My Husband's Secret Journal

I was Olivia Miller, a New York socialite trapped in a cold, arranged marriage to Ethan Cole, a man I utterly despised.

My indifference turned to cruel disdain at a charity gala, where I mocked him as he was drugged. His quiet suffering and eventual death, ironically, came after he selflessly saved my family's company. Only then, grief-stricken by a car crash, did I discover his secret journal, a heartbreaking revelation of his hidden, unwavering love for me.

I woke up years earlier, back at that same gala – a second chance! But Ethan, too, remembered my past cruelty. He was cold, distant, and brought a doppelgänger into our home, showering her with affection to punish me. He relentlessly pursued a divorce, making me experience the crushing agony of rejection I'd once inflicted.

Why had fate granted me a do-over, only for him to hate me so fiercely? My desperate pleas for forgiveness fell on deaf ears. I finally understood his pain, but his indifference was an insurmountable wall. The bitter irony consumed me: I finally loved him, but he wanted me gone.

I eventually died again, tragically sacrificing myself for my family's name. Yet, death wasn't the end. I woke up *again*, five years before our arranged marriage, armed with foresight. This time, my mission is clear: save my family, dismantle the threats to our legacy, and, maybe, just maybe, reclaim the heart of the man whose memories of me are forever tainted.

The marble was cold under my fingers. Ethan's name was carved deep into it. Ethan Cole. My husband. Dead.

It was my fault. All of it.

A memory, sharp and unwelcome, cut through the fog of my grief. The charity gala. Years ago, but it felt like yesterday.

Ethan, his face pale, sweat on his forehead. He'd been drugged. Someone thought it was a funny prank.

I hadn't helped.

"Go find an escort, Ethan," I'd sneered, my voice dripping with the contempt I felt for our arranged marriage. "Plenty around tonight."

He hadn't said a word. Just turned and walked away, his shoulders tight. Later, I heard he'd locked himself in a cold, unused bathroom in our Hamptons place, fighting off whatever poison was in his system. He'd damaged his lungs that night, a weakness that plagued him until the end.

I didn't know then. I didn't care.

I only understood after he was gone. After I found the drive.

"Liv," the folders were labeled. Hundreds of them. Photos of me I didn't even remember. Voice notes. A journal.

His love, raw and desperate, filled every file. How he'd managed my reckless spending. Taken the blame for my social blunders. Nursed me through that awful flu. Bought that small vineyard in Napa I'd idly mentioned wanting once, a drunken wish he'd made real.

He knew I was planning to leave him for Liam. He wrote about letting me go, hoping I'd find happiness.

His sacrifice for Miller Industries, for my father, while his own health crumbled. He died alone in a New York hospital.

The weight of it all, the love I'd thrown away, crushed me. I got in my car, tears blinding me. The screech of tires. Then, blackness.

A chandelier blazed above me, dripping crystals like frozen tears. Music swelled, a familiar classical piece. The scent of expensive perfume and champagne.

I knew this place. This night.

My heart hammered against my ribs. No. It couldn't be.

I looked down. The emerald green dress. The one I wore to the annual Miller Industries charity gala. The night Ethan was drugged.

My hand flew to my mouth. I was back.

Panic, cold and sharp, seized me. Ethan. He was here. He was about to suffer. Because of me.

Not this time.

My eyes scanned the crowded ballroom, a sea of tuxedos and glittering gowns. Where was he?

I pushed through clusters of laughing socialites, my apologies mechanical. I had to find him.

There. Near the terrace doors, talking to Mr. Henderson, one of my father's smarmy business rivals. Ethan looked... fine. For now.

But Henderson was holding two champagne flutes.

"Ethan!" My voice was too loud, too urgent.

He turned, surprise flickering in his eyes. Henderson offered him a glass.

"Don't drink that!" I almost shouted, rushing forward.

I stumbled, grabbing his arm, my fingers digging into his sleeve. "Ethan, come with me. Now."

He looked down at my hand, then at my face, his expression unreadable. Confusion. Annoyance?

"Olivia? What's wrong?"

"Just come with me," I pleaded, pulling him away from a startled Henderson. I didn't care about the scene I was making.

I practically dragged him through a side door, into a quiet corridor leading to the private suites.

"Olivia, what is the meaning of this?" he started, his voice low and strained. He looked pale. Too pale.

Oh God, was he already feeling it? Had Henderson already given him something?

"Are you okay?" I asked, my voice trembling. I reached out, touched his cheek. It was cool, clammy.

His eyes, usually so guarded around me, widened slightly. He stared at me as if he'd never seen me before.

"I... I don't feel well," he mumbled, swaying slightly.

"I know," I whispered. "I'll take care of you."

This time, I would.

I led him into the nearest unlocked suite, a lavishly decorated room. He sank onto the edge of the bed, his head in his hands.

"My head is spinning," he said, his voice thick.

I knelt before him, taking his hands. "Ethan, look at me."

He lifted his head. His pupils were dilated. Fear, raw and new, mixed with the old regret inside me.

"I'm here," I said, my voice softer than I'd ever used with him.

Impulsively, driven by a desperate need to erase the past, to show him, somehow, that this time was different, I leaned in and kissed him.

It was hesitant at first, then deeper. A silent apology. A promise.

Ethan went rigid. I felt the shock run through him.

He probably thought I'd lost my mind. The Olivia he knew, the one who flinched from his touch, who met his gaze with ice, wouldn't do this.

But then, a shudder went through him. A small sound, a sigh or a groan, escaped his lips.

His hands, which had been limp in mine, tightened. He kissed me back.

It wasn't gentle. It was desperate, hungry, as if he'd been starving for something he never thought he'd have.

The drug, whatever it was, was clearly taking its toll, but there was something else too. A raw need that mirrored my own sudden, overwhelming urge to connect with him, to undo the years of coldness.

He pulled me closer, his arms going around my waist, and I went willingly, my body molding against his.

This was new. Terrifying. And yet, undeniably right.

We stayed like that for a long time, lost in a haze of sensation and unspoken emotions.

His lips were soft, then demanding. His hands explored my back, my hair, with a tenderness that made my heart ache.

I looked into his eyes, really looked, for the first time.

And I saw it.

The unwavering affection I'd read about in his journal. The love he'd hidden so well behind a mask of cool professionalism.

It was there, in the depths of his gaze, vulnerable and exposed.

How could I have been so blind? So cruel?

The memories of my first life, our first life together, washed over me.

The unwanted marriage, orchestrated by my father to salvage some scandal I'd been too reckless to avoid, or perhaps it was just a strategic business alliance. I'd felt trapped, resentful.

I'd treated Ethan with disdain, a convenient target for my unhappiness.

Then Liam Walker. Charming, wealthy Liam, my childhood friend. The easy escape I'd craved. I'd demanded a divorce from Ethan and left with Liam, flitting across Europe, chasing a freedom that now felt hollow.

While I was gone, Miller Industries faced disaster. A hostile takeover by Harrison Corp. Fraud.

Ethan, his health already compromised from that night at the gala, poured everything he had into saving my family's company.

He succeeded. And then he collapsed. Died alone.

The secure cloud drive. His lawyer had given it to me after the funeral, along with a notice of a substantial inheritance he'd secretly set aside for me.

The folders. "Liv."

Every detail of his hidden love. How he'd quietly managed my finances, shielding me from my own impulsiveness. How he'd taken the fall for my social missteps, smoothing things over with his quiet diplomacy.

He'd nursed me through a severe flu, staying by my side for days, even though I'd barely acknowledged him.

He'd bought that vineyard in Napa, the one I'd drunkenly confessed to dreaming about, a place I'd forgotten I even mentioned.

His journal detailed his quiet suffering, the true extent of his sacrifices, his unwavering love, even knowing I planned to leave him. He'd chosen to let me go, hoping I'd find happiness.

The weight of it, the sheer, selfless devotion of the man I'd rejected, had been unbearable.

Now, holding him, feeling the warmth of his body, the reality of this second chance settled in.

This time, Ethan, I won't fail you. I'll cherish you. I'll protect you.

I swear it.

The first light of dawn was filtering through the heavy curtains when I woke.

Ethan was still asleep beside me, his face relaxed, younger than I remembered. The lines of stress that had been etched around his eyes in my memories were fainter now.

A wave of tenderness washed over me. I reached out, gently brushing a strand of dark hair from his forehead.

He stirred, his eyes fluttering open.

For a moment, there was a soft, unguarded look in them as he focused on me. Then, it vanished.

Replaced by a chilling coldness.

He sat up abruptly, pulling away from my touch as if it burned him.

"What happened last night?" he asked, his voice flat, devoid of any warmth.

Disappointment, sharp and bitter, pierced through me. I'd hoped... I don't know what I'd hoped. That the intimacy we'd shared would magically erase the past?

"You weren't well," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "I took care of you."

He looked around the unfamiliar hotel suite, then back at me, his eyes narrowed. "Took care of me?"

A flicker of something – pain? suspicion? – crossed his face before his mask of indifference slammed back down.

"I see," he said, standing up, his movements stiff. He walked towards the window, his back to me.

"Ethan," I began, wanting to explain, to tell him about my regret, about this impossible second chance.

But the words died in my throat. How could I even begin?

He turned, his expression unreadable. "I think it's best we discuss a divorce, Olivia."

The words hit me like a physical blow. Divorce? Now? After... after everything?

"What?" I whispered, stunned.

"I don't love you," he stated, each word a carefully aimed dart. "This marriage was a mistake. A business arrangement. Nothing more."

His eyes were cold, distant. This wasn't the Ethan from the journal, the Ethan whose hidden love had overwhelmed me. This was a stranger.

Or perhaps, this was the Ethan I had created in our first life. Hurt. Wary.

"But last night..." I faltered.

"Last night was a lapse in judgment," he cut in, his tone dismissive. "Likely due to whatever... ailment I was suffering from. It changes nothing."

He walked to the door. "I'll have my lawyer contact yours."

And then he was gone.

The silence in the room was deafening.

My heart ached with a pain so intense it stole my breath. He was reborn too. He had to be. That coldness, that immediate talk of divorce... it was the only explanation. He remembered my cruelty, my abandonment.

And he hated me for it.

Tears welled in my eyes, hot and stinging. I had been so arrogant in my first life, so sure of my own desires, so blind to his. Now, the tables were turned. I wanted him, and he was pushing me away.

The irony wasn't lost on me.

I had to make him understand. I had to prove to him that I had changed.

Later that day, I tried to talk to my father, Robert Miller.

"Dad, we need to be careful," I said, finding him in his study at our New York townhouse. "Harrison Corporation is planning something. I... I have a bad feeling."

He looked up from his papers, his expression one of mild surprise. "A bad feeling, Olivia? Since when are you interested in the intricacies of corporate finance?"

His tone was patronizing. In my first life, I'd shown no interest in Miller Industries beyond the allowance it provided.

"I just think we need to be vigilant," I insisted. "They might try a hostile takeover, or plant a mole."

He chuckled. "Olivia, dear, leave the business to me and Ethan. He's a brilliant lad. He'll handle anything Harrison throws at us." He patted my hand. "You just focus on... well, whatever it is you focus on these days."

Frustration churned within me. He wouldn't listen. Just like before.

I tried calling Ethan later that evening. His phone rang endlessly, then went to voicemail.

I left a message. "Ethan, please. We need to talk. I know I hurt you. I was awful. But I've changed. I want to make things right. I... I want this marriage."

My voice cracked on the last few words.

He didn't call back.

The next day, I saw him briefly at the Miller Industries headquarters. He was walking out as I was walking in.

He saw me. His eyes, cold and distant, flickered over me without a hint of recognition, then he turned and strode away, leaving me standing alone in the bustling lobby.

The rejection was a fresh wave of pain.

I called him again that night.

This time, he answered.

"What do you want, Olivia?" His voice was like ice.

"Ethan, please," I begged. "Just listen to me. I know why you're doing this. You remember, don't you? You remember everything."

Silence. Then, a humorless laugh. "Remember what, Olivia? Your little tantrums? Your affairs? Your demand for a divorce so you could run off with Liam Walker? Oh yes, I remember those things quite clearly."

"I was wrong!" I cried. "I was a fool! I regret it all. I love you, Ethan. I know that now."

"Love?" He scoffed. "You don't know the meaning of the word. You just don't like being on the receiving end for a change."

"That's not true!"

"Isn't it? You expect me to believe this sudden transformation? After everything you put me through?"

"I can prove it!"

"Save your breath, Olivia," he said, his voice hardening. "I've already instructed my lawyer to draw up the papers. You'll get what you always wanted."

And he hung up.

Tears streamed down my face. He was so hurt, so deeply wounded by my past actions. The wall he'd built around his heart was a fortress of ice, and I, in my previous life, had been the one to freeze it solid.

It would take more than a few words, more than one night, to melt it.

It would take everything I had. And I didn't even know if it would be enough.