Brigitta had travelled through time thrice and loved Damien in each different timeline. Unfortunately, they ended up as bitter enemies each time.

The first time, Damien’s kept that woman, Irene, had jumped from the balcony during their wedding. Damien had blamed Brigitta and tortured her for fifty years before finally carrying her to that same spot and leaping with her in his arms. His body crushed into the ground in a bloody tribute to his precious woman.

The second time, Irene had hanged herself in their bridal suite. That same night, Damien had stared at his beloved woman’s lifeless body, eyes burning red and in a blind rage, seized Brigitta by the throat—destroying her vocal cords.

The third time, before Irene could even make a move, Brigitta had stepped in and saved her. But Damien had said nothing. On the day after the wedding, he had simply vanished—and she hadn’t seen him again until the moment he lay on his deathbed.

Three times, Damien’s kept woman had killed herself on their wedding day. Three times, Brigitta had paid for it with years of Damien’s endless torment.

This time, Brigitta opened her eyes three days before the wedding. She tore off the gown she had been trying on, grabbed the phone and called Damien’s kept woman.

“Come pick out a wedding dress. The wedding is canceled. I'm not getting married.”

——

A mocking laugh came through the line.

“Lady Holmund, what game are you playing now? I don’t believe you. Unless... you bring the dress to me yourself.”

Brigitta tightened her grip on the phone, forcing down her anger.

Fine. Let it be the last thing she ever did for the two of them.

Upon arriving at the address Irene had given her, the door stood ajar. She pushed it open—only to be greeted by with lingerie and condom wrappers scattered across the floor, the air thick with the sharp scent of sex. From the bedroom came the sound of breathless, intimate gasps…

Brigitta knew that voice. She’d became familiar with it for the past three lifetimes. It was Damien's!

Even after three unfortunate lifetime, seeing the scene before her still tore her heart to pieces.

The man looked up, shoved the woman on top off him and frowned. “What are you doing here?”

Brigitta opened her mouth to answer, but Irene had already flung herself into Damien’s arms, weeping dramatically.

“Ms. Holmund must be trying to humiliate me again. She even came in person to deliver a wedding dress!”

Damien’s face hardened. He rose, not bothering to cover himself as he shrugged into a robe. “I’ve already given you the title of Mrs. Arkwright. What more do you want? She may be nothing but an ornament to me, but if you lay a hand on her, you’ll be my enemy. This is your last warning.”

No one knew better than Brigitta how much Damien cared for his kept woman.

Her mind flashed back to the three lifetimes she had already lived.

The first time, Irene had jumped from their wedding venue. Damien tortured Brigitta for the next fifty years before finally carrying her to the same spot and jumped with her, crushing his body into the ground in a tribute to his kept woman.

The second time, Irene had hanged herself in the bridal suite. That night, Damien had stared at her corpse with burning eyes, then seized Brigitta by the throat, destroying her vocal chords.

The third time, Brigitta had saved Irene before she could act—but Damien had said nothing. The day after the wedding, he disappeared. She never saw him again until his deathbed.

Three deaths had taught Brigitta one truth: Damien had always cherished Irene, while she had been the intruder that stood between them.

Damien's love—or lack of it—had always been clear. And Irene would be her enemy for life, yet Damien insisted on keeping her close.

As Brigitta stayed silent, buried in her thoughts, Damien wrapped an arm around Irene and looked down at her.

“The cleaner’s off today. Since you’re here, tidy this place up. Irene’s staying tonight,” he said.

Brigitta fists clenched. She could bear no more. “Damien, since you’re here, I’ll say it straight—about the wedding—”

“Enough!” he roared. “I agreed to marry you, as you wanted and now you can’t stop talking about the wedding? Are you trying to humiliate Irene? Get out!”

He snatched up a glass ashtray and hurled it at her.

Bang!

It grazed her forehead and shattered against the wall. Warm blood trickled down her face.

Brigitta felt a sudden ringing in her head, intense pain radiating from her forehead and she could barely stand.

Damien’s pupils constricted. He froze. “Why… didn’t you dodge?”

Why? Because she would never again stoop to begging for his mercy.

“Damien, I owe you nothing. And I warn you... do NOT touch me again.”

She wiped the blood from her face, dropped the wedding dress onto the floor and walked out without looking back.

Outside, she hailed a cab to the hospital. Her wound was cleaned and bandaged quickly.

At the time, her heart felt numb, though a dull ache still throbbed inside.

In the past, Brigitta might have exaggerated an injury to win Damien’s sympathy. And he would have tended to her around the clock.

Everyone said that Brigitta was Damien’s entire world and no one could shake her position in his heart. People still remembered the time Damien had celebrated her recovery from a mild cold by spending hundreds of millions on three nights of fireworks over Ardenport.

After Irene appeared, however, that place in his heart had vanished.

Three lifetimes had been enough for Brigitta to finally see the truth. This time, she would break free of Damien and live for herself.

After leaving the hospital, she pulled out her phone and sent emails to her expedition team.

As the lead director of The Thalasson Project—an expedition to uncover a lost civilization—Brigitta was ready to abandon her obsession with Damien and devote the rest of her life to the dream she had always yearned for.

After sending the messages, exhaustion washed over Brigitta. Somewhere in the haze, she heard the front door open.

The estate she was currently in had been bought jointly by Damien's and her families for the marriage, but Damien had almost never stayed there... be it before or after the wedding.

Tonight though, he had come.

A long while later, Brigitta left her bedroom to fetch her charger. Passing the study, she saw him sitting at his desk under the warm lamplight, typing something intently.

Hearing her, Damien looked up. “Why aren’t you asleep?”

Brigitta didn’t answer and was about to keep walking when he called her back.

His eyes looked tired as he removed his silver-rimmed glasses and rubbed his brow.

“About today… I’m sorry,” he said. “But you should never have paraded the wedding dress in front of her. Irene has never gone out of her way to provoke you. Why are you acting like that?”

Brigitta’s remained calm. “You’re mistaken. I went to deliver the dress. The wedding—”

Damien’s mouth curved in a humorless smile.

“The wedding’s off? You’re handing it over to her?”

“You already know? Good.”

Damien's eyes chilled, his tone laced with scorn. “So Irene was right—you’re playing games. Brigitta, you truly disgust me. Whose idea was this? You love me so much you’re desperate to marry me, yet now you’re giving the ceremony to someone else?”

She didn’t want to explain. “Believe what you want. I’ve told you.”

He cut her off, his voice turning cold. “If not for our families’ business arrangement, I would never marry you. Irene is pure and kind—don’t you dare touch her. You may have the title of Mrs. Arkwright, but don’t dream of earning my love.”

Her indifference seemed to irritate him further.

So, he got up, pulled her into his arms and sat her on his lap, gripping her waist tightly. “Or is this about earlier? You saw us and got jealous?”

Damien's hand slid downward while the other gripped her chin, forcing a kiss on her.

Brigitta shoved him away. “Don’t touch me!”

She stood up from his lap, wiped her lips and didn't want him to touch her. Just thinking of Damien and Irene in bed that afternoon made her stomach turn.

Damien paused for a moment, then sneered: “Playing hard to get? Such a trivial trick.”

Brigitta sighed. She didn’t want to argue more and just wanted to leave.

As she reached the door, his voice followed her. “That little Thalasson Project expedition you’ve been dreaming about—it’s finally open for applications again after five years. I’ll be working late, sleeping in the study. Don’t disturb me.”

Her step faltered, but she said nothing and left.

Back in her room, Brigitta immediately logged into the expedition’s official site. Within minutes, she posted the announcement: this year’s team was now assembling and applications from foreign enthusiasts were closed.

***

The next morning, Brigitta was yanked out of bed by a rough hand. She opened her eyes to find Damien looming over her, red veins spidering in his gaze. He was clutching her phone.

“How did you get a spot in the Thalasson Project?”

She frowned. “Why are you looking at my phone? Let go of me!”

He threw the phone onto her. “It wouldn’t stop ringing. I went to turn it off—and found an endless stream of emails! You stole Irene’s spot, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t!”

“You’re lying!” His grip tightened until she hissed in pain. “I told you last night and now you magically have an invitation—while Irene is suddenly out. You expect me to believe that’s a coincidence?”

He continued, “I never realized you were this manipulative. Three days before our wedding and you’d run off to join some expedition just to spite Irene? Give her back her place.”

Brigitta almost laughed. Fate had a cruel sense of humor—making it seem as though she were the manipulative one, when she knew exactly who had been doing the real damage.

She calmed herself down and said, “I didn't take her spot and don't look at my phone again.”

Damien released her, pulling a tissue from the box to wipe his fingers as if touching her had dirtied him.

Brigitta closed her eyes. This Damien was exactly the same as in her past three lives—meeting her only with hostility.

He stared at the silent Brigitta for a long moment, then said coldly, “You'll regret this.”

And with that, Damien strode out, slamming the door behind him.

After Damien left, Brigitta dragged herself out of bed.

She hadn’t slept well; her body felt heavy with exhaustion. Their supposed to be wedding was in two days and she needed to pack—because this time, she would be gone before it happened. She refused to make the same mistakes again.

Everything in the house reminded her of Damien, so she cleaned everything out, had it taken away and packed only a backpack for herself.

Once everything was done, she checked the time on her phone, grabbed her car keys and headed to the embassy to renew her visa.

While waiting in line, Brigitta pulled a baseball cap low over her brow to hide her wound.

Never again would she degrade herself for love.

She had every reason to hold her head high. The thought of Damien telling her to “live with her tail between her legs” last night only deepened her disgust at the way she had once loved him desperately.

To distract herself, she scrolled through her phone. The news and trending topics were flooded with headlines about her expedition team:

[BREAKING: The world’s top exploration team returns to unravel the mystery of The Thalasson Project.]

[Legendary Chief Expedition ‘X’ has come out of retirement. The next expedition will change the course of history.]

Even the foreigners in line beside her were talking about it.

“That insane expedition team closed public applications last night. My friend offered billions and still couldn’t get the last slot. Unbelievable!”

“It’s and expedition for a Lost City Thalasson, a prehistoric super-civilization! If I got to go just once in my life, I’d die happy. And with Chief ‘X’ leading? That’s like getting a ticket to another planet!”

Their animated praise for the “Legendary Chief of Expedition” eased some of the tension in Brigitta's chest.

Then she heard the click of impatient heels on the floor. She looked up—and froze. It was Damien and Irene!

Why were those two in the embassy? Brigitta mused to herself. A sigh of frustration escaped her lips, she was hoping those two wouldn’t notice her.

“Damien, I don’t want to go to Elyria,” Irene pouted against his chest. “I want to join that expedition team. Everyone’s talking about it now! It must've been an awesome experience! Why can Brigitta go but I can’t? She stole my spot on purpose!”

“She didn’t steal your spot. Everyone has to apply on their own. We just had bad luck. I'll make it up to you. Wait here, I need to take a call.” Damien walked out to take the call, leaving Irene alone.

Brigitta was puzzled. This morning, he had been nothing but cruel to her. Now he was defending her?

Alas, Irene had already spotted her by then.

Brigitta instinctively lowered her cap, but too late—Irene was already walking over with a smile on her face.

“Ms. Holmund, are you following us all the way here? Why do you always turn up wherever we go?”

Brigitta’s smiled out of sarcasm. “You said it yourself—I got into the expedition. I’m here to renew my visa. What about you?”

“You—!”

Irene bit back her anger and smirked instead. “So what if you got in? Your man still sleeps in my bed. You’re just left with the scraps. Happy wedding, dear 'sister'.”

Brigitta clenched her fists: “You’re just as shameless as your mother!”

Irene’s eyes gleamed with vicious pride. “My mother built her own good life. And yours? Where is she?”

Brigitta’s anger flared and she raised her hand, ready to slap her.

But Irene moved first—grabbing her wrist and slamming her hand down on the binding machine beside them. She pressed the switch.

The screw-press crushed through Brigitta’s little finger.

Blood gushed out of the wound and those around her were so frightened they backed away to a safe distance.

The pain was excurciating. Brigitta bit down hard on her lip, clutching her hand as Irene let out a piercing scream.

Damien appeared in seconds. He saw Brigitta's bleeding little finger, his eyes momentarily filled with confusion. Just as he was about to approach Brigitta, Irene grabbed his arm.

“Damien, Ms. Holmund hit me, then ran her own hand into the machine… I can’t—oh God, I can’t look—” She faked weakness and limped against him.

Damien caught her immediately and swept her up in his arms without hesitation.

Meanwhile, Brigitta’s voice shook with pain. “Damien, Take me to a hospital! I can't feel my fingers!”

There was pleading in her tone.

Yet, Damien's eyes went cold upon hearing that. “You brought this on yourself. I told you not to touch her. If you weren’t bleeding, Irene wouldn’t have fainted!”

He added, “Even if you lose the finger, you deserve it.”

And with that, Damien strode out of the embassy with Irene in his arms then drove her to the nearest hospital.

Brigitta's head buzzed as she could only stand helplessly on her spot.

This was the first time she had ever begged Damien to help her—and he had turned away. That man had seen her blood and chosen to walk past her.

The pain in her hand blurred her vision. Just before she blacked out, she felt someone catch her.