My girlfriend, the so-called campus beauty, suffered from erotomania. She lived in a delusional fantasy where every man she met was secretly obsessed with her.
When her condition flared, she convinced herself that a wealthy heir was sexually harassing her. In her hysteria, she beat him until he was critically injured.
Desperate to save her budding acting career, she knelt before me, begging me to take the fall. She even proposed, claiming we should get our marriage certificate immediately to prove her loyalty.
My heart softened. I agreed.
Eight years later, I walked out of prison to find she had become a washed-up has-been. Not only was she broke, but she had fallen so low she was working as a background extra.
Fueled by rage, she seized my collar, dragging us both toward the edge of the building.
"If it weren't for you, I would have married a rich heir years ago!" she screamed, the wind whipping her hair into a wild halo. "You trash—don't you dare cross my path in the next life!"
Gravity took us.
When I opened my eyes, I was back on the day she beat the heir half to death.
——
"Evan, something happened—get here, now!"
The vast whiteness of death faded. Familiar scenery materialized around me—distant, yet achingly real. My body felt weightless, but the phantom sensation of concrete shattering my bones still crackled through my nerves.
Her voice. I froze.
Before I could speak, Natalie Fox's tone shifted. Disgust dripped from every syllable.
"Actually, don't bother coming!" she snapped. "Evan Dickerson, as of today, we are done. We're breaking up!"
The line went dead.
I stared at the phone.
Natalie had been reborn too.
In the previous timeline, her delusion had driven her to assault Carter Walker, the heir. When I arrived at the scene, panic clawing at my chest, the air was thick with the metallic tang of blood.
Natalie had stood there, fingertips and collar stained crimson. Behind her, a man lay crumpled on the floor, his face deathly pale, his breathing shallow.
The moment she saw me, she burst into tears.
"Evan! Only you can save me! Please!"
When I hesitated, she dropped to her knees. Her face contorted—anxiety, fear, desperation all bleeding together.
"Director Wang just cast me as the third female lead. I'm about to be famous," she sobbed. "I can't go to prison. Help me, okay?"
Her pitiful state shattered my resolve. I took the blame. I gave up eight years of my life.
And when I was released?
She picked apart my every flaw. When her career tanked and she ended up as an extra for the third time, her resentment boiled over. She blamed me for "ruining" her chance to marry into wealth.
Then she killed us both.
Eight years of sacrifice, rewarded with murder.
I spoke into the silence of the room. My voice came out flat. Dead.
"Fine. Let's break up."
Stunned silence on the other end. Then a sneer cut through.
"You were reborn too? Perfect. Saves me the trouble of inventing an excuse to dump you."
She hung up with a violent *bang*.
This was the pivotal year of her life. She had been chosen by a famous director, poised to explode into stardom with her next film.
I rubbed my thumb across the phone screen. A cold smirk tugged at my lips.
This was the most important year of my life, too.
In the original timeline, the stocks I traded had skyrocketed. I had already negotiated a partnership with angel investors. My own company was within reach.
But I had foolishly used my capital to buy Natalie a supporting role in a drama destined for massive success. That role launched her career.
For the next seven years, she produced nothing of value. She squandered her reputation and became a nobody.
And from start to finish, she never knew that money—her buy-in—came from me.
I dialed the investor.
"Mr. Dickerson," the voice on the other end said. "We're in."
My heart settled. Everything was ready.
Just then, my phone screen lit up with a notification.
