Delia shifted her head slightly, but her whole body felt limp, like all strength had drained out of her.

She blinked hard and forced her eyes open. What she saw was a dusty, cobweb-covered room shrouded in dim light.

Wasn't she just tucked under the covers? Where the hell was she now?

For a moment, her mind went blank, but then the fog started to clear.

She tried to move, instinctively-but realized she was tied up tight with scratchy rope, unable to budge.

Pain spread through her body, sharp and familiar. She glanced down.

Under the faint light, she saw old burn scars winding across her bare skin-scars from that fire.

But... hadn't she been reborn? Wasn't she just peacefully asleep in Curtis's arms?

How was she suddenly back in her past life again?

Panic, icy and overwhelming, slammed into her like a wave.

"You're up?" A soft, girlish voice floated over.

Delia's head whipped up. The moment she saw the person standing before her, all warmth drained from her face.

Isabelle.

She looked completely out of place here-face flawless, makeup perfect, standing straight and smug in this filthy attic.

She wore that mocking smile, eyes glinting with disdain, a dagger Delia recognized instantly resting casually in her hand.

Just like before-except now, the roles had flipped.

Nathan was here too, looking as polished and fake as ever.

His eyes practically screamed sarcasm, not even trying to hide it.

"This can't be real," Delia whispered, her throat raw and dry. "It's just a nightmare... Curtis, where are you!"

She screamed, desperately clutching onto that last sliver of hope-that maybe, just maybe, the man who'd once held her silently in his arms would show up like some miracle.

But the only response was Isabelle's cold, cruel laughter.

"Haha, still dreaming your silly little fairy tale?"

"That useless cripple? You threw him away with your own hands!"

"You really think anyone's coming to save you now? Who even cares about you?"

Each word hit her like a poisoned needle, straight to the heart.

Yeah... it was her.

She'd hurled cruel words at Curtis, pushed him away again and again, burning every bridge until there was no turning back.

"Delia," Nathan's voice cut in-still soft, still gentle.

But every word out of his mouth dug into her like glass.

"Honestly, you're still this naive? Still this dumb?"

"You actually thought I loved you?"

He knelt so they were eye to eye, his expression full of fake pity and a twisted sort of amusement.

"Thanks to you, things went smoother than we ever imagined. All that Fleming family money, and the stuff from Curtis? We couldn't have done it without you. You're basically the MVP here."

"You'll all rot in hell!" Delia broke down in tears, fighting against the ropes, only to feel them biting deeper into her skin.

"'Rot in hell'?" Isabelle sneered.

She dragged the dagger slowly across Delia's cheek. "Look at you now. Who'd want someone like this?"

Before Delia could react, the blade slashed down hard.

"AH!!" Blood burst out instantly, trailing down her face.

"Can't handle a little scratch?" Isabelle leaned in, looking thrilled to see her in agony. "Don't worry, this is just the warm-up. This face of yours-it wasn't much to start with, but it still pisses me off."

"No... don't..." Delia shook her head in terror.

But Isabelle didn't even flinch.

"Ruining it is perfect. That way, there's no coming back for you. You'll rot away here-just like you deserve."

The dagger sliced across her skin again and again, leaving raw, bloody marks behind.

"Alright, Isabelle, that's enough," Nathan said in mock concern.

But in his hand was a syringe.

And he didn't hesitate in plunging it straight into Delia's arm.

Agonizing pain surged like wildfire through her veins.

"CURTIS!!" she screamed. She let out one final scream of pure despair as her vision went blurry.

The twisted, satisfied faces of those two faded away behind mocking laughter...

The sharp sting of antiseptic took the place of blood.

Delia lay on the hospital bed, wrapped head to toe in bandages, looking more like a mummy than a person.

She tried to move-but even lifting a finger felt impossible.

A woman in a nurse uniform and mask walked in. "Time to change your dressing."

Without another word, the nurse yanked at the gauze on Delia's body with zero hesitation.

Every pull sent pain shooting through her like an electric shock. Her eyes welled with tears instantly.

"Don't cry. Suck it up. Changing dressings always hurts," the nurse said flatly, her hands moving just as rough.

"You're in bad shape, huh? Well, guess that's what happens when you piss off the wrong people."

"Curtis... please... help me..." Delia sobbed quietly.

The nurse snorted. "Waiting for Mr. Stockton to save you? Get real. He dumped you ages ago."

"You'd better just stay here and wait to rot."

No. Curtis would never abandon her.

This was her fault-she was blind to what real love looked like.

"Curtis!" Delia sat up abruptly, gasping.

Her nightclothes were drenched in cold sweat, hair clinging messily to her forehead.

She panted, heart pounding, her eyes wide with terror.

But the air around her was cool, steadying, like someone had opened a window after a storm.

Her nerves, stretched to the point of snapping, slowly began to relax.

It was just a nightmare.

Still, everything she saw felt hauntingly real.

She turned her head and saw the man beside her sitting up, clearly startled by her sudden movement.

Curtis had already woken the moment she bolted upright.

He hadn't even said anything yet when he noticed her tear-streaked face.

Without thinking, he reached for her. "Delia, what's wrong?"

Delia stared at him like she needed that moment to believe he was really there, then threw herself into his arms, her grip tight.

"Babe! Ugh..." Her voice cracked as she buried her face in his chest.

Curtis stiffened for a second, caught off guard by her sudden breakdown.

Then he wrapped his arms around her protectively.

"Bad dream?" he asked gently, his voice softer than usual. He awkwardly patted her back, trying to ease her fear.

"It's okay. I'm here now. You're safe. Don't cry."

Delia clung to his shirt like her life depended on it, like letting go meant he'd vanish.

"You... you're not gonna leave me, right?"

Curtis held her tighter. "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."

Delia nestled deeper into his hug. "Okay... just don't leave me..."

Her voice faded, her breathing steadying as her exhaustion pulled her back under.

Tears still clinging to her lashes, she drifted back to sleep in his arms.

Curtis looked down at her, his brows furrowed, emotions swirling behind his eyes.

What kind of memory could've shaken her so badly?

They say nightmares come from real stress, and seeing her like this... Curtis felt a pang of guilt.

Maybe he hadn't been paying enough attention.

Lately, she had been acting kind of off.

Realizing it only now made him kick himself a bit.

With one arm still around her, he reached for his phone on the nightstand.

He quickly dialed a number.

The call was picked up after barely one ring-Noah's voice came through. "Mr. Stockton?"

"Look into the people Delia's been seeing lately."

"Uh... yes, sir. On it." Noah sounded surprised but didn't ask further questions.

Curtis hung up and placed the phone back.

Whatever secrets she was hiding, he needed to find out the truth.

Delia woke up with her heart pounding fast, a tightness in her chest like something had just scared the hell out of her.

The moment she came to, her first instinct was to check if someone was beside her. She reached out automatically.

Nothing.

Curtis wasn't there.

Panic rushed back in like a tidal wave, fueled by the remnants of that awful nightmare. She bolted upright, breathing heavy, chest heaving. Her eyes darted around until she finally caught the sound of running water coming from the bathroom.

He was still here. He hadn't left her.

Her whole body loosened up instantly. She hugged her knees in bed, buried her face in them, taking slow, deep breaths, trying to calm her racing heart.

Even after coming back to life, she couldn't shake off those haunting memories. If anything, every fear, every ounce of pain from before had become even sharper.

She was terrified all this would vanish-like just another cruel dream.

The bathroom door eased open. Curtis came out in his wheelchair, dressed in a fresh shirt, his hair still damp, a light scent of soap clinging to him.

As soon as he looked up, his gaze met Delia's wide, panic-filled eyes staring straight at him.

The second she saw him, she tossed the covers aside, jumped out of bed barefoot, and rushed over without thinking.

And before he could react, she threw her arms around him, pressing her face into the crook of his neck.

She needed to feel him-to know this was real. The warmth from his skin, the scent of him, it all grounded her.

Her hug was so tight, like letting go would mean losing him forever.

Curtis froze for a moment, then slowly relaxed, letting her cling to him. He could tell how shaken she was just through that embrace.

He said nothing, only lifted a hand and gently patted her back. Comforting her, wordlessly.

A long silence passed before he finally spoke. "Couldn't sleep?"

Delia shook her head slightly, still holding on to him, her voice muffled, almost whispering.

"Yeah... had a really bad dream."

"I dreamt you didn't want me anymore. I looked everywhere, but I couldn't find you..."

She wasn't exactly lying, but she wasn't saying everything either.

Curtis's eyes flickered, but he didn't call her out. He still needed more time to get clarity from Noah's investigation.

Until then, he wasn't going to push her.

"I won't," he said simply, his arms tightening around her just a bit.

He'd made that decision last night-no matter what lay ahead, he'd stay by her side.

After a few minutes, they slowly pulled apart. Delia's face was flushed as she headed to the bathroom to wash up. Curtis had already gone downstairs, giving her a breather from the awkwardness.

When she came out, her phone buzzed on the nightstand.

One glance at the caller ID and her expression darkened.

Isabelle.

Speak of the devil.

Last time around, this was when Isabelle started getting in her head-pretending to care, but constantly urging her to divorce Curtis.

Now that she thought about it, every one of those "caring" words had been laced with manipulation.

Delia took a steady breath, shoving her anger back down before answering.

"Hello?" Her voice was calm.

Isabelle's bright, overly concerned voice came through instantly.

"Hey sis, how are you feeling? Did the talk with Curtis go okay yesterday?"

Sounding like she genuinely wanted Delia to be happy and "free."

Delia gave a tiny, cold smile that didn't reach her eyes but kept her voice neutral. "You seem more eager for my divorce than I am."

Isabelle clearly didn't see that coming. There was a short pause before she gave a couple of awkward laughs and covered with, "Of course not, I just care about you."

"You kept saying how miserable you were with him and how badly you wanted out, didn't you?"

"Really?" Delia let out a light scoff.

Thinking about what Isabelle was probably plotting, she lost all patience for pretending. "He didn't sign it."

"What? Why not?" Isabelle's pitch shot up, but she quickly caught herself and lowered her voice again. "I mean, didn't he already agree before? What happened? Did he do something again? Did he threaten you? You can tell me. Nathan and I've got your back!"

Delia could almost picture her sister's fake concerned face-it was laughable.

She responded calmly, her tone flat, "He said he doesn't want to divorce anymore. Nothing I can do about it."

"What? That's not okay!" Isabelle's voice had that anxious edge again. "Listen, you can't waver now. You've got to be firm about this. How about you come back today? We can talk it through properly. Nathan's really worried too..."

Nathan again.

Delia's eyes flickered with irritation. She'd had enough of this nonsense and cut her off mid-sentence, "I'm busy. Let's talk another time."

Without waiting for a reply, she hung up right away.

She set the phone down, took a breath to compose herself, then turned and headed downstairs.

Curtis was already seated at the dining table, right at the head. He hadn't started eating yet-just quietly sitting there.

When he saw Delia coming down, his eyes naturally drifted to her.

That look alone cleared up the lingering annoyance in her heart.

She walked over with a bright, sweet smile, "Waiting for me to have breakfast together?"

Curtis looked slightly flustered. He quickly averted his gaze, grabbed his glass of milk as if nothing had happened, and said, "It just got ready."

That clearly forced calm of his made Delia want to laugh.

She plopped down beside him with a playful grin, blinking up at him. "Oh yeah?"

Curtis's grip on the glass tightened a bit. He pressed his lips together but didn't confirm or deny it. The slight redness creeping up his ears gave him away.

Watching him like this warmed Delia's heart.

"Come on, let's eat. From now on, we should always have breakfast together, okay?"

She paused, her eyes twinkling as she added, "And if you're worried about me or anything... just say it. That'd actually make me happier."

Curtis looked up, meeting her eyes-and something in her gaze caught him off guard. His heart gave a weird little lurch.

"...Okay." He mumbled the word so softly, it barely registered.

Delia nodded contentedly.

That's more like it. Couples should be bold with each other.

She ate slowly, every now and then sneaking a look at Curtis as he quietly ate across from her.

He had such a clean, graceful way of eating-calm, quiet, with almost no sound. But that faint tiredness always lingered in his brows. The coldness, the long years of being looked down on... all of it gave him a fragile air.

Delia bit her lip.

She hadn't done enough yet.

Even if she was making the effort to get close, trying to show her love-how could that ever erase the hurt she'd once caused?

She found herself wondering: after all this... had Curtis changed the way he saw her?

Setting down her fork, she cupped her face in her hands.

A beat passed. Then she looked at Curtis and asked softly, "Hey... how do you feel about me now?"

Curtis froze for just a second. Then he went back to normal-but his chewing noticeably slowed down.

Feelings?

To him, that word just felt too heavy, too complicated.

Curtis's mind was flooded with flashes of the past-ones he couldn't stop.

Delia's sharp voice echoed in his ears, her eyes filled with disdain as she called him a cripple.

He remembered the birthday gift he'd thoughtfully picked out for her, lying shattered on the floor.

Her wild threats of suicide, screaming at him to sign the divorce papers...

Did he love her?

Of course he did.

That love might've snuck in quietly, but it had already rooted itself deep in his bones.

Even when she tore him apart, day after day, he stayed. Like some stubborn fool.

Backing down, forgiving her again and again.

Even when he was left bruised inside and out, part of him still clung to a small, pathetic hope-hope that maybe, just maybe, she'd turn around one day and really see him.

But he was close to giving up on that hope for good.

Then, just like that, she changed.

She started getting close to him, clumsily helping him, cooking meals, holding him as she cried.

She looked at him with eyes that sparkled, called him "babe," told him she loved him like she really meant it.

It felt unreal, like something out of a dream too pretty to be true.

He was confused, unsettled. His gut told him it might be a trap wrapped in sweetness.

But still, he couldn't stop that quiet joy fluttering in his chest.

It scared him.

It felt like being lost in a desert for ages-then suddenly, a mirage appeared. You know it's not real, but you still move toward it.

So what was he supposed to do?

Tell her, "Yes, I still love you. So much that it terrifies me"?

Or say, "I don't buy any of this sudden change, and I don't know if I ever will"?

Curtis slowly lifted his eyes and met Delia's gaze.

The way she looked at him-so full of hope, so intense-it felt like she could see right through him, every messy thought, every hidden fear.

His throat tightened. He bailed.

Curtis lowered his gaze and said with a calm, unreadable tone, "Your breakfast's getting cold. Just eat."

The light in Delia's eyes dimmed a little.

Still, she didn't give up. She leaned closer, pressing, "Talking doesn't make food any colder. Just tell me how you really see me now. I mean, you've got to admit, I've changed for the better, right?"

Curtis didn't answer right away.

Under the table, his hand curled into a loose fist.

Of course she was better-everything he'd ever craved.

But he worried that saying it out loud might shatter the fragile dream they were living in.

Maybe now just wasn't the time.

So, in the end, he only shook his head, keeping silent.

Seeing his closed-off expression, Delia bit back her disappointment.

She sighed and let it go, saying softly, "Fine. You don't have to tell me."

"But just so you know-I'll get it out of you eventually."

She shot him a cheeky grin, making Curtis freeze a little.

His ears turned red, and his gaze dropped to the plate in front of him.

Delia didn't notice.

She picked up her fork and quietly kept eating.

She'd hurt him too deeply before. Now, he was too scared to trust again.

But she had all the time in the world to show him-prove to him it was real this time.

After all, she owed him that much.

Breakfast ended in a strange sort of silence.

Curtis wiped his mouth with a napkin and turned his wheelchair, ready to head out.

"I'm going to work," he blurted, almost on instinct.

Just like any husband would say to his wife before leaving.

"Okay," Delia replied with a soft smile. "Drive safe."

She got up and walked him to the door, watching as he left with Noah.

Only when the car vanished into the distance did she slowly pull her gaze back.

Time to get to real business.

Delia turned and headed upstairs, returning to the bedroom.

She sat down, letting the memories from her last life at the Fleming family rush back.

Her parents died early. As the eldest daughter, she should've inherited most of the estate.

But those so-called relatives? They smiled to her face but were dying to skin her alive and snatch everything she had.

The bitterness in her chest flared up fast.

Breathe... Calm down, Delia.

She needed a solid plan. No rushing this.

Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath, forcing herself to clear her mind.

Her phone buzzed on the table, screen lighting up with a new message.

Sender: Edward Fleming.

Her stomach twisted. Bad feeling incoming.

She tapped the screen. The message popped up:

[Delia, have you thought about the equity transfer we talked about? I'm only suggesting this for your own good. A girl managing a company is tough. Why not hand over that chunk of shares to me? I can take care of it for you. You could use the free time to be with Curtis, strengthen your marriage. Let me know when it works for you. Just sign when you're ready.]

Her fingers clenched around the phone so tightly, her knuckles went pale.

This was it. The same trick all over again.

Last life, Edward used this fake concern to coax and pressure her-plus some added whispers from Isabelle and Nathan. Dumb and foggy-headed, she signed away her power.

Curtis had tried to warn her, and she'd brushed it off.

And once she was no longer useful, Edward didn't even hesitate-cut her off cold.

Blood ties? Meant nothing to him when money was involved.

If he had no shame, why should she play nice?

Her chest burned with fury that nearly drowned out reason.

She stared at the screen, lips slowly curving into a cold smile.

Dear Uncle Edward...

Not this time.

Let's see how it feels to get trapped in your own web.

*****

Night fell, city lights flickered alive.

Curtis wrapped up his workday and returned to the villa.

Noah opened the car door and helped him settle into the wheelchair with practiced ease.

He was already ready for this.

Today, almost without thinking, he'd turned down a not-so-urgent dinner and left work right on time.

Not that he could explain why...

Was it Delia he was waiting for?

The thought lingered as he stared out the window.

But as the villa door slowly opened, something completely different hit him.

The smell of food hung warm and inviting in the air.

He could hear soft sounds coming from the kitchen.

He froze on the spot, a little dazed.

Home.

That word used to just mean walls and silence.

Or worse, the look of disgust Delia used to give him every time she had to see him here.

She never wanted to stay-even a second longer. And he got used to hiding at the office till late night.

But things were different now.

She was home. And the light was on.

The scent of food drifting out-it felt real. And comforting.

While he stood there lost in his thoughts, Delia came out of the kitchen with a plate of ribs, the glaze golden and mouthwatering.

She spotted him right away, a bright smile lighting up her face.

"You're back!" she called out, voice full of warmth.