Chapter 1

The last thing I remembered was the cold night air rushing past my face.

Then, an unbearable pain as my body hit the pavement.

My husband, Mark, and his boss, Ms. Jenkins, had pushed me from the thirty-second-floor office window.

"She's just a trophy wife," Mark had sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. "Good for nothing but managing the house."

Ms. Jenkins had laughed, her arm wrapped around his waist.

I had brought him dinner, a foolish, loving gesture for a man working late. Instead, I found them together, their bodies entwined on his office desk. The contract he had been desperate to sign lay forgotten on the floor.

My heart had shattered. I screamed. I accused. And they, to protect their careers, their reputations, their disgusting affair, they silenced me forever.

As darkness took me, my only thought was regret. Regret for loving him, for trusting him, for giving up my entire world for him.

Then, a sudden jolt.

My eyes flew open. I was standing in the quiet, carpeted hallway outside Mark' s office, the thermos of soup still warm in my hands. The heavy oak door was slightly ajar.

I glanced at my phone. 9:00 PM. An hour earlier.

My breath hitched. I felt a chill that had nothing to do with the building's air conditioning. I was back.

Driven by a force I didn't understand, I crept closer to the door, peering through the narrow gap.

And there they were. Just as before.

Mark was pressed against his desk, Ms. Jenkins in his arms, their mouths locked in a passionate kiss. Her hands were tangled in his hair, his were roaming her back. It was a scene of raw, unapologetic betrayal.

This time, there was no scream caught in my throat. The rage was still there, a cold, hard stone in my chest, but the shock was gone. I had already lived through the worst of it.

This was a second chance.

I wouldn't waste it on tears.

Quietly, I backed away from the door. I walked to the empty reception desk down the hall. Lying on the corner was the business contract Mark had been chasing for months, the one that would secure his promotion. The one I had used my family connections to help him even get a meeting for.

My hands didn't shake.

I picked it up and walked to the shredder in the copy room. The machine whirred to life, devouring the pages one by one, turning Mark' s future into a basket of meaningless paper strips.

Then, I walked back to his office door. I raised my phone, the lens perfectly framing the scene through the crack. Mark had his hand on Ms. Jenkins' s thigh now, pushing her skirt up.

Click.

Click.

Click.

Click.

Click.

Five clear, damning photos. I saved them to a secure folder, my movements calm and methodical. Then, I turned and walked away, leaving the thermos of soup on the floor outside his office.

Let it get cold.

Mark stumbled into our apartment at 2 AM. The slam of the door echoed in the silent space.

"Ava!" he called out, his voice loud and demanding. "I'm starving. Is there anything to eat?"

Normally, I would be waiting on the sofa, no matter the hour. I would have gotten up immediately, gone to the kitchen, and heated a meal for him, asking about his long day.

Tonight, I lay in our bed, the bedroom door closed, and didn't move. I stared at the ceiling, my body rigid.

I heard him grumble from the living room. "Asleep already? Useless."

He stomped around for a bit, then went into the bathroom. A moment later, I heard the buzz of a phone from the living room, where he' d tossed his jacket.

A single message lit up the screen. I had seen it in my previous life, too, but it had meant nothing then. Now, it meant everything.

"My love, I miss you already. -J"

I didn't sleep. I lay awake all night, the events of my past life and my new present replaying in my mind. The fall, the pain, the betrayal. The quiet click of my phone's camera.

The next morning, I rose before him. I went into the living room and picked up the shirt he had carelessly thrown over a chair. There, on the collar, was a smear of dark red lipstick. Not my shade.

He came out of the bedroom, stretching and yawning. When he saw the shirt in my hands, his eyes widened in panic.

"Oh, that!" he said, snatching it from me with a nervous laugh. "That's just a joke from one of the girls at the office. You know how they are."

I said nothing. I just looked at him, my expression blank. I didn't need to expose his lie. I already knew the truth.

He tried to recover, forcing a cheerful tone. "I took the day off for you! I'll make you breakfast. To make up for being so late."

He bustled around the kitchen, making a clumsy attempt at pancakes. He set a plate in front of me, a sticky, lopsided mess. Then his phone rang.

"Hello? Oh, right now?" His face fell. "Yes, of course. An urgent company matter. I'll be right there."

He turned to me, his face a mask of fake regret. "Ava, I'm so sorry. I have to go."

He grabbed his keys and rushed out the door, not even looking back.

I sat alone at the table, staring at the untouched plate. I recalled the years of sacrifice, the endless support, the belief that his ambition was our shared dream.

With a steady hand, I picked up the plate. I walked to the kitchen and scraped the entire meal into the trash can.

It was garbage. Just like his love.