On New Year's Eve, my husband and I went out for fondue, but the server accidentally tipped the scalding pot all over me. Being eight months pregnant, I suffered severe burns; my water broke on the spot, and I collapsed, unable to move. I struggled to call for help, but my husband was only focused on demanding compensation:

"Pain is good," he said. "The more you hurt, the more money we'll get. It'll ensure we have enough for the baby's formula."

I fainted from the agony, missing the critical window for rescue, leading to a tragic loss for both me and my unborn child. My husband inherited all my assets, abandoned any pursuit of justice, and married the waitress with whom he'd conspired: "This plan is flawless—not only did it get rid of her, but it also secured her estate legally!"

When I opened my eyes again, I found myself back on that New Year's Eve when the fondue was spilled.

"Don't worry, darling. It must be busy tonight because of New Year's Eve. Just wait a little longer, and your favorite spicy fondue will be here," Kasen Duncan's familiar voice sounded before I even opened my eyes. His hand rested on my baby bump, soothing me with gentle strokes, and he thoughtfully poured me a cup of steaming coffee.

Before, I would have been moved to tears by my seemingly caring husband. But now, I felt an icy chill throughout my body. The next moment, I looked up sharply, taking in the people around us enjoying their family meals, and the calendar hanging on the restaurant wall. This wasn't a dream. I had come back to life on New Year's Eve.

In my previous life, it was the same. Eight months pregnant, right at the start of the year, my husband suggested we celebrate with fondue. When the new server mishandled things, and our fondue didn't arrive, the horror unfolded. No one expected she would spill the entire pot of boiling fondue over me!

I was left red and swollen, a layer of skin peeling off, and I screamed in agony. The other customers fled in fright, but my husband didn't call 911. He let me writhe in pain on the floor. When someone tried to call the police, Kasen accused them of destroying evidence, claiming they were colluding with the restaurant, and stopped anyone from helping me.

He didn't go after the real culprit. Instead, he haggled with the restaurant owner, Waverly Willis, demanding an eye-watering $80,000 in compensation. As the pain became unbearable and the blood flowed freely, I begged him to save me.

But Kasen only became more excited. "Hold on a little longer, darling. The more it hurts, the more compensation we can get. We’ll have plenty for the baby's formula!"

I couldn't believe this was the man I shared my life with. I struggled to reach for my phone to call the police, but the waitress who'd spilled the fondue stomped on my left hand!

The searing pain mixed with the agony of labor, and I finally couldn't take it anymore—I passed out. Seeing me faint, Kasen seemed to find more leverage for negotiation, stubbornly refusing to let anyone call for help. Finally, the restaurant owner, fearing for my life, agreed to pay the compensation and rushed me to the hospital.

But Kasen insisted on driving himself, taking a route that should have taken ten minutes, dragging it into thirty, and even leisurely stopping to fill the gas tank.

By the time we reached the hospital, both my baby and I had lost our lives. Yet even after death, my consciousness lingered. I watched as Kasen not only abandoned any pursuit against the waitress but also tenaciously held the restaurant owner accountable, extorting both. He even caused a ruckus at the hospital, ultimately pocketing a total of $110,000.

My ashes were placed in the cheapest, most basic urn. Kasen inherited all my belongings and married that waitress. On their wedding night, they raised their glasses in celebration:

"This plan is perfect. It not only got rid of the annoying woman but also made us a good amount of money. She just had bad luck!"

Only then did I realize Kasen had been in league with the waitress all along. It was all a setup. Even my only living family, Grandma Theodora, was taken from the nursing home and deprived of food and drink until she was cruelly starved to death.

Being scalded by the boiling pot hurt terribly. I hated that the child inside me never saw the light of day, I hated that I trusted the wrong person, and I hated that my life was plotted against by those heartless people!

Opening my eyes again, I found myself back on that fateful New Year's Eve. This time, I looked at Kasen, who was feigning affection beside me, and my nails dug fiercely into my palm.

Sure enough, the mistress, Mylah King, was heading toward our table with a pot of boiling fondue. She wobbled as if she'd tripped, letting out a fake "ah!" The next second, just like in my previous life, the scalding pot was headed for me.

Only this time, I grabbed Kasen, who was about to dodge, pulling him into the path of the molten liquid. He never saw it coming, and his face went slack with shock as the boiling fondue splashed over him, eliciting a piercing scream.

Mylah was dumbfounded. But I knew this was just the beginning.

The next moment, I stifled the thrill of revenge bubbling in my heart and let out a scream even more theatrical than Kasen's:

"What happened, love? Are you okay?"

Without sparing another glance at his face, red and swollen like a roasted hog’s, I stood up from my seat and seized Mylah’s hair. With a swift and precise motion, I slapped the mistress a couple of times to vent my anger:

"Pouring hot stew on someone without any training? If anything happens to my husband, you’ll be the one to answer for it!"

Mylah shrieked, clutching her reddened cheek and glaring at me with eyes full of malice. But I didn’t linger to quarrel with her; instead, I flung myself onto Kasen's body. This move pulled at his scalded and swollen skin, making him cry out in agony.

I clutched my belly, tears streaming down my face, and pleaded with the onlookers around us:

"I need to call the police and get to the hospital for these injuries! Could someone help restrain her? My husband is the sole breadwinner of our family, and now with him like this, how are the baby and I supposed to survive?"

But Mylah, upon hearing the mention of calling the police, reacted swiftly. She suddenly kneeled before the crowd, sobbing and wailing:

"Please, sister, I didn’t mean it! Don’t call the police. I can’t lose this job."

"My family favors sons over daughters. I was beaten black and blue and nearly sold off to an old cripple. I managed to escape. Without this job, I’m left with nowhere to go..."

Her performance successfully garnered some sympathy from the crowd:

"Miss, this young girl has had a rough time. Maybe settle this privately and don’t call the police."

"Exactly, with the gold bracelet on your wrist, you’re clearly not in need of money. Don’t make things difficult for her."

"Everyone has their struggles. Show some kindness, especially for your unborn child."

Faced with such moral coercion, these people were quick to voice their opinions, eager to preserve their sense of righteousness. I let out a cold laugh and pinched Kasen again, making him yelp like a stuck pig:

"She’s having a hard time, but are we having it easy? If today the child loses their father, then all of you are accomplices."

"If you truly feel for her struggles, why don't you all chip in for compensation?"

Seeing my resolute stance and my protective hand over my belly, the crowd fell silent. I took out my phone, ready to dial the police, and as the call was about to go through, Mylah panicked.

She wailed and glanced at the barely-conscious Kasen, screaming with a pointed accusation:

"You can’t call the police, or my whole plan will be ruined!"

This scheme to douse me with stew on Thanksgiving had been crafted by Mylah and Kasen for six months. If they missed this chance, they might not get another shot!

Sure enough, the word "plan" snapped Kasen back to his senses. He fought against the pain, gritting his teeth to press down on my phone:

"Sweetheart, please don’t call the police! A bit of burn ointment, and I’ll be fine. It’s Thanksgiving. Let’s not make a fuss; consider it an act of charity."

He wasn’t worried that I wouldn’t comply. In my past life, Kasen had manipulated me, and to indulge his ego, I willingly scrubbed floors while pregnant and picked bones out of his meals. Dining with me was considered the highest honor he could bestow.

At this, the people around us, seeing that I hadn’t spoken further, quickly sided with Kasen, praising him for his forgiveness and kindness while chastising me for being unworthy of him. I ignored these people, looked at Kasen with tears in my eyes, feigning concern, while surreptitiously pinching his swollen skin again:

"Are you sure you’re okay, love?"

Kasen gritted his teeth, assuring me he was fine and could continue to dine and celebrate with me.

I knew he had no choice but to swallow his pride. If he didn’t manage to get rid of me, and Mylah ended up in jail, it would be a massive loss for him!

Conveniently, I was more than willing to continue this charade with him. In my previous life, I was deceived by this vile couple, dragged to death, two lives snuffed out in one body. This time, I’m going to make them pay back in full!