My Wife's Betrayal, My Second Life

Thirty years I gave the Miller family. Thirty years of my life, my talent, my devotion. And it ended with gasoline soaking into my clothes.

"Our son was conceived using Alex' s sperm through IVF! Aren' t you mad? You spent your whole life raising my beloved man' s child!"

That was Olivia, my wife, her face twisted with hatred I never understood until then. Our son, the boy I raised, stood with her, holding the empty gas can. A lit match fell from her fingers. The fire consumed me, the pain absolute. My last thought: Why?

Then, I opened my eyes. The scent of roses and champagne, not smoke, filled the air. I was in a tuxedo. My hands were young. The date on my phone: ten years ago. It was my wedding night. Olivia burst in, screaming, "Alex is going to jump!" Her father stopped her, threatening to disown her.

The moment he left, Olivia slapped me. "This is all your fault! You and your pathetic ambition! I' d be with him right now!" Her words echoed my death in the future. In my past life, I comforted her, promised to earn her love, built their empire, raised her lover' s son. They burned me for it. All affection turned to ash.

I had been brutally betrayed, manipulated, and murdered by the very people I sacrificed everything for. Why had I been so blind, so stupid? Why had I devoted my entire existence to those who saw me as nothing more than a convenient tool to be discarded?

This time, I would choose myself. I looked at Olivia, not as the girl I loved, but the woman who would murder me. "You want to go find him? Go."

Thirty years I gave the Miller family. Thirty years of my life, my talent, my devotion. And it ended with gasoline soaking into my clothes.

"Ethan Hayes, if you hadn't been so desperate to climb the social ladder, I could have lived happily ever after with Alex!"

That was Olivia, the woman I had loved for three decades, my wife. Her face was twisted, ugly with a hatred I had never understood until that moment.

Our son, the boy I had raised, stood beside her, holding the empty gas can. He looked at me with cold, dead eyes.

Olivia laughed, a terrible, sharp sound.

"I'll tell you the truth, since you're about to die. Our son was conceived using Alex' s sperm through IVF! Aren't you mad? You spent your whole life raising my beloved man's child!"

A lit match fell from her fingers.

The fire consumed me. The pain was absolute, a universe of agony. My last thought wasn' t of hatred, but of a deep, soul-crushing confusion. Why?

Then, I opened my eyes.

The scent of roses and champagne filled the air, not smoke and gasoline. I was wearing a perfectly tailored tuxedo, not smoldering rags. My skin was smooth and unburned.

I looked down at my hands. They were the hands of a young man, strong and unblemished by age or fire. I fumbled for my phone. The screen lit up. The date was ten years ago. It was my wedding night.

The door to the bridal suite burst open.

Olivia stood there, her face a mask of panic. She was still in her stunning white wedding gown, a stark contrast to the terror in her eyes.

"Alex posted a message from the cliff! He' s going to jump! I have to go to him!"

Before I could even process her words, a heavy hand landed on her shoulder. Her father, Mr. Miller, stood behind her, his face grim.

"You will do no such thing, Olivia."

His voice was low but carried an authority that made her flinch.

"If you don't stay and complete this wedding today, the Miller family will disown you! You will not get a single penny!"

Olivia' s face crumpled. She looked from her father to me, her eyes filled with a desperate, trapped fury. She reluctantly agreed, a choked sob escaping her lips. Mr. Miller gave me a look, a mixture of apology and warning, before closing the door, leaving us alone.

The moment the lock clicked, Olivia' s resentment exploded.

She flew at me, not with words, but with her hands. A sharp slap cracked across my face. The sting was nothing compared to the phantom agony of the fire, but it was real. It grounded me in this new, second chance.

"This is all your fault!" she screamed, her voice raw. "You and your pathetic ambition! You social climber! If it weren' t for you, I' d be with him right now!"

Her words echoed the ones she had screamed over my burning body thirty years in the future. In my past life, I had tried to comfort her. I had held her while she cried for another man on our wedding night. I had promised to be a good husband, to make her happy, to earn her love.

I had spent the next thirty years keeping that promise. I was an orphan adopted by the Millers, and out of gratitude and a desperate, unrequited love for Olivia, I poured everything I had into their business. I built their small company into an empire. I raised their son as my own.

I raised her lover' s son.

And in the end, they set me on fire.

The memory was so vivid, so searing, that it burned away every last trace of affection I had for the woman standing before me. The love I had carried for a lifetime turned to ash in an instant.

Last time, I begged her to stay. I chose the family, the marriage, the lie.

This time, I would choose myself.

I looked at her, my cheek still stinging from her slap, and for the first time, I saw her clearly. Not as the girl I loved, but as the cruel, manipulative woman who would one day murder me.

She was still ranting, her beautiful face ugly with rage.

I cut her off, my voice calm and steady.

"You want to go find him?"

She stopped, stunned by my tone.

"Go."

Olivia stared at me, her mouth slightly open. The fury in her eyes was replaced by confusion.

"What did you say?"

"I said, go," I repeated, my voice even. "Your father is downstairs with the guests. I'll make sure he doesn't stop you this time. You can walk right out the front door."

She searched my face for a trick, a hint of sarcasm or anger. She found nothing but a blank calmness that seemed to unnerve her more than any argument would have. In my past life, my desperation to please her had been my defining trait. This new indifference was something she didn't know how to handle.

"You... you'd let me go?" she stammered.

"He's your childhood friend," I said, the words tasting like poison. "You should be with him."

I wasn't doing it for her. I was doing it for me. I was severing the tie that had led to my agonizing death. This was the first step.

Doubt warred with desperation on her face for a moment, but her obsession with Alex won. She didn't waste another second questioning my motives. She gave a sharp nod, her wedding dress swishing as she turned and ran out of the room. I heard her footsteps hurrying down the hallway.

I walked over to the window and looked down at the manicured lawns of the Miller estate. A few minutes later, I saw her, a flash of white in the darkness, running towards the main gate. She didn't look back once.

The next morning, the news broke. Not of a tragic death, but of a scandalous romance. Alex Peterson had not jumped. Instead, he had posted a picture of himself and Olivia on his Instagram. They were at the cliff, yes, but they were wrapped in each other's arms, kissing as the sun rose behind them. The caption read: "Finally together. Some things are worth fighting for. #TrueLove."

The wedding, which had been the society event of the year, was now the laughingstock of the city.

Mr. Miller was apoplectic. He stormed into the library where I was quietly drinking a cup of coffee. His face was purple with rage.

"Ethan! What is the meaning of this? The press is having a field day! I told you to keep her here! Why did you let her go?"

"She's an adult, Mr. Miller," I said calmly, setting my cup down. "She wanted to leave. I couldn't hold her prisoner."

"You could have tried!" he roared, slamming his fist on the mahogany desk. "Our family's reputation is in ruins!"

"Your daughter ruined it," I corrected him gently. "Not me."

Just then, the subjects of our conversation walked in. Olivia and Alex, holding hands, looking defiant. Olivia had changed out of her wedding dress and into casual clothes, but Alex was still wearing the same rumpled suit from the day before. He had a smug, triumphant look on his face.

"Thanks for giving her up, buddy," Alex said, his tone dripping with condescension. He squeezed Olivia's hand. "But let's be real. You were never good enough for her anyway. You're just the charity case they took in."

Before I could respond, Mr. Miller rounded on him. The fury he had directed at me now found a new, more deserving target.

"Get out of my house, you worthless parasite!" he bellowed, pointing a trembling finger at Alex. "Get out! Ethan has done more for this family and this company in five years than you have in your entire leeching life!"

Alex paled slightly at Mr. Miller's rage, but Olivia stepped in front of him, shielding him. She looked at her father, then at me. Her choice was clear.

"Dad, stop it!" she said, her voice sharp. "I love Alex."

Then she turned her cold eyes on me.

"And you. Just leave. This is my home, not yours. You've never belonged here."

Her words were meant to hurt, and in my previous life, they would have shattered me. But now, they were just words. They were a key, unlocking the cage I had willingly lived in for so long.

"Okay," I said.

And I meant it.