Late 2044.

In her fifties, Serena Whitfield had entered the final countdown of her life.

The breast cancer had spread. Her husband, Ethan Mercer, had pulled every string he could, found the best doctors money could buy, tried everything to keep her alive. But she didn’t want to live anymore.

She had been on a hunger strike for three days.

Not a bite. Not even a sip of water.

They had been married for thirty years, yet now, at the very end, she didn’t even want to see his face again.

Inside the hospice room.

Her eyes stayed tightly shut.

Footsteps came in. She knew right away it was her husband and her own daughter coming to see her.

The doctor spoke in a heavy voice. "She’s refusing to eat. There isn’t much time left."

A long, suffocating silence spread through the room.

What little awareness she still had was slowly slipping away too.

Then, at the very end, she heard her daughter lower her voice on purpose and ask, "Mom’s finally about to go... so when are you giving Aunt Chloe a wedding?"

After a pause, Ethan said, "We’ll see. At the very least, I need to take care of her funeral first."

Her daughter let out a sigh. "Mom struggled her whole life. I seriously don’t get what she was even holding on for. If she’d just divorced you earlier, wouldn’t that have been better? Instead she pissed herself sick."

Hearing that, bitterness flooded Serena’s chest.

Why had she refused to divorce him?

It was simple.

She just wanted her daughter to have a complete family, so that when she grew up and got married, her future in-laws wouldn’t nitpick her background and look down on her.

And now, all that persistence of hers felt like a complete joke.

But whatever.

She was leaving this world that had broken her heart over and over again.

She was finally going to be free.

"She looked quiet enough, but she was stubborn to the core. Hurt herself, hurt everyone else..." Ethan muttered, his voice full of cold mockery.

Hurt herself and hurt everyone else.

What a brutal summary. Straight-up savage.

"Aunt Chloe really had it rough too. Staying with you for half her life with no title, no status. Good thing she’s finally about to see the light at the end of the tunnel," her daughter said, sounding almost relieved.

"Yeah, I owe her a lot. For the rest of my life, I’ll make it up to her." My husband’s voice was heavy with guilt, like every word scraped his throat on the way out.

Tears kept spilling from the corners of my eyes, nonstop, like someone had turned on a faucet I couldn’t shut off. So that was it. All the love I poured out, all the years I gave without asking for anything back, none of it stuck in anyone’s memory. But the woman who stepped into my home, my marriage, and quietly stayed there for years? She was the one my husband and daughter remembered.

It was honestly kind of absurd. And cruel.

Then I seemed to hear a bell ringing somewhere, distant and hollow. The next second, a wave of exhaustion crashed over me. I was so tired. So done. I really just wanted to sleep.

A sharp, blinding light suddenly stabbed into my vision. I blinked hard and dazedly opened my eyes.

Then I heard my mother’s voice by my ear, annoyed and familiar: "Serena, you’re still sleeping? Sophia’s about to get out of class."

I shot upright so fast my head spun. When I turned around, I saw my mother—my mother, who had been dead for years—standing by the floor-to-ceiling window, looping back the curtains. Outside, sunlight flooded the garden, bright and clear, the trees and grass lush and green.

"Serena, what’s with you? Still not awake?" Mom walked over, amused, and patted my arm. "Go pick up the kid. Honestly. Were you up all night reading those romance novels again? How many times have I told you not to wreck your health like that? I’m still waiting for you and Ethan to have a second baby."

"Mom..." The glaring light faded completely, and her face became clearer and clearer. I grabbed her fingers at once. Warm. They were warm. Like I’d found some priceless treasure, I pulled her hard into my arms and hugged her tight. "Mom, it’s really you? Why are you here?"

My reaction clearly freaked her out. She hurriedly pushed me back a little and reached up to touch my forehead. "Serena, did you sleep yourself silly? You were the one who said you were bored and had the driver bring me here from home to stay with you for a few days."

Her words hit me like a key turning in an old lock.

That was 2014. Just after the May holiday. My mother had taken annual leave, and I’d sent a driver to bring her from our hometown to Hangzhou because I wanted her to stay with me for a while.

Could it be...

"Alright, stop acting weird. Go pick up Sophia. Ethan’s coming home for dinner tonight, and I need to deal with those fish first." Mom spoke as she headed downstairs.

I stood there breathing hard, looking around me.

This was the villa Ethan had bought after we got married.

In 2014, our daughter, Sophia Mercer, was already six and in the top kindergarten class.

Ethan Mercer was a Hangzhou local. The family business was in his hands now as the eldest son, and he was doing a seriously great job with it. Everyone said I had married well—that I’d landed a husband who was young, handsome, and ridiculously capable.

I walked onto the balcony. The sunlight fell over me, warm and soft against my skin.

Had I really been reborn?

Did heaven finally pity me? Did it think I’d wasted my whole last life, so it shoved me back into 2014 just to watch me ruin myself all over again?

Not far away, a few young people were playing tennis on the community court, full of energy, full of life, the whole scene basically screaming youth.

I leaned on the railing and watched them for a while.

Then, finally, I laughed.

Looks like all those wishes I made, running around from temple to temple every day, actually came true.

She took a deep breath and checked the time. 3:40 p.m. If she left the villa now to pick up her daughter, it would take about thirty minutes by car. That was her everyday life as a stay-at-home wife.

But today, she wanted to slack off for once.

Sure, Sophia Mercer was her daughter, no doubt about that. But she wasn’t Serena Whitfield’s responsibility alone.

She took out her phone and called Ethan Mercer.

His younger, steadier voice came through the line. "What’s up? Have you gone to pick her up yet?"

Serena immediately leaned back against the sofa and lied without missing a beat. "My stomach’s kind of acting up. Can you go get her instead?"

Ethan paused, then said, "I still have a meeting. Can your mom go?"

"My mom’s cooking. You know I can’t deal with killing fish. Just send the driver." As long as she didn’t go, Ethan would always find a way to handle it.

"Alright. I’ll arrange it."

He didn’t say anything else. He just hung up.

Serena stood and walked into the walk-in closet. In front of the full-length mirror stood a young woman in a loose casual dress.

Back then, Ethan had fallen for her not because she had some sweet personality, and definitely not because she looked like some lucky wife type.

He had fallen for her face. Her figure.

Pretty, seductive, sharp in that almost dangerous way.

Yeah. No one would believe that a man like Ethan Mercer, known for his brains and capability, could be that shallow too.

Still, Ethan counted as a gentleman, more or less.

After getting together with her, he had always been polite. He never raised his voice, never got into ugly fights with her. He liked reasoning things out. Sure, he could go ice-cold and hit people with emotional distance, but he didn’t have that gross, low-class male temper. He never cursed. He was always calm, always composed, always the kind of man who could cleanly deal with any problem.

She still remembered their wedding night.

He had been drinking. When he came to the bedside and saw her in that mermaid-style dress, the look in his eyes had clearly shifted. There was heat there, and possession, and something dark that almost broke through.

But even then, he still asked her, "Can I?"

She had admired him. Worshipped him, really.

Even though he hadn’t lunged at her like some normal man losing control, that night, she had still gotten what she wanted.

She had become his woman.

She had entered that marriage carrying all the sweet little dreams in her heart, full of hope, full of expectation, imagining a happy life with him. Day in, day out together. A proper marriage. A warm home. Children. He would handle the outside world, and she would take care of the family.

But dreams and reality always seemed to have a line between them.

A line you could see, but never cross.

In the fifth year of their marriage, he had someone else outside.

Her name was Chloe Wriothesley.

His assistant. His confidante. His right hand.

In his own words, she was the best support he had, someone who could charge into battle with him and fight off enemies at his side. He couldn’t do without her.

And by now, they had probably already been together for over a year.

In her previous life, at this exact point in time, she had still been completely in the dark. Totally played.

But in this life, she had decided to let him go.

And let herself go too.

If she had to sum up the life ahead using some online wisdom, then it was simple—

Treasure him.

He’s the only kind of man who gives you money to spend and doesn’t even want your body.