Chapter 1

I had been secretly in love with Anderson for five years when he finally saved up enough money to propose ending our arrangement.

"Let's end this. I don't want to live like this anymore. Besides, I've found someone I like."

His spine was ramrod straight, his eyes filled with determination as he looked at me.

In my past life, I was stung by his coldness. In a fit of rage, I tore up his money.

I trampled him underfoot and toyed with him even more recklessly.

So much so that later, after lying low for years, the first thing he did after achieving success was to destroy my family's business.

He kept me captive in a basement, torturing me in every way imaginable.

In the end, unable to bear it any longer, I fled in panic when he came to bring me food.

I ran headlong into traffic and died right in front of him.

So in this second life, I smoothly took his money.

Lifting my chin, I said, "Have a good trip. I won't see you out."

Anderson froze, his eyes full of wariness.

As if to say, "What are you up to now?"

I simply pulled out his suitcase.

Almost urgently, I stuffed his clothes inside.

A flash of embarrassment crossed his face as he snatched the coat from my hands.

Coldly, he said, "I'll do it myself."

I let go, crossing my arms and letting him handle it.

Anderson had been a famous genius in New York since childhood.

Handsome and from a well-off family, the girls who wrote him love letters could fill the busiest street in town.

And I was one of the most unremarkable among them.

Anderson had never paid me any attention.

So when his family fell on hard times and he went from a wealthy young master to an impoverished student, I instinctively rushed to "lend a helping hand."

After all, no one could resist the chance to possess a star.

"Babe, are you bored with him already?"

My friend suddenly linked arms with me affectionately, excitement flashing in her eyes.

"If you're done playing, can you give him to me?"

Instantly, the room fell deathly silent. Anderson's body tensed, his handsome profile cold as a sculpture.

I was silent for two seconds, then shrugged.

"If he's willing, sure."

This was what he had said to me in my past life.

After keeping me locked up for nearly a year, he once whispered drunkenly while choking my neck:

"Why won't you speak? I'm bored with you anyway. How about I give you to someone else?"

I trembled all over, kneeling and begging him through my tears.

"Please, don't give me to someone else. I'll do whatever you say."

He was very satisfied then, pulling me into his arms with a low laugh.

But a few days later one evening, a man broke in.

His naked gaze fixed on me in my thin clothing. In the end, I resisted with all my might.

I held on until Anderson burst in. That day, the man was dragged out covered in blood.

But I hated Anderson desperately, slapping him repeatedly like a madwoman.

He didn't fight back, just silently scrubbed me until I was nearly raw.

Only when I begged hoarsely for mercy did he let me go.

Pulling my thoughts back, Anderson suddenly turned around, his ears and neck flushing red.

As if both ashamed and hurt.

Without finishing his packing, he grabbed his nearly empty suitcase and stormed out.

In the night, a female voice spoke eagerly at the door.

"Anderson, I'm here to pick you up."

Milia stood waiting at the door in a faded dress, her eyes bright.

She was Anderson's current neighbor, sometimes helping to look after Anderson's mentally unstable mother.

In my past life, after Anderson rose to power, she naturally became Mrs. Anderson.

When I was running a food stall, she would constantly bring friends to harass me.

In the moonlight, Anderson's retreating figure was resolute.

But as he got in the car, he suddenly paused, turning back with turbulent darkness in his eyes.

"Linda, every second with you makes me utterly disgusted."

With that, he drove off without waiting for my response.

I leaned against the doorframe, my indifferent face showing weary fatigue.

The word "disgusted" - he had said it many times before.

When we went out together.

When he was forced to get a tattoo of my name.

Even when we were in bed.

No matter how closely our bodies pressed together, we were like two coiled snakes that never trusted each other.