His Obsession, Her Freedom

Three years of marriage, three years of silent fury with Blake Harrison.

Then, a nightmare: kidnapped, tortured, and brutally murdered by thugs.

But instead of the afterlife, I woke up to my own funeral party, where my loving husband was celebrating his freedom with my sister, Amelia, accusing me of faking my own death.

My family, the Millers, the very people who had once claimed to love me, stood by, silent witnesses to my humiliation, only to later join Blake in discrediting me, sending me to a mental institution.

It broke me, but in that shattering, a new strength forged; I embraced my "death," watching my essence vanish in a golden glow, ready to finally be free.

Three years later, I returned, a princess with no memory, only to be dragged back into his twisted obsession, discovering he had preserved my supposed corpse and turned my suffering into a perverse play.

He confessed his sick love, his manipulations, even admitting he' d let me be tortured to "test" my affection.

I tried to fight, to turn his own dagger against him, but he only reveled in the pain, until General Alex Vance, a man connected to my forgotten past, burst in and rescued me.

Now, between Blake's renewed tyranny and Alex's baffling devotion, I'm finding pieces of a life I never knew, a history of longing and betrayal that demands to be explored and avenged.

Chloe Miller and Blake Harrison were a couple bound by pure animosity. Three years of marriage, three years of sleeping in separate beds, dreaming separate dreams. They hated each other. More than once, each had thought about killing the other.

When a gang finally did murder Chloe, her hateful husband, Blake Harrison, was busy at a high-end club. He had a dozen escorts laughing and pouring him drinks.

As Chloe' s consciousness faded into blackness, a figure stopped her. It wasn't a bright light or a tunnel. It was a grim reaper, holding a long scythe.

"Ms. Miller, your unresolved desires prevent your rebirth," the reaper said, his voice echoing in the void. "The underworld grants you ten days to return to the living. Resolve your worldly ties, and then you can re-enter the cycle of reincarnation."

Before she could process the words, a blinding white light swallowed her whole.

When Chloe opened her eyes, she was standing on a yacht. The deck was crowded with people, music was blasting, and champagne was flowing. It was a wild party. Blake chartered this yacht.

Cheers suddenly erupted from the crowd. "Congratulations, Blake, on shaking off that wicked Chloe Miller and regaining your freedom!"

Chloe's heart pounded against her ribs. Her legs felt weak. She couldn't believe it. While she was being tortured to death by thugs, her husband, Blake Harrison, was out here celebrating.

"Chloe Miller! You have the nerve to come back!"

A familiar, sharp voice cut through the noise. Before she could turn, a large hand seized her throat. Chloe looked up at the man in front of her. Blake Harrison. His eyes were filled with an undisguised disgust and a cold fury that she knew all too well.

During the days she was held captive, he hadn't sent a single person to look for her. She had held onto a tiny, foolish sliver of hope. Now, she silently mocked herself for it.

The crowd around them started to jeer.

"Chloe Miller, didn't you send a message saying you were killed by bandits?" a woman in a sparkling dress shouted.

"You're really dedicated!" another man chimed in, laughing. "To stop Blake from attending Amelia's birthday party, you even bribed thugs to put on a show with you. Are you a zombie or a ghost?"

"I didn't, I..." Chloe tried to speak, to protest her innocence, but the hand at her throat tightened. She looked at Blake Harrison' s bloodshot eyes, and her heart ached with a familiar pain. He really wanted to choke her to death. Right here, in front of everyone.

Just as Chloe felt her breath being stolen, her vision starting to blur at the edges, a soft voice cut in.

"Blake, stop it."

The grip on Chloe's throat suddenly loosened. She gasped, sucking in the fresh, salty air, her lungs burning. She looked toward the source of the voice.

Amelia Miller. Her sister. The adopted daughter cherished by the entire Miller family. And Blake Harrison' s secret crush, the woman he had always loved.

"See? If you hadn't interfered back then, Amelia and Blake would have been happily married by now," someone whispered loudly.

"You made Amelia heartbroken and leave the country. Now that she's just returned, you pull this stunt about being kidnapped by bandits. Chloe Miller, you're truly the most venomous woman in this city!"

Amidst the taunts, Chloe looked at the two people standing before her. Blake Harrison, handsome and cold, and Amelia Miller, gentle and soft. They were both dressed in pristine white, their outfits perfectly coordinated. They even wore matching jade pendants at their waists.

Before, seeing this would have sent her into a rage. She would have screamed, torn them apart, and stamped her claim on Blake like a feral animal. But now, she just stood there silently. A sad smile touched her lips.

She had tried so hard. For her biased parents, for a husband whose heart belonged to another, she had tried everything to please them. And for what? To die a gruesome death with no one to even claim her body.

She remembered it all so clearly. The thugs, before they killed her, told her to write a ransom note. The first letter she wrote was to her father, who was away on deployment with the military. She waited all day, but the messenger returned with no reply.

The second she wrote to her mother. The messenger came back with only one message. "Ms. Miller, your mother said if you pull another one of these stunts to frame Ms. Amelia, you might as well die outside and not dirty the family name."

The third she wrote to Blake Harrison. His only reply was a coffin, delivered to the thugs' hideout.

The thugs had scoffed and roared with laughter. "What a noble daughter and wife of a wealthy man! Three bloody letters, and not one person came to save you. Your worthless life is hated even by dogs!"

Then, she saw the thug' s gleaming dagger. It pierced her heart. She watched as the blood slowly stained her dress red.

Chloe subconsciously touched her chest. She could still feel the excruciating pain right there, a ghost of a wound on a body that was somehow whole again.

Amelia Miller walked over to Chloe. A flicker of surprise crossed her eyes, but it was quickly replaced by a sweet, gentle smile.

"Chloe, if you weren't in trouble, why didn't you come home? Mom and Dad were heartbroken when they heard you died at the hands of bandits. They've had to call for doctors three times."

Amelia's voice was soft and caring. "Tell me your grievances, sister. You're my sister, and I'll give you anything you want."

A few light words, and she had already solidified the story that Chloe had faked her own death. But she had really been kidnapped. She had really died.

Chloe didn't want to look at Amelia Miller's hypocritical face. She turned to walk away, but Blake Harrison grabbed her wrist in a painful grip.

"Where are you going now? Off to play another pity card?" he snarled. "Let me tell you, Chloe. Even if you really died, I'd only pour stale soup on your grave. I wouldn't shed a single tear for you!"

Chloe's wrist ached. Her heart hurt even more. But her gaze fell on something else. On his left hand, he wore a string of luminous prayer beads.

Three years ago, Blake Harrison was severely injured after falling from his horse. The doctors said he might not make it. She had gone to the temple, kneeling on nine thousand cold stone steps through a heavy snowstorm to obtain those blessed prayer beads for his safety.

Chloe said nothing. She just reached out with her free hand and forcefully tore off the tassel at the end of the prayer beads.

"Clatter!"

The string broke. The beads scattered across the wooden deck, rolling into the dark corners of the yacht. She let go of her first, and most foolish, obsession with Blake Harrison.

Blake Harrison stared at the scattered beads, his face a mask of cold fury. "You..."

Chloe simply looked at him, her eyes empty of the love and desperation that used to fill them. She pulled her wrist from his grasp and turned away, collecting the broken pieces of the holographic projector he had just smashed. A sense of release, vast and hollow, filled her.

She returned to their house, a place that had never felt like a home. It was a grand, beautiful mansion, but it was always cold, filled with a suffocating silence. She walked through the halls, her footsteps echoing in the emptiness.

In her room, she found the source of her past obsession, the thing Blake had just destroyed. It was a holographic projector, a custom-made device. For three years, whenever the loneliness became too much to bear, she would turn it on. It projected a life-sized image of Blake, programmed with his voice, reciting poetry or simply standing there, looking at her. She had used it for comfort, a pathetic substitute for the real man who despised her.

Flashbacks flooded her mind, unbidden and sharp. She saw herself as a young girl, wild and headstrong, her laughter echoing through the gardens of the Miller estate. She remembered the first time she saw Blake Harrison, so cool and distant, and the immediate, all-consuming infatuation that followed. She remembered throwing away her colorful dresses, learning boring etiquette, and trying to mold herself into the perfect, gentle wife she thought he wanted.

Then came the memory of the engagement party. Not hers, but his. He was supposed to marry Amelia. The heartbreak had been so intense she thought she would die from it. She remembered getting drunk, making a scene, and somehow, through a series of chaotic events, ending up as his bride instead. He had hated her for it from day one.

The projector had been her secret shame, a symbol of her desperate love. Now, its pieces lay in her hands, a testament to her foolishness.

Just as she was about to throw the broken parts into a trash bag, the door to her room burst open. Blake stood there, his face dark with rage.

"Still playing with your toys?" he sneered, his eyes falling on the projector parts in her hands. "Can't even be without me for a second, can you? You have to use a doll to satisfy your pathetic loneliness."

His words were meant to hurt, to humiliate her. And they did. But the pain was distant now, like an old injury that only ached when the weather was bad. His possessiveness was suffocating, his disdain a constant poison.

She didn't answer him. She simply placed the broken pieces of the projector into a small box, next to the shattered prayer beads she had picked up from the yacht. Two broken symbols of a broken love. Her heart felt nothing but an empty calm.