I was lying in a pool of my own blood, watching my husband walk away with the woman he loved. Before I died, all I could think was how fast his legs carried him away. They deserved to be broken. I didn't expect my chance to come so quickly. When I opened my eyes again, I was back nine years earlier. My future husband, the golden boy himself, Julian Croft, heir to the political dynasty, was lying unconscious at the bottom of a cliff. Those legs of his… yeah, they needed breaking. 01 In my last life's timeline, Julian was ambushed during a high-profile political retreat, went off a cliff, horse and all. I was the one who found him, carried him for a day and a night, and saved his life. Right now, he was just lying there silently among the rocks, waiting for me to lean down. And I did. Even injured and out cold, my Julian was still the most devastatingly handsome man alive. So, naturally, being obsessed with him, I did the sensible thing and cleanly severed his Achilles tendons. The pain made him convulse, and as the smell of blood spread, Julian struggled his eyes open. I looked down at him. "Julian, honey, are you okay?" I can only imagine how tender my voice sounded, how full of pity my expression was. After all, from now on, he wasn't running anywhere. He looked so helpless. How could I possibly be harsh with him? Julian looked surprised to see me. But the second he tried to move, he broke out in a cold sweat, the pain hitting him hard. Sharp as he was, he instantly located the source of his agony. Just as I expected, realizing his legs were ruined, Julian couldn’t handle it. He completely broke down. Because crippled legs meant the power, the presidency his family groomed him for, the prize he’d schemed his whole life for, was out of reach. I held him, stopping him from pounding on his useless legs. "Julian, hurting yourself like this? Isn't that just playing into the hands of whoever set you up?" "Besides, you still have me. Even if you're crippled, even if you never reach the Oval Office, I won't leave you." My dear Julian always had a suspicious mind. Sure enough, the wheels started turning. He gritted his teeth. "Whoever did this to me… they'll pay!" I could almost hear him mentally cycling through his brothers, his rivals, wondering who planned the attack specifically to cripple him, to take him out of the running for good. After all, power could pass to any number of heirs, but not usually to a cripple. "Don't worry, Julian. You're not alone. Me and the Sterling family, we'll stand behind you," I whispered soothingly, like comforting a precious jewel. And he always knew how to make the choice most beneficial to himself. Like right now, clinging to me tightly, like I was his last hope. He cried in my arms, and the feeling was just… exquisite. Because he needed me so desperately. I thought, maybe I should build him a golden cage. Something fitting for his stature, something to protect him from the harsh realities outside. Just like last time, I carried him on my back, searching for a way out. Only difference was, last time he was unconscious and couldn't walk. This time, he'd never walk properly again. He was awake the whole way, saw every bit of effort I put in. He even managed to wipe the sweat from my brow, gently asking how I was holding up. See? He could be so considerate. It had been a long time since I’d seen that side of him. Back then, he needed my family's influence, so he deliberately got close, seduced me with sweet nothings, promises of forever, just the two of us. All that disappeared the moment he secured his position, using the Sterling clout to solidify his power base. But now? Oh, I was thrilled. Ecstatic that he’d be this gentle, this dependent, forever. 02 Following the paths I remembered from last time, I avoided the areas where ambushers might still be lurking and finally hit the main road just before dark. Soon enough, we ran into the Sterling family's search party – or rather, our private security team. My second brother, Rick, looking sharp and imposing even on horseback, galloped towards me, his face tight with worry. He clearly didn't even register the injured political heir I was carrying. I gave my brother, who I hadn’t seen in what felt like ages, a brilliant smile, then promptly collapsed into his arms. Seeing me "pass out," Rick was instantly concerned. He just barked orders to his men – "Get Mr. Croft back to his residence, now!" – then carried me into one of the waiting SUVs. The vehicle swayed gently as we headed back to the Sterling estate. I opened my eyes halfway there. Rick’s expression didn’t change; he obviously knew I was faking it from the start. But he didn’t call me out, just gave me a stern lecture. "Don't play games with your life, Scarlett. What happens to him is none of your damn business. If anything happened to you, Dad would fall apart." I knew he was talking about me ignoring everyone's warnings and chasing the attackers right off Blue Ridge Cliff after Julian. "I know what I'm doing, Rick," I purred, leaning back against the plush leather seat. That was one thing I prided myself on: I’d trained in various forms of combat since I was a kid, and I had a natural talent for it. Even Rick, a former Special Forces guy, couldn’t beat me anymore. A fall from Blue Ridge wouldn’t kill me, and it meant I could find the unconscious Julian quickly. Rick hated it when I got cocky. He snorted. "If you're so capable, why fake fainting?" I settled deeper into the seat, answering seriously, "Sometimes, out of sight, out of mind is best. If I hadn't, I don't think I could have stood handing Julian over to someone else." Julian Croft. My golden boy. Such a nice name, such a handsome face. He should belong to me. How could I let anyone else touch what was mine? But the timing wasn’t right yet. I had to be patient. Rick went quiet. When we got back to the Sterling estate, Dad and my older brother were waiting, fussing over me. My father, Arthur Sterling, a man of immense power and influence, actually had tears in his eyes, pulling me close, calling me his "dear girl." See? Power, influence, the adoration of my father and brothers. Growing up, every debutante and young heir practically tripped over themselves to suck up to me. And yet, Julian used my family’s clout, got what he wanted, and then expected me to step aside for his "true love." Thinking of Julian, I dismissed the household staff, poured Dad and my brothers a stiff drink – whiskey, neat – and got serious. "Dad, Rick, Older Brother, there's something I need to tell you." Seeing my solemn expression, they straightened up. "Mom didn't die in some random accident or mugging years ago. The old man, President Croft himself, feared your power, Dad. He tried to arrange an 'accident' for you, but Mom got caught in the crossfire instead." This was intel Julian himself had revealed in our past life, a calculated move to gain my family's absolute trust. My father and brothers are brilliant, ruthless men. Between them, they controlled levers of power – political, financial, even some darker, private networks – that amounted to a chokehold on the country's establishment. That's precisely why Julian was so desperate for Sterling backing back then. And why, once he felt secure, he orchestrated that "accident" during my trip down south, leaving me surrounded by his hired guns on a cold, dark pier, bleeding out into the water. He walked away with his precious Isabelle Moon, while my blood washed away, my body dumped like trash. I admit, I'd been arrogant. I never thought Julian would stoop to poisoning me himself, a slow-acting toxin delivered through touch, clouding my judgment just enough for his goons to get the drop on me. Old Man Croft killed Mom. Julian killed me. Do the math. The Sterlings and the Crofts? No way we could ever coexist. The moment the words left my mouth, Dad crushed the heavy crystal tumbler in his hand. My brothers’ chests were heaving, fury radiating off them. Growing up, my father and brothers never questioned my word. If I said it, they believed it. After a long, tense silence, Dad pulled out the small, worn locket he always carried – the one with Mom’s picture inside. He asked in a low, dangerous voice, "What do you want to do, Scarlett?" He clutched Mom's locket tightly. I looked at my father, thought of my mother, looked at my brothers, and suddenly burst out laughing. "They all want the top spot, don't they? Fine. Then let this country be run by a Sterling!" My own laughter echoed, cold and terrifying. But I didn't care. From the moment Old Man Croft targeted our family, the Crofts and Sterlings were destined to clash. Besides, if everything belonged to my family, Julian wouldn't have any room left for wandering thoughts… or wandering eyes. Oh, right. My name is Scarlett Sterling. My dad is Arthur Sterling. Dad and my brothers quite like our surname. Makes sense it should be the name everyone in power answers to, don't you think? 03 Dinner that night was quiet, the few household staff serving us moved like ghosts. I could see how scared they were of us. It's simple, really. Our whole family is… intense. A little messed up. From my father and brothers down to me, we share a certain morbid intensity. Prime example: Mom died seven years ago, but Dad still carries a tiny, ornate urn with some of her ashes everywhere he goes. We still set a place for her at the dinner table, complete with her favorite china and silverware. Early on, Dad even… consumed some of her ashes. To be one with her, he said. The staff turned green back then, absolutely horrified. But us three kids? We were thrilled. We all loved Mom, and she loved us fiercely. A family, together, whole… what could possibly be wrong with that? Tonight, digging into the hot, delicious food, I looked towards Mom's empty place setting and said brightly, "Mom, don't you worry. You'll have a properly respectful son-in-law paying his respects soon." I’d only just dropped the bombshell on Mom’s memory, and by the next day, news that Julian Croft, the heir apparent, was permanently crippled was spreading like wildfire through the political circles and gossip columns. When I arrived at Julian’s residence – a luxurious wing of the Croft compound – the staff were practically walking on eggshells. Seeing me was like spotting a lifeboat. "Miss Sterling, thank God you're here." "Mr. Croft hasn't touched a bite all day. We don't know what to do." Martin, Julian's personal aide, looked genuinely worried. But as he spoke, his eyes kept flickering past me, towards the hallway. I knew who he was really hoping to see: Julian’s supposed true love, Isabelle Moon, daughter of Secretary Moon. In our past life, whenever Julian and Isabelle had their secret trysts, Martin was the one arranging things, covering for them, playing lookout. Such a loyal little lapdog. I just smiled at him, a slow, knowing smile, until Martin trailed off uncomfortably. Then I clapped him on the shoulder. "Martin," I said sweetly, "I feel so much better knowing Julian has you looking after him." Ignoring the confusion on his face, I swept into Julian's private suite. My eyes immediately met his dark, hostile gaze. A nurse stood nearby holding a bowl of medication, trying fruitlessly to coax him into taking it. He refused, just kept staring at me, clearly trying to drive me away with his miserable state. I paid it no mind. I took the bowl, blew gently on the liquid, and held the spoon to his lips. "Julian, you need to take this so you can heal. You don't want to be stuck in bed forever, do you?" That hit a nerve. Julian turned his head away, his voice flat with despair. "Just go, Scarlett. My legs… they're not getting better. Stay away from me. You can still find someone… suitable." "Don't talk like that." I gripped his chin, forcing him to meet my eyes. "And you should know by now, once you've caught my attention, you're never getting rid of me." It was the truth. He started this. He pursued me. Everything he'd done, every promise he'd made, was set in stone in my mind. There was no going back. "Now, be a good boy and drink your medicine. Once you're stronger, we'll go talk to your father about setting a wedding date." Julian couldn't fight me. Or maybe he'd just put on enough of a show. He took the bowl and gulped the medicine down in one go. The medication or the emotional toll exhausted him. After he fell asleep, I left his suite. On my way out of the compound, I ran into Ethan Croft, the second son. Ethan Croft. Julian's most viable competitor for the family's political legacy. "Scarlett. You've seen Julian? What did the doctors say? Is he… doing alright?" He approached me smoothly, adjusting his perfectly knotted tie, offering a smile as warm and inviting as a spring day. No doubt about it, Ethan was classically handsome, well-built, with a polished, sophisticated air. But compared to Julian? He still fell short. So I just offered a polite, cool nod. "Good evening, Ethan." "The doctors have his condition under control." "Well, in that case, I won't disturb him." Ethan's expression turned somber, and he sighed. "My brother has always been so proud. He probably doesn't want many visitors right now." I smiled faintly, watching his subtle attempt to poison my perception. Ethan quickly changed the subject. "Since you're heading out, let me give you a ride home, Scarlett." "That would be kind of you, Ethan." I didn't refuse. The whole drive, I watched Ethan's not-so-subtle attempts to impress me, dropping hints about his own ambitions, his connections. This had been going on for years. Ever since I was a teenager, before my debutante ball, he’d been making quiet overtures. But back then, I was supposedly "head over heels" for Julian, so Ethan kept his approaches discreet. Now, with Julian sidelined? Ethan was openly trying to win me, and my family's backing, over to his side. He even dropped heavy hints that, with him, I could eventually become the First Lady, the matriarch of the next generation. Hilarious. Been there, done that, got the T-shirt. It’s an exhausting job, really.
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