You're worse than an animal," I spat, voice trembling. "No—that insults animals. You should've spent your life in the gutter, scavenging rotting scraps."

His jaw tightened, but I wasn't done. I wanted to bleed him.

"Your parents must've known what a monster they raised. That's why they died early—to escape the shame. You don't deserve to eat trash, let alone stand here like a human being."

My words found their mark, piercing straight to the insecurity he'd harbored since childhood. Veins bulged on his neck. A red haze clouded his eyes.

He lunged, hand clamping around my throat. He threw me to the ground.

"Grace Sullivan, you've finally said it." He loomed over me like a shadow. "You've always looked down on me."

He straightened his cuffs, voice dropping to a terrifying calm. "Since you refuse to learn your place, you can go back and relearn it. I have plenty of time."

He pulled out his phone.

My heart slammed against my ribs. Cold sweat broke over my skin. I knew that tone. I knew where he was sending me.

I crawled forward, abandoning pride, and grabbed his pant leg. "Victor, no... please. I won't go back there. I can't go back to the asylum!"

He didn't even look at me.

Even as the bodyguards dragged me out and slammed the car door, his expression remained stone.

"Forgive me, Madam," the bodyguard muttered.

Just before he confiscated my phone, a text message flashed on the screen.

Alistair, I'm back.

For the next week, Victor took Georgia to Western Europe, but Grace's parting words circled his mind like vultures.

He felt irritable, constantly on edge. Yet whenever he thought of Grace, dark satisfaction mingled with his anger. She needed to be humbled.

When they were young, she was the heiress bestowing charity on him, the poor boy. Now the tables had turned. Time she tasted what it felt like to survive on someone else's mercy.

I'll bring her back once Georgia gives birth, he told himself. Those arrogant habits need breaking.

He maintained this delusion until the call came.

"Mr. Weston... it's Ms. Sullivan. She escaped. She's missing."