Oliver stepped out of Zara's room, looking slightly awkward.

"I-I just wanted to check on Zara since she wasn't feeling well," he said, stumbling over his words.

I gave a casual nod and turned to head back to my room. In my previous life, I'd wasted countless hours arguing with him over how close he was to Zara. This time, I wasn't going to let it drain my energy.

He called after me, "Nina."

"How about we get some chocolates to share with the neighbors' wives?"

I looked at him, surprised. Then it dawned on me: this was probably his way of making up for the fact that I hadn't kicked up a fuss about their closeness.

"That's unnecessary," I replied. "There's no point in engaging in such empty gestures."

He seemed taken aback, perhaps because he hadn't expected me to reject his suggestion.

"Are you angry with Oliver for looking after me, sis?" Zara came out of the room, feigning innocence and guilt. She was wearing the Victorian-style dress I had saved up for months in my past life, intended for our wedding photos—a dress I'd never worn.

Seeing my expression, Zara quickly explained, "I saw this dress on your bed and thought it was lovely. I wanted to try it on and forgot to take it off."

She lowered her head, twisting her fingers like a child trying to appear apologetic.

Oliver instinctively began, "Nina, you don't—"

I cut him off, keeping my tone calm, "You look good in it. Why don't you keep it? I never wore it anyway."

I could detect the faint scent of stress and longing on the dress, remembering the nights I'd rushed home in tears. The thought now made me feel repulsed.

As their shocked expressions lingered, I returned to my bedroom and locked the door behind me.

I pulled out the folder with my acceptance letter from the University of Oxford. In my previous life, I always had an affinity for the southern regions, especially as finance was a subject I truly loved. Back then, I put my education on hold for Oliver, opting to stay home to care for his parents. Luckily, this time, I have the chance to change my path. I want to live for myself now.

When I glanced at my calendar, I realized there were only ten days left until my departure. Time is short, and I need to make every moment count as I prepare.

A sudden knock at the door interrupted my train of thought, and I opened it, feeling a bit impatient. Oliver stood there with a bowl of ravioli, his voice soft, "Hungry? I made you some ravioli."

For a moment, I was taken aback. In my previous life, he was either cold or sharp-tongued towards me. Such warmth from Oliver was something I hadn't experienced in a long time.

"No thanks. I already ate out," I replied.

"How could that be? You're usually careful with money."

His words stung. I had been frugal before, scrimping and saving, spending most of the money I earned from part-time jobs on him, buying him things. Now that I'm heading off to university, money will be tight, and every penny counts.

I looked at him steadily, "I remember giving you £50 a few days ago for wedding supplies. You didn't buy anything, so can you return it?"

He hesitated for a moment before awkwardly admitting, "I spent it on new shoes for Zara."

I couldn't help but smile wryly. The same old story.

"If there's nothing else, I'm closing the door and going to sleep."

"I'll pay you back tomorrow," he said, annoyed. "We're married; do you really need to be so tight-fisted?"

I couldn't help but scoff, "I'm not allowed to care that you're using the money I worked hard to save to buy things for someone else?"

He knew he was in the wrong, but he stubbornly muttered, "Unbelievable."

Tired of the argument, I slammed the door shut.